#anger is the acknowledgement of injustice

[iron-sparrow]

no matter how hard you try you can't stop us now

[rawliverandgoronspice]

anyways, still deeply invested into my read of Ganondorf being an immense bully to children partially because, in a way, he rationalizes that putting children through the grinder is baaaasically kind of helping them to grow up faster, in a throwing you into the river to teach you how to swim kind of way, and if they can't handle the grinder, they were weak and it's on them and they can either suck it up and try harder, or get wrecked and die

and obviously that says absolutely nothing about how his own upbringing may have been handled, right twinrova, nor anything about how he may have buried a profound bitterness about the fact he was never really allowed a childhood of his own, and it's not fair others, especially hylians, get to spend their own carefree.

of course not.

[uncanny-tranny]

I think many people cognitively understand that retributive justice is often ineffective and simply violent, but they don't want to rid themselves of the almost collective anger mindset that permits this kind of justice to remain in place, even socially. In short, the mindset still treats people as though they must be punished as severely as possible, and when one is wronged, the mindset goes to how violence can be used, which is not inherently the same as righting wrongs.

Justice is complex, and it's messy. That's why it's so important not to treat it simplisticly with only one solution.

[aq2003]

the background piano music ends abruptly on a discordant note when hamlet says his father had died in the past two hours, which is when the idea gets put forward that his own perception of time/events might not be totally reliable

[thedensworld]

Your Best Man | J.Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x reader

Genre: fluff, humor, established relationship

Summary: Wonwoo has tried his best to become the best man you've ever met. At the end, he is the best man.

Author note: let's have a break from angsty suffering story and have some fluffywonu!

Wonwoo loves you. He loves you with all of his heart. Honestly, he loves you with all of his life. In conclusion he loves you very much. Wonwoo sat there, an empty soju glass in hand, his words flowing like the river of affection he held for you. Mingyu, realizing his friend had reached the brink of tipsiness, halted the soju parade, albeit reluctantly, knowing Wonwoo was just getting started.

"Mingyu, remember when I fell head over heels for her at first sight?" Wonwoo's tone was earnest, albeit slightly slurred, as he delved into his favorite topic, you.

Mingyu nodded, taking a break from his spicy budae jiggae to indulge Wonwoo's sentimental journey.

"She was stunning," Wonwoo continued, his gaze drifting upwards as if searching for you among the stars. "I mean, she's always been gorgeous, but back then? Wow. Even Cupid would've been jealous of my aim that day."

He chuckled, the warmth of nostalgia enveloping him as he recalled the moment fate intervened, intertwining your destinies.

"In hindsight, it's like the universe had a checklist and decided, 'Yep, these two are meant to be.' And who am I to argue with the universe, right?"

Wonwoo's laughter filled the air, a testament to the joy you brought him, even in the haze of alcohol and spicy food.

So there they sat, one lost in love and the other in a spicy stew, united in their admiration for the wonder that was you. And as Wonwoo raised his glass in a tipsy salute to your magnificence, Mingyu couldn't help but toast silently to the cosmic comedy that brought you all together. Cheers to love, laughter, and the occasional soju-fueled confession.

Years ago, Wonwoo became acquainted with you through a movie he watched with Vernon. You were a rising rookie actor at the time. Fate, however, had a more direct introduction in store for him. It happened one evening by the Han River, where Wonwoo sought solace in the night air and a bowl of ramyeon, alone with his thoughts.

The tranquility was shattered by the intrusive click of a camera shutter, followed by a beam of flashlight. Initially annoyed by the presence of paparazzi, Wonwoo's irritation quickly turned to anger as he contemplated the invasion of privacy suffered by countless others in the industry.

His resolve to confront the paparazzi was cut short by a sudden thud and a groan. Rushing to the source of the commotion, Wonwoo discovered the paparazzi lying on the ground while another figure stood nearby, inspecting the camera.

"I know this is your job, but this is not right," Other person admonished, voice firm with conviction. "You've invaded someone's privacy and caused them untold discomfort. Can you even sleep at night knowing what you do?"

As the other person, you, retrieved the memory card, your eyes met Wonwoo's. In that moment of shared understanding, Wonwoo offered a thumbs-up in appreciation of your intervention, sparking a conversation between the two of you.

You explained that you recognized the paparazzi, having caught them fabricating rumors within the industry. Wonwoo nodded in solidarity, acknowledging his own frustration with such unethical practices.

"I was about to take action myself," Wonwoo admitted, shaking his head. "I'm relieved to know I'm not the only one who feels this way."

And so, amidst the backdrop of the Han River, a bond formed between two strangers united by their disdain for injustice and their shared desire to protect the integrity of others. It was a chance encounter that would leave a lasting impression on both Wonwoo and you, shaping the course of their future interactions.

A conversation led to another, as late-night discussions evolved into playful banter and eventually escalated into vulnerable talks. What began as strangers connecting gradually blossomed into friendship, and then something more profound – love. Wonwoo cherished every step of the journey with you, never once regretting the decision to let you into his life. With you by his side, life seemed brighter, the shadows dissipating whenever you were together, and he couldn't shake the feeling that you were the one sent by a higher power to fill the void within him.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?" Wonwoo's question hung in the air, heavy with anticipation and hope. When you said yes, he made a silent vow to himself to be the best man you'd ever known. He listened to your concerns, ensured you never felt pressured, and held you in the highest regard, becoming your staunchest supporter whenever your movies or dramas premiered.

Of course, it wasn't all smooth sailing. Like any couple, Wonwoo and you faced their fair share of ups and downs. But each challenge served as a lesson, strengthening their bond and shaping them into better individuals for each other. If Wonwoo were to recount their biggest argument, it would likely be the time he recommended you to a director he knew.

Wonwoo happened to know a veteran noir movie director, a figure you admired deeply for his work. During a discussion between Wonwoo and the director at a premiere event, your name came up, sparking a conversation that would ultimately change the course of events.

"Your girlfriend is Ji Y/n, right? Her acting was exceptional in the last movie," the director remarked, his interest piqued.

"She's a huge fan of yours," Wonwoo replied. "I know it might be unconventional, but I was hoping you could consider casting her in your next project. It would mean a lot to her."

To Wonwoo's surprise, the director revealed that he was indeed seeking an actress for his upcoming movie and would be delighted if you were interested in joining the cast.

Initially, the news seemed like a dream come true. However, Wonwoo's excitement turned to concern when he received a series of missed calls from you while he was away on a business trip. Upon calling you back, he was met with the sound of your sobbing, instantly stirring worry within him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I never asked for your help with my career," you replied, your tone heavy with frustration.

Wonwoo's brow furrowed as you mentioned the director's name, realizing he had unwittingly stepped into a sensitive issue.

"I never asked you to secure a role for me in his movie, so why does everyone think I got it through a connection?" you inquired him, your voice trembling with emotion.

Wonwoo sighed, acknowledging his mistake. "I was talking to him that night, and he mentioned you—"

"He talked behind my back saying you begged him to put me into the cast."

"I never asked for that!" you continued, your frustration evident.

"I know," Wonwoo conceded, regret weighing heavy on his shoulders. "He didn't say what you think he did."

Feeling hurt and misunderstood, you ended the call abruptly, leaving Wonwoo with a sinking feeling in his chest. Acting swiftly, he instructed his manager to drive him to your place, determined to resolve the misunderstanding before it escalated further.

Wonwoo entered your apartment well past midnight, his fatigue from a long day's schedule overshadowed by the weight of guilt gnawing at him. Upon seeing you seated on the couch, head bowed in distress, he felt a pang of remorse pierce through him.

"What did he say to you?" Wonwoo inquired gently, his voice laden with concern as he approached you.

"It doesn't matter what he said," you replied, your tone laced with frustration. "What matters is that you overstepped by asking him to cast me in his movie! I want to build my career on my own terms, and I want people to recognize that."

Wonwoo knelt in front of you, seeking to meet your gaze. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his remorse evident. "I just thought—since you admire his work—it would be a good opportunity. I didn't anticipate this outcome."

A heavy silence hung between you before you confessed the truth. "I walked away from the role midway through filming. I couldn't bear to work with someone who talk trash their talent like that."

Wonwoo nodded understandingly, pulling you into a comforting embrace. "I understand," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your troubled thoughts. "You did what felt right for you."

As you feared, rumors began to circulate in the weeks following the announcement of your departure from the movie. Speculations about your connections within the industry surfaced, casting a shadow over your hard-earned reputation. Yet through it all, Wonwoo stood by your side, offering unwavering support and reassurance.

He knew the truth, and that was enough for him. Together, you weathered the storm of gossip, emerging stronger and more united than ever before. For Wonwoo, there was no greater reward than seeing you stand firm in your convictions, unyielding in the face of adversity. And as long as you had each other, no amount of speculation could tarnish the bond you shared.

Years later, you and Wonwoo went public with your marriage, and he was grateful for the overwhelmingly positive feedback you both received. The wedding was an intimate affair, attended only by close family and colleagues. For Wonwoo, it marked the culmination of his journey to become the best man you'd ever known, now leveled up to become the best husband himself.

He found joy in the simple moments of life, relishing in the comfort of sleeping and waking up beside you each day. To the surprise of his fellow members, who often referred to him as the prince by his fans, Wonwoo had embraced domesticity wholeheartedly. Learning to cook, clean, give massages, and take on any task that arose became second nature to him, especially during your pregnancy with your firstborn, Jeon Jihan.

Now, at five years old, Jihan possessed a strong will of his own, often refusing to hold hands with Wonwoo when being taken to daycare. Wonwoo couldn't help but wonder whose attitude Jihan had inherited—though deep down, he knew it was undoubtedly from you. Nevertheless, it didn't dampen Wonwoo's love for you and his son. He cherished every moment spent with his family, grateful for the love and happiness they brought into his life.

One day, while Wonwoo was away on tour and Jihan was just two years old, he heard from his fellow members that the women—referred to as "their girls"—had gathered at Seungcheol's wife's place. Concerned for your well-being, Wonwoo immediately called you to check in.

"Are you joining them?" he asked, his worry palpable over the phone line.

"Will you bring Jihan?" he added, mindful of your responsibilities as a parent.

"Of course, he can't take care of himself," came your sarcastic reply.

Wonwoo chuckled at your dry humor. "But didn't you say our car broke down yesterday?"

"I'll find a solution, don't worry about it, darling!" you reassured him.

However, after the concert, Wonwoo discovered from Seungcheol himself that you had ridden his bike to their place—with Jihan in tow. Not a word of this had come from you. Frustration and disbelief churned in Wonwoo's chest as he made a call to you.

"How could you ride a bike with our child being that young?" he demanded, his tone edged with concern.

"Jihan loves it!" you countered, sending a photo taken by another woman at a traffic light, showing Jihan smiling while securely attached to your front.

Wonwoo facepalmed with his hand, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You could have endangered both of you and Jihan. You're not allowed to ride my bike again!"

It wasn't that Wonwoo doubted your skill—you had been riding bikes for years, a shared passion that had drawn you both together. However, the idea of riding a bike with your child had never crossed his mind, nor did he ever imagine you would consider it. The incident led to his members labeling him as a "gangster husband," a nickname stemming from your unconventional lifestyle and characters in the movies.

"So what's the matter now, hyung? You said you're okay, you love her, you'll support her no matter what. Then what's with the change of heart?" Mingyu confronted drunken Wonwoo.

Wonwoo clumsily put down his glass, "You're not married, Mingyu. You won't understand my pain!" he declared, slurring his words as Mingyu rolled his eyes in amusement.

Without missing a beat, Mingyu dialed your number. "Hello, Y/n! Did you miss your husband already? He's being a pain in my ass tonight. Should I take him home?"

Wonwoo's eyes widened in panic as he realized what Mingyu was up to, but his drunken attempts to grab Mingyu's phone proved futile.

"Just the usual babbling about his undying love for you and some other nonsense. I'll be there in 20, okay? Bye!" Mingyu announced cheerfully before hanging up.

"No! I don't wanna go home! I don't wanna face her like this," Wonwoo protested dramatically, his words slurred as he tried to resist Mingyu's attempts to escort him home.

Mingyu sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. "This hyung..." he muttered, resigning himself to the task of dragging a stubborn and intoxicated Wonwoo back to the safety of your arms.

*

"Where's Jihan?" Wonwoo groaned, nursing his pounding head while seated at the dining table, his breakfast being served by you. The mere act of opening his eyes felt like a Herculean task.

You shrugged casually, "Someone woke him up last night, and he ended up staying up late. He's still asleep."

Wonwoo's brows furrowed, knowing full well that the culprit was none other than himself. Yet, he was surprised by your nonchalant reaction to Jihan's extended slumber. "He's not going to daycare today?"

You shook your head, taking a seat across from him. "I'm free today, except for my ballet class at 4. Your mom wants to see Jihan, so I'll be taking him to your parents' place before then."

The mention of your ballet class jogged Wonwoo's memory of his conversation with Mingyu the night before. "You're still taking ballet classes?"

You set down your utensils and fixed him with a steady gaze. "Yes," you confirmed firmly. "And Mingyu filled me in on your little chat last night."

Wonwoo grumbled, "I'll punch him later," before offering a weak smile in your direction.

"I've decided to take the role no matter what, darling. It'll be my first-ever romcom movie," you declared, determination shining in your eyes.

Wonwoo sighed deeply, his headache worsening at the thought. "That's the problem, babe. I'm just not ready for that!" he confessed, his tone tinged with a hint of panic.

"What are you not ready for?" you queried, raising an eyebrow as Wonwoo stretched his hands and gestured vaguely.

"All the lovey-dovey stuff you'll have to do in the movie! Kissing, hugging, and acting all smiley with other men—I'm just not prepared for that!" Wonwoo exclaimed, his expression a mix of concern and discomfort.

You scoffed, "I thought we were done talking about this. I asked for your opinion, remember? If you don't want me to take the role, I won't. But you said your opinion doesn't matter as long as I'm happy, and I'm more than happy to challenge myself with this role."

Wonwoo nodded solemnly. "I know, but that was before I found out about the intimate scenes like kissing and hugging!"

You nodded understandingly. "You're right. And besides, you're the only man who can kiss and hug me like that."

Wonwoo sighed, relenting slightly. "Just kiss me three more times every day, and I'll pretend like nothing happened," he bargained, a hint of resignation in his voice. After all, he is your best man, right?

[bisclavret]

there's a palpable missing link in gwen's characterization that the show has almost hinted at but never explored in a satisfactory way and after hours of riffing with @morganadismay i think it might be summarized with just. ambition? on a show as juvenile in its moral politics as bbc merlin ambition might be seen as a hunger for something and therefore a sinful bad thing so gwen just seemed to kind of seamlessly and elegantly rise to power, but honestly when you attribute a sense of ambition to her, the entire character that is guinevere clicks into place:

she has the most solid moral compass out of everyone in that castle - and she knows it. by her late teens she is already lady morgana's servant (morgana who, at this point, is the progressive and rebellious "adoptive" daughter of the king - perhaps someone to stay close to if you want to see reform?) and she flocks to merlin the second she sees him stand up to the prince. then, as soon as she realizes prince arthur actually listens to what she has to say and that it has an effect on his actions (makes him more progressive, open-minded, and class conscious) she subtly moves her interest from merlin and morgana onto him.

((affection is a propelling part of all these decisions, of course, anyone that's seen how gwen treats people doesn't doubt that it's with genuine love and kindness and care for their well-being. i'm just trying to argue that there's more to her than that, or rather that it's precisely this love that is driving her ambition as well:))

the show is written in such a way that only one person per episode can have a braincell so gwen's cleverness is often cast to the wayside so another character can have a go at using their brain, but we can all agree she is overall the smartest character out of the core four. and when you're as smart and full of love and worry as gwen is, it's intolerable to acutely feel the kingdom's injustices and do nothing about them. people often talk about how gwen is impossible to upset or make angry because she is just that empathetic and understanding and can easily put herself in people's shoes. these are definitely elements of gwen's personality, but i don't care how empathetic you are, when someone kills your dad - a sweet, innocent man - in the name of tyrannical ethnic cleansing of people with magic, you do not, you cannot brush it away. especially if you are as clever and empathetic as we know gwen to be.

and yet that's what she seems to do. in one of the most tone-deaf and frustrating and nonsensical conversations in the entire show, she tells merlin she would not kill uther, the mad tyrant king that just killed her fucking dad and is killing so many people on a daily basis, because then she would be just as bad as him. and i do think she believes this. because that's how she was written. however, there were other ways for her to show her displeasure with the royal family after they killed her literal dad. and she chose none. instead, she stayed close and hardly ever acknowledged her huge, enormous loss (elyan had been away for years and she had no mother to speak of - they killed her only family).

because she's strong? sure. but have you lost a loving parent? strength has nothing to do with what that sort of grief does to you. and i think it is precisely through that grief that gwen makes her choice to stick around and see this relationship with the royal family through as far as it can go. she lets her anger solidify into determination - determination to turn arthur into a better version of his father so these injustices have a chance at stopping once he's king.

she lets go of lancelot. she becomes more feminine, her hair longer and her corsets tighter every time we see her. she tolerates arthur's indecisiveness and brashness and morgana's increasing outbursts of cruelty. she never fully seems to expect to become queen, always quick to offer to let go of arthur for The Greater Good (merlin could take a page from her book), but that's precisely what makes her ambition a good trait. it's steadfast, it's logical, and the end goal isn't power for the sake of power. it's a slow, borderline sisyphean climb up the social ladder until she has stable enough footing to enact the reform that her contemporaries were too undiplomatic to achieve.

TL;DR you cannot get where gwen gets by the end of the show through true love or luck or a series of accidents. it would be a disservice to gwen's character to ignore the hints of calculating ambition in her actions and to pretend the compromises she had to make to get where she ends up were easy. what's amazing about her is that she is the sort of lovely, warm woman whose kindness could get taken advantage of until there is nothing left, but instead she turned her love and wisdom into an asset that helped her, essentially, win the game of thrones. i just wish the writers had let this side of her shine through.

[xserpx]

And finally . . . eternal and undying thanks to Terry Pratchett. I never got to meet him, and that breaks my heart to this day. His books taught me so much about comedy and about how devastatingly, breathtakingly kind it is to be able to openly love the messy, beautiful, deeply imperfect, and yet deeply human experience of being alive, and trying your best, and sort of just doing an okay job at it along the way. His books taught me even more about anger and justice and the grim necessity of engaging in a scrungly, undignified mud-wrestling match against Entropy just for the sake of wresting from its jaws one single scrap of fairness that’s gotten a bit raggedy and smells rank (but take it to a good dry cleaner and maybe they can work a miracle or two for ya). Injustice abounds—the injustice of institutions, of entrenched systems of hegemony, of capitalism itself. Terry Pratchett’s works (and mine, I hope) serve as a reminder of the single most important lesson we have in resisting oppression: The best comedy comes from a place of deep, righteous anger—and as long as you can laugh, there’s still a part of you that’s free.

— Alexandra Rowland, in the acknowledgements of Running Close to the Wind

[coolingrosa]

There’s a reason I don’t like the Ink and Dream fight. I don’t believe it does justice to Dream’s character and villianizes Ink too much.

Dream main arc is about coming to terms with the death of Nightmare, but also accepting that what happened wasn’t his fault and the villagers were wrong. Nightmare was killed for things out of his control. His death could’ve been prevented if he was treated with compassion and understanding. Nightmare was not evil just because he was the guardian of negativity, and his morals and values around this also did not make him evil. The judgement casted against him that caused his abuse was unfair, as Nightmare could not control the hand he was given in life and what his side of the scale entailed. Dream understands as he gets older the importance of the balance and how the judgement towards Nightmare due to what he guarded was unfair and unjust.

And yet, when confronted with Ink, who has a moral compass and a job with expectations out of his control, Dream does the very thing the villagers do and condemns him. Rather than understand Ink’s position and acknowledge that what his brother went through is similar to the morality that Ink juggles, Dream pushes him away and villainizes him. Ink sees people as concepts and lets them sit in misery in AUS because he ISN’T ALLOWED TO INTERFERE REGARDLESS. He does not ever want to disobey the creator’s and his job as an overseer, so he never would. He partners with Dream to protect them from getting destroyed and respects Dream for this. But he is allowed to not get more involved and to have his own standing with things. Dream doesn’t have to agree, but if Dream was still reeling from the conclusions he faced from Nightmare, he should understand or at least approach this with a lot more grace.

Instead, it’s written as if Ink is a villain for his views and that Dream is a sweet soul incapable of harm. Ink is painted to be a toxic friend who manipulated Dream and poor little Dream fell right for his trap. If Dream was written to be a hypocrite in this case, that would be an interesting dynamic and character flaw. But he’s written to be correct in this argument, and it stomps all over his character development towards Nightmare’s death. Neither should be correct, because both have their own motivations. If it was accurate to Dream’s characterization presented, the fight shouldn’t have even happened. If it was before his arc, then yes, it would make more sense. But the lack of apology or conclusion post-acceptance-arc shows that it isn’t about Dream’s lack of awareness. It’s just about making him the angel of the multiverse while Ink is villainized once again for things out of his control.

And before people say Ink has a choice in the matter- no he does NOT. If he angers the creators, he loses his vials which are his temporary soul. He will turn into a husk and basically die. If he does not appease them and abide by the minimum rules in place, he will lose everything. Though he doesn’t listen to ALL the rules, that’s more fanon than anything. In his canon, he abides by them (mostly) and only interacts with outcodes- which is why he’s close with Top. Even if he doesn’t, he doesn’t push his luck too much to upset them or fail at his job, and stays hidden most of the time to keep the AUS from interacting with him. I can’t see him keeping that from Dream either- especially since Ink isn’t one to form connections and if he committed to a team-up, he had to actually care about Dream enough to trust him with those secrets. If Dream still shunned him and Ink was written to STILL be in the wrong, it’s a direct injustice to Ink and what’s on the line for him, and it paints Dream as selfish with a god complex. Which is fine! You can have a character with flaws! I would be so fine if it WAS about Dream’s flaws. But it isn’t. Because Canon Dream is a Mary sue of a character who can’t do anything wrong.

And don’t get it twisted, I LOVE Dream, which is why this fight angers me. If you want the fight, have Dream apologize to Ink and Vice versa in the future and come to an understanding. Allow Dream to admit his wrongdoings and have Ink do the same. Or if you don’t want that and want Dream to have more complex flaws toward Ink, THATS FINE!! THAT IS LITERALLY FINE TO MAKE DREAM A JERK IN CERTAIN SITUATIONS BC HE SHOULDN’T BE PERFECT. NOBODY IS. Make characters with history complex instead of tools to make your character more of an angel. Or don’t have the friendship breakup at all and have it be a fight that they work through together. You don’t even need to keep them working together. Like god just give Dream more complexity besides a little smol bean angel who is manipulated by everyone he meets.

My older sister and RoseVerse Co-writer saying it best: “i think this is the thing that arcane fumbled on when it came to cait

because they thought they wrote her has a beacon of virtue that when pointed in the wrong direction is catostrophic

but the narrative spent so much time trying to make the audience understand her instead of put in the work to teach her that yes, although she was manipulated, her drive to punish the undercity over one grief made her a hypocrite her mother wouldnt have recognized

dream in the same vein is supposed to be clear and cut archetype of goodness, and by that logic, nothing he does can be wrong

oh God killed all those people in the flood? he's good, and god is kindness and therefore the death was not only justified by merciful. but dream *cant* be an archtype of goodness if you also want them to have a character arc, they need to have flaws, be multi dimensional. you cant have your cake and eat it too. dream betrays ink and himself when he's met with the same situation and enacts the very violence he swore to protect his brother from. to frame that as good because dream is written to be good is crazy”

This is why I literally chose to ignore the fight exists because Ink and Dream are way too compatible as friends to be dumbed down in a stupidly written fight for Dream to get goody points.

[iniquitousyearning]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Eighteen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Angst, Fighting/Bickering, Sexual Tension, Dirty Talk, Grinding, Kissing, Teasing, Anger Issues, Slight Degradation.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

In the hushed atmosphere of Dumbledore's office, the venerable headmaster sat regally behind his desk, his piercing eyes gazing over the rim of half-moon spectacles. Mattheo Riddle, an embodiment of stoic strength, stood tall beside you. His usual cool demeanor was marred by a simmering rage, evident in the tight clench of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. You, on the other hand, stood meekly, your nerves palpable, a stark departure from your typically composed self.

"Thank you both for joining me at this early hour," Dumbledore's voice cut through the silence, stern and unyielding. There was no warmth in his tone despite his polite words. "I understand there was an altercation involving Mr. Berkshire and the both of you, Mr. Riddle. Is my understanding correct?"

Mattheo stood like a monolith, his façade unyielding, revealing nothing but a subtle inclination of his head in response. You stole a quick glance at him, a surge of frustration bubbling within you, wishing you could shake him out of his cold indifference, aching to see any sign of remorse or regret just for the sake of Dumbledores scrutiny. The room was saturated with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the distant murmur of students in the corridors, amplifying the tension in the air.

Dumbledore sighed, his disappointment evident as he shifted in his chair, his gaze fixed on both of you. "I must express my profound disappointment," he began, his words measured but stern. "Your actions were deeply troubling. Resorting to extreme violence, regardless of the provocation, is not the way we resolve conflicts here at Hogwarts."

Mattheo's eyes sparked with a hint of irritation, his silence resonating with unspoken defiance, his fists clenched in his pockets. The weight of his anger hung in the air, intensifying your own nervousness. Your palms grew damp, your fingers twitching with unease as they hung anxiously at your sides.

"As for you," Dumbledore's gaze shifted toward you, his expression softening slightly, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I am beyond relieved to know that you were not hurt, and I must say, you displayed commendable courage in the face of danger," he said, his words carrying the weight of acknowledgment. "You have once again proven yourself as a remarkable and strong young witch. I have no doubt that you will continue to exhibit such qualities for as long as you remain here. There are no reprimands to be given to you, and please, if you need any support at all, my door is always open."

A rush of heat surged through your veins, his words igniting a spark of excitement in your chest that you couldn't suppress even if you tried. With a soft, appreciative smile, you nodded, swallowing hard, acutely aware of the gravity of the situation.

"However," Dumbledore continued, his gaze shifting back and forth between you and the still tense Mattheo. "In light of this incident, Mr. Riddle, consequences must be faced. There is no way around it."

Mattheo's facade remained as unyielding as ever, but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. You, on the other hand, felt a mixture of dread and frustration at the injustice of the situation. The fact that Mattheo had to face punishment for defending you didn't sit right with you, stirring a storm of emotions within.

"Given the unique circumstances of this situation," Dumbledore continued, his gleaming eyes locked on Mattheo, "I'm willing to offer you a choice." His voice held a sense of gravity, emphasizing the importance of the decision. "You can either serve detention a few times a week for a month, during which you will also participate in counseling sessions to address your anger management issues...or, I can arrange a Mentorship for you."

This grabbed Mattheo's attention, and admittedly, yours too--your voice penetrating the air before anyone had a chance to even blink. "A Mentorship?"

"Indeed," he affirmed, his gaze shifting between you and Mattheo. "Tom has provided commendable feedback about your capabilities within the guild. I believe this presents a perfect opportunity for you, provided Mr. Riddle is willing to embark on this path. Your role would involve guiding and supporting him as he confronts his challenges. Instead of formal counseling, you will be his coach, helping him navigate his problems and providing the necessary guidance."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before elaborating further. "You'll be required to maintain a detailed log, documenting the situations that provoke his anger and the strategies you employ to help him cope. This log will serve as a valuable resource, aiding us in evaluating his progress and providing targeted support where needed...in order to do so, you would be required to shadow him for a few weeks, outside of class time of course."

His tone softened, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I have faith in your ability to make a difference, young witch. This mentorship holds the potential to not only help Mr. Riddle manage his anger but also foster a sense of understanding and empathy between both of you...you have been the only one thus far who has truly been able to make a difference in helping him achieve success...I'd have never suggested this if I didn't think it would work."

The weight of Dumbledore's words hung in the air, a heavy silence stretching between the three of you. Your gaze shifted to Mattheo, his features etched with a mix of unreadable emotions. Time seemed to slow, the tension in the room palpable. After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as he prepared to speak. His voice, when he finally spoke, was firm, each word carrying the weight of his resolve.

"No," he said, his eyes locking onto yours, a storm raging within them. "I won't do the mentorship."

Your heart plummeted to your feet, a sinking feeling spreading through you like icy tendrils. You were certain you were going to be sick.

"What? Why not?" you blurted out, the words escaping your lips before you could fully comprehend the weight of the situation.

Before Mattheo could respond, Dumbledore's voice cut through the building tension in the room.

"I understand this is a significant decision, Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said, his tone measured. "I will give you until Wednesday, two days from now, to give your answer. Take this time to think about it wisely. My advice for you to take with you as you leave, is that if someone makes you feel, let them. It's a rare gift to be truly understood."

Mattheo's response to Dumbledore's words was an infuriating silence, his lack of acknowledgment felt like a slap in the face. He spun around abruptly, his demeanor so icily distant that it sent a wave of frustration surging through you. Embarrassment clung to you like a second skin, the prickling annoyance intensifying as he navigated the situation with all the subtlety of a raging bull. Despite the tumult of questions and emotions swirling inside you, you stifled them, opting for professionalism in the face of his blatant disregard.

Desperate to maintain your composure, you managed a tight-lipped expression of thanks to Dumbledore, somehow managing to suppress just how fucking furious you were. And as you briskly exited the office, you huffed in frustration, hastening to catch up with Mattheo's brisk strides who had already made it half way down the hallway at this point.

Gasping for breath, you pushed through the bustling crowd of students, your determination fueling your pursuit of Mattheo, his long strides effortlessly outpacing your hurried steps. You called out his name, your voice almost drowned out by the chatter of the passing students. Despite your efforts, he continued to distance himself, his figure becoming a mere blur in the sea of moving bodies.

Driven by sheer persistence, you pushed harder, your determination propelling you forward. It took several minutes of relentless chasing, your voice echoing down the corridor, before he finally came to a halt. His broad frame towered over you, his chest heaving with pent-up anger as he turned to face you, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"What the fuck do you want?" he snapped, his words laced with a potent mix of frustration and hostility, the raw energy practically crackling in the air around him.

"Excuse me?" Your response was tinged with incredulity, your irritation palpable. "Would you like to start over?"

Mattheo ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his jaw clenched in visible annoyance. He scanned the corridor, his eyes darting around as students hurried past, completely oblivious to the tension brewing between the two of you in their midst.

"If you think you're going to change my fucking mind, you're not," he hissed, his gaze locking onto yours with unwavering determination. "Don't waste your breath."

Your frustration flared, your brows furrowing as you glared back at him. "Can't we at least talk about it?"

"No," he retorted sharply, adjusting his tie with a swift motion. "We're just going to fucking fight."

Nervously, you glanced around, ensuring no prying eyes were lingering on the intense exchange between you and Mattheo. The corridor buzzed with the hushed conversations of passing students, each one oblivious to the storm of emotions brewing between you.

"I don't care if we fight, I don't care if you literally yell and swear at me...we always fight, Mattheo, that's what we fucking do." You stepped closer, dropping your voice lower. "We are talking about this. Wether you like it or not."

After a moment of intense silence, the challenge in your eyes seemed to finally register with Mattheo--annoyance flicking across his features before he gave an exasperated nod. He motioned for you to follow him, his tall frame moving purposefully toward an empty classroom nearby. With a swift motion, he popped open the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His eyes scanned the hallway, ensuring no prying eyes were watching the two of you.

As you entered the empty classroom, your mind raced with conflicting thoughts. The sweet, vulnerable boy you had encountered in his dorm room on Saturday night was nowhere to be found. Instead, you faced the hardened, brooding Mattheo, a stark contrast to the person you had glimpsed during your intimate encounter. The disparity left you unsettled, a feeling of confusion mingling with your frustration.

Inside the classroom, the door clicked shut, drowning out the clamor of the bustling corridor outside. With a quick turn, you dropped your bag and confronted Mattheo, your eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and pity, unable to fathom the complexities of the man standing before you.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you exclaimed, your words slicing through the tense silence. There was no holding back now that you were alone. You searched his dark eyes, desperately trying to decipher the turmoil within him. "I mean, what are you thinking-"

"Stop," Mattheo interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a dagger as he took a step forward.

"No," you retorted, refusing to back down. "Don't you see-"

In an instant, Mattheo closed the distance between you, his presence engulfing you as he pressed you back against the desk. Your bodies were inches apart, the proximity sending shockwaves through your senses.

"I fucking said stop," he spat, his teeth clenched, his eyes burning with intensity. "Stop looking at me like that, Raven..."

Your heart stumbled in your chest. "What-"

"All I am to you is a fucking tragedy, right?" he snarled, his anger radiating off him in waves. "Just some loser you want to fix, yeah? Take me in as your new little project to impress your future boss...follow me around all day like a fucking dog..."

"N-no-" you stuttered, your pulse thundering in your ears. "That's not what this is about, Mattheo..."

Helping him was a genuine desire, not some shallow attempt to gain favour, but you knew that it'd be hard to convince him of that, considering that he knows just how much you have been dreaming for an opportunity like this. The words caught in your throat, but he didn't relent.

"Bullshit, Raven...I won't be your charity case," he spat, his tone laced with defiance. "I won't fucking do it."

The air swirled with tension as he stood, a formidable figure, glaring down at you. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, matching the rhythm of your racing heart. His words hung between you, heavy with accusation and resentment. He shook his head, a frustrated growl escaping his lips, and raked a hand through his disheveled hair. With a defeated sigh, he moved to a nearby chair, slumping down into it, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Caught off guard by the sudden intensity of his anger, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. The silence stretched, pregnant with unspoken emotions. Slowly, you found your voice, laced with a mixture of frustration and genuine concern.

"Who did that to you?" You said, fingers trembling at your sides. "Who fucked you up so bad, emotionally and mentally, that you've completely shut down anyone who tries to fucking help you?"

"Give me a bloody break," he hissed, bitterness dripping from his words as he rolled his eyes dismissively. "Romanticize me all you wish, Raven, but the devil wrapped in silk is still the fucking devil."

Your chest tightened at his cutting words, a potent blend of hurt and frustration surging within you. Desperate to maintain your composure, you ran a trembling hand through your own hair, now, attempting to quell the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

"Why are you being like this?" you shot back, your voice quivering with a mix of anger and vulnerability. "Is it because you got what you wanted from me, and now you're reverting to being a complete asshole?"

"Don't even fucking go there," Mattheo's anger surged, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous intensity, his tone dripping with venom. "I never forced you to fuck me...that was completely your choice..."

Your heart plummeted to the floor at his words, your stomach twisting into a knot so tight it felt like it might suffocate you. A choked sound escaped your lips, barely audible as you croaked out, "Oh, gods..." there was a brief pause before you managed to find your voice again. "It was all an act? Is that what it was, Mattheo?"

Mattheo grumbled, once again rolling his eyes in exasperation as his head fell back, his gaze fixated on the ceiling.

"Not an act, Raven," he replied, his voice weary. "I meant everything I said, but this is who I am, don't you fucking dare act like you didn't know that already."

At his words, you were fucking stunned. A tempest of emotions raged within, a maelstrom of desire and frustration, adoration and resentment, crashing against the walls of your heart. Adoration burned hot, entwined with bitter resentment, all while desire surged like a wildfire, intertwined with seething fury.

The tumultuous whirlwind of feelings left you teetering on the edge of reason, torn between the impulse to hurl something at him and the overwhelming urge to throw yourself into his arms.

With a long, trembling sigh, you expelled some of the tension from your lungs, your eyes fixated on him--his tousled brown hair, those mesmerizing brown eyes, the sharp contour of his jawline, and those strong, powerful hands that made you weak in an instant. He was complex, complicated; Gods, so fucking complicated, but he was yours.

"I should get my damn head examined for being associated with you," after a moment, you shook your head, a bitter grumble escaping your lips. "Gods, I hate you sometimes."

Mattheo's eyes sparked with a devilish amusement at your words, his demeanor oozing arrogance that set your body ablaze with a single glance.

"Oh, you hate me, huh?" he sneered, his voice dripping with provocation. He leaned back, lounging in his chair, his legs spreading wider as he patted his lap. "Why don't you come sit on my lap and tell me all about it, baby? I'll drill that hatred out of you real fucking good..."

"Grow up, Mattheo," you said, trying to suppress the wildfire of lust that he awakened in your lungs. Playfully rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the desk. "Don't try to seduce me out of discussing your insanity issues."

"Yeah, that's what I thought Raven," Mattheo huffed, his amusement evident. "You don't hate anything...isn't that why my name never seems to leave your filthy little mouth, hm?"

"Oh, I'd say your name leaves my mouth quite often, actually..." you shot back, smirking. "Mostly when I'm cursing you for being the insufferable asshole that you are, just like right now."

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, the tension in the room escalating by the second. "Hate me all you want, princess, but you're always gonna' love how I fuck you."

You let out an exasperated huff, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. "That sounds a lot like a challenge, Mattheo."

"Can't be a challenge without any competition, baby," his voice was low and husky, his confidence sending shivers down your spine. "Consider it a fucking promise."

Releasing a breath of amusement, you stood up straight, and with a deliberate, almost hypnotic sway of your hips, you began to close the distance between you and Mattheo. His eyes, dark and alluring, drank in every curve of your body as you approached, watching as you delicately pulled your lip between your teeth, a gesture that spoke volumes. Your eyes trailed down his form and then back up, locking onto his with unwavering intensity. His tailored uniform strained against his strong shoulders, accentuating the raw power beneath, his legs spread confidently, and his arm casually draped around the back of the chair as that devilish smirk of his played on his mouth.

Pausing right in front of him, you leaned in, the soft scent of his cologne filling your senses. Your fingers, like a whisper, brushed against his lips, tracing the contours as if seeking entrance to the mysteries he held within. Your voice, barely more than a sultry murmur, hung in the charged air between you.

"There are secrets in here," you purred, your touch sending shivers down his spine, "and I want them out."

Mattheo's breath hitched, a low, guttural sound escaping his lips as he fought to restrain himself. His eyes, dark and stormy, were fixated on you with a hunger that was impossible to ignore.

"Fucking hell..." he breathed, his voice laced with desire and frustration, "I'll tell you anything you want to fucking know, Raven, as long as you let me bend you over this desk right quick..."

Your entire body swarmed with lust, an insatiable need that coursed through your veins. Without a second thought, you climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. A sigh escaped your lips, head falling back in surrender as his lips trailed along your jawline. However, determination flickered in your eyes, a fierce intensity that matched his own desire.

"I want answers first, Mattheo," you breathed, your voice a sultry whisper, "then you can have me. Gods, you can have me anywhere you fucking want."

Mattheo growled, his hips instinctively surging against your core as he struggled to contain his desire. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, he whispered, his voice husky with need, "I want you everywhere, Raven...against the wall, over the desk, on a fucking table in the Great Hall..."

"Shit..." you breathed, your words a desperate plea, quickly losing yourself in his fervor. "Then you better get talking, Matty...don't you want this? Don't you want me to be able to follow you around all day without drawing suspicion? We'd be able to hide in plain fucking sight..."

"No," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hip bones, his touch a blend of desire and restraint. "I mean, yes, but fuck, no...you'll be too close, it'll be too much..."

"Too close?" Your brows furrowed, your frustration giving way to determination as you buried your hands in his hair. "What does that even mean?"

"A man I called my best fucking friend put his goddamn hands on you...he tried to fucking force himself on you...if you hadn't come around, if you'd never known me, that never would have happened...I will only bring bad things into your fucking life...I can't risk it..." his voice was low now, resonating deep within you like a thunderous echo. "You're my only fucking weakness...they'll start to notice it...someone will try to hurt you to get to me...and I can't--"

Cutting him off, your lips crashed onto his, a desperate, passionate kiss that silenced his words, your body molding against his, fingers gripping him with a fierce intensity. In that moment, words ceased to matter, and all that remained was the raw, unspoken connection between you, a bond forged in defiance of the world around you. You understood his concern, you understood his fears, but everything else be damned, you knew you'd go through fucking hell and back if it meant you could hold his stupid hand.

"I'm your weakness, huh?" you murmured, pulling back, your fingers delicately tangled in his curls, your hips moving provocatively against his, noting the subtle clenching of his jaw. "Guess it's time to prove how strong you really are, big boy..."

"Raven," Mattheo groaned, his dark, smoldering eyes fixated on your lips, his breath hitching with desire. "Keep grinding that tight little cunt on me like this and I promise I'll show you just how fucking strong I can be..."

"It's tempting, I'll admit..." you whispered, your voice a sultry murmur, slowing the movement of your hips as you took a sharp, shuddering breath to compose yourself. "Look, I understand your concerns, and I won't tell you what choice to make, but it'd mean the fucking world to me if you reconsidered...I don't know about you, but I'm not entirely satisfied with only seeing each other twice a week during tutoring..."

"Mm." Mattheo's low hum resonated against your skin, his lips trailing a path of warmth over the sensitive flesh of your neck. "Addicted to me already, aren't you?"

"Shamelessly," you confessed, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a sultry whisper. "Mostly to that talented tongue of yours, though. The rest of you, well, I suppose I could manage without..."

"You wound me," he chided, his voice laced with mock hurt, his teeth lightly nipping your earlobe in a teasing manner. "Can't tell if you fucking love or hate me, Raven...don't think I've ever met someone like that..."

Your muscles tightened in response, his strained tone drawing a low sigh from your throat. "Does that bother your precious ego, Riddle?"

"It bothers something, Raven, but definitely not my ego," he growled, his grip on you tightening possessively. "You drive me fucking crazy, did you know you got that effect?"

"Hm, let me check," you pondered, a playful smirk gracing your lips as you smoothly slipped out of his lap. His fingers reluctantly released their hold on your hips, his groan of reluctance filling the room. "Yeah, I did."

"Where the hell are you going?" he grumbled, his hand adjusting his straining arousal in a futile attempt to ease the tension. "You said if I told you-"

"I know what I said, but I lied." you retorted, a nonchalant shrug emphasizing your indifference as you moved toward your bag, slouched on the floor. Your hidden smirk played on your lips. "Apologies, Riddle, but I'm already late to meeting Emily."

"You're unbelievable," Mattheo stood, his eyebrows raised in disbelief at your audacity. "Just wait until I get you alone later, princess," he huffed, his voice saturated with a promise that sent shivers down your spine. "You're going to regret this."

A rush of excitement coursed through you, the sincerity in his tone electrifying. "Is that a threat?"

"Consider it yet another promise," he replied, stepping closer, his hand gently tilting your head back to meet his intense gaze. "You know what they say, Raven...little girls that tease, end up on their fucking knees."

He leaned down, his presence enveloping you as he brushed his lips over yours in a feather-light kiss, sending a tingling sensation through your body. The delicate touch lingered for a heartbeat, a fleeting moment of intimacy, before he released you, stepping aside with a subtle gesture, allowing you to head toward the door.

"I look forward to it, then," you grinned, your heart thundering in your chest as you made your way past him. "And I must say, I genuinely do hope you change your mind, Riddle...it would be such a shame if you were occupied with constant detentions and therapy sessions, wouldn't it? I might get terribly bored…most likely would have to find someone else to entertain myself with…”

Almost immediately after the words left your lips, Mattheo's fury exploded in his eyes, a storm of anger and frustration. He lunged for your arm, but you slipped past him with agility, your adrenaline-fueled speed giving you the advantage. With a swift movement, you whipped open the door, leaving him seething in your wake, his voice echoing with pent-up rage as he called after you, his words lost in the distance as you made your escape.

————-

Chapter nineteen->

[shmlnbstrcnd]

How AOT's main trio set Ymir free

Eren, Armin, and Mikasa all taught the Founder Ymir valuable lessons, and were instrumental in setting her free. All three of them caught Ymir's attention and she made the effort to reach out to them personally in different ways, observe them, learn from them.

First Eren reached her in the Paths and told her that she's her own person, and can choose what SHE wants rather than follow orders. This was the first time in her long, miserable life, that someone called her a human being. The first time in 2000 years (that would have felt even longer in the Paths, closer to millions of years), that she was told what happened to her was wrong. In her life, she had spent her whole life as a dehumanized slave without any acknowledgement of her own humanity. Eren opened her eyes (literally) to the injustice of her situation and taught her autonomy.

Then Armin arrived to fight Eren, and Ymir watched his every movement closely, even stealing him into the Paths with the Okapi and trapping him there. She watched his conversation with Zeke where he shared that the meaning of life is in appreciating the little moments and the love you already have rather than chasing an unattainable dream. In her life, she longed for an unattainable love/validation from King Fritz who was incapable of giving it to her, since he's a monstrous psychopath. She lived and died yearning for something she would never receive, rather than living for what she had (her daughters). Armin taught her the true meaning of life.

Lastly, Mikasa. From the moment Ymir noticed Mikasa's love for Eren, she was intrigued. She began to peak through Mikasa's lifetime memories, causing her headaches. Then Mikasa killed Eren despite loving him, knowing it's the right thing to do and proving she's not a slave. Ymir herself couldn't do this in her own life, instead choosing to die for the monster she loved, instead of killing him. Mikasa taught her that love does not equal submission.

In the end, all three of the main trio were instrumental in setting Ymir free. In her last appearance, Ymir had a vision of what she wished she had done, what she WOULD have done had she received these three lessons earlier in her life. She would have protected her beloved daughters, the truly important and precious things in her life, rather than being a slave to the abusive king. If she were given another chance, she would have let him die.

In the end, Ymir's deepest most primal desire was a pure and loving human connection, some semblance of tenderness and care, something she was so deprived of. This desire was so strong that it bled into every single Eldian, connecting them all to Ymir through the Paths. One lonely, abused little girl's desperate need to be loved, enveloping every one of her subjects, binding them all to her in an all-consuming web. She has always been desperately reaching out to other people.

In her ill young mind she mistook the king's sick """rewards""" as that love she craved. Eren made her realize "what he did to me was wrong and I have a right to my anger", Armin made her realize "I shouldn't have waited for love from him that would've never come and instead cherished the love of my children", Mikasa made her realize "I should have let him die/killed him myself". Acknowledging all this and making peace with her tragic life and the decisions she made, allowed her to let go. She finally moved on, and in this moment, she appeared not as an immature child, like she did throughout the Rumbling, but now as a grown adult woman.

Ymir's story in the finale is essentially a coming-of-age story from the perspective of a mentally ill, dehumanized slave. She starts the finale as someone with arrested development lashing out at the world, and ends it as an adult at peace with herself. Eren invited her to indulge in her rage. Armin helped her consider what was truly important. Mikasa healed her and allowed her to let go. All three protagonists were valuable and influential in freeing Ymir.

[starfallkaz]

Babel Spoilers!!!

Been thinking a lot about Letty Price and her inability to comprehend how the act of Robin, Victoire and Ramy standing up and joining a resistance against Babel was so integral to their identities and experiences as POC and scholars in Britain.

How could they hate and do this to a nation that gave them so much? That gave them literature and translation, education and funding and the ability to expand their minds. How could they turn their backs on that?

She could not conceive that they had been given these opportunities, but at every turn they were disrespected and mistreated for who they were. Given rewards and treats and opportunities with the consolation that yes “you are lesser than” but don’t worry we can beat the ethnic out of you. And to hang that over you, it is only natural to form a twisted sense of self-worth contingent on the whily and abusive whims of their oppressor. The constant need to prove that they were worthy of acknowledgment, of this position. The anger and twisted gratuity for the opportunity, but injustice in being used for their minds and their abilities by an empire refusing to acknowledge them as humans, let alone equals. Stolen bodies and stolen lands.

And Letty, her only framework of suffering was the coddling of a girl in an upperclass white family and the restrictions of conservative social constructs. That while hindering and discouraging, were not a question of life and death or of humanity, but of simple opportunity and intelligence. And looking through these eyes, how could she comprehend such a thing?

[pippin-katz]

Random Satisfying & Clever Moments Of Audio From Dead Boy Detectives - Part 4

There's a few moments in DBD that utilize audio really well, or use sounds that always stick out to me while watching, and these are some of those moments!

This one is a bit of longer one, and might not make sense to everyone, but I'll do my best to explain it below!

Ep. 4 - The Case of the Lighthouse Leapers: The lack of music when Charles gets up after the trauma nightmare, then the addition of just The Wellerman song as he advances on the Night Nurse.

Using sound is very important, but so is the lack of sound. The lack of music or sound effects as Charles starts winding up the music sphere creates tension. After the overwhelming amount of stimuli in his trauma nightmare, the quiet is unsettling. It is the calm before the storm; that moment when everything is too still, too quiet, and you have a gut feeling that something is wrong.

Watching Charles wind the music sphere, speaking with such conviction, yet also composure, after everything she just put him through, it's unnerving. An explosion of blind rage would be expected, not the calculated way he twists the handle, walking and talking with full clarity and awareness of the situation.

The music sphere being wound up also coincides with Charles' emotions. The Night Nurse practically did exactly that to him by forcing him through all of that pain. Charles even acknowledges that she accomplished her goal: to make him crushed and devastated. But she didn't take into account his resilience, his strength; someone else would be helpless and sobbing on the ground after what she showed him, but Charles?

He knows how it felt. He was fucking there. He knows how much it hurt. He knows how unjust and unfair his life and death were. For the Night Nurse to play it for him like a slideshow presentation, as if he needs to be taught, pisses him the fuck off. Charles is furious that this woman has the audacity to walk into his nightmares and lecture him, as if she has any comprehension or understanding of what it was like to experience it.

I think it's part of why he mentions the memories specifically when he's about to kick her: "Those memories are not why I choose to stay here!"

Charles is fully aware of what he went through, and he's moved on, or is trying to at the very least. He does not want all the horrible things that happened to him while he was alive control and influence every decision he makes. He's not that sixteen-year-old boy trembling in a corner anymore; he does not have to bend in the face of danger and injustice. He can stand up for himself, for others, and he will because he wants to. It's not to make up for some "failure" from his life. It's who Charles wants to be.

SO! Back to the audio specifically, the use of The Wellerman song is obviously fitting since the sphere was used by sailors to "calm the seas", but also because there is something inherently haunting about that tune. It's right after he says that he's angry that he pulls the pin out; after trying so hard to hold back all his anger and pain, Charles is ready to let it loose.

The beats of the scene then follow the music. From the moment the song starts to the end of the first verse, the first "segment" of the fight happens. Charles speaks, she tries to reply, he hits her, and she reacts in that timespan. There are very faint bass notes underneath the song after he's hit her. They get louder as the song progresses, reintroducing the score of the show.

When Charles takes a second swing, it's at the start of the chorus of the song.

(The difference between verse and chorus is the starting note. Verses start low and get higher; choruses start high and stay high until the very end.)

During that chorus, Charles swings and hits her; he very nearly lines up his swings with the notes, but not quite. Then he speaks once she's backed against the wall. He lets go of the music sphere in the middle of the chorus, and completes his lines up to: "I still have a purpose!" as it ends. That's the second "segment" of the fight.

The second verse starts with him making his declaration and kicking her, and it plays out as the Night Nurse falls. The second half of the verse swells into a full score version of the song instead of just the sound of it coming from the sphere. It's the third and final "segment". Charles ends the confrontation, and once Angie disappears, the song fades out.

This sequence is such a good example of knowing when to cut the music, and how to gradually reintroduce it. It enhances the uneasiness you're meant to feel while watching Charles' anger slowly escalate. It's part of what makes the whole scene so effective.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

(ko-fi)

[bananafiction]

The Weight of Silence Part 1

Olivia Benson x Genderless Reader

2k words

The precinct hummed with the low buzz of voices, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards, and the shuffling of files as the Special Victims Unit delved into another case. You leaned back in your chair, stretching your tired arms over your head, stealing a glance at Captain Olivia Benson’s office. The glass walls of her office provided a clear view of her, head bent over a pile of files, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her desk lamp cast a soft glow that framed her in shadows, giving her an aura of authority and elegance.

You had been Olivia’s lieutenant for years now. Together, you’d seen more horrors than you cared to remember, stood in the thick of crimes that shook the city to its core, and brought justice to those who couldn’t fight for themselves. But through it all, you had stood by Olivia’s side. It wasn’t just a professional relationship—it was a bond forged in fire, through trust, respect, and something more, something neither of you dared to acknowledge.

There was an undeniable chemistry between you, something you could feel in every shared glance, every brush of her hand against yours, and every quiet moment spent side by side, piecing together the details of a case. It lingered like a shadow between you, this unspoken tension that crackled in the air, and though you both pretended it wasn’t there, everyone in the precinct knew.

“Lieutenant, we got something.” Fin’s voice broke you from your thoughts.

You turned toward him, grateful for the distraction. He held a tablet out to you, a frown pulling at his lips. “Take a look at this.”

You took the tablet, your eyes narrowing as you read over the autopsy report. The victim, a 16-year-old girl named Lily Sampson, had been found three days earlier in a dilapidated apartment building on the outskirts of Manhattan. Bruises covered her body, and the evidence pointed to a particularly violent sexual assault. The medical examiner had just confirmed that the DNA found at the scene was a match for a known predator—a man by the name of Gavin Ross, who had slipped through the cracks of the justice system more than once. A chill ran down your spine. Ross was bad news, and if he was involved, this case was far from over.

Olivia emerged from her office, her sharp gaze landing on you. She seemed to sense the change in the room, her posture immediately shifting to one of alertness. “What do we have?”

You passed her the tablet. “It’s worse than we thought. DNA came back, and it’s a match for Gavin Ross.”

Her eyes darkened as she skimmed through the report. “Ross… Damn it. I thought we’d locked him up two years ago.”

“We did. He got out on a technicality. Bad evidence collection on a prior case,” you said, your voice laced with frustration. “And now we’ve got a dead teenager on our hands.”

Olivia clenched her jaw, her eyes flashing with anger and determination. “We’re not letting him slip through again. Not this time.”

Her resolve was one of the things you admired most about her. No matter how dark or twisted a case got, she never gave up. But with cases like this, you knew it took a toll. She bore the weight of every victim, carried the burden of every injustice like a cross. You saw it in the way her shoulders tensed at every new revelation, in the tired lines that had begun to crease her face.

“Let’s bring him in,” Olivia said, her voice firm. “Fin, Rollins, see if you can get an address on Ross. He’s slippery, but he’s got a pattern. Check the usual haunts.”

As the team dispersed, you caught up to Olivia. “Do you think we’ll get him this time?”

Her expression softened for just a moment, a fleeting crack in her armor. “We have to.”

Hours passed in a blur of dead ends and frustration. Ross had gone underground. Fin and Rollins had come up empty at every location they searched. You could see the tension building in Olivia’s shoulders, the weight of the case pressing down on her. As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the squad room began to empty out, officers heading home or grabbing a few hours of sleep before the next shift. But you and Olivia remained, as always, locked in the hunt.

You sat across from her at her desk, the two of you going over case notes, when Olivia suddenly slammed a file shut, frustration bubbling over. “We’re missing something,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

You watched her carefully. “We’ll find him, Liv. We always do.”

She looked up at you, her eyes softening at the sound of your voice. There it was again, that unspoken connection—just beneath the surface, always there, always waiting. “You should go home. Get some rest. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

“I’ll go when you go,” you said, your voice gentle but firm.

A small smile tugged at her lips, the first one you’d seen all day. “Stubborn as ever, huh?”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “It’s one of my many talents.”

The brief flicker of amusement in her eyes warmed your chest, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced by the heavy burden of the case. Olivia’s hand moved to the file in front of her, fingers tracing the edge of a photograph of the victim, her eyes distant. “She was so young,” she whispered, more to herself than to you. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

You stood and moved around her desk, standing beside her. You didn’t say anything—there was nothing to say that would make it better. But you placed a hand on her shoulder, offering silent support. She glanced up at you, and for a moment, something passed between you, something raw and unguarded.

Her gaze flicked to your hand on her shoulder, and you quickly pulled away, clearing your throat. The tension crackled in the air like static electricity, the pull between you undeniable. But, like always, it was left unsaid.

Before either of you could say anything more, Rollins burst through the doors of the squad room, her face flushed with urgency. “We’ve got something. A tip came in—Ross was spotted at a motel down in Hell’s Kitchen. We’ve got units headed there now.”

Olivia shot to her feet, all traces of fatigue gone. “Let’s go.”

You were already moving, adrenaline pumping through your veins as the three of you rushed out of the precinct, sirens blaring as you sped through the darkened streets of Manhattan.

The motel was a run-down, seedy place tucked away in the shadows of Hell’s Kitchen. The kind of place where people disappeared. As you approached, your heart pounded in your chest. This was it—your chance to bring Ross in before he slipped away again.

“Units have the perimeter secured,” Rollins reported, her voice low as the three of you approached the motel doors, weapons drawn. “He’s holed up in room 214.”

Olivia nodded, her face a mask of focus. “Let’s do this.”

You took position beside her, exchanging a quick glance. In that brief second, the rest of the world fell away. It was just you and her, two parts of the same machine, moving together without needing to speak. The trust between you was absolute.

Olivia knocked on the door, her voice authoritative. “NYPD! Gavin Ross, open up!”

Silence.

Your grip tightened on your weapon, your pulse quickening. Every second felt like an eternity. Then, suddenly, the door flew open, and Ross bolted.

“Stop!” Olivia shouted, but Ross didn’t listen.

You sprang into action, chasing him down a narrow alley behind the motel. The sound of your footsteps echoed in the confined space as you closed the distance between you. You could hear Olivia right behind you, her breath labored but determined.

Ross darted around a corner, but you were faster. You lunged forward, tackling him to the ground. He struggled, but you pinned him down, twisting his arm behind his back as you slapped the cuffs on him.

Olivia was beside you in an instant, her eyes blazing with triumph. “You’re done, Ross. You’re not getting away this time.”

Ross spat at her feet, but Olivia didn’t flinch. She stood tall, her presence commanding as always, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. This was what you did, what you both did—together.

Back at the precinct, the team was abuzz with the victory. Ross was in custody, the case was wrapped, and Lily Sampson’s family would finally have justice. It was a rare moment of celebration in a job that so often ended in heartbreak.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, you found yourself back at Olivia’s office. She was sitting at her desk, her expression thoughtful, but there was a quiet satisfaction in her eyes.

You knocked softly on the doorframe. “Mind if I come in?”

She looked up, a small smile playing on her lips. “Always.”

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. There was a comfortable silence between you, the weight of the case finally lifting. But just as you began to settle into that brief moment of reprieve, your phone buzzed. The precinct’s alert system flashed across the screen—a new development. Something big.

Olivia’s phone buzzed at the same time. She looked at you, her brow furrowing. “What is it?”

You glanced at your phone. “Ross’s prints came up on another crime scene. It just came in.”

Olivia’s face darkened, the weariness of the day replaced by a sharp edge of concern. “Another crime scene? When?”

You scrolled through the alert. “Two days ago. The body of a woman found in a park in Queens. Her face wasn’t recognizable, but the prints match Ross.”

A heavy silence settled between you. You thought you had him, thought this was finally over, but it seemed Ross had been busy before you caught him. Another victim. Another life lost.

Olivia rubbed her temples, her voice low but full of resolve. “We need to talk to him again. If there’s another victim, we can’t afford to wait.”

You nodded, already standing up. “I’ll grab the case file on the new victim. Let’s go make sure he doesn’t slither out of this one.”

The precinct was quieter now, the late hour thinning out most of the officers and detectives, but as you and Olivia moved with purpose toward the holding cells, it felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Cases like this were never clean, never simple. They stuck to you, left scars that couldn’t be healed.

When you reached the interrogation room, Ross was slouched in his chair, his wrists shackled to the table, his face twisted into a smug smile that made your stomach turn. The guy had no remorse—he never had. He glanced up lazily as you and Olivia entered, his expression daring you to do something.

Olivia didn’t waste any time. “We found your prints at a second crime scene, Gavin. Two days ago. Another woman dead. You think this is over?”

He shrugged. “You got me on one, Benson. But two? You sure about that?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Olivia. This was typical of predators like Ross—never give anything up unless they had to. His cocky demeanor only made the tension between you and Olivia grow thicker, the unspoken frustration of dealing with another monster who thought he could outsmart the system.

Olivia stepped closer, her voice low and dangerous. “We’re sure, Gavin. And so is the DA. This isn’t just about Lily anymore. You’re going down for both, and we’ll make sure you rot in a cell for the rest of your miserable life.”

Ross’s smirk faltered slightly, but he leaned forward, his eyes glittering with something dark and twisted. “You really think you know me, Benson? You think you know everything I’ve done?” He chuckled, a sound that made your blood boil. “There’s more. And you won’t even scratch the surface.”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. You could feel the anger radiating off her in waves, but she didn’t give in to his provocation. Instead, she motioned for you to step outside with her.

Once in the hallway, you could see the tension in her posture, the way her fingers drummed against her side. You knew what she was thinking—this case was spiraling, and the more you learned, the darker it became.

“He’s taunting us,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but her frustration clear.

You nodded, your mind racing. “He’s hiding something. We need to dig deeper—check for other unsolved cases, anything that fits his MO.”

Olivia turned to you, her eyes intense, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to slow. You were standing closer than usual, the small space between you filled with that ever-present tension. Her eyes flicked over your face, lingering for just a moment too long.

You swallowed, feeling the pull, that undeniable chemistry that had been simmering for years. “We’ll get him,” you said, your voice softer than intended.

Olivia held your gaze for a second longer before nodding, her expression softening just a fraction. “We always do.”

The next day passed in a blur of information gathering and connecting dots. You worked tirelessly alongside Olivia, poring over files, cross-referencing old cases, and piecing together Ross’s movements. What you uncovered was chilling.

There were at least three other unsolved cases over the past year that matched Ross’s MO—each victim a young woman, each one lured to an isolated location and murdered brutally. The cases had slipped through the cracks, but now, with Ross in custody, it was clear he had been hunting for far longer than anyone had realized.

You and Olivia sat across from one another at a table covered in photos, maps, and reports. Your shoulders brushed occasionally as you leaned in to point out connections, the closeness sending small shocks through you. It was nothing new—this proximity—but lately, it felt heavier, more charged.

As you pointed to a spot on the map, showing where one of the victims had been found, Olivia’s hand brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away immediately, and your eyes met, lingering just a beat too long. There it was again—that unspoken electricity that had crackled between you for years.

You cleared your throat, pulling your hand back and trying to refocus. “If we push the DA, we might be able to tie Ross to these other cases. Build a stronger profile.”

Olivia nodded, her voice a little quieter than before. “You’re right. Let’s get the detectives on it.”

But even as you both continued to talk strategy, the air between you felt different. Something had shifted in that moment of accidental touch, something that neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge.

It was late again, the precinct emptying out as you and Olivia prepared for one final push. Ross had been formally charged for Lily’s murder and the second victim, but the investigation was far from over. You both knew there were more victims, more pieces to the puzzle that needed to be solved.

You found yourself sitting on the edge of Olivia’s desk as she reviewed the updated case files, the soft light from her desk lamp casting a warm glow over the room. There was a comfortable silence between you, the weight of the day’s work settling into your bones, but there was also something else—something that made your chest tighten every time you looked at her.

Olivia glanced up at you, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “You’re still here.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at the sound of her voice. “I said I’d go when you go.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze holding yours for a moment before she spoke again. “You always have my back, don’t you?”

There was something in her voice—something softer, more vulnerable. It caught you off guard.

“Always,” you replied, your voice equally soft. The word felt heavier than usual, like it carried more than just professional loyalty.

Olivia leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. The tension that usually held her so tightly seemed to slip away, and for the first time that night, she looked almost relaxed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the intensity of her words hanging between you. For a moment, the case, the precinct, the entire world seemed to fade away. All that remained was the two of you, the unspoken bond that had always been there but had never been acknowledged.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but before the words could come, the sound of your phone buzzing on the desk shattered the moment.

You both blinked, the spell broken. Olivia sat up straighter, her usual mask of composure slipping back into place as she glanced at your phone. “Looks like you’ve got a message.”

You grabbed the phone, glancing down at the screen. It was a notification from Fin—Ross’s lawyer had arrived at the precinct, and they were prepping for another round of questioning in the morning.

Olivia stood, her expression shifting back to business as usual. “Looks like tomorrow’s going to be another long day.”

You nodded, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Yeah. Guess we should call it a night.”

As you both gathered your things, the tension between you returned, heavier than ever. But just like always, it remained unspoken.

As you walked out of the precinct together, the cool night air hitting your skin, you stole one last glance at Olivia. There was something in her eyes, something you couldn’t quite read, but before you could dwell on it, she gave you a small smile.

“Good night,” she said softly.

“Good night, Olivia,” you replied, your heart aching with everything you couldn’t say.

And as you both went your separate ways, the weight of silence followed you, lingering in the air like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

[sonik-kun]

Why are Jiang Cheng antis unable to accept JC's canon positive traits whilst completely denying all of Wei Wuxian's canon negatives? Lmao.

WWX is canonically reckless. In his first life, he made stupid decisions and made enemies on his own which even he acknowledges.

JC did correctly predict WWX's downfall. He warns him about walking the crooked path, and WWX just laughs and shrugs him off.

JC also correctly predicted that if he stood with the Wen, the rest of the world would turn against WWX, and JC wouldn't be able to protect him.

The whole thing about JC is that he is pragmatic. He is politically savvy, and he is very perceptive. We see this in the Wen indoctrination camp also, when JC warns WWX not to draw attention to himself or anger the Wen. We all know that he does draw attention to himself (even if doing so saved the lives of all the sect heirs at the camp) and not long after, the Jiang were targeted next after the Lans, with the Wens determined to shame WWX for his "insolence."

We also see that JC is more socially aware of the political situation. He is street smart and a realist. WWX, on the other hand, was more of an optimist, believing he can save everyone, even political enemies, and somehow, no one would bat an eye.

Now, no one is saying that WWX is wrong to speak out against the injustices of the world. On the contrary. Everyone in this fandom is very much on his side and agrees with him because he is correct to call them out and challenge the sect leaders. But that doesn't mean his methods were right, nor were they considerate. They were still reckless and still endangered many lives. His decisions often only thought about the short term and never the long term.

You also seem to forget that his DC also made him rather reckless and irritational. JC didn't only warn him of this, but LWJ, too. His actions via the use of DC lead to the deaths of JZX and JYL, not to mention the many disciples that were present at Nightless City.

WWX's actions, although pure and noble, put JC into a very difficult situation, and ultimately, they took away the last immediate family JC had left (JYL). That is a fact. It's not even a fanon headcannon. I don't know why I'm seeing antis insisting that we're completely ass pulling all of this. It's literally there in the book.

To conclude, no one is making up JC's canon good traits. You just refuse to see them because you're blinded by WWX's protagonist halo. So much so that you can't even see his own canonical flaws. Talk about hypocritical, much?

Also, no. MXTX doesn't care what JC fans think or even what JC antis think. She's moved on from this story years ago. It hardly crosses her mind anymore. (Even then, she was baffled by the hate JC got and claimed that he isn't a bad person. It's there in the interviews if you want to read them, straight from the authors mouth!). But sure. Pop off. Keep on justifying being vile, nasty haters. Let's see where that gets you. 👋

[eyeballplanets]

i am not a johns stan at all i critique him all the time and i especially have nothing in common with hal-as-written-by-johns stans. but. for all the faults i have with his writing it makes me like actually emotional how unique and bold simon is as a character. in a medium which can only empathize with men of color when they are polite model citizens and can only empathize with justice impacted people when they were wrongfully convicted or given a steep sentence for a minor offense, simon was this big, cocky brown man who willingly stole cars, who enjoyed drag races, and the shit he experienced was still wrong. it's genuinely more bold than even johns stans give him credit for.

it's the reason he's categorically excluded from gl fandom. you CANT neuter him the way you can john, or whitewash him the way you can kyle and jess. his story is inexplicable from brown masculinity. he represents anger at authority, and sympathy for those that were harmed by the legal system no matter what they did. you can't retcon him to be a fucking stoic no-nonsense by the book veteran, you can't make his skin and hair lighter and make him the butt of jokes, you can't put him in kids shows and make him the sassy cute one. in a medium that still can't portray arab men as sympathetic, no matter how american they act, simon demands you acknowledge injustices. of course people don't love him! he's writing on the bathroom mirror!

everything he did he did lucidly! he's still a hero! maybe that makes him the bravest of all!

[novlr]

I’ve heard the term ‘catharsis’ before. But what does it mean? And how can it be used in a story?

The word “catharsis” comes from the ancient Greek katharsis, meaning “purification” or “cleansing.” Think of it as a purging of emotions, primarily through art or experience. Merriam-Webster offers a few definitions, including the purification of emotions like pity or fear, a release that brings spiritual renewal, and even the bringing of a complex issue to consciousness for expression. Sounds like a lot! While these definitions seem complex, we can keep them simple. 

Catharsis is essentially the release of pent-up emotions, like anger, fear, sadness, or grief, that are causing inner turmoil or issues. It’s about finding a way to express or process these feelings, leading to a sense of relief and release. Think of it like this: someone overwhelmed with anger might find catharsis by screaming into a pillow, hitting a punching bag, or even just having a conversation about what’s bothering them. The key is that the emotion is acknowledged and released.

You know those moments in a good movie or a good book where you’re crying, or laughing, or angry? The scene is just taking you away. It’s when the moment passes and the emotions drain away – that’s catharsis.

Not all releases are positive, however. People can lash out or say and do things that, while it lets the emotions go, aren’t constructive. Screaming at someone or punching them in the face can act as a cathartic moment but with very different consequences!

This release, this purging, is what allows for healing and growth. Catharsis often deals with significant emotions tied to impactful events—the kind that leaves a mark or a wound. Think of the anger and sadness following a betrayal, the grief after a loss, or the fear after a traumatic experience. When these emotions are finally purged, there can be a sense of vulnerability, yes, but it’s a vulnerability that paves the way for healing from the events that led to them.

Think of it like getting food poisoning. You’re nauseous, sick to your stomach, miserable. Then it all comes out. You feel weak, but hey, you finally feel better. Catharsis is like that, but emotional rather than physical. The emotions roil and churn, they’re making things uncomfortable or difficult. And then they finally come out. You’re better, but you’re also a bit weak and vulnerable after.

Writing to achieve catharsis

Sometimes, expressing emotions directly to others can be difficult. That’s where writing comes in. It can offer a similar cathartic release to physical expression. Many people find solace in journaling or diary writing, using the page to explore their experiences and emotions. By giving these feelings a voice on paper or screen, writers can find their own release — a way to finally let go.

Catharsis for our characters

As writers, we can offer our readers catharsis through our characters. We often put our characters through the wringer—challenging situations, tragic backstories, internal and external conflicts. But this is where the magic happens. By allowing our characters to experience and process their emotions, we create opportunities for readers to connect with them on a deeper level and experience catharsis vicariously.

Conflict is the driver of storytelling. It’s not just about physical fights, though. Conflict can be any kind of struggle. A conflict can be a disagreement between two people, a character’s internal struggle with fear, a battle against injustice, or even a confrontation with grief. The goal is for the reader to empathize with the character’s journey. When the character finally confronts their conflict and releases those pent-up emotions, the reader can experience a similar sense of release.

Catharsis isn’t limited by genre. It can be found in any story where characters experience genuine emotions. If your characters can feel, they can experience conflict and a slow but steady emotional buildup. This buildup will eventually lead to a breaking point, a moment of release—either positive or negative. They might confront the source of their pain head-on, or they might lash out in harmful ways. Regardless of the outcome, that moment of release is the catharsis. And from that point, healing (or further conflict) can begin.

Writing catharsis: some practical tips

Writing effective catharsis can be tricky, but a good starting point is your own experience. Think about times in your life when you’ve felt strong emotions and how you expressed them. How did it feel before, during, and after the release? Did you yell? Cry? Exercise? Talk to a friend? These personal experiences can inform how you portray your characters’ emotional journeys.

When developing your characters’ conflicts, consider how they’ll react and express their emotions. What are their “purification rituals”? Do they internalize their feelings? Do they seek solace in nature? Do they confront others directly? Do they engage in self-destructive behaviors? Just as importantly, consider what happens after the release. Do they find peace? Do they seek reconciliation? Do they spiral further? The bigger the event that brought things about, the greater the release.

Moments of catharsis can be pivotal in a character’s development. They can mark a turning point, a moment of transformation. By letting go of past traumas or negative patterns, your characters can finally heal from events and find a new path forward.

The power of catharsis

Writing catharsis isn’t just about creating emotional scenes. It’s about developing complex, relatable characters. By showing how characters process and release strong emotions, you reveal their inner world, their motivations, and their coping mechanisms. This depth can make them more believable and engaging.

Catharsis can be a catalyst for change. It can prompt characters to make important decisions, change their behavior, and embark on new paths. It can be a very transformative experience, leading to personal growth and healing.

And remember, the story doesn’t end with the cathartic moment. The aftermath can open up new possibilities, creating new conflicts or resolutions. There’s a new clarity that often follows a release bringing a chance for characters to see things from a new perspective. They might find new strength, new direction, or a new understanding of themselves.

Ultimately, writing catharsis allows you to explore the full spectrum of human emotion. It’s a powerful tool for character development, plot progression, and creating a truly resonant reading experience.