#any more and I am just going around in circles reiterating the same points

[nogoodsheepstealing-greatgrandma]

@stuffjusthappensworld What deleted scenes are you talking about??? Who mentioned deleted scenes? I'm talking about scenes that aired. The writers are talking about scenes that aired. Those screenshots are from scenes that aired. Again, I am sorry their performances and the writing didn't come across to you clearly, but I think this might be a issue of your own comprehension here. Especially since you seem to be making up or imagining details from the scene between Rhaenyra and Criston?

You say Rhaenyra locked the door? She didn't lock the door, she closed it behind her, but then she steps aside from the door so he can leave if he wants to. Criston, rather than leaving, follows her away from the door.

You say Criston verbally tells her no twice while she undresses him? Well... he doesn't? He tells her to stop undressing herself. She then stands aside to let him leave. He follows her instead. He says nothing while she helps him get his armour off - very slowly, with plenty of time for him to change his mind.

You say Rhaenyra threw herself on him and ignored his verbal protests? She goofed around with his helmet and leaned up to kiss him, then stepped back, then started to undress herself, then stood aside from the door etc. etc. etc.

The scene is available on youtube. You can watch it. Refresh your memory.

Cole is lowborn and in the shows narrative not only works for Rhaenyra (who is not low born), is in some cases dependent and owes his whole current station in life to Rhaenyra as she’s the reason he’s in the kingsguard in the show and that is a significant part of their relationship and is imo a power imbalance that is over looked by the fandom and in the shows narrative and when you combine that with the low enthusiasm on display for most of the sex scene it just feels incredibly tone deaf and an issue the writers clearly weren’t considering.

Pictured here: enthusiasm, now that he has decided 'fuck my vow'

Ok, onto Criston owing his position to Rhaenyra. What is she going to do? Fire him? The first person to ever be fired from the Kingsguard was Barristan Selmy - there's no precedent for it. So what if he was from a minor house? He's been raised to the Kingsguard now, there's no takebacksies! Plus, while King Vizzy let Rhaenyra pick a kingsguard, he's still the ultimate authority on the Kingsguard. I suppose technically Rhaenyra could use her influence with her father to make Criston's life hell, but-

-You keep harping on about Rhaenyra's social status and power over Criston, but you don't stop to consider the logistics of it:

a) what Criston would actually think she would do (again, what she did actually do was MOVE AWAY FROM THE DOOR), what would he actually reasonably fear she would do if he refused her? Both Eddard Stark and Joffrey Baratheon technically have the power to punish smallfolk who harmlessly disrespect them. When Tobho Mott asks Ned to forgive Gendry, Ned says there's nothing to forgive. Joffrey would have ripped Gendry's tongue out. A teenager in Meereen spits in Dany's face and she says "no one has ever died from spit" and lets him off. Tywin Lannister or Roose Bolton would have reacted very differently. Just because Rhaenyra technically has the power to do something does not mean that that she would. Criston has been her sworn shield for 4 years at that point - he knows her. He knows her character.

b) on what grounds is Rhaenyra going to exercise her power? Ask her dad to punish him on no pretext? Criston literally gets away with murder, so I'm not sure what pretext she could give Viserys that would work where murder didn't. Complain he didn't sleep with her? That's a no, we've gone through this, extensively. Accuse him of rape? Again, that has life-ruining social consequences for her too, and again, back to point a - has she even been established as that kind of psycho?

By your standards, technically Rhaenyra as the Crown Princess can't have consensual sex with anyone who isn't a Crown Prince - so Harwin was raped too I guess.

Now this comparison of yours baffled me:

bare in mind even if he physically pushes her off he could still face repercussions as harming a royal in that way could result in him losing a hand (we saw what nearly happened to Dunk when he beat Aerion Targaryen’s arse even if he did deserve the beating Dunk almost faced very severe consequences).

Dunk isn't a Kingsguard yet. He does not act with the authority of the King. He is a hedge knight. And Aerion is Aerion, not Rhaenyra.

Again, this seems to stem from an imagined scene in your head where Rhaenyra has thrown herself on Criston and has locked the door. Rather than the actual scene, where she steps aside to let him leave. All Criston has to do is lightly tug his hand away from hers and walk out the door. Heck, in Mushroom's porno story, Porno Rhaenyra does bar the door, and Porno Criston does refuse her, very easily, and he isn't punished for doing so.

she is definitely old enough to understand she won’t be the one who faces the more severe repercussions if her relationship with Cole is discovered but although there is a mutual attraction between Cole and Rhaenyra in the show it is never once acted on until Rhaenyra engages the sexual encounter when she is around 18 or 19

Again, the repercussions Rhaenyra faces for 'sullying herself' range from being forced to become a septa, to getting forcibly married off (she got lucky with Laenor), to social ruin that would have impacted her status as crown princess. Remember, with the situation with Daemon in the book FORCED ABDICATION was on the table. One night of freedom could have destroyed her life.

As for Criston... yes it could mean death. Some kings have punished kingsguard for breaking their vows. Many kingsguard have broken their vows and its been kind of an open secret. It all depends on the king. Vizzy lets him off with murder. Now breaking your vow with the crown princess is another matter, that is more severe. Vizzy lets him off with murder.

Jaehaerys killed Braxton Beesbury. Vizzy... made up excuses and let Harwin Strong be. The worst thing that happened to Harwin Strong (by Vizzy's hand) was getting sent home to Harrenhall, and that was only to try to put a stop to the rumours.

Potential repercussions aside - again, I will reiterate this one last time. Criston could have said no. There would not have been consequences for him saying no. Rhaenyra did not force anything on him.

And with that, Criston, as an adult man with the impulse control and maturity of a sober adult, knew the potential consequences better than Rhaenyra. And he made his choice to live with the risk. Then, when he felt guilty about it afterwards, he could have just ended it with Rhaenyra and left it at that. Say some prayers, tell god you're sorry, leave it. Rhaenyra wanted to continue the relationship (just not in Essos), but she didn't punish him for ending it, she just moved on.

Instead Criston tried to get her elope with him to Essos. Great plan Crispy, I can't see anything going wrong with that! Even if Rhaenyra was happy to destroy her life like that, isn't there possibly a scenario where Viserys (who in episode 4 refers to Rhaenyra as a child) sends men after them? As for restoring his honor, well...

Rhaenyra refused him. She was the blood of the dragon, she reminded him, and meant for more than to live out her life as the wife of a common sellsword. And if he could set aside his Kingsguard vows, why would marriage vows mean any more to him?

As for Mysaria... I'm not going to talk about Rhaenyra in Season 2, because by then the show has dropped any pretence at character consistency or world building consistency so there is really nothing to work with.

As for this point however

but seriously who isn’t in this series and it is pseudo medieval times so yeah this disgusting behaviour is normalised and deeply ingrained in this society so calling anyone a nonce is like okay but everyone is. We shoud be stoning them all

Is csa an ingrained societal issue in childbrideros? Yes. But not everyone is grooming a 7 year old child. There is a spectrum of abuse (god this is disturbing to write). Again, while I don't think Rhaenyra's relationship with Daemon is healthy, it does make a difference that he wasn't around for her childhood, and returned from the Stepstones at a point where Rhaenyra (aged 15) was culturally considered to be of marriageable age. For example, say a 56 year old man starts dating a 21 year old woman. Gross - yes, she is an adult in our culture but we recognise an imbalance in experience and maturity and power. But when I tell you that said 56 year old man is Woody Allen, and said 21 year old woman is his step-daughter Soo Yin Previn who he has known since she was 10? That's worse.

Besides, even in this culture, people are people. For every Jorah Mormont there is a Barristan Selmy who isn't a nonce. So I'm still going to call Jorah Mormont a nonce, because guess what, not everyone in Westeros behaves like him!

So I'll call Book Criston a nonce. And Show Criston a misogynistic hypocrite who blames teenage girls for his own choices.

Like Cole is a low born son of a steward from the stormlands with dornish heritage (a kingdom not even a part of the seven kingdoms at this time and he gets some classist and racist remarks from alicents brother because of this)

Idk Crispy, you publicly murdered Joffrey of Lonmouth, a vassal of House Velaryon, and received zero consequences for it. And now not only are you a Kingsguard Knight, one of the highest offices in the land, but you are Hand of the King and acting as the King's proxy. You outrank this nobody who has for some reason been given screentime. Stand up for yourself, kill Gwayne and Alicent will probably still let you give her head.

TG on Criston Cole: "He's not the step dad he's the Dad Who Stepped Up! 😍"

Criston Cole in F&B: Literally Humbert Humbert (or, at best, Woody Allen).

Afterward, he gave the seven-year-old Princess Rhaenyra the victor’s laurel and begged for her favor to wear in the joust.

“Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?” *

*said at a point when Rhaenyra is the same age as Dolores Haze btw.

Among the changes to the character's ages in HOTD, it's ageing up Rhaenyra when she first meets Criston Cole that grosses me out the most. And to add insult to injury, they don't even get an older actor to play an older Criston Cole after the time jump - Emma D'arcy is actually older than Fabian Frankel.

And to those who say sympathetic jilted lover Criston Cole is more interesting... well we've heard that story before. With Jorah Mormont's depiction in GOT, for starters. And everywhere else in our culture, men like Criston Cole are afforded sympathy and fascination (it's honestly a relief that most audiences outside of tumblr thankfully hate Show Criston - pls leave the actor alone though), while their victims are depicted as seductive temptress 'nymphets'.

Look no further than JK Rowling's favourite 'tragic romance'.

(sure jk, trans women are the problem, but humbert humbert isn't?)

Book covers and film adaptations of Lolita love to age up and sexualise Dolores and completely miss the point, but Vladimir Nabokov named actress Catherine Demongeot as the most book-accurate casting. Who looks very disturbing up against the 1997 film's casting for Humbert Humbert:

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock.

And wouldn't you know it, Daemon returns from the Stepstones when Rhaenyra (15) is around the same age that Dolores was, when Clare Quilty convinced her to run away with him.

And when Criston proposes to Rhaenyra ahead of her upcoming marriage to Laenor, she is again the same age as Dolores (17) when Humbert tries to get her to leave her husband for him.

Obviously Rhaenyra's story is by no means directly comparable to the horrific abuse suffered by Dolores Haze, and besides we don't know precisely what happened between Rhaenyra and Criston*. But Rhaenyra was also much much younger (7) when Criston came into a position to start grooming her, and at the end of the day she was still only a 12-year-old child when rumours of a sexual relationship began. The parallels are there, and CSA is a common issue throughout GRRM's work.

It certainly wouldn't be the first time GRRM has made a reference to Lolita in ASOIAF:

You see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.

Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go.

On Septon Eustace and Mushroom

*I do find it interesting to note that of the two accounts of Rhaenyra and Criston's 'split' (by two people who weren't in the room), it is Septon Eustace's account that puts Rhaenyra in a more favourable light. Mushroom tells the more pornographic account that casts Rhaenyra as the one trying to seduce Criston. Meanwhile Septon Eustace insists that Rhaenyra was the one to refuse Criston - including arguing that if his vows as a Kingsguard mean so little to him, then why should she trust he'd honour any marriage vows?

As I often argue, interpreting F&B is far more complicated than insisting one account always tells the truth, one account always tells propaganda etc. Neither account obviously views the relationship through the lens that Rhaenyra was only 7 when they met, neither of them care to raise concerns of grooming and CSA . This is still the same world after all that thought it was perfectly acceptable for a 12-year-old Laena to marry Viserys, or for a 12-year-old Sansa to marry Tyrion. This is the world that spread rumours of Rhaenyra's lost virginity when she had barely begun puberty.

Mushroom is clearly pro-Rhaenyra, and clearly fond of her (he wants us to know for instance how good it was to hear her laugh, his account expresses the most how broken she was after Luke's death) - but he's writing his account years after her death, and most likely after departing Aegon III's court for White Harbour. His priority, as a dwarf and entertainer, is to write was sells, and salacious tales sell. Just look at the pornographic tales the slavers spread of Daenerys, or how Shae depicts Sansa as a seducer withholding sex to convince her husband to commit regicide, or the play Arya performs in that bawdily depicts Tyrion raping Sansa for the masses. Mushroom at least wasn't the one to actually come up with the Brothel Queens story** - Archmaester Gyldayn credits Aegon II with making that story up - but any loyalty Mushroom had to a long-dead woman wasn't enough to stop him including a popular story. Mushroom's gotta eat.

**to those who still insist the story is true (despite Gyldayne attributing the rumour to Aegon II), do you honestly think if the Queen and Queen Mother had actually been gang-raped there wouldn't be multiple sources verifying it and expressing outrage?

Septon Eustace meanwhile is a misogynist who hated Rhaenyra and wished to justify his allegiance to the Greens. Which is why he'll make up ridiculous stories about Rhaenyra cutting herself on the throne while wearing armour, or Sunfyre eating her in 6 bites and leaving behind one leg for the Stranger, or how Rhaenyra got fat and ugly after giving birth to 5 children. Which is why he'll have Aegon II say "what sort of brother steals his sister's birthright?" - a statement that doesn't match with the rest of his documented words and actions:

Word of Rhaenyra’s coronation reached the Red Keep the next day, to the great displeasure of Aegon II. “My half-sister and my uncle are guilty of high treason,” the young king declared. “I want them attainted, I want them arrested, and I want them dead.”*** Cooler heads on the green council wished to parley. “The princess must be made to see that her cause is hopeless,” Grand Maester Orwyle said. “Brother should not war against sister. Send me to her, that we may talk and reach an amicable accord.” Aegon would not hear of it. Septon Eustace tells us that His Grace accused the Grand Maester of disloyalty and spoke of having him thrown into a black cell “with your black friends.”

***spoken in response to Rhaenyra publicly offering him a pardon

So Eustace has a tendency to demonise and whitewash - which is what makes it interesting when he passes on the opportunity. For example, why would he refute the rumours that Rhaenyra's children are bastards? Surely that claim would have supported his case against her? Why does he give quite a positive, even glowing, account of Jacaerys? Probably because he approved of and genuinely had no issue with Jacaerys, other than that he didn't believe the throne could pass through the female line anyway. True or not, he didn't need to claim Jace as a bastard, and Jace's actions didn't fit any cultural stereotypes. Because it seems there are certain lines Septon Eustace won't cross.

So Septon Eustace has some commitment to telling the truth (some truths anyway). Which is why his own account of Aegon II often contradicts itself, as shown above.

So back to his account of Rhaenyra and Criston. Why not cast Rhaenyra a wanton seductress, trying to tempt Criston Cole away from his Kingsguard vows? Why depict Criston, a fellow Green, as an oathbreaker? Why tell us that Rhaenyra did the right thing, turning Criston down and even expressing disgust that he would abandon his vows? Because for all Septon Eustace dislikes Rhaenyra, casting her as a wanton seductress would be crossing a line. He doesn't need it to be against female succession - her great sin is being a woman who doesn't gracefully abdicate in favour of her brother, and that's enough.

And because his account is probably closer to what happened. While he wasn't in the room, no more than Mushroom was, he was in a position to hear about it from Criston. As a fellow Green, and above all as a Septon. Someone who Criston might confess to. And it is Septon Eustace's account that tells us Criston Cole was the one to slit Lord Beesbury's throat. While he may try (sometimes anyway) to sanitise Aegon II, he makes no such effort with Criston Cole. If you wanted to legitimise your support for the Greens but were unable deny their crimes, it makes sense to allow someone to be the villain.

And supposing Criston did confess, he probably would have displayed the same delusional self-pity and self-justification as Humbert Humbert. And Septon Eustace, just like everyone else in Westeros, certainly wouldn't have considered Rhaenyra a possible victim of grooming and CSA.

Just look at Catherine Howard as a historical example. When she was 13 she was molested by her music tutor, Henry Mannox:

“At the flattering and fair persuasions of Mannox, being but a young girl, I suffered him at sundry times to handle and touch the secret parts of my body, which neither became me with honesty to permit nor him to require.”

This 'affair' was used as evidence against her in her trial for adultery and subsequent execution.

The Princess and her White Knight

Again, we don't know what precisely happened between Rhaenyra and Criston. We don't know if their relationship is comparable to Catherine Howard and Henry Mannox, or if it escalated anywhere close to the horrors of Dolores Haze and Humbert Humbert. Or if anything actually happened at all, or maybe at least not till Rhaenyra was older. Maybe their relationship is more comparable to Soon-Yi Previn and Woody Allen, who had been her stepfather since she was 10.

We have snatches of the truth from Eustace and Mushroom, we have what we can determine of their access to the truth and their motives for telling their accounts the way they do. We have Rhaenyra's young age, Criston's constant access to her, the timing of the rumours, her later relationships with older men, the violent hatred Criston has towards her after she rejects him. We have the fact that CSA is a common reoccurrence in GRRM's work - Daenerys and Jorah, Sansa and Littlefinger, Jeyne and Ramsay, Tyrion and Tywin, Aeron and Euron. We have the salacious stories that are already spreading of victims like Daenerys and Sansa, and we can speculate how future maesters and septons and fools might write about them, the way they write about Rhaenyra.

Whatever happened, my understanding is that Rhaenyra was a child in a court that her stepmother was actively making a hostile environment for her. Who had to deal with the beginnings of puberty in this environment, where adults were already speculating on her sexuality, on top of all the other scrutiny she would face as heir. Yes she had a father who doted on her, but when it came to Alicent he always refused to take sides, he always tried to placate and please and keep the peace. Yes he was steadfast in his decision to keep Rhaenyra his heir, but he did nothing to reprimand Alicent, he allowed this hostile environment to flourish, leaving his barely pubescent daughter to deal with it on her own. Alicent even publicly quips about Rhaenyra's relationship with Criston Cole, and she gets away with it.

Daemon does not return from the Stepstones till after the 5th anniversary tournament Viserys throws for Alicent, when Rhaenyra is 14/15. Before then, Rhaenyra's main confidant, probably her only confident on the subject of Alicent, was her sworn shield and constant shadow Criston Cole. Whatever happened between them, she was young and emotionally vulnerable. And lonely. Yes she had a party of supporters at court - but what is that to a child? She needed a parent to confide in, and when it came to Alicent her own father could not be that parent.

We know Rhaenyra was a precocious child, 'bright and bold' and proud. But we also know that beneath that she was anxious - she was known to compulsively fidget with the rings on her fingers out of anxiety. What kid in her situation wouldn't be anxious? Just when did this compulsive habit begin? Rhaenyra may not have been in anywhere near as vulnerable a situation as Dany, but she was still a vulnerable kid. And so Criston would have been important to her.

He wants me, she realized. He loves me as he loved her, not as a knight loves his queen but as a man loves a woman. She tried to imagine herself in Ser Jorah’s arms, kissing him, pleasuring him, letting him enter her. It was no good. 

It was a long kiss, though how long Dany could not have said. When it ended, Ser Jorah let go of her, and she took a quick step backward. “You … you should not have …”

My great bear, Dany thought. I am his queen, but I will always be his cub as well, and he will always guard me. It made her feel safe, but sad as well. She wished she could love him better than she did.

My bear, my fierce strong bear, what will I do without him?

My bear, she thought, my old sweet bear, who loved me and betrayed me. She had missed him so. She wanted to see his ugly face, to wrap her arms around him and press herself against his chest.

We don't know how much or in what way Criston took advantage of Rhaenyra's dependence on him, or how 'receptive' Rhaenyra might have been (friendly reminder that no matter how 'receptive' she might have been, it's still CSA). Again, it may be that nothing physically happened at all until Rhaenyra was 17 (after 10 years of grooming of course). Whatever happened, we can certainly imagine that Rhaenyra was devastated to lose him, and to Alicent of all people. He had been her confidant and her champion, he had been at her side since she was 7 years old, not long before losing her mother (who was the same age as Criston btw).

My understanding of Criston meanwhile is that he genuinely adored her for those 10 years as her sworn shield. That he was passionately protective of her, fiercely devoted to her, and possessive. Much like Jorah with Dany. Maybe, like Jorah, he tried to kiss her. Maybe much worse happened, and he deluded himself as many abusers do that theirs was a misunderstood romance. Maybe he never touched her at all, but fantasised about it. Maybe he convinced himself that he was a man of honour, maybe he spent those years waiting till Rhaenyra was older, by her side the entire time (cough, grooming).

Whatever happened, he was enraged that 10 years of grooming were ultimately unrewarded. He probably, deludedly, cast her just as cruel and selfish and ungrateful as Humbert Humbert did Dolores Haze.

Despite our tiffs, despite her nastiness, despite all the fuss and faces she made, and the vulgarity, and the danger, and the horrible hopelessness of it all, I still dwelled deep in my elected paradise - a paradise whose skies were the color of hell-flames - but still a paradise.

There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child.

But I was weak, I was not wise, my schoolgirl nymphet had me in thrall. With the human element dwindling, the passion, the tenderness, and the torture only increased; and of this she took advantage.

Don't you love living in a world where multiple think pieces debate whether or not Rhaenyra abused Criston Cole? (Also a world where a book like Lo's Diary gets published...)

If there is any truth to Septon Eustace's account that Criston wanted to elope with her to Essos, then I can imagine that he wanted to possess Rhaenyra entirely for himself (however romantic he may have believed his motives). The 'black fury' that descends on him during the wedding tourney certainly tells us he is violently jealous to see Rhaenyra begin a relationship with Harwin. He probably stewed in fury while Rhaenyra's attention was on Daemon (maybe hypocritically casting him as the villain the way Humbert Humbert does Clare Quilty), celebrated when Daemon was banished, and grew desperately possessive at the thought of losing his exclusive access to her again. Much like Jorah:

“You have been a better friend to me than any I have known, a better brother than Viserys ever was. You are the first of my Queensguard, the commander of my army, my most valued counselor, my good right hand. I honor and respect and cherish you—but I do not desire you, Jorah Mormont, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me, so I must needs rely on you and you alone. It will not serve, and it will not make me love you any better.”

I can't believe I'm giving Jorah Mormont credit here, but at least he doesn't respond to rejection with violent hatred of Dany. Or at least, he hasn't yet.

Now Rhaenyra's relationship with Daemon is another matter, and will require another essay. In sum, there is a broad spectrum between 'pedophile' and 'healthy relationship', and when I say Daemon's relationship with Rhaenyra is healthier than her relationship with Criston I have to admit the bar is very low indeed. Though I do take into consideration GRRM's description of Daemon as a grey character, 'equal parts light and dark'. Anyone is at liberty to declare death of the author and interpret Daemon as they see fit, but authorial intent (however fallible you may consider it) is not irrelevant. That authorial intent is the foundation upon which the characters, relationships, events, themes etc is built.

Ultimately, Daemon was not in Rhaenyra's life between the ages of 8 and 15 - he was in a relationship with an adult Mysaria, and then he was off to the Stepstones until Viserys and Alicent's 5th anniversary tourney. This isn't to endorse whatever may have happened in the 6 months Daemon was in King's Landing before his banishment - however you interpret his actions and motives. But simply to say that when it comes to grooming and abusing pre-pubescent to early-pubescent girls (oh this has been a disturbing essay to write) - Criston wins the "Creepy Even By Child Brideros Standards" Award.

So... is Criston the Step-Dad Who Stepped Up? Sure, if your Step-Dad is Humbert Humbert or Woody Allen.

[kojoty]

I think 'transandrophobia' as a term and the way it's been attempted to be codified has a multitude of flaws that are often disparagingly used in conversations among our transfemme sisters and siblings to push their arguments and experiences under the bus-- I don't particularly want to get into the minutiae of that, because many a transfemme on here has explained ad naseum how this term is often weaponized. So I'm not trying to say that term or that axis of understanding is the way to go. I suppose I am a little confused-- this is a genuine plea for some help here, by the way, I've been thinking and reading about this a lot and I'm just unsure-- at the assertation that transmascs don't experience unique oppressions because of their intersections of misogyny, homophobia, and transphobia, though? Like in many backfires against 'transandrophobia', I often see the see-saw tilt the other way in bad faith of course-- transmascs don't really face any legible oppression, which is obviously bunk and anyone with brain cells can attest to this being bunk reactionary ideology-- but it also coincides with this idea that transmasculine people don't face unique expressions and manifestations of their oppressions through axises of identity? And I'm just confused by this, I suppose. Transmisogyny is a unique expression of bigotry and bias towards the intersections of transphobia, homophobia and misogyny (and of course, race as well, though I'm trying to broaden the scope of this conversation to 'transfeminity' and 'transmasculinity' as a whole, the discussion of how race interplays into these concepts is a parallel but slightly different/more in-depth conversation imo) as well as, in my clunky terminology I admit, a unique expression and manifestation of these constructs almost 'merging' to create a new, novel type of bigotry that is very specified to the transfeminine experience. What I'm failing to grasp is this idea that the same doesn't happen with transmasculine people? Perhaps not in the past-- not 'simplified' so to speak, but more clearly defined as 'misogyny', 'homophobia', 'transphobia' and their intersections, not coalition and creation of something new-- but I know, at least from personal experience, from the readings I've done in trans theory, from my experience in trans circles and cis circles alike, that I definitely do face an intersection of these constructs that does feel, sometimes, uniquely distinct as a perception and viewership of trans masculinity specifically. Which is hard to define, ofc, which is why I'm asking for some clarity here, I suppose, but I really am failing to see what the point in denying or asserting that there aren't unique oppressions that face transmasculine voices? IDK. I could be missing something, like I said, or just not parsing the conversation correctly, and I can absolutely take this post down if it's overstepping by any means, it's just kind of been a knot in my grasp of this conversation I see going around.

And, I do want to reiterate again that I am not trying to diminish or overstep on the way that terms like 'transandrophobia' and the usage by many prolific transmascs on this site have used it to lambast against transfemmes. I think that's despicable et all, and I really don't like that term for a variety of reasons. I just don't know what the answer here is, in a conversation that often feels as though it is implicitly-- not necessarily on purpose, but in subtext-- diminishing the transmasculine experience. I dunno!

[rouge-fauna]

I'm a c!Tommy fan and didn't mind your aspd c!Tommy post. I don't think it was ableist. I don't exactly agree with it either though but you have a right to say it and not get talked about behind your back. I'm sorry that happened. I would probably send an ask about my interpretation in the distant future once all this has calmed down and the abundance of c!Tommy asks have stopped 😅 ❤️

I really appreciate you saying that. :) I’m glad I haven’t pissed everyone off lol, whether you agree or don’t, or like c!Tommy or don't. I mean I personally don't think it's really right to talk badly about people behind their back anyways, but it certainly does feel a little unreasonable to call me dumb, crazy and delusional without even trying to have a conversation with me. What's sad is that there are points to be made and would have been interesting to discuss like an alternative diagnosis or looking more at the diagnosing criteria. Like this is not a hill I would die on, it's not my favorite analysis or take, it's just an opinion and viewpoint I shared with reasons why, the context of which was actually countering the argument of people calling c!Dream a psychopath.

And while I'm at it, I would like to note a few things. In the essay I didn't even call c!Tommy evil or ASPD evil, and I have tried to be very clear that by no means do I believe c!Tommy deserved to be abused in Exile or any other time. And in regards to the alignment chart, I really disliked that analysis anyways. It just doesn't really work. It's a simplified tool for dnd to help people stay to character, but how do you decide what is good, lawful, and evil in a story where, as I have talked about so many times, there is no true system of laws or government, and no widely accepted bounds of morality... So just to be clear, I will reiterate - no one deserves abuse, I do not think c!Tommy is "evil" or the "Bad guy" and I do not think there is a dsmp character who is. And while it may seem like I have a vendetta or am targeting c!Tommy specifically, that's just where discussion has lead recently, mostly because of the finale, anons, and also because of noticing how often c!Tommy calls c!Dream a psychopath I thought it was interesting to look at how it might be the other way around...

Also... I guess... I don't know, aren't y'all bored of having the same old discussions and takes on c!Dream, c!Tommy, c!Wilbur, c!Punz, c!Tubbo... etc over and over? Is it not fun to look at things in a different way and say - what if this is true or - that is true and how does that change things? Is it not interesting to take the same story and lore and see if it can be seen still canonically in a different way? I mean, applying diagnosis is never going to fit perfectly, not just because I'm a 23 year old autistic engineer not a psychologist of any kind, but also mostly because we only have a set chaotic few years of them to look at with no past to base on. But beyond that, isn't it fun and interesting to see if it fits, if it provides an explanation for behavior we didn't have before? Is it so wrong of me to try and see if there are fun new ways of looking at lore instead of having detailed ships and aus?...

Anyways sorry, I may have gotten carried away there, it has been a long Monday. Regardless, it is a shame that it ruined the chance for actual exciting productive conversation and discussion to happen, because I can't say I am not curious on your interpretation. Guess we will just circle back around to it (it seems to be inevitable at his point lol) <3 <3 <3

[crybabyddl]

I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO REITERATE SOMETHING

Yes, let’s circle back to the beautiful performance of Edge of Great. More specifically the BODY LANGUAGE, particularly Julie and Luke’s, which I will be analyzing with gifs.

Exhibit A

Jealous Luke looks over at Julie and Reggie vibing

Julie is aware that she’s avoiding Luke, which she is doing so bc she realized her feelings for him thanks to Flynn earlier in the episode.

Since Julie has put the task of ignoring Luke upon herself even though she has no obligation to, she ends up failing her own mission. She sees Luke’s reaction to the lack of her attention.

She literally FREEZES. She’s emotionally worried to confront what she’s feeling and it’s beginning to manifest physically.

Exhibit B

It gets better y’all. After Luke finally has even a crumb of Julie’s attention, he beckons her over with his signature head tilt. This is important bc he did this with his longtime bandmate during the soundcheck of what would’ve been their biggest performance. If he feels comfortable enough using that body language with a girl he’s only known for, what, a week and a half(?) then you know this puppy boy’s got it BAD.

Julie is well aware that Luke is getting jealous. But in classic Julie fashion, she will try to tune it out instead of addressing it. Our wicked beauty doesn’t like confrontation and would rather just deny and avoid than potentially make things awkward, especially when she knows Luke would ask her about it at a later time.

The look on Julie’s face. Her eyes widen and the classic tight-lipped awkward smile is present. She’s literally saying “ok enough of that let’s get back to work doo doo doo” with her face. The way her body SWINGS back into performance mode as she faces the audience again. It may have been a split second, but when you’re deliberately trying to avoid looking into the dreamy (dead) eyes of someone you shouldn’t be crushing on, any amount of time feels too long. Plus, she knows Flynn is watching and doesn’t want her to lecture her (but she does anyway bc Flynn is observant and knows her bestie too well to let any action slip past her).

Exhibit C

Keep in mind; NONE OF THE GUYS KNOW WHY JULIE IS AVOIDING LUKE. Flynn, Alex, and Reggie have noticed the Juke chemistry, but it’s still too soon for them to get past the “we like each other but we’re too clueless to notice that we reciprocate” phase, so even though their respective besties know, they are still denying. Besides, Reg, Alex, and Flynn know better than to keep pestering if they want to keep their kneecaps. In reality they’re both smart enough to tell by this point, but for the sake of the plot and to make everything more adorably frustrating, Flynn has the collective brain cell under lock and key, leaving Juke to be like *dog tilting its head and making that “a-roo?” noise*

Anyway, Reggie notices Luke being snubbed after realizing that his extra dose of Julie time was slightly out of the ordinary. Luke is clearly concerned (look at his eyebrows and how his eyes travel from Reggie, to Julie, then to the audience to trying and get his mind off it and bring his focus back to the main goal; the performance.) If he can’t have the moment of connection with Julie that he so desperately craves, he’s gonna fill that void as best he can by connecting with the audience. >:’)

But Reggie’s trying to help Luke brush it off by conveying his reaction as ‘look at julie coming into her own! i told you she was a star! and you thought you were the lead singer? think again buddy this girl’s got you beat!’

But since Reggie isnt a master at hiding his feelings yet, especially around Luke, —who was able to get under his skin earlier (“girls, am i right?”)—Luke was easily able to see through that and interpreted what Reggie was saying as “look at julie go, she all in the zone. you’re literally making heart eyes at her get a grip you’re slacking lmao” (hence luke’s right eyebrow quirking at reggie like ‘dude seriously gimme a break u know i need attention like tinkerbell’) even though Reggie’s true message was a bit less harsh and more lovingly teasing, but it’s Luke, he sees things through his eyes and at his intensity, regardless of who it’s coming from. (This is one of the reasons why Luke comes off as selfish at times.)

Exhibit D

Poor Lukey boi can’t seem to catch a break today! Not only does Julie ignore him, then has a cute lil (platonic but it’s luke so it still makes him jealous >:P) moment, but now she has the AUDACITY to interact with Alex? The guy who was out learning Ghost 101 with this Willie guy instead of rehearsing with the band? What gives?! What’s he got that your moody ghost bf doesn’t? >:’(

He literally just watches, and even glances back in a way that, to me, screams ‘did i see that right? did i just see what i just saw with my own dreamy (but dead) eyes? say sike rn.’ \_(*_*)_/

Meanwhile, Alex pays no mind. I like to think that Alex is fully aware that Luke is an angry boy rn, but has learned to ignore it, especially this bc literally NOTHING happened. Either that or Alex has no clue and just truly thinks nothing of it and is having too much fun to think about Luke’s moody and childish behavior. Either way, Alex is just straight chilling and we love to see it *^_^*

Notice how Reggie is right there vibing with Julie and Alex. Luke feels a bit betrayed like ‘not you too! i know you were the first to turn on me but i figured since you’re such a golden retriever you’d be loyal and come back to my side!😠🥲’

Also; Luke approaches the rest of the group, wanting to be included in at least SOME of the vibing, but when Julie starts dancing and smiling with her buddy Alex, he backs up like

“you know what? nope. nevermind. not doin’ it.”

and the group’s like “i mean hey it’s your loss, but luke we want you to-”

“no, bc you chose to piss me off right in front of my face so no luke time for any of you! no cuddles, no hugs, no nothing! you made your bed, now lie in it and perish.”

Exhibit E & F: This is where it gets a bit interesting and theorized hehe...

Now we all know that this moment is just fucking ICONIC

WEOWH NEOW NEOW!!! WEOW NEHR NEHR NER-NER-NER NEHR NEHR NEOWHR!!! (wer nehr-nehr-ner-ner-nehr-nehr!!) WUEHNER-NEUHNER-NEHR-NEEOW-NEOWH! DLOOLOODDUH-DOODLAH-HOOBLUEH-NEOWHR-NEUEHR-NEEEEEEUOWRH!!!!

But hear me out– HEAR ME OUT!

What if... now don’t shoot the messenger who just so happens to also be the theorist... but what if...

WHAT IF!!! Luke didn’t!! plan this?!!!

Listen i know you’re probably thinking:

“Well uh Nicole, isn’t that kinda the whole point? It literally wasn’t planned until Charlie realized Madi was gonna be standing on the piano so he suggested the idea for the guitar solo to Kenny.”

And you’re right! But here’s the kicker:

What if Luke THE CHARACTER, just decided to do this as an “Alright that’s it! You wanna be like that? Well what if I just hit you with my super awesome radical totally cool wowza guitar skills & make a moment between us? Huh? What do you think about that? Hmm? HMMM???!!!”

He licks his lips & that to me read** like he was nervous (**read rhyming with bed just to clarify) so that means it could’ve been a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment thing.

In the second gif, you can see that Julie’s head is tilted, as if she’s a bit confused, but she’s also delightfully surprised.

Julie is quick to smile and scrunch her nose at Luke, something she does often. It tells Luke his impulsive action garnered a positive response from his favorite girl. Julie also starts to shake her head, but doesn’t go through the motion in full, which means she’s still a bit nervous to let her guard down. This is probably because she doesn’t know what he’s thinking or what he will do next. The lopsided smile mixed with the suave, gliding steps towards her probably brought her back to her daydream lol.

Luke’s happy bc Julie’s no longer ignoring him. He smiles like a GOOBER bc this chump is simping HARD for our Julie. So cute! :’)

Exhibit G

And hear me when I offer this:

What if Luke poofed the guys out???

I know, I know. It’s a bold claim to make. But the boys are special, considering they are a threat to Caleb (3 gay-variant himbos vs. a gay magician that could’ve been on broadway but decided to make some sort of deal with a devil so he just entertains capitalists who most likely sold their souls to get into the hgc which i will probably elaborate on in a future theory so dont do that bc im gonna lmao idc we all have big brains) So it’s not too crazy to think that they could share some ghost powers.

We know Caleb transported the guys during You Got Nothing to Lose. And the guys have left a place at the exact same time on more than one occasion.

And you may be thinking “well what if the guys poofed out to give juke a moment alone together?” And to that I say...

Look at Reggie. He isn’t looking back at Alex like “dude let’s give them some space.”

The timing of him turning around, at least to me, makes me think Reggie was surprised by Luke approaching the piano. (But also he lowkey was waiting for Luke to prove him wrong by doing something to get Julie’s attention so Reggie isn’t mad. Neither is Alex but he doesn’t like being told how or WHEN to ghost) Luke doesn’t even give his bandmates a warning eyebrow quirk, a hand signal, nothing. Reggie turns to Alex like ‘dude what is he DOING?’ And before he can even really convey that, they go *POOF*

This man had a plan and he was gonna do it, so he did. Whether it’s the power of love, they stopped performing, or Reggie and Alex actually poofed out, the odds worked in Luke’s favor so he and Julie could have a super special moment, a moment special enough to make an actual living person (Nick) wonder if a “hologram” has a better chance at connecting with Julie than he does.

Again, regardless of who made them poof or how they poofed, they mf poofed so Luke’s a happy hamster. (Idk it just sounded fitting instead of happy camper lol wait what if someone had 3 pet hamsters and named them alex reggie and luke🥺 someone buy some hamsters and let me be their godmother or their aunt and i’ll love them from afar.) Anyway, Luke’s thriving, flourishing, his crops are going to grow in time for the harvest.

You can see Julie lean back as she turns to see Luke. It’s... almost as if... She. Wasn’t. Expecting. Him. To. Be. There..??

Honey badger Luke bc he DGAF <|:) Bitch, it’s Luke mf Patterson and he’s gonna,, GET! IN! YOUR! FAAAACE!!!

You CANNOT tell me he’s not doing the absolute MOST to try and seduce Miss Juliana Mariposa Rose Molina.

Yes I’m making a headcanon that Julie has TWO middle names and that one of them is the spanish word for butterfly and that the other is her mother’s name. Also yes, I believe (i believe that we’re just one dream away from who we’re– oh, that’s not what we’re doing? okay, sorry!) that Juliana is Julie’s full name.

In this house we love and respect Juliana Mariposa (Dahlia)** Rose Molina

**I’m just putting Dahlia there for fun bc I can. :) Whether I’d consider it a possible middle name of hers depends. Anyway I just thought it was a cute thing to add bc it goes along with the other middle names I gave her *^_^* Also, I feel like I made a post giving a bunch of the characters middle names lemme see if I can find it later)

Ok i’m done this took me basically all day from like 10am until 4:08. I obviously took breaks in between, but not long ones...😶

[depressedacadamia]

I’m going to take care of you

Prompt + pairng: apollo + Hyacinthus

A/N: AHHH- i made the fatal mistake of being social and therefore i was so drained that I couldnt post on time! I put this on AO3 and then for a month forgot to put it on tumblr- woops!- but that said, I hope yall enjoy this new greek gay coupleeee <3 from mee!

Read on AO3          WritersMonth 2021         Mlist

“Hyacinthus, darling, what kind of sick joke is this?” Apollo’s alarmed voice rang out.

His lover, draped in the silk bed sheets, could only give a mere shrug of confusion. Apollo had awoken on said particular morning in a more foul mood than usual and up to now, Hyacinthus was utterly clueless as to what ungodly -which is quite ironic- matter had angered his sunshine this time.

“Apollo, do come back to bed,” Hyacinthus yawned. “ What is bothering you so much that you rise at such a miserable hour?”

“What is bothering me is that…”Apollo patted himself down, feeling his face and body. “ I am seemingly mortal.”

The sudden phrase had Hyacinthus shooting upwards so fast that had he moved any faster, the sheets would have completely flown off him- not that Apollo in any way would have minded.

“Sunshine, whatever do you mean? You are a god.”

“Well I’m clearly not anymore!” Apollo yelled, his hands weaving and grabbing at his hair. What was his father up to and more importantly- What did Zeus want this time?

It wasn't uncommon, which Apollo had to admit was a sad thing to have to accept, for his father- the whores of all whores (and don't let Zeus know that Apollo called him that)- to sometimes turn him into a mortal.

In Apollo’s honest opinion, it was often for trivial and unnecessary things that he cared not for- however, thanks to his father, he wouldn't really be given a choice on whether he cared about the subject or not. It was already terrible enough when he was turned into a mortal as a punishment for mocking Aphrodite’s son -Eros, but to add insult to injury, his father had him running around a random mortal whom he had somehow fallen truly, madly and deeply in love with until she had someone turn her into a tree.

Apollo refused to trust Eros ever again. He refused to ever let Eros or Aphrodite near any of his lovers- but it seemed no matter how hard Apollo tried to avoid the winged bastard, Eros always appeared exactly when he didn't need him- so was he really surprised to hear the manic laughing of a winged man? No, no he wasn’t.

It was only a miracle that Eros had just flown over and not appeared in front of him- that would have been catastrophic.

“Apollo?”

His head snapped towards his concerned lover. “Are you okay?”

He paused- what kind of question was that? He was no longer glowy- what was he to do? And slowly his thoughts began descending into chaos- at first it was the same things he thought every time this happened ( which would be a lot more than one would expect- Zeus was petty like that). However, as his thoughts began to spiral, he began to worry whether Hyacinthus would leave him once he realised that Apollo was truly no longer his godly self.

Afterall, why would Hyacinthus - a healthy, fit and handsome man- want to be stuck with a boring mortal who must go on a quest due to his petty father?

He slumped onto the bed, groaning as he realised he could feel the pain from his face slamming directly onto a pillow.

“Sunshine?”

“What?” Apollo groaned miserably. He felt Hyacinthus place his warm hand on his back, rubbing it in smooth circles, a gesture Apollo knew was what Hyacinthus would do when he tried to comfort him; apparently, according to his lover, Apollo was allegedly very ‘high maintenance’.

“You said that you were no longer a god before suddenly collapsing onto the bed,” he explained. “ Are you okay?”

“Why do you care?”

“Am I not allowed to care for my boyfriend?”

“Not for long. Now that I’m mortal, again, I’ll probably die super soon of something pathetic- just like me.”

Hyacinthus felt relatively guilty. He didn’t mean to deceive Apollo- not that he actually was. It was simply the fact that he realised that he for some reason or another felt extremely different than how he normally would. His body felt stronger, his skin fresher, his eyesight perfect and so on.

At first he thought it was simply the effect of being truly, madly and deeply in love but when Apollo had awoken and confided in him that he too was now mortal, Hyacinthus put it together.

Apollo was mortal and now he was a god.

“I need to figure out the key to this thing. Zeus does this all the time, it really isn't fair,” Apollo grumbled sadly into the pillow and when he lifted his head Hyacinthus could see tears forming and rolling down his lover’s face.

“Mortals cry, Hyacinthus! They cry! Why do your faces produce these wet salty forms of water when you’re experiencing anything other than happiness or pleasure, I truly do not know and in all honesty, I think it to be completely stupid on an entirely new level!”

“So you’re asking me why do humans cry when we’re sad?” Hyacinthus slowly reiterated.

“Yes!” Apollo let out a sob.

“I don’t know but there must be a reason as to why you’re sad.”

“Because!”

Hyacinthus paused. “ Because…? Because of what, Sunshine?”

“ Because- I’m terribly pathetic now! Don't you see, I’m just like everyone else. There's no reason for you to even stay not a second longer jammed up in this luxurious bed with an absolute maggot such as myself! And you have no reason to call me sunshine anymore because I’m a pathetic weak mortal and not the glorious Sun god. I’ll probably starve to death or get food poisoning. Or maybe, i’ll be kidnapped and murdered.” Apollo paused his teary rant to take a deep inhale. “At this point, that option would be ideal.”

And as he refused to meet the eye of his concerned lover, Apollo felt the stupid, stupid tears continue their route down his cheeks, pooling at the bottom of his chin before momentiarily staying still and then falling direclty onto the silk pillow with a soft ‘plop!’

He felt firm hands confidently but gently cradle his face, squishing his cheeks slightly and forcing his face upwards as if to look him in the eye.

“I’m going to take care of you,” Hyacinthus smiled.

“It’s all rotten work anyway,” Apollo sniffled.

“Not to me.” Hyacinthus grabbed a tissue and began dabbing away at Apollo’s tears before they dried up his skin. “Not if it’s you.”

And with the way Hyacinthus took care of him, Apollo considered the potential option that maybe being a mortal wouldn't be as bad as he thought it would be.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Cozy Sweaters

Jackson Neill x Reader

Sequel to Cold Hands, requested by @detectivebarba​ & written for @storiesofsvu​’s Fall Bingo! 

Warnings: Angst. Angst. Angst. Fluff? 

Summary: Oh my god they were roommates.

3,350 words

September 8th

The living room of your apartment—what used to be your apartment—was abuzz with heated voices.

“We’re sorry, but you said you were moving out!”

“So you just gave away my room?! I’m allowed to change my mind!”

Your roommates glanced between each other, awkwardness thick in the air.

“Ed is moving here all the way from England on the promise that he would have a room. He already bought his plane ticket. We’d really be screwing him over.”

“But… where am I supposed to go?”

Jenny sighed and shook her head. “Listen, if this wasn’t so last-minute, I’d understand, but you were supposed to move in with your boyfriend next week. We already made plans to fill your spot…” She really was sorry, in other words, but you were stuck.

“Can’t you still move in with him?” Todd added, and Jenny shot daggers from her eyes.

“He cheated on me!”

“Yeah, but you said he didn’t want to break up, right? Just work things out.”

“I am not,” you hissed through gritted teeth, “ever taking him back after what he did.”

September 13th

Every one-bedroom apartment listing in the greater NYC area was out of your price range. You tapped your friend group, colleagues, and acquaintances for roommates and came back empty. You went on Craig’s List and met with a few strangers seeking roommates. The ones who weren’t terrifying never called you back.

Meanwhile, Jackson Neill had been blowing up your phone.

Well, not blowing up—the first night he got drunk and filled your inbox begging you to come back, sobbing and slurring into your voicemail, spamming indecipherable text messages. The next morning, a single text read: “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate, and it won’t happen again.”

And it didn’t.

But he sent another message a few days later telling you he’d found some more of your stuff, if you’d like it back. That you were always welcome to talk if you wanted to. He wanted to be there for you. You didn’t message him back.

September 14th

It was a cold, rainy day on campus, so you risked taking a shortcut to the dining hall. You turned the corner of an old brick building, and there he was, walking out of the Department of Religious Studies, jacket collar pulled up over his neck because the forgetful fool could never remember his umbrella.

He froze at the same time you did.

All you could hear was your pulse drumming inside your skull like rain. You knew you’d run into him eventually, but you hadn’t decided how to react, and your body wasn’t offering any suggestions.

He gave you a pitiful smile and lifted his hand. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

One leaden foot shuffled in front of the other, and you kept walking. He nodded with a wan smile and sad eyes and didn’t chase you.

The outdoor seating was closed because of the weather, so the dining hall was crowded and buzzing. You snatched a small two-seat table just as another student left, brushing a stale French fry off it onto the floor. Sinking down to enjoy your cheap sandwich, you glanced around the crowd.

A middle-aged man with a soggy jacket and salt-and-pepper hair, who had no right to be so breathtakingly handsome, was searching desperately for a seat while precariously balancing a tray of soup and coffee.

He felt your gaze on him, and you were fixed with a beam of frozen green eyes.

You waved him over.

“I wasn’t following you, I swear.”

“I don’t know, eating lunch? At lunchtime? That can’t be a coincidence.”

The corner of his lip wanted to smile, but he didn’t seem entirely sure you were joking.

“Just sit down and eat,” you sighed. “There’s nowhere else.”

He sat.

Silence crackled between you like the sky before a thunderstorm as you ate your lunches.

“So,” Jackson started cautiously, “how have you been?”

You gave a dry snort. “Oh, just fucking peachy. I’m going to be homeless in two days, thanks to you.”

“What?!”

Jackson listened with a deepening frown as you told him about your roommate plight. Then he offered you a room at his house.

“Go to hell. I’m not going to move in with you like nothing ever happened!”

“No, it wouldn’t be like that. I have a spare bedroom. It’s a big house, and I could use help with the bills. Please—it’s the least I can do. Just until you get back on your feet.”

September 17th

It wasn’t like you had much choice.

You moved into Jackson’s house as originally planned, albeit under different circumstances. Instead of sharing his bed, he cleared out the spare room he’d been using, in theory, as a “gym,” and in practice as a storage closet. There was plenty of space, and with how late he always worked at the university, you’d barely see him anyway.

This might just work out.

September 20th

This was never going to work.

Your heart broke all over again every morning you walked downstairs and saw Jackson in the kitchen making pancakes, because every time, you had to fight the urge to come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist like you used to do.

God, you wanted him back. If only you could erase the image of him with her from your mind.

October 7th

Jackson begged you to take him back.

One thing after another had gone wrong after he publicly confronted the Meyerist Movement. The cult pressured the publisher to pull his book. The university put him on leave while they investigated his alleged relationship with a student. You wandered into the living room that night and found him curled up on the couch, and his resolve broke.

There were tears in his eyes as he tried to pull you into a hug, and when you jerked away, they cascaded down his cheeks. He kept saying he was sorry over and over.

“Please. I need you. Everything is falling apart—if I could at least have you to hold onto… just one thing that wasn’t broken. Please, just tell me how to make it up to you. Haven’t I done enough? If I could take it all back, I would. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me? Please let me hold you?”

This was hard for you, too. Part of you wanted to give in, tell him it was all OK, let him kiss you, and see him smile. The worst part of all of this was that you still loved him, but you could never trust him again. He put on such a sweet, innocent act—he was a wonderful boyfriend—but now you knew he was a manipulative liar.

You should never have moved in.

“There’s no undoing the past. We both need to move forward, not back. I’m going to start looking for other places to live.”

October 8th

Morning brought a more sober Jackson knocking at your door. Dark circles hung under his eyes, but he hadn’t been crying recently.

“Please don’t feel like you have to leave. I can get my shit together. I’m calling a therapist today.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah.” He stared at his feet, shifting on the hardwood floor.

“Jackson… I’ll only hurt you if I stay. This is too hard on you.” For us. “Besides, I can’t freeload here forever.”

“You do pay rent, you know.”

“I know, but—”

“I only have the kids every other weekend, and it’s a big house. It gets lonely. You’re doing me a favor being here.”

November 10th

In the last month, Jackson convinced you there was no hurry to move out.

He was a great roommate. He cooked, cleaned, respected your boundaries. He was a truly decent man, if an unfaithful lover, but since you were just friends now, it didn’t matter who he fucked. The biggest concern was that he wanted you back, and living together was a constant source of emotional pain. But on that front, he finally seemed to be moving on.

Whenever the topic came up, he assured you that you were welcome to stay as long as you wanted.

“It’s just so hard to find a decent place in my price range.”

“I mean it,” Jackson reiterated, adding emphasis. “If you want to stay, I enjoy having a roommate.”

You searched for hidden motives in his voice, his expression. Was this part of a long game to get you back? But his tone was friendly and open. Knowing how quickly he jumped from his ex-wife to you to Sarah, there was no way he didn’t already have his eye on someone new. At this point, you were just roommates.

“You mean permanently? Isn’t living with an ex a recipe for disaster?”

He chuckled. “The last few years with my wife were much worse than this, trust me. We were trying to stay together until the kids went to college, but emotionally, we were already divorced. It was awful… sharing a room. Constant fighting.” His eyes took a dull, faraway look as he remembered.

Worry lines creased your brow. “Are you sure you want to put yourself through that again?”

He grinned, snapping out of it, and patted you on the head like you were one of his kids. “You are nothing like her. We’re friends.”

You liked the sound of that. Friends.

November 14th

The sound of screams greeted you as you opened the front door and hung your keys on their hook next to your jacket. Jackson was watching a scary movie marathon in the living room, apropos of the foggy autumn weather.

“Candyman. Care to join?” He patted the cushion beside him.

You stayed up past midnight in your pajamas, sharing popcorn, laughing, and hiding your eyes from the gory parts. Jackson remained on the opposite side of the couch, careful not to touch you.

November 19th

You caught Jackson having lunch with an attractive student. It made your blood freeze, then boil when he walked with her back to his office.

Alone.

Fists clenched, you pressed your ear to the closed door, and heard… an essay on the role of religion in perpetuating homophobia. He was helping her edit a paper. Like professors do.

You followed them all the way from the dining hall just for talking.

When did you become a crazy ex? Why would you care if he was schtupping a hot student? You wanted him to move on—you were glad he didn’t tear up every time you walked into the kitchen anymore. But you knew then that you weren’t over him yet.

If you saw him out with someone new, it would sting like he was betraying you all over again. So you tried hard to be the one to move on first.

November 30th

A car honked outside.

“Oh, that’s my date,” you apologized to Jackson. “Gotta go.”

You got a little rush of schadenfreude from the kicked-puppy look that flashed across his face as you left him mid-conversation, sitting at the kitchen table across from your abandoned teacup. It felt like a big fuck-you, letting him know you’d be fucking someone else. A dare: let’s see if you really meant it when you said we could be friends.

But the look had barely contorted his features when he swallowed it down and smiled, “Be safe.”

He was probably going on plenty of dates himself and just didn’t tell you out of consideration for your feelings. He didn’t want you to feel used, betrayed, and immediately replaced. You were both moving on.

After a string of Tinder hookups, you felt like Jackson was out of your system, romantically speaking.

December 17th

A light dusting of snow floated down through the pale morning air. Jackson woke up on the left side of the bed, as he did every morning, and as he did every morning, turned to his right hoping to find you there. The blankets were cold.

He shivered.

You had a date last night and didn’t come home. He waited up, but never heard your car in the driveway, your keys in the door. Since you weren’t there to see his red eyes, he allowed himself to cry.

February 14th

A dull, rhythmic thumping carried through the walls. The creaking of a mattress. You cried out a name, voice cracking as you came for the second time.

It was the same guy again.

Casual hookups he could handle, but it had been the same guy for weeks now. Jackson told himself he deserved this. This was what he did to you, only while you were together. When you trusted him not to. He deserved to hear the one he loved being taken by another man.

As much as he wanted you to be his, you weren’t. He had no right to feel burning bile rising in his stomach at each of your moans and gasps. You were doing nothing wrong.

“You live here. Of course you can have dates over. No, it’s not awkward. We’re friends.”

A hot tear slid from his eye as he buried his head in a pillow.

This guy better take care of you.

May 1st

He didn’t have a roommate anymore. Not really. You spent all your time at Rodney’s apartment.

Soon you would move out, and he’ll have lost you forever.

He wanted to warn you not to move so fast, but what right did he have to judge? He let you move at the same pace with him. Let you trust him, fall in love with him, have a spare toothbrush on his sink within a few months. All the while, he figured a little action on the side wouldn’t hurt. Did he think he could chase two of you at once and get to keep the winner?

Idiot.

Sinner. That’s what his mami would say.

The few times you were home, he didn’t express his concerns about your boyfriend. He would only sound jealous, and it would push you away. If he wanted to be someone you would still answer the phone for when you moved out, he had to be a good friend, not a jealous ex.

Fuck. He hoped it worked out between you and Rodney. He really did. He hoped you were happy.

October 2nd

You came home for the first time in weeks crying. Heavy tears rolled down your face, legs shaking as you crawled up the stairs to your bedroom. Jackson was off the couch in an instant, spring up to follow you.

“Hey… Hey, what’s wrong?” He gingerly touched your shoulder, palm spreading out to make comforting circles when you didn’t shake him off. “Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, sniffing as you slumped down onto your bed. Jackson sat beside you, worry etched into his features. He was so cute. After all this time, he still cared about you. You thought about all the times he’d begged for you back, in the beginning, desperate to hold you again. Fuck, you just wanted to feel that wanted again.

“Rodney and I broke up,” you mumbled.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear th—”

You gripped the hair at the back of his head and tugged him roughly into a kiss. Every muscle in his neck and shoulders tensed. A surprised noise was muted between your crushing lips. You could have sworn, for a moment, he started kissing you back, but then his big hands clamped like two vices on your shoulders, and he pushed you away.

“What are you doing?” His eyes were wide.

“What does it look like?” you purred, fingers clawing at the buttons of his cardigan. “I want you to take me, Jackson.”

His hands stopped you from leaning close again. “No. Stop it.”

“Come on, this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“We can’t… I won’t take advantage of you like that. You’re just upset, and—”

“Fuck you! So you’ll fuck anyone and not give a shit—you’ll fuck around on me and break my heart, but you won’t fuck me when I’m asking you to?! The one time I just need you to be there, and now you’re on your high fucking horse, pretending to be a good guy?! I bet you’d screw Sarah! Fuck you. Fuck you!”

Your shoulders shook as your tirade broke down more and more into sobs. Deep down, you knew he was right. You’d regret it in the morning. But you couldn’t he just… want you?

“Why? Why not? Am I that… am I that unlovable?”

“Because you crying.” Tears were shimmering in his eyes as he said it, softly wiping a tear from your cheek. “You’re crying.”

With a gasp, you threw yourself down on the bed and buried your face in a pillow. You screamed into it, your own breath hot and wet against your face. Jackson’s weight shifted the mattress beside you, and your hand shot out in panic, blindly groping toward the movement. You felt pathetic. Needy. But you didn’t want to be alone.

“Don’t go.”

The mattress sank back down under him. “I’m not going anywhere. I won’t take advantage of you, but if you want me to stay, I’ll stay. As long as you want.”

That was all you wanted to hear in that moment, to know someone wouldn’t abandon you. His warm hand rubbed your back in slow circles as you wept, patiently listening as you told him everything in disjointed, broken pieces. How you were just being paranoid—invading Rodney’s privacy when he left his phone unlocked. You were paranoid because your last boyfriend cheated. Then you found the lewd messages, and it didn’t seem real. Plans to meet at a bar downtown. You didn’t believe it until he was toweling off, telling you something came up with his mom, and he’d be out for a while. And you followed him down to the bar and saw them together.

“He was an asshole,” Jackson said.

“Am I doomed? Cursed? Why does everyone cheat on me? Is it my fault?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Shut up! You did it, too,” you snapped. “I’m just not special enough to hold anyone’s attention. I’ll never be enough.”

“No,” he growled with a ferocity that startled you, “You’re wonderful, and anyone would be lucky to have you. That guy was an asshole, and so was I for taking you for granted. You did nothing to deserve this. One day you’ll find someone who appreciates you… who learns to treat you the way you deserve to be treated before they lose the best thing to ever happen to them.”

You shifted to press yourself closer to him. The tears didn’t stop, but a warmth spread through your chest. Jackson felt like a cozy sweater—warm and familiar. Easy to cry into. His arms were surprisingly solid and thick, but gentle when they closed around you.

He was a comfortable old sweater you could slip back on after leaving it in the closet for a year.

***

Hours passed by, and you had no more tears left. No energy left to move. Jackson was still beside you, keeping watch, as promised. You were curled up with your head in his lap, his fingers in your hair.

When he was sure you were asleep, he carefully extracted himself from under you, gradually shifting your head onto the pillow so you wouldn’t wake up. He breathed, heart aching as he looked down at your sleeping form. You deserved better than tear-stained cheeks. He knew he had no right to be so angry, but he couldn’t stand seeing you hurt again.

You wouldn’t have been if he had just…

He let his tears fall silently. This was about you, and he didn’t want to make you console him, but you were asleep now. He could let go.

He ran his fingers through your hair one last time. Then, with a furtive glance, he bent and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I never stopped.”

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @isvvc-pvscvl​​  / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​ / @mad-girl-without-a-box​ / @katierpblogg​ / @worldofvixen​ / @sassyada​ / @detectivebarba​

[arts-and-drafts]

Crosses To Bear (Whitelist AU)

(Two fics in the span of a few hours? More likely than you think A bittersweet fic regarding the absence of L'manburg's president. Enjoy!)

-

Impulse watched in amusement as Grian flew circles around Tommy, the younger boy desperately trying to land a hit with his wooden axe and shouting curses when Grian kept zooming out of range at the last second.

"'Training' my ass!!" Tommy complained, swiping again at his avian opponent who deftly flew out of the way. "What the hell kind of training is this?!"

"Thinking ahead!" Grian responded, flying over Tommy's head and mussing his hair before zooming off again, chased by Tommy's foul language. "You can't hit your opponent if you don't know where they're going next!"

Tommy huffed dramatically and took a pause to wipe his forehead with his sleeve. "Nobody on my world has elytra! This isn't fair!"

Grian just shrugged as he lazily circled the boy. "I offered you an aerial battle, you don't get to complain."

"I'm not fuckin' INSANE!" Tommy argued, swiping his axe in vain at Grian again. "I'm not gonna fly around like a lunatic! That's too high up!"

"I thought Mr. Tall Man didn't care about heights," Tubbo piped up from his seat on a fallen log a few blocks away. Tommy stuck his tongue out at his friend, then blinked. "I stuck my tongue out at you!" He relayed, sputtering noises of offense as Tubbo silently replied by flipping him the bird. Impulse laughed.

The hermit made his way to the blind boy to sit with him, trying his best to make his footsteps loud as to not surprise him. Tubbo turned his head towards Impulse as he made himself comfortable on the log.

"You any good at PVP?" Impulse asked idly, attempting to make conversation as Tubbo couldn't watch Tommy and Grian's sparring. Tubbo shrugged. "Not really. Even before--y'know--" The boy vaguely gestured at the scar ripped across his eyes. "I wasn't really good."

Impulse swallowed. The underlying thought of how an inexperienced kid like Tubbo survived in the many wars he'd been a part of was left unsaid.

Impulse didn't like thinking about it. He didn't like thinking about anything concerning where these kids came from.

There was an awkward beat where nothing was said between the two, during which Impulse noticed Tubbo's demeanor change from easygoing relaxation to a subtle fervered anxiety. Impulse tilted his head.

"What's eating ya, 'Bo?" He asked gently, and Tubbo moved in a way that seemed he was rustled out of his thoughts. "Just..."

Tubbo sighed, suddenly looking years older than he was.

"L'manburg. I...miss them. I'm worried about them." Tubbo confessed. "I didn't even get to appoint a vice president before we came here. I don't know how they're coping."

Impulse stared. "Kid..." He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the sky as if he was looking for an answer to explain how this 16 year old had the thought to care about the broken country he'd tried so hard to maintain. "Gods...Tubbo--I'm--"

He jumped when the kid put a hand on his arm. "It's okay." The boy cracked a tired smile. "I think it was well established that my world is a lot rougher than yours."

Impulse wordlessly opened and closed his mouth. "You're just a kid, Tubbo." He finally said, his voice catching.

Tubbo slowly nodded, as if he was contemplating the statement. "Yeah. I was." He corrected. Impulse blinked.

Tubbo pulled his knees up to hug them close to his chest. "I don't think I am anymore." He commented. "There's...a point, you know? You kinda lose that part of you."

Impulse felt a tear roll down his face without his permission. He tried in vain to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. "...Tubbo..."

The boy tilted his head in Impulse's direction. "Impulse?"

"Hey--" Tubbo's small, scarred hand hesitantly fit into his own after a few seconds of scattered searching. "It's okay." He reiterated. Impulse silently shook his head.

"'s not," He choked. "I--"

Impulse squeezed the kid's hand, a silent reassurance, even though he was currently more emotional than the boy who'd already accepted the road his past forged for him.

"You...I get you want to go home--" Impulse sniffed. "But...while you're here, I--you can be a kid, okay?" He pleaded, as if Tubbo had any form of control over his old world that forced him to grow up before he had a chance to live.

Tubbo was quiet. Impulse tried to wipe his tears. The boy turned his head away as if to signify he was lost in thought. When he spoke again, his voice was wistful, yet in the same dull tone that meant Tubbo didn't believe what was told to him could be true.

"...I think that'd be nice." The boy murmured, and he gave a small smile as Tommy's curses filled the air again. Impulse could see as if it was the first time how tired the blind boy really was.

"...Yeah. I'd like that."

END.

[ellstersmash]

the same thing

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles Pairing: Mason x Theo West Rating: M (sexual content, FTB) Words: 1,455 [read on Ao3]

mason and theo talk about feelings. haha jk... unless??

-

He slept over again.

Not on purpose, of course. It just happened. But it sure seems like it’s been just happening more and more often lately. Another new habit, he figures. No big deal. Besides, his own room may be more comfortable—the mattress and the colors and the smells and the quiet all far more to his liking—but waking up here does come with one incredible perk.

Mason turns his shirt right-side-out and tugs it on, eyes drawn to the seam Theo had torn open last night in her haste to get the thing off him.

“Sorry about that,” she croaks out, her voice gone all raspy from a few hours' disuse—though overuse is just as likely a culprit, if his memories of the previous evening can be trusted.

He takes in the sight of her stretched out unceremoniously on her bed with the early morning sun behind her. Even dulled by the curtains it makes her hair glow a sort of rose gold, and she hasn't been awake long enough to smooth it back or to arrange herself temptingly around the sheets—a fact that pleases Mason. She's fucking perfect like this.

Hell, stick her in a museum right up with all those old paintings, and he might let Nate drag him along once in a while. Might even do the dragging.

“No, you're not,” he says.

In lieu of a rebuttal she flashes him a cheeky grin and stretches. Sits up on her elbows then all the way up to watch him dress, rubbing her eyes and gathering the duvet up to her chest.

“You know, you could uh… leave a change of clothes here. I guess.” She frowns deeply and looks away as her words trail off. “If you want to.”

“Hard to resist such an enthusiastic offer.”

“Well it's so cliché.” She smacks her hands onto the bed in frustration. “It sounds like a whole big thing, and that's not what I— I'm not— I mean if you’re going to— Ah, shit.”

Mason raises an eyebrow at her, waiting while she collects her apparently complicated thoughts on the subject. The subject she brought up in the first place.

At last, Theo huffs. “It's practical.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

A lightness breaks through the frown still carved into her brow as she shrugs and says, “Just trying to save you the walk of shame. Because I’m nice like that.”

Mason smirks. “Oh sweetheart, I am so far from ashamed of what we do here. Thanks for looking out for my reputation, though.”

“Hey, it is impossible to get stains out of those things.” She starts off teasing, but gives a heavy sigh. “Trust me.”

The way her expression falters has Mason wondering if she speaks from experience, but before he can ask about it, a thought occurs to him—along with an entirely different question. It’s one he's never needed answered before, but now it makes his heart thud uncomfortably inside his chest.

“Theo,” he begins, voice calm but less detached than he’d like. “Are you ashamed?”

“What?” Theo’s eyes go wide in genuine surprise and she scrambles to her feet to close the gap between them, catching a toe in the sheets and nearly tripping in the process. Her hands slide onto his ribs and settle on his waist. “Of y— of this? No! God, M, no. Why would you ask that?”

If she wants an answer, he's screwed because he doesn’t have a good one. Anyone else, any other encounter, and he wouldn’t give a damn how they felt about it. Never has before. They want to be embarrassed that’s their shit, not his.

She is one of them now, though. Part of the team. A friend, and he’s never done this with a friend before. And like Nate said, she'll be sticking around. Only makes sense to want her not to regret it, not to make it awkward later on, not to cause tension with the others.

Yeah. Explains a lot, really.

Mason nods, satisfied, as his hands meet her warm bare skin. “Just had to make sure.”

Theo sighs and melts into the touch. “I should never have made the stupid offer. Forget I asked.”

“It's a little domestic for us, anyway.” Mason lets his gaze drift gently down the curves of her naked body. The scent of human food is creeping in from some other apartment, but it’s not so bad when she’s this near, smelling like… well, like her. Her pulse begins to pound in his ears, and by the time he makes it back up to her face, it bears an expression so heated it makes his breath catch.

“Way too domestic,” she whispers, swaying almost imperceptibly.

“Wouldn't want the neighbors to get the wrong impression.”

“Exactly.”

He skims the back of his fingers along her collarbone and up the side of her neck, then clenches his fist into her hair and soaks up the way she shivers with pleasure. “On the other hand,” he says, pulling gently to tilt her head back, “a change of clothes could be practical for other reasons.”

Theo hums in question and he dips his head low to whisper in her ear.

“Imagine how creative we could be if we didn't have to worry about your clothes or mine.”

When his lips meet her pulse point she arches into him with a shuddery breath. “Consider me convinced.”

Mason smiles into her skin. “It was your idea.”

“Right, right.” She waves one hand dismissively in the air before it joins the other in attempting to undo his morning’s work. “Course it was.”

Then she retreats to give him a stern look and a strict finger. “But to reiterate, this is purely a functional arrangement.”

She’s at least partly joking but he doesn’t have the patience for it right now. He wants her to focus on his shirt so he doesn't have to take over. Then he can take her back to bed and find out how hoarse her voice can get.

Maybe make her lose it entirely.

“Agreed,” and he cups her breast, brushing the pad of his thumb over the peaked nipple. The moan she bites her lip to muffle is a good start.

“I mean it.” With Mason’s encouragement, Theo manages to tug his shirt off again—more carefully than the last time—before her hands drag down his chest and abdomen. “Don't you go catching feelings for me.” Her nose wrinkles at the word even as her fingers work loose the top button of his jeans. “Dirty little things.”

“No kidding. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Not since I turned seven.” She giggles alone at her own glum joke, then looks up at him through her lashes and draws her lower lip between her teeth. “I'll tell you what I would kiss with it though…”

A growl escapes him at the suggestion. He’s been half hard since she first laid her hands on him and the warmth currently spreading up toward his stomach is only intensifying. “Actions speak louder than words, sweetheart.”

“Good point.”

In one smooth movement that has his attention fixed, Theo wraps her arms around his neck and tilts her head up to his—but her lips stop just shy of his own. Mason relishes the anticipation. Lets her stretch it out as long as she wants, for once welcoming the wash of sensations: the warmth she radiates, the achingly slow circles she traces on his spine, the caress of her thumb in the rough stubble on his jaw, the smell of sweat and arousal and the perfume she wore yesterday, the dissonant flutters of their heartbeats, and the spark in her eyes as the sun catches on the blue.

Finally, finally she kisses him, but it’s only the lightest press of her lips before the tip of her nose drags along his. She leaves another there, just as gentle as the first. One more at the top of his cheek, brushing against his eyelashes, and it’s not at all what he expected. Not what he thought he wanted, but—

Better somehow.

Mason swallows hard. Wants to speak, to say something that might shove off the weight of all that tenderness, but before he has the chance, she captures his lips again. Maybe she knows what he’s thinking or maybe she’s thinking the same thing. Doesn’t matter; the urgency in it has his mind back on the right track.

The slightest pressure at the back of her thighs and she clings tight to let him lift her, wraps her legs around his waist, and peppers soft hungry kisses wherever she can reach as he walks them back to bed.

[secret-engima]

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret DoTF Characterization Rant

OKAY, ME RANT RAMBLING ON LUNA’S CHARACTERIZATION IN DAWN OF THE FUTURE IS A GO.

This is … likely going to get messy, but I’ll try to keep it at least moderately coherent. Lemme start by saying that- for the most part- I did actually enjoy Luna’s chap. I’ve been enjoying the book (kinda-sorta-mostly, I really liked Aranea’s chap at least) and I don’t think it’s like- a BAD book? Necessarily? But I feel like it is extremely telling in regards to how the characterization/lore is treated that my brain is automatically filing this thing under “fanfic that’s not my HC but is okay-ish” rather than “canon I will be gleefully tweaking as I please”. My brain is literally looking at this officially licensed book and equating it to fanfic. To fanfic that NEEDS EDITING.

With that out of the way, lemme attempt to summarize my (main) issues with Luna’s Characterization and then I’ll expand on them from there. Get ready for the salt.

1. Luna’s backstory is inconsistent. She herself states multiple times that Oracle training is grueling and involves both physical and mental trials as well as things like fasting for long periods of time WHILE doing said training, yet she is mostly treated like a well-meaning but overall pampered, naive princess who is only now being forced into hard circumstances and has to adapt accordingly. She is also treated like she doesn’t know “common people” that well and doesn’t know how to interact or pick up things like lies (????). A common example is how she treats Sol as trustworthy but reserved when according to Sol’s POV she is literally debating shooting Luna as a possible threat. And Luna supposedly doesn’t pick up on this danger. But we’ll get back to that.

2. Luna is characterized as being oblivious to how people outside Rich Oracle Circles live. That despite traveling all over the world she has never really seen it’s “ugly” sides because she’s always traveled in fancy guarded processions with the sick brought to her. Pretty sure the book specifically mentions at one point that she’s never “considered” what it would be like to be anything other than an Oracle. Admittedly this issue could go under number 1 or 3a but I’m putting it here because I’m salty.

3a. This and the next problem are heavily intertwined and, not going to lie, I could make an entire rant just about these two issues all by themselves, not just in Luna’s context. The first is that Luna is portrayed as not being able to make her own decisions, not even wanting to make her own decisions, until she is forced to or has her “eyes opened” by Sol, our jaded Long Night survivor character. The author treats Luna’s sense of duty as some form of social brainwashing she needs to “get over” and spoiler alert I hate it with every fiber of my being.

3b. Playing right off the whole “Luna is incapable of making her own decisions and that’s why she does her freaking job until someone ‘opens her eyes’” is the idea that Luna’s faith is a character flaw. Lemme reiterate. The story treats Luna’s faith. As a character flaw. Rather than the entire cornerstone to her character and one of the big reasons she’s as amazing as she is. Her faith is treated as foolish and shortsighted, something that has only survived for this long because it has never been challenged and, heads up, the rant I am going to go into on this one specific thing is going to be long and extremely salty.

Alright I think I’ve covered the basics. Starting from the top, BRING ON THE SALT.

…

1. Luna is pampered, well-meaning but naive and bad at reading ulterior motives of people.

….*slow, deep breath* Luna. The Oracle. Who became the youngest Oracle in history. Because her mother was murdered in front of her while her home was burned down and conquered by the people who then proceeded to rule her country, subvert her brother to their cause, and generally control and monitor every aspect of her life that they could. Luna, who was fully prepared to take a single suitcase and escape her own home and run off alone to get to Altissia and had to be stopped by her own brother (who you’ll note brought a bunch of soldiers with him, which indicates he did not expect a submissive response if he came alone).

This girl who was canonically physically abused as a child by a Niflheim officer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZHzBtIfpdg slow this down if you need to confirm, but she is grabbed and manhandled and hit by an adult man when she only looks to be twelve, around the age Tenebrae first fell), who has spent twelve years living under the rule of a nation that is not only aggressively atheist but has willfully attempted to kill one of the very beings she serves and openly plans to do so again. The woman who successfully survived the fall of Insomnia with only one magic-less glaive as her backup for most of the event, then evaded the search efforts of an entire empire with only her own wits, a dog, a Messenger who has only ever been shown to talk rather than fight, and the extremely grudging on-off help of her brother who works for said empire. All while waking up the Astrals and forging covenants that were slowly killing her from the strain, which is the exact thing the empire was trying to prevent her from doing. Then, when it became necessary to complete the last covenant, turned herself in to the very same empire that has imprisoned her since she was a child and has been actively hunting/trying to stop or kill her since Insomnia’s fall.

That girl. Is pampered. Is naive. Is bad at reading people and telling when they have ulterior motives or are lying.

Pull the other one. I’ll kick you.

But seriously, how are we supposed to believe this? Luna’s life post Tenebrae’s fall to Niflheim is only pampered in the sense that she was given fancy clothes and fed regularly (outside the grueling fasting periods mentioned in this same book). She had no freedom, no privacy, her guards were all either men who wore the same uniform as those who killed her mother or were monsters infected with the very scourge she is sworn to purify. The Oracle is famous, is revered by the people. To keep the people on their side, the Empire would have flaunted her, would have taken her to all the shiny events. Luna would have had to dine with, converse with, even dance with the very same people who ordered and condoned the murder of her mother, her own imprisonment, and the brainwashing of her own brother to the enemy side. She would have been the epitome of a bird in a gilded cage or a dog on a silk leash and humans are not meant to live like that.

Am I really expected to think she survived a situation that oppressive, that toxic, that actively hurtful, for years by being naive and bad at reading people? Am I really expected to believe that she cannot tell when people are out to use her or hurt her or are lying to her? Am I really expected to believe that she is pampered and doesn’t have, at the very least, PTSD from seeing her mother murdered and her brother join the very people who did it, let alone everything else that would have followed over those years?

Really?

Luna didn’t have a pampered life. She suffered abuse. Longterm emotional abuse, likely sporadic physical abuse until she learned to play along well enough to escape such punishments, and almost certainly gaslighting (again: religious leader being held captive by an aggressively atheist nation that wants to kill the pantheon this religious leader communes with).

Luna would have learned to navigate the canonically cutthroat politics of Niflheim while being at best an outsider and at worst a target because of her beliefs, her nationality, and her loyalties to the Lucians (nobody was surprised when Luna went on the run. Nobody. Her continued devotion and loyalty to the Lucians -Niflheim’s enemy- was absolutely a well known factor). She would have learned to pick truth from lie and when to pretend she hadn’t noticed in order to survive. She would have lived twelve years knowing that any mistakes or misplaced moments of trust would be paid for in either her suffering of the suffering of the people close to her like her servants, or just the citizens of Tenebrae in general.

And none of this is taking into account her Oracle training, which the book does not elaborate on but repeatedly states was hard and grueling and she completed it years earlier than any Oracle in history.

There are a lot of words I would use to describe Luna, but pampered and naive are not among them.

…

2. Luna is oblivious to how people outside her rich circles live and has never considered being anything else but an Oracle until Sol specifically points it out.

The book states that she mostly travels in procession (ie, with tons of servants to serve her every need and bodyguards to keep the masses at bay) so clearly she can’t go anywhere too dangerous, otherwise her servants wouldn’t be able to come. Right? Oh boy where do I start with this.

I know! Let’s start with the fact that Luna canonically maintains the blessings on Havens! You know those things. They’re your only safe place to camp at night and they can be found in all sorts of nifty locations like the middle of the wilderness where cars can’t go, chocobos won’t go, packs of wild animals will literally leap out of the bushes to eat you (Voretooth packs can get up to twelve or more members all trying to eat you at once, fun fact), and poor choice in clothes will lead to broken ankles at best? The ones that can be found in the depths of locations so dangerous that even the Hunters are leary of going inside and are actively forbidden from approaching unless they are a very high rank?

Off the top of my head some of the Havens that come to mind is the one in the middle of Malmalam thicket, the top of an active volcano, multiple spots in the middle of the voretooth and coeurl infested desert, two up in Vesperpool aka the home of all demon crocodiles and flocks of cockatrice that are bigger than the average car and can literally turn you into stone if you aren’t careful.

Yeah those places. She maintains those. Depending on how often Havens need to be maintained and if the weather/nature shortens that time then she might also have to periodically enter the dungeons Noctis explores in game that also have Havens hidden inside where it is always dark all the time and infested with daemons.

The book also states that the sick (who are highly infectious and not supposed to be touched by people who can’t heal the scourge and in the later stages of sickness become extremely violent and prone to biting in order to infect other people) are … brought to her…

By whom? Exactly?

Moving on from that giant and obvious plot hole to the “never seen or considered other lifestyles” bit: Luna has traveled literally all over the world. In her duties of healing the otherwise incurable she has gone all over Niflheim, Tenebrae, and Lucis. She has walked through the streets of cities filled with lights and glamor and stood on the dirt roads of towns so small they have to go to the next town an hour or more away to buy groceries or check their mailbox and who’s royal hotel suite is just a caravan with a new coat of paint and “welcome Oracle!” sign. Luna’s work is to cure the Starscourge, which is a disease that I can almost promise the rich don’t get. Because the rich and fancy do not risk their lives by going into daemon territory (Prompto, a middle class Insomnian, didn’t even know what wild animals would be like, you expect the rich and famous to be any better?).

The vast majority of Luna’s patients would be people like Dave the Hunter, or Sania the scientist who wades into the wilds. The truck drivers and the farmers and the electricians risking their lives to repair power lines in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t be going to cities except to talk to the refugees who fled there from the outside and thus picked up the Scourge. Her only two social circles would be Niflheim’s cutthroat nobility and the “unwashed masses” who come to her for healing. Guess which ones she’ll be more invested in getting to know on a personal/friendly basis and interacting with.

Of course Luna has interacted with and understands “common folk”. Luna is a caregiver, not just physically, but emotionally. She is beloved by the people because she is kind. That means she talks to them. More importantly, she listens. She has held the hands of the farmer as he begs her to heal him, because the harvest season is so close, and if he can’t work, if he dies, then what will become of his wife or the people his farm feeds? She has embraced the sobbing refugee mother as the other breaks down in gratitude for a child who’s skin is a healthy shade and who’s veins no longer bulge a sickly purple. She has met people who are not rich, but who are content. Who have lives that do not hinge on the razor thin dance of staying true to self and not exposing weakness to those who want to eat her alive. Who can laugh with their neighbors and kiss that nice boy down the street just for the fun of it, who can defy curfew to dance in the rain with the person they love and risk, at most, a lecture and a weekend grounding.

And no, they aren’t rich, no, they aren’t influential or powerful, but they are peaceful. They are happy.

Am I really expected to believe that Luna has not looked on these people’s lives from afar, listened to their rambles as they try to distract themselves from the sickness she is drawing from their veins, and not yearned to be the same? That she hasn’t thought over and over again about running away and being free from her gilded cage? That she doesn’t know anything about the lives of the people she heals even as she walks down their streets and steps into their houses so she can heal those who are too sick or too violent to be safely taken out of their room? That she has never thought about what life could be like if she wasn’t an Oracle as she watches the landscape roll by and walks through the wilderness to find the lonely farmsteads that the townsfolk tell her has sick children that cannot be let out of the shed for fear they will bite?

Setting all of that to one side, what human hasn’t thought of being someone else? What person on this planet, hasn’t looked at another person’s life that is so very different from their own and gone “huh, I wonder what that would be like” even if only for a moment before moving on and forgetting about it? Humans are creatures that dream by nature, that are curious by nature. To assume that Luna is not just because she gets to have the fancy dresses and servants is stupid.

…

3a: Luna is unable to make her own decisions and is only the dutiful Oracle because she doesn’t know any better and needs a “wiser” rebellious character to “open her eyes”.

Okay buckle up. I have tried to suppress the salt until now but over these last two points I don’t care. I will be salty. I will be sarcastic. I will be mean. I will reference Real World faiths (tho I’ll try to keep that to a minimum).

Both 3a and 3b are actually systemic issues in storytelling (particularly noticeable in movies/shows but maybe that’s because I’m pretty lucky with my book choices) that I despise with a passion. Specifically 3a relates to the chronic issue writers seem to have with characters not being allowed to be happy with their role in life. There’s this persistent thought, this narrative push, that if a character is following in the footsteps of their family, is entering the “traditional” profession that their parents (or grandparents, or entire generations of predecessors) have been in before them then they must be unhappy with their lot in life. That this is clearly the character being “repressed” and that if they are content then they are either a bad guy (see: every antagonist from a proud military family or every ruler who thinks they are better than everyone because of bloodline ever) or they are just blind to their own unhappiness.

Now, the basic idea of “character discovers they are unhappy in current role and seeks a new one” can actually be done really well. But those stories that do it well have a lot of internal conflict, a lot of self-reflection and searching and choosing to take a new path after really giving it some thought. Maybe they have help along the way, or encouragement, or another character to show that it’s possible by example and that’s okay.

What is not okay is infantilizing a strong, intelligent character by saying “oh it just never occurred to them until they are told that they are unhappy by this much more worldly wise character and then they went and did it”. That is not okay. It not only trivializes the efforts of every real person who has proudly followed in a parent’s footsteps to become something (a doctor, a missionary, a soldier, an actor, even an electrician, pick a life goal and I promise someone has been inspired to do that by their parent being one before them) but it also takes an otherwise strong, dedicated character and implies that they are too stupid to think for themselves or have any free will until the plot and a Shinier Character demands it.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is an Oracle, as her mother was before her, and her mother before her, and all the way back two thousand years to the very first Oracle we see in canon. Possibly back even farther, depending on if any of Aera’s ancestors were Oracles too. That isn’t a suffocating tradition, that is a heritage, that is a culture, that is a necessary, life-saving service that canon proves literally kept the world from falling into eternal darkness (Luna was the last Oracle, the day after she dies is literally the last time we players see sunlight until the end of the game when Noctis dies to restore it). Luna is not stupid or repressed for following in those footsteps, she is breathtakingly strong for shouldering her heritage as the Last Oracle with pride even when the forces controlling every other aspect of her life want her to be ashamed of it and give it up.

The empire that took over her home when she was twelve are actively anti-magic and anti-Astral. Luna is someone who speaks to the Astrals and is born with a magic that can heal the very sickness they want to weaponize. They couldn’t outright forbid her from training to be the next Oracle because that would cause the people to riot, but they could and absolutely would try to make her give up in any way they could. They would have insulted her, demeaned her, hurt her, and imprisoned her. They wouldn’t have wanted a “real” Oracle, they would have wanted a puppet who said pretty promises and then did nothing to stop them.

It would have been so easy for Luna to go down the same path her brother did. To give in to the empire and it’s propaganda that she would have been forced to listen to every single day of her life for twelve whole years. It would have made her life so much easier to be a puppet Oracle who didn’t have to walk miles through the wilderness to maintain Havens, or defy the empire by maintaining loyalty to Lucis, or leave her manor home to heal the sick that could not come to her themselves. As a puppet Oracle she could have stayed in the Manor and only treated cases that could reach her doors and were vetted by the empire. She could have eaten the finest foods and worn the best dresses and never had to worry about a pack of hungry Voretooths or a rogue Behemoth tearing her apart. Most of all, Niflheim wouldn’t have been nearly as oppressive or violent. They would have gladly given her the illusion of freedom and control as long as she played along rather than been fully willing and prepared to run into the jungle with a suitcase just to escape as seen in the movie.

Luna was not blindly fitting into a mold and she was not and has never been incapable of making a decision. The fact that she shows up in canon as a strong, dedicated woman who is in control of her emotions and not afraid to face down a giant sea monster with the power to summon tidal waves with just her words and a glorified pointy stick proves that. The idea that she needs a “wiser” character to come alongside her and “free her” from her own duties is not only stupid, it undermines one of the key things that makes Luna such a strong character despite her relative lack of screentime.

Furthermore, canonically, one of Luna’s main reasons for sticking with her duty as Oracle isn’t because it’s tradition, it’s because of what Niflheim did. In the Kingsglaive movie, when Nyx Ulric is getting angry at Luna for doing really reckless, life-threatening things, she tells him quote:

“I do not fear death. What I fear is doing nothing and losing everything.”

That’s not a woman who is blindly following a path laid out for her. That is a woman who is desperately, furiously fighting against the people who killed her mother in front of her the best way she can: by being the Oracle they cannot stand for her to be.

But sure. Luna is only the Oracle because she doesn’t know better and it never occurred to her to be anything else until some jaded kid with a shotgun made a snide comment about it.

3b: Luna’s faith is a character flaw that has only survived this long because it wasn’t challenged by a worldly wise character who knows better.

Not going to lie but words cannot express how much I hate this trope. This is another thing that shows up a lot in television/movies but also in books too, and that is that a character is not allowed to have a faith in something/religion unless they are 1. Foolish, 2. Brainwashed/tricked into it, 3. A crazy fanatic, or 4. It’s a character flaw they have to overcome by becoming more jaded and atheist and hateful.

Because … that’s not how it works. There are- millions (billions) of people all over the real world who are intelligent, well educated, thoughtful, kind, and religious. And no I’m not just talking about Christianity (tho I am Christian so you can see why this trope grinds my gears so hard). There’s Hinduism, there’s Islam, there’s Buddhism, there’s Judaism, there’s so many faiths and belief systems okay. And no we don’t tend to play well with each other or accept the validity of the others but that doesn’t mean we’re fanatics or brainwashed or stupid. And no we really don’t appreciate it when media introduces a character who follows a religion (even fictional ones!) only to make them an antagonist or rip it away from them in the name of “improving their character”. Just like every other cultural group ever who really doesn’t like their heritage and culture being used as a butt of jokes or is turned into a caricature or used as the basis for the antagonist being Evil™.

But no. We can’t possibly have a character who’s faith makes them strong or gives them comfort in times of hardship unless they are deluded. We can’t possibly have a character who is both intelligent and faithful. We can’t possibly show a character who is breathtakingly courageous and selfless as well as religious unless we point at their faith and go oh look a horrible character flaw to overcome by having non-believer characters open their eyes via sarcastic commentary.

And look. Look. I am well aware that the plot of Dawn of the Future has Bahamut as the Bad Guy™. I am fully aware of that. But if you want to be purely honest and technical, that doesn’t invalidate Luna’s faith because (spoilers) the other Astrals fight Bahamut to save the world. They hear her cries and the come to fight on behalf of Lucis and Noctis and all of Eos and they kill Bahamut even when that ensures their own destruction.

But we’re not actually here to talk about whether the Astrals deserve Luna’s faith in them, we’re here to talk about why insisting Luna’s faith is, by nature of being a faith, treated like a flaw and why it is treated like something so weak it only survived to this point because Luna didn’t face anything “bad” enough to “snap her out of it”.

Spoiler alert, it’s not a flaw and it’s not weak.

Going back to something I have mentioned several times already: Niflheim is an empire run by people who actively want to kill the very beings most of the planetary population worships. The very same people in charge of Luna’s life for twelve years, starting from when she was twelve and very emotionally vulnerable and traumatized, hate the Astrals. I repeat: They hate the Astrals. They have devised weapons to try (and spectacularly fail) to kill them. Half their continent is a winter nightmare-land because they tried to kill Shiva the Glacian and she went “haha, nice try, lemme leave a fake corpse here that constantly pumps out freezing temperatures and blizzards”.

Am I seriously, honestly, supposed to believe that these people didn’t try to tear down her faith at every single opportunity? That Ravus wouldn’t have tried to bully and cajole and harass her into abandoning her faith because he knew that her faith was what kept her walking her chosen path as Oracle and that said path was destined to kill her? Am I seriously supposed to believe that Luna didn’t spend those twelve years having to sit there and bite her tongue to keep from raging at these cutthroat nobles as they gloated and sneered and spat on the names of the Astrals who gave Luna the very magic she uses to heal those in need?

Luna never needed Sol to come along and say “what have the Astrals ever done for you?” because I promise that she’s heard some variation of that exact phrase from everyone in her life. From her own brother to the Emperor himself she has heard some form of this question, this taunt. In the Kingsglaive movie, General Glauca even says something to the order of, “To what god do you pray? The gods do not listen.” Right before he kidnaps her.

Luna’s faith isn’t something blind, and it is not a flaw. It is a cornerstone of her character. Luna’s faith is a bloody, stubborn, tenacious thing that she has nurtured and shored up and been steadied by through twelve years of emotional abuse and physical imprisonment. Luna’s faith is an unshakeable thing that can only come from long nights spent crying into the silent dark of the room and asking “is this real? Am I right? Should I give up? This hurts so much, what do I do?” and finding the answer to be “yes this is real. Yes I am right. No, I won’t give up even though it kills me. Yes it hurts, but what I believe in is stronger than this pain.”

Faith is not optimism and it is not fanaticism. Optimism can be broken by hardship and fanaticism has no room for selfless kindness or acceptance of other people not being as devoted as they are. Faith is personal. Faith is a bedrock, and maybe it’s a bedrock that makes no sense to people on the outside, but it is a bedrock and it can make mountains move.

Just as Luna proves when she runs rings around an Empire to win the respect and cooperation of Titan and of Ramuh, to stand amid the rain and tell an enraged TideMother that “it is in mercy that men offer praise, and in shedding grace that the gods solicit worship” and not flinch because she knows she is right.

Luna’s faith is a fierce, scarred thing that has taken every kind of suppression and propaganda and poison the empire could throw at it and kept on going.

Furthermore. Luna’s faith is treated by Sol as something empty. Because when did the Astrals ever help her or comfort her or save her?

I can answer that. They helped her when they gave her Umbra and Pryna, who kept her company through her life and gave her a way to talk to Noctis. A way to reach out to a person who was not either imperial, warped by imperial propaganda, or too afraid to speak out against the empire for fear of dying. They comforted her when Gentiana became a second mother for Luna after the death of Queen Sylva. A physical shoulder to cry on, a sounding board to bounce fears off of, a well of advice when it was asked of her, a rock to retreat to when Ravus turned away from her and the empire continued to control as much of her life as they could.

Gentiana, who is really Shiva in disguise, has been with Luna since she was a small child.

One of the Astrals themselves has been with Luna for almost her entire life. Has guided her, has comforted her, has led her to safety as she fled Insomnia’s ruins.

Shiva had no reason to do that. The Oracles have done their duty since the time of Aera without her help or company. Shiva didn’t have to stay. She didn’t have to linger and offer comfort and become Luna’s friend. She didn’t have to listen to the last words of a scared young woman who wanted only to see her fiancé one last time and promise to carry them to Noctis in the event of her death. Shiva didn’t have to cry on behalf of Luna. Shiva didn’t have to help Luna remember what it was like to be an ordinary woman (“Yet others need not hide their grief. Is she [Luna] so different from them?”), and in fact, if Shiva had played up to most of the stereotypes, she would have done the opposite and done her hardest to suppress any part of Luna’s personality that wasn’t her Oracle duties.

But she did. Shiva was there, and she remembered. Shiva loved and we as a fandom may yell at the Astrals a lot for not doing more to take care of the Starscourge, but of all of them Shiva gave the most because she came down and she lived, and walked, and loved this Oracle, this scared child, this frightened, weary woman who couldn’t even turn to her own family for comfort. Shiva’s husband Ifrit was betrayed by humankind and yet Shiva still defended them, she kills Ifrit to protect the man (the king) that Luna loved.

And at the end of the game, in those final moments outside the Citadel, when it’s just Noctis and his Retinue against all of Ardyn’s armies of daemons, when Luna calls out to these Astrals whom she has remained faithful to her entire life, even unto her death…

They answer.

Every. Last. Astral. Who is not corrupted like Ifrit, comes down at her prayer and fights. Even Leviathan who’s only voiced lines are screaming wrath against the humanity that forgot her, even Bahamut who otherwise remains aloof in his plane of magic beyond the concerns of the mortal world. Luna calls, and they answer her.

“What have the Astrals ever done for her” indeed.

Luna’s faith is a driving force of her character, it is irrevocably intertwined with her duty, with her choices, with her desire to help people and save the world even if it costs her own life, and in the end her faith is rewarded. Not in the way we want for her, because we love the ultimate happy endings where everyone lives and nobody dies. But Final Fantasy XV was never a story about happy endings. It was a story about coming of age, and tragedy, and sacrifice. Of holding onto hope against all opposition, and of having faith that someday the dawn will return, even if bringing about that dawn requires personal sacrifice.

…

Okay this is over 5k words, I’m tired, and I’m extremely salty so I can’t really figure out how to wrap this up but there we go, my salty personal rant about why I think Dawn of the Future messed up some really critical parts of Luna’s characterization and why it’s Really Bad that they messed up those specific things.

Also I kinda despise them making Bahamut the bad guy in DotF because yes he’s a jerk and yes he really could have done the whole Prophecy thing a ton better, but in the original FFXV one of the things that made the game so heartbreakingly tragic to me is that most of the characters involved weren’t pure evil. They could be greedy, and flawed, and crazy, but in the end the source of the problem was too big to pin on one character.

Do you pin the entire thing on the god of war for his mistakes in trying to bring about peace, or the god of fire for trying to destroy humanity and no longer being there to do his job and purify the plague? Do you blame the Astrals for their hubris or humanity for theirs, because Ifrit loved humanity until they betrayed him so deeply he went mad? Do you hate Ardyn for causing the Long Night or pity him for being a victim of Somnus’s greed? Can you blame Somnus for everything even though the Scourge was going on long before him and kept spreading long after he sealed Ardyn away? The whole thing is a tragedy because at this point it’s a problem too big to fix without someone paying a price too heavy and we hate that because the characters who pay that price are the ones we grow to love over the game.

But that is an entirely different rant for an entirely different day when I am not so tired and my hands no longer hurt from writing this much in one sitting. Thank you and good night.

[mandoalorian]

Without You [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Summary – Maxwell Lord had been shutting you out and pushing you away. You felt unwanted and unloved. It was only a matter of time before you snapped and confronted him.

Pairing – Gender neutral reader x Maxwell Lord (No Y/N)

Warnings – angst, a lot of arguing, alcohol consumption

Word count – 1.7k

A/N: Two Max fics in one day! Hope you enjoy x

 The anger resided deep within you, burning a hole in your heart. You just got home and threw your keys on the breakfast bar of the penthouse apartment kitchen. Maxwell followed you, slamming the front door behind him. “Please for the love of God will you say something,” Max said, becoming increasingly frustrated. You scoffed and walked around the breakfast bar in messy circles after being silent the entire journey home. You tried collecting your feelings and regulating your breathing but you just couldn’t; especially not with him standing right there. He said your name and your face snapped up at him as you clenched your fists.

“Who is she?” You asked, your voice shaky as you furiously blinked away the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Max froze. “Who is she Maxwell?!” You repeated, raising your voice this time. He sighed angrily, huffing as you bit your lip anxiously and continued to pace around.

“She is my new assistant,” Max told you, his voice as calm as could be. “I told you sweetheart, Angela retired last week. Barbara is my new assistant.”

“Is this why you’ve been working late every night this week? Even heading to the office on a weekend? You know that’s meant to be our time together. And you won’t even let me come visit you like I used to.” You cried out.

“I’ve been busy with Germany’s conference arrangements! You know this!”

“Because you always put your work first,” you hissed back at him, bitterness dripping from your tongue. It was true, especially as of recently. When you first started dating Maxwell, he had warned you that his work was his life – and you expected no less from one of the most respected CEO’s in the world. But this relationship was starting to feel one-sided and you were getting fed up, especially when he began to shut you out. “I’m asleep by the time you come home Max, and when I wake up, you’re gone again. I can’t keep doing this.”

“What has gotten into you?” He shouted at you, his tone making you flinch. “All of a sudden you have trust issues with me?”

“You shut me out!” You yelled back. “You don’t tell me anything anymore. You never tell me about your day at work and when I ask you just grumble or say nothing. I feel lost. What is a relationship without communication? And now this ‘Barbara’ girl…” you shook your head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you mention her to me?”

“I didn’t think it was important!”

“Right because you don’t talk to me about anything anymore,” you held your head in your hands as tears dripped on your fingers. You turned away from him, sniffed, and wiped your face before turning back to him. Maxwell’s heart fell in his chest when he took in your sore red eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but he couldn’t find any words. “Your last assistant was 65, Max. She’s, what, 20?”

“30.” Max sighed, running his fingers through his dark blonde hair.

“She’s beautiful Max,” you told him as you recalled seeing her wearing that tight, black lacy dress that looked far too expensive for just an assistant to afford. You refused to let your mind wander. There’s no way Maxwell would’ve bought her that number.

“She is beautiful,” Max reiterated. “But she’s not you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You spat.

“I’m sorry,” Max was practically pleading for forgiveness at this point. “You know I’m not good at words.”

“Bullshit!” You couldn’t believe his audacity. “You are a businessman Maxwell! You literally do commercials for the whole country to see. Hell, you even get invited to the White House to do broadcasted speeches for the President! And you’re telling me ‘I’m not good at words’,” You imitated his voice and he looked down at the floor, embarrassed.

“I mean… talking about my feelings,” his voice was barely above a whisper and you took in his pained expression. Maybe you had taken this too far. But the fact he had been keeping things from you and putting his job before his relationship infuriated you so much.

“Max, I’m leaving,” you announced after deciding this conversation was nothing but counter-productive.

“No no no,” he said, following you to the door. He grabbed your hand but you ripped it away.

“Don’t come looking for me.” You warned before leaving his millionaire penthouse.

It was like pathetic fallacy when you took your first step on to the street, as lightning flashed and rain saturated your hair and clothes. You signalled for a cab and sat down in the passenger seat. The driver asked where you wished to go and you told him the address of the first person you could think of.

Bruce Wayne’s penthouse was almost as impressive as Maxwell Lord’s. When you knocked on the door and he answered, a look of concern appeared on his face. You shuffled inside, pools of water following you as you kicked off your shoes and let your coat fall to the ground. Bruce sighed, “I’m not gonna lie,” he shrugged. “You don’t look so great.”

You scoffed and made yourself comfortable on his leather sofa. “Can I stay here tonight?” You asked him.

“Of course,” he replied. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No,” you shook your head and he poured himself a glass of whiskey on the rocks. You felt a feeling of sadness wash over you as you remembered Bruce liked his whiskey the same way Max did. In fact, as you looked around Bruce’s apartment, you couldn’t help but associate things with Max. You took a deep breath when you saw a piece of artwork on the wall. It was a replica that came from Maxwell’s museum and you find it incredibly difficult to hold back the tears.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Bruce said after taking a sip of whiskey and putting his glass on the table.

Bruce walked to his office and sighed before dialling his arch business rival. “Lord.”

“Wayne.”

“You messed up big time.” Bruce sighed and Max knew immediately you had gone to Bruce’s place on the other side of the city. Nothing riled him up more than knowing you were with his nemesis. Out of everyone, you had gone to see Bruce fucking Wayne.

Maxwell hung up and didn’t even bother taking his coat. He ran downstairs to the garage and took one of his car’s before driving to Bruce Wayne’s penthouse. Max hadn’t drove in years but he didn’t have time to contact his driver, especially so late night. He was reckless and probably ran through a few too many red lights, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t lose you, especially not to Bruce Wayne. He didn’t trust Bruce at all and he knew Bruce might even take advantage of you just to get back at Maxwell for some petty past business drama.

When Maxwell arrived at the penthouse, he didn’t even bother knocking on the door. He barged in, soaking wet and calling out your name, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but when you stood up and he saw you, he felt his heart drop. Your eyes were still red and your hair had curled slightly from the rain, but even still, to him, you looked just as beautiful as you did when he first laid his eyes on you. He said your name again, this time only a whisper as you approached him slowly. You were so glad to see him too. You thought you could handle being alone from him, but you couldn’t.

“I fucked up.”

“Max…” you said quietly and he took your hand.

“No, let me speak.” He said sternly. “I should have told you about work, and Barbara. I should have communicated with you… told you how stressful it’s been. But I’m not here to make excuses. I’m here to say sorry. I know you’re disappointed with me but I can assure you, you’re nowhere near as disappointed as I am in myself. I hate myself for pushing you away. How could I ever let myself push you away?” He raised his hand and cupped your cheek. You closed your eyes and hummed under his delicate touch. Maxwell glanced over your shoulder and noted Bruce sitting over on the sofa drinking a glass of whiskey. “Maybe… maybe I’m too late,” Max sighed and you opened your eyes. “You deserve more, really, you do.”

“Max…” you shook your head sadly.

“Can I just,” Max stumbled over his words. “Can I just kiss you? Please. One last time. Fuck. I know I never say it but I love you. I love you.”

You pressed your lips against Maxwell’s and curled your fingers into his wet locks of hair. “You didn’t have to say all of that,” you said gently after pulling away but pressing your forehead against his.

“If you give me a second chance I promise I’ll do better,” Max told you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I was so close to losing you tonight and without you, I had never felt so alone. You have always been there for me. When we were younger, you stayed by my side after my father passed. You stayed with me when my mother threatened to sabotage the business and you comforted me when my first marriage broke down. You saved me more times than you even know. Without you I don’t even know if I’d still be here.”

“Max please,” you whispered. “I won’t ever leave you. You can push me and push me but I’m not going anywhere.” Max breathed a sigh of relief. “But,” you began, and let out a tired giggle. “You’re gonna have to stop pushing. I don’t want this to happen again.”

“Never again,” he promised, and you felt yourself soften as he held you close, your head resting on his damp chest. “Let’s go home, my love.”

[kitaychan]

White Flame

Chapter 17

Rating M

Warnings: Blood, Psychological horror

General Summary:  As their two Kingdoms get closer to a war, the past keeps on hovering around their choices. Prince Ivan has a hard time controlling his magical powers while being tormented by a mysterious ghost and Prince Alfred embarcs in seeking a revenge that might cost more than it’s worth it.

Preview: Arthur paused, pondering on the seriousness of the reply and shaking his head. “Why did you support her request? Alfred is weary of Ivan and his sister, he’ll throw a tantrum. Not even Madeline will be able to calm him.” he said, returning to his pacing. “He’ll put the blame on me.”

“One would think you are afraid of the boy. Is he giving you a hard time?” A sly smile appeared on Francis’ face as he left the papers on the desk. “I advised Madeline to travel, it’d be good for her to strengthen ties with others. If Alfred brings demise upon himself, she won’t be dragged by him.”

“Nonsense, Alfred only needs to understand how this works, it’s my fault for not paying more attention to him and his learning.”

“He is aware of how this works.” Francis stated, crossing his arms and laying back on the chair. “You need to take him seriously.”

Chapter 17: Arrangements

Arthur paced around the room, the polished floor reflecting his tired silhouette. Papers shuffled behind his back, his eyes traveling slowly across the room, faltering at the sight of the long and delicate fingers that held the stock of papers, too close.

He stumbled back, to regain the distance the other man had stolen from his personal space.

He prefered it that way, distant, he was able to observe without the snarky remarks or the flirtatious glances. Reiterating over and over again that Francis was like that with everyone, that it was his way of behaving: eccentric, yet, accurate to the artistic circles he frequented, but when they were alone, Arthur was sure he was repeating the thought to convince himself, to believe that his nervousness and hesitancy were side effects of annoyance

A soft voice spoke. “I don’t see why you are so worried” a lone, red ruby glinted on the ring of the approaching hand, until it settled, resting on his shoulder. Blonde hair tossed to the side, barely visible as a page of paper was held hiding the face of the man speaking. “Everything is in order, I assure you that it will go down smoothly. Just a couple of weeks and I will return to you.”

Moving the hand away, Arthur huffed. “I only worry about Madeline, if you were to prolong your stay there, I’d gladly provide the means for that.”

Lowering the pages, Francis frowned, his voice dry and plain. “You wound me, Arthur. Why must you be so harsh?”

Arthur paused, pondering on the seriousness of the reply and shaking his head. “Why did you support her request? Alfred is weary of Ivan and his sister, he’ll throw a tantrum. Not even Madeline will be able to calm him.” he said, returning to his pacing. “He’ll put the blame on me.”

“One would think you are afraid of the boy. Is he giving you a hard time?” A sly smile appeared on Francis’ face as he left the papers on the desk. “I advised Madeline to travel, it’d be good for her to strengthen ties with others. If Alfred brings demise upon himself, she won’t be dragged by him.”

“Nonsense, Alfred only needs to understand how this works, it’s my fault for not paying more attention to him and his learning.”

“He is aware of how this works.” Francis stated, crossing his arms and laying back on the chair. “You need to take him seriously.”

Fighting the urge to argue with him, Arthur glared, leaning his hands on the desk, there was no use in following Francis’ game, though, what was the fun in speaking with him if he didn’t? He lowered his voice. “He’s plotting again, isn’t he? Is there something you want to tell me?”

A pause, Francis chuckled, averting his gaze. “A lot of things actually,” Clearing his throat, he continued. “Regarding this matter, there is nothing to tell, Alfred is pretty straightforward.”

Arthur sighed, organizing the papers on the desk, hesitantly taking the seal. “You’ll write to me as soon as you can.” he said, a small nod from Francis gave him the reassurance he needed. He signed, a sense of dread falling over him. After all, he had to inform the siblings of the arrangements he had made.

----

The curtains swayed with the wind, a cold breeze entering the room through the opened window, Natalya shivered, tossing the book on her bed and closing the window with a grunt.

The mirror, instead of reflecting her pale face and the shadows under her eyes, was filled with scattered pages, either full of annotations or depicting the same scenery over and over again.

That gloomy forest was imprinted on the back of Natalya’s mind, the book was filled with those sketches. There were crumbled papers laying on the floor, on top of her nightstand a messy, scratched letter.

Natalya frowned at the sight, no matter how many times she sent letters, they went unanswered. Perhaps there was a delay, a bitter taste crawled on her mouth as she remembered her father’s correspondence, the letters had arrived, Ivan was not replying to her.

A soft knock on the door took her out of her thoughts. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice sharp and loud.

The door opened and Feliks stepped in casually. Looking around, pausing at the mirror and kicking some of the papers on the ground. “Your father wants to see you.”

Natalya observed him intensely, her hand clenching on the curtain. “Get out, I’ll go with him in a moment.”

She kept her glare but Feliks didn’t move, he held his stare, a smile forming on his lips as he pointed at the nightstand. “Natalya, you are not approaching him correctly. Ivan is not an usual royal, he is more of a soldier than a prince. If you want to gain his attention, you have to provide him useful information.”

“What would that information be according to you?” she chuckled dryly, retrieving the book from her bed and placing it on the small table.

Feliks shrugged, pacing towards the door. “What meetings are being held here, your father’s opinions and of course, updates on how the territory is progressing. I can help you with that if you want.”

“I do not want your help, I am perfectly fine on my own.” She fumed, her hand reaching for the door.

He chuckled, standing in the doorway. “So, he replied to your love letters, right?”

Natalya’s face grew hot with anger, her voice raising. “Leave me alone! I will tell my father of your insolence.”

Feliks stepped back, taking distance from her, a sheepish smile on his face. “I will help you, I can assign you a scholar, he will accompany you and clarify the meetings to you and you will introduce him to the proper etiquette and such. Does the exchange sound appealing to you?”

Natalya glared, pushing the door to close it. “I won’t babysit any schoolboy.”

“Did I mention that he comes from a family of sorcerers? He might have magical knowledge too.” Feliks blurted out, holding the door open. “Yekaterina’s exchange idea was brilliant, we get to share with so many foreigners, it is certainly enriching our culture. I see you are interested in our forest so you could participate too, you are a foreigner here.”

Natalya retreated from the door, letting Feliks stumble forward. “Make the arrangements, I will see if I can make time for that.” She huffed, walking past him.

Feliks approached her in the corridor again. “I will certainly arrange a trip to the forest but you’ll have to convince Ivan about the scholar. You see, someone in my position cannot request anything to him but you surely could.”

She knitted her eyebrows, turning towards the staircase. “Nonsense, why do you offer something you cannot provide?”

Following on the steps, Feliks pressed. “It’s not a secret that your fiancé dislikes me, rightfully so, I shouldn’t have behaved like that at the feast. I know people, unlike you or your cousin, I mean, his majesty, I have a wide network of acquaintances.” He smiled. “You only have to persuade him, the person I’m talking about is one Tino’s trusted advisors, safer than bringing the western kingdom’ princess.”

Natalya stopped in the last step, arching her eyebrow. “What do you mean with that?”

“You do not know? Yekaterina arranged princess Madeleine to visit the firebird, that’s why your father is so busy these days. Personally, I think that’s a poor choice from her but who am I to judge Yekaterina’s administration.”

“I don’t care about your opinions, my father can provide me with advisors if I ask, a scholar is not necessary and I won’t talk ill about Katya if that’s what you want.” Natalya clenched her hands on her dress, why would they hide something so important from her?

Feliks shook his head, lowering his voice. “You could inform yourself about a distant principality through said scholar and advise Ivan on how to rule it.” he shrugged. ”Of course, I’d never wish for you to engage in aversion with your cousin and soon to be, sister in law.”

Resuming her steps, Natalya argued. “Stop mentioning our familiar ties, it’s unnecessary.”

“You are right, it is” He hummed, waving his hand and dismissing the men waiting by the office’s door. “I just think it’s strange that Yekaterina brings another princess here, taking into account the rumors about the prince.”

Knocking on the door, she growled. “Get out of my sight. I recognize a snake when I see one. I’ll make my father behead you.”

As the door opened, Feliks straightened his posture, his smile vanished and he lowered his head.

Natalya smirked at the change of attitude, perhaps she could scare him a bit more with her threats, her joy soon vanished as she saw Tolys was the one holding the door open, she scrunched her nose and walked past him.

When the door closed, Natalya sat heavily, her brow furrowed, she opened her mouth to speak but her father held a hand.

“I know, I should have told you before but we weren’t sure if they would accept Katya’s invitation, I was hoping they didn’t.” he paused, observing her. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.” She pouted, reminding herself that her discontent should be directed towards Feliks and not her father, there wasn’t much he could do about it if Yekaterina requested it. “What is Tolys doing here?”

At the question, his face lit up, he ushered her to approach, showing her a delicate box. “A gift was sent. He said you’d requested it.”

Natalya took the box, it was wrapped with blue silk, a platinum ribbon adorning the top of it. It was a bit heavy but not much, she arched an inquiring eyebrow at her father.

He shrugged, handling her a letter. “I’m sorry, I was wondering what the fuss was about, please, tell me that's a dress.”

She took the open letter with trembling hands, reading over it quickly.

It’s light enough for you to wear it everyday if you want, and ornate enough for it to be a sight to behold.

Another one was requested for the day of the ceremony.

I hope it’s to your liking.

Ivan.

Natalya beamed, laughing lightly. With a sing-song voice she said. “It’s not a dress!” Leaving her father with a dumbfounded expression, not hiding the smile on her face, she took the box and hurried to her room. Her steps felt lighter, the day was brighter and her heart was fluttering with excitement.

She pulled the bow apart, opening the box slowly, the silver crown was indeed beautiful, blue sapphires adorning it. Natalya gasped, this was not a tiara, it was a crown, to think that she’d have another, perhaps more beautiful and majestic was beyond her dreams.

She moved away the papers from her mirror, taking off the white ribbon from her hair and folding it. She lifted the crown slowly, placing it on her head, the window opened with a thud, a cold wind entering, moving the curtain and twirling the lone pages, her tiredness vanished and she could swear her reflection was smiling back at her.

Natalya was exceeding the fantasies of her treasured fairytales.

---

The market was a picturesque place, crowded with people, offering a variety of products, some children running around as their mothers sold the goods, results of their labor.

There were a few harsh glances thrown in their direction, seeing soldiers from the royal army around the firebird was offensive to the inhabitants, Tolys couldn’t blame them, nor was he surprised by the quantity of women in the place, he had frequented the market long before and most of the sellers were men. Now, the few men left were elders or young boys helping their mothers.

Feliks guided them into a small bakery, gaining confused glances from the soldiers, the woman attending was busy, bargaining with another in the entrance. Tolys avoided their gaze as they approached, not wanting to draw attention. His attempt was in vain, even if he was no soldier, he looked like a prince in comparison to the villagers.

Feliks looked around, staying by the door, ushering to take a look. Tolys approached, the interior of the bakery was dull but he could notice the restaurations, they were odd looking. The firebird used to be adorned with warm tones, the blue banners and the white paint was not the inhabitants doing.

One of the soldiers entered, his eyes fixed on the wooden counter, more exactly on the pastries exhibited.

Feliks approached him, greeting the man warmly. Tolys saw the confusion in the man’s eyes, but what caught his attention was a scar on the man’s hand.

Feliks glanced around, standing beside the man. “Are you a soldier?”

The man shook his head. “No, sir. I am a farmer.”

The other soldiers chuckled. Tolys observed quietly, as Feliks frowned, his voice acquiring an annoyed tone. “That injury doesn’t look too old, did you participate in the conquest?”

“I did, the circumstances required all available men to join the army.”

“How unfair of the King to ask the civilians such sacrifice.” Feliks huffed, motioning the woman to pack some pastries, her hands curling the hem of the white apron she wore.

Tolys glanced back at the entrance, the other soldiers were watching them with suspicion. A tired voice replied. “It is part of our duty as subdits of our King.”

Feliks nodded, “What do you think of the prince? wasn’t he drunk a few days ago?”

“Drunk is an exaggeration.” one of them said. “To see him in the winter festival was a strange happening, but maybe he’ll be a better ruler. Not secluded in that palace, maybe he’ll be more lenient with us.”

“Royalty doesn’t care about any of us unless we are useful to them.They only take our work, our men and sometimes our women.” The woman huffed, glaring at Feliks and placing a small box on the counter. “Though that’s more of a soldiers’ tradition, isn’t it?”

“Such a thing hasn’t happened in a long time.” The soldier next to Feliks shifted on his feet. “The prince was with our regiment when the Firebird was taken, I thought royalty didn’t engage in the conflicts, you know? I wonder if your prince was watching from afar, comfortable and hidden. Our King was with us, and his son, I think we owe him the return, he took that decision after all.”

The woman’s face grew red, she raised her voice. “I don’t owe him anything, your king and your soldiers own us for the spilled blood of our families. I don’t have to welcome you, I merely tolerate you.”

Tolys eyes widened, he stepped back, motioning the soldiers to do the same, unluckily for him, they didn’t comply.

Feliks dragged him out of the bakery by the arm, chuckling softly. “It’s so easy to set them up.”

Toly’s glanced warily at the woman arguing with them. “We should-”

“Quick, what news do you have.” Feliks interrupted him, his voice hushed.

“Vladimir resigned, he said it was a foolish plan. Ivan is busy flirting with a maid and Yekaterina is focused on the exchanges, they suspect nothing.”

“A maid?” Feliks laughed. “I can’t wait to rub that in Natalya’s face, she’s hard to persuade, isn’t she?”

“Lady Natalya has a sharp vision, don’t taunt her.” Tolys’ frowned, fidgeting with his hands. “I suspect Vladimir might tell.”

“Natalya is busy daydreaming about her wedding, as for Vladimir, he won’t speak, that would cause him trouble with Tino or worse.”

Tolys paused, shaking Feliks shoulder. “Tell me you haven’t spoken with Ludwig? You know very well that Gilbert will not provide aid just because, what are we supposed to give them in return?”

Feliks lowered his eyes, his eyebrows knitted. “I’d never ask that devil for help, trust me. Tino refuses to back us up but he might change his opinion if we pull the right strings, I’m working on it.”

“Give me more time. Vladimir said there was something off, let me find out what he was talking about and I’ll convince him.”

“Alfred already spoke with Lukas, if the middle kingdom gets involved Alfred will mediate, I trust his word.” Feliks smirked, pointing at the bakery. “Ivan will be trapped, he can’t attack the firebird as his father did. Yekaterina is digging her brother’s grave without knowing but if she sees you too close with Vladimir she might suspect something.”

Tolys nodded slowly, his eyes trailing to the firebird, that tall and lone fortress looked grim. He wondered, after all this was over, would he have to live in there? Was this worth the trouble? A glance at the bakery made him recompose his thoughts, the woman was showing those soldiers the way out of her bakery, her head was high and a small smile settled on her face.

He wanted that, the satisfaction that was ripped from him, the autonomy, no, the dignity that the horrid blue and silver banners had stolen from him.

[regolithheart]

what do you think about the Nesta/Cassian/Mor conflict? also looking forward to your fics!!

Hi beautiful, sweet, innocent, Nonnie!!

Thank you for writing to me. Like I said, I could talk about Nessian all day and I am full. of. #thoughts. I could give you a short sweet answer, but it’s week six of quarantine, I had a brownie for dinner, and I don’t know what day it is. In the end, you’ll probably regret asking me, but lets just jump into it, shall we?

Unpopular opinion: I don’t like Rhys, Mor, or Feyre. So if you don’t want to hear what I have to say in regards to them, thanks for stopping by. No need to read further. 

I’ve never loved Feyre, but I think that has more to do with the fact that I just don’t like main characters in a series. Would I have preferred to read Hermione Granger and the Prisoner of Azkaban? You bet your ass. I also don’t like Rhys for the same reason, but also I dislike Rhys more than Feyre and for additional reasons which we will get to later.

I hate that I dislike Mor, because I loved her so much in ACoMaF and for a hot minute I shipped Mor and Azriel because I am a sucker for the unrequited love trope. A real sucker. And maybe, maybe I could have overlooked the retconning of her being a lesbian (yes, it was a retcon. Fight me.), if it weren’t for the fact that it makes her look really really bad and makes her treatment of Azriel even worse. I get it. I do. Her working through being okay with telling the others any of her business is part of her personal journey, but being honest to someone you claim to love about not being able to love them the way they hope to be is different than telling them you can’t be in a relationship because you prefer the opposite sex. Listen, I obviously have thoughts about this, but that’s not what the question was about so I’ll move on. 

Mor and Cassian’s relationship is a dangerous one. They both use each other as a crutch. From day one, Mor was using Cassian. Now, I don’t think she was doing it maliciously, but he appealed to her because he was already one of the most powerful Illyrians and a bastard to boot. Why do you think Mor chose Cassian and not Azriel? Sure, she wanted to own her own body. She wanted to decide who she gets to sleep with, but she decided she wanted to sleep with someone before going to the Autumn Court to stick it to Keir and the establishment. And what better way to stick it to them than to choose an Illyrian bastard. Because being the illegitimate son of an Illyrian lord is still ranked higher than being someone with no father and a dead mother. Mor knew exactly what she was doing when she chose Cassian. She is Rhys’ third-in-command for a reason. She aint no dumdum.

And for 500 years it was all good, right? Mor didn’t care who Cassian hooked up with because she knew they were no threat. But as soon as someone comes along that Cassian has feelings for, like true, legit, feelings, she cannot handle it. Because if she loses Cassian as a buffer then she really will have to be honest with Azriel (the horror). And so what does she do? She gets possessive. She outright hates Nesta and does not hold her feelings or tongue back. Now, some people are going to say that Nesta is the worst. She was horrible to Feyre growing up, she’s rude, she’s belligerent, and she can be a straight up bitch. Yeah. No argument there. We’ve all read the books. We have see the evidence throughout the whole entire series. But so is Rhys, so is Mor, so is Feyre, and Cassian and Amren. The only difference, is that a) they all have each other’s backs while no one has Nesta’s and b) we get to see everyone’s reasons and everyone’s POV except for Nesta’s. Feyre is an unreliable narrator, which is why I’m looking forward to seeing Cassian and Nesta away from Feyre in book 4 because I don’t trust her to tell me what’s going on for realsies. 

Honestly, the scene that made me straight up get so pissed at Mor was in ACoFaS when Nesta shows up to the Solstice party and Elain gives Nesta her present. All of Cassian’s attention is pointed to Nesta and what does Mor do? She forces Cassian to pay attention to her by choosing that exact moment to give him his Solstice present. Not any other time before or after when Cassian barely even glances Nesta’s way, but during the what, five seconds, he’s looking at her? PLEASE! It’s so passive aggressive and I hate it. I hate it!

I think the thing that bothers me the most abut Cassian and Mor’s relationship is that it really is just a miniature version of Cassian’s relationship with the Inner Circle in regards to Nesta. But really, when I say Inner Circle, I mean Rhys. I hate how Rhys treats Nesta, thinks of Nesta, and dismisses Nesta. Does he have his reasons? Sure. Are they valid reasons? He sure thinks they are, but like I said before, he’s no angel and we got to hear his full story so until we get Nesta’s full story then I don’t need my inbox blowing up. And honestly, if it turns out that Nesta really is as bad as everyone thinks she is, that’s still not going to change my opinion of her. I mean, why have you even read this far if you don’t like Nesta? Has anyone read this far, period? 

What I mean to say is that Cassian loves his family. He loves Nesta. The problem is that his family and Nesta don’t love each other and he will always feel torn apart over it. Cassian knows that Rhys hates Nesta. He can barely acknowledge her existence in front of Rhys and Azriel because they barely do. Yeah, his feelings are complicated right now. He’s hurt, and angry, and confused, and still loves her and can’t work out his feelings because he doesn’t have a safe place to do so. If there’s anyone he should feel comfortable going to to work out these feelings with, it’s Rhys, Az, and Mor but he can’t because he knows exactly how they feel about her, which is that they tolerate her at best. And even then, do they? 

I don’t want Cassian to feel like he has to choose between Nesta or his family, but as the situation stands, he probably does feel like that. I mean, who knows. Maybe he’s already chosen his family over Nesta. It’s not like she’s making an argument on her own behalf. But we know Cassian loves Nesta. Even if he’s annoyed with her, or mad, or frustrated with her, we know that he honest-to-the-Mother loves her. But until everyone can heal, and understand one another, and accept each other, it’s a lose-lose situation all around. Notice how I didn’t say love, or even like. 

Do I feel sorry for Cassian? Yes. Do I think he’s entirely faultless? Nope. Yes, he’s in a shitty situation, but honestly if he had a real conversation with Mor (and the Inner Circle) about his feelings about/for Nesta and confront her about her treatment of Nesta, he’d get different results. Do I think he’s terrified of having an actual, honest conversation? You betcha.

And yeah, we all know that Nesta isn’t making the situation any easier. But she’s hurt and suffering more than any of us really know. Do I think she's entirely blameless? Absolutely not. But I do feel that Rhys and Mor are extra judgmental of her because they already have their preconceived notions of her and anything she’s done contrary to that is ignored while everything she does that reiterates it is magnified. But here I am getting derailed again.

Nesta feels unloved. We can argue whether or not it is deserved another time, but the fact is that she feels unloved. Probably has always felt unloved. So every time Cassian choses to look at Mor instead of Nesta, it’s confirmation to her that she will never be anyone’s first choice. Look, the only man who said he loved her turned out to be abusive and assaulted her. And then when her father declares that he loves her, he gets murdered right in front of her eyes. Elain is the only other person Nesta knows loves her, and now she’s chosen Feyre and the Inner Circle over her (at least she has in Nesta’s eyes). You see where I’m going with this, right?

Except for the few dire times during the war--like when they’re legit in battle for their lives and emotions are running high--does Cassian let himself show Nesta that he cares for her. The only other times is when they’re by themselves. We know it’s because Cassian hides behind his bravado. But to Nesta, who probably has the worst opinion of herself, it probably means he’s ashamed to show it. Or he’s uncertain. I know we don’t have proof of this in the text, but I like to think I understand Nesta on a deep level, I can just imagine that’s how she’s feeling. Nesta pushes people away so that she doesn’t get disappointed when they decide to leave on their own accord. Nesta fought for Feyre, she fought for Elain, and she fought for Cassian. And in ACoFaS they all essentially turned their backs on her. And you wonder why she has so much rage in her frozen heart. 

TL;DR (not that I blame you): It’s complicated and it’s messy and everyone involved has contributed to it’s tangled mess of jealousy, insecurity, selfishness... but I also place more responsibility on the two 500-year-olds than I do on the 23-year-old. 

I’m really interested to see how it plays out in the next book(s), but I will tell you right now, I am on team Nesta Archeron and will be until my dying breath. 

Also, if you made it to the end...

[lovehotelreservation]

HELLO CHELL! It's my time as a Sylvain stan to make my summer comeback! (ㆁᴗㆁ✿) [왜 예쁜 날 두고 가시나 ? // Why are you leaving a beautiful woman like me behind? - SUNMI] Everyone in the idol community knew that you had a messy breakup with Sylvain (who cheated on you). And your amazing break up song was the comeback you needed. But now you have to dance the song with Sylvain on stage (think Taemin&Sunmi's dance) at an awards show! Things are SUPER tense in the practice rooms. Who knows what can happen?

BLESS U ETERNALLY FOR THIS GODLY PROMPT ANON I STAN U 4EVER AND LOOK FORWARD TO UR NEXT COMEBACK

HKFLAHFKA THIS ENDED UP SO HONKIN ANGSTILY HONRY 4GIVE ME

I HOPE U ENJOY!!!

It was going through the motions.

The twist of your hips, every facial expression to punctuate each melodious word that was meant to come out from your lips, your feet across the polished wooden floor based on muscle memory rather than the beat of the song.

So many months dedicated to perfecting and performing this exact choreography.

It was why you could run through the song’s dance with your eyes closed, as you were doing now.

However, given your upcoming appearance upon the bigger, grander stage of the esteemed Fódlan Awards show, a mere reiteration of your established for one of the biggest singles in your career thus far was not enough.

Not even an extended, remixed cut of your song was going to be enough to appease the audience.

As told by the higher executives at your record label.

You had to do something different.

Daring.

“We’re supposed to be in sync you know.”

Your eyes fluttered open.

And then, ever reluctantly, traveled up to a pair of twinkling brown irises, a cheeky grin, and a wild head of ginger red hair that never failed to seize attention.

Even given the circumstances, he still had it in him to sound so carefree.

Tall and gorgeous, broad shoulders that stretched out a short-sleeved white shirt that revealed toned arms and clung to a well-defined and chiseled torso, charming and captivating.

He was the idol that took the industry by storm with his talent and a subsequent controversy.

He was the man who once cradled your heart before allowing it to plummet to the ground.

He was Sylvain and he was to share the stage with you to perform the very song you penned in lieu of his unfaithfulness.

There was too much money behind his success. Your record label had to get him back in the good grace of the public, hence the ‘special’ arrangement for your performance, your feelings be damned.

And it was those forsaken feelings that made just simply looking at him too hard to bear.

Still, rather than humoring him, you only scoffed while continuing your routine: the both of you had to mirror one another’s movements, and you absolutely hated how his body continued to manage with remaining perfectly in sync with yours even if you attempted to slow or quicken each of your motions.

“If you’ve got time to talk while we’re supposed to be practicing, we can end this right here.”

His grin still remained in place, even as the shine in his eyes dwindled ever so slightly.

“I hear ya, I hear ya.”

The slowed music of the extended cut of your song’s chorus played, signaling for when it was time the two of you would point at one another before facing out to where the audience would be.

But rather than turn himself or allow you to do the same, he simply took a step forward, eliminating the space between you to grasp your wrist.

His lips were still quirked into a smile, but the words he then spoke were tinged with gruff melancholy. “You know how I am—I can’t ever appreciate a good thing even when it’s in front of me.”

Immediately, you tried to draw your hand back, but the hold that his hand--so much larger compared to yours--refused to offer any escape.

“Don’t you even start, you bastard--!” You lashed out, finding the sob that had been fighting to come loose from your lips beginning to viciously claw its way from the bottom of your throat. Not wanting to lose face in front of him, you were prepared to storm out from the practice room. Whether right over to your manager to demand once again to have a different dance partner, or outside to hail a taxi--anywhere was better than to share the same space as him.

He didn’t even flinch from what you said, the look in his eyes remorseful as it was determined. 

“Call me whatever you like. Make more songs to let the whole world how I fucked up. I’ll take it—” One more step closer towards you was taken while the tone in his voice was resolute in its desperation. “--lose my whole career over it. If it means you’ll take me back, I’ll grovel right on stage when we perform.”

To cry from anger or to cry that there was a tug at your heart strings from his determination to patch things up.

Vehemently, you shook your head, again while attempting to break free from his grip.

“Embarrass me like that and I’ll never forgive you--!”

Your wrist was freed.

But your body was immediately seized into an embrace while his lips planted right onto yours.

The scent of his favorite cologne, the softness of his mouth, the gentle heat of his body.

How you’ve missed them so as you found yourself returning his kiss, the familiarity you tried so hard to escape from lulling you immediately back in.

Your mouths soon parted but Sylvain kept you near while he brought his hand to cradle your cheek, his voice soft in a murmur, “So is there a chance that there’s room for forgiveness?”

The word ‘forgiveness’ suddenly had your mind reeling back to the horrid morning of tabloid magazines with pictures of him spotted on a late night rendezvous with a model he did a recent photoshoot with, social media ablaze as the idol community bore witness to the drama unfolding, your phone bombarded with texts and calls from management, family and friends, and most of all, him.

A sentence tumbled out from your lips, one you’ve been meaning to tell him to his face for a long while.

“I hate you.”

Once more, he didn’t flinch. He just kept you near and within his reach as he spoke,

“Do you hate this then?”

Sylvain was kissing you again, longingly, urgently. You were squirming in his arms all the while melting in his embrace, all the while his hands began to roam around your body, seeking out the sensitive points on your figure that he devoted himself to memorizing during your relationship.

He was just too good.

And this only made things worse.

“Let me make it up to you, let me make it up to you...”

Those were the words he urged in a husky murmur as you found yourself carefully laid down on the floor with him hovering right on top of you. Clothes began to scatter across the floor of the practice room as he proceeded to devote nothing but reverence to your body by the earnest suckles of his mouth on your nipples to the fluid circling of his thumb over your clit. The playback of your track had since finished, with the sound of your moans mingling with his amidst the noise of skin meeting skin in brisk slaps.

Your bodies were pressed together, joined. He was sinking the thick girth of his cock in and out of you, at first slow and indulgent but only driven to pick up his tempo with the sound of your mewls while your legs hugged around his waist while your nails scratched along his ivory shoulders.

“That’s right. Scratch me up, call me a lowlife--get it out of your system. Just take me back is all that I’m begging here,” he hissed, shuddering as he planted his mouth right onto yours for another kiss, relieved by the lack of resistance from your end.

Together.

Together as you were entangled within one another.

Together as you both soon reached climax while desperately clinging onto each other’s bodies.

Together as the two of you laid on the floor, Sylvain holding you close and tight, his grip so firm as though any give would have you slip away from him once again. Tears slipped from your eyes, immediately wiped by his lips kissing them away as he murmured a litany of apologies.

For so long, you’ve done all you could to move on from the broken love that you both shared.

And here you were, going through the motions once again.

[belle-keys]

Incoherent thoughts about A Court of Silver Flames (2021) by SJM

Do not expect this to be a critical, unbiased review at all. Eet just ease what eet ease. Spoilers ahead laddies. 

*unwanted preface* 

Okay, so like, you know those things that are neither objectively perfect nor unproblematic yet you love them and are attached to them anyway? Yeah, this is me with SJM’s writing. See, I been with Sarah and Throne of Glass since March of 2015 and with ACOTAR since the summer of 2015 when I was 13 and honestly, ACOTAR in particular occupied a decent portion of my formative teen years. Eventually, when I was about 16 I sort of ended up getting distracted from YA books and went into my thot and kpop era. A main reason for this is that I found ACOFAS particularly disenchanting. This ain’t about that book (sigh) but let’s just say as much as I was still attached to and in love with the ACOTAR world, I was still able to get very annoyed by the decreased quality of the writing and also the evident projecting Sarah was doing onto Feyre with regards to her own life and experiences (ahem). No, the lack of developed POC in the book had nothing to do with it ironically. 

So basically, since the spring of 2018 I haven’t read any SJM yet I never fell out of love with the books either. I’ve sworn off TOG after whatever the hell EOS was, but ACOTAR was always more special and close to my heart by tenfold, honestly. See, the best day of my 2016 was the day I found out ACOTAR was getting the extra 3 novels and 2 novellas. ACOFAS was a dumpster fire but I was actually surprised to really, really enjoy A Court of Silver Flames while it obviously has a couple (multiple) sus facets to it. The susness aside, I thoroughly felt at home reading Nesta’s book despite how irrational that might sound. No, I’m not here to say the book was objectively good but I’m here to say I still enjoyed it despite my love-hate relationship with SJM and her writing. :( :( :( 

That being said imma still roast tf out of a couple aspects of it. :)

*the susness*

Aight wbk that SJM like, projects a lot onto feyrhys right. I’m not even gonna deny it. Like as horrible as it sounds, when feyrhys were, like, struggling as a couple and shit in ACOMAF, that’s when I loved them the most but then the shitstorm that was ACOWAR hit and they couldn’t go without boning every two seconds or calling each other mates and shit and basically every character in the book started kissing their asses (except Nesta) to the point where they were infallibly good and powerful and everyone’s heads were lodged up their asses... I got PISSED OFF then, right.

Now, in ACOSF (is that correct?), they were side characters and, gratefully, that romance between them was toned down. But here are some things concerning feyrhys and the Court of Dreams that irked tf out of me, and the implications that they had for Nesta (who is perhaps one of the baddest bitches ever) had me feeling homicidal towards the IC:

Every single time Nesta said shit about Rhys and then Cassian got mad I wanted to SCREAM like yooo let her roast tf out of him like yeah I get Rhys lowkey did a lot for her both directly and indirectly but cmoooooon not everyone needs to be riding his dick like the man HATED Nesta from the get-go. I loved the idea that someone in the book lowkey abhors Rhys just for the TEA it gave me. Like yeah, okay Cassian, I get that he’s your bro but he can SUCK NESTA’S DICK also like my girl is a DEATH GOD.

Here me out: the Inner Circle completely dehumanized Nesta, they completely disregarded her personal autonomy and caged her in which is ironically the very behavior that was villainized when Tamlin did it to Feyre. First of all they restricted her movement, they made decisions FOR her, they withheld from her knowledge about her own powers, they decided what’s best for her and acted like she was a rabid dog the entire time. Only Cassian and Azriel seem more blameless in this regard, but the level of scorn and abohorence and moralizing Feyre, Elain, Rhys, Amren and Mor did towards Nes made my blood boil. At the end of the day, the Inner Circle did the VERY THING they hated being done to Feyre. Whatever happened to the freedom they professed? The autonomy they decided all members of their court deserved? That was all bullshit, or was this switch-up SJM’s way of creating justifiable conflict between Nesta and the Inner Circle... either way, there was no closure about this and the way they dictated Nesta’s behavior whilst completely mistreating her imo.

More on Nesta’s treatment - okay listen the way the narrative had every character acting like Nesta was fricking scum and for WHAT??? Okay, she didn’t hunt when Feyre and they were poor, she was bitchy, she hates the Fae... okay, why is Nesta still being punished for her mistakes like this by the Court? Does their forgiveness only apply to those in their clique? They’re acting like her drinking and sleeping around and her general bitchy behavior is sooooo toxic when they ALL coped with their respective trauma in questionable ways in their centuries of living. And the narrative never condemned them for this behavior either... like cmon they had an “intervention” about Nesta like if she needed to reach a certain moral standing to be lovable or something. Seems to me that only Cassian was willing to love her, bruises and all... “There’s nothing broken to be fixed. You are helping yourself. Healing the parts of you that hurt too much - and perhaps hurt others too”. But as beautiful as that it, it seems the IC see Nesta’s healing as her “redemption arc” when I never saw her as a villain or monster to begin with. They acted like she had to become deserving of their acceptance. Bullshit.

No cus more on this... Cassian is the only person who defended Nesta, the only person that wanted to help her heal and grow when everyone else wanted to fix her. He was the only person who was kind to her from the original trilogy (i.e. not counting Emerie and Gwyn). He stood up for her and I’ll gush about them in the next section, but the dynamic between Nesta and the IC was the least enjoyable aspect of the book for me. It was clear SJM wanted to spur Nesta towards the path to healing yet only figured out how to do so whilst only keeping feyrhys as the nucleus of this arc, and so she had them force Nesta into her “special journey” (because she loves them so much, cus they’re sooooo perfect right *rolls eye*), yet, the narrative didn’t quite condemn them for their toxicity towards Nesta at ALL, even towards the end. The good thing is that Nesta did not become an ass-kisser throughout the story and laud them for “helping her” every waking second. Only Cassian didn’t shun her for her inner negativity but embraced her. And Az was pretty cool too, can’t hate him.

Ahem, the ending: okay, I’m not even capping, but I hated that Nesta lost her power for feyrhys. I get that she genuinely did it out of love and shit and I’m not even gonna lie, the thought of feyrhys dying had me on the verge of tears cus as much as I hate them, I also love those bitches. Yet, the culmination of Nesta’s power was, what?, to save feyrhys. This way, the narrative put Feyre at the center of Nesta’s narrative towards the end. And Nesta lost that Death God power that she basically EARNED in that Cauldron. This is the biggest flaw of the story. She fought against her own power to give it up... for Feyre. Like??? What??? Why was that baby arc even necessary????? Why was Nesta giving up her power necessary to fulfil her healing arc which was the POINT of the book??? Like what?????? It left a sour taste in my mouth. No- an abhorrent acidic bitter taste in my mouth. 

Elain. I CANNOT STAND THIS GIRL. She completely abandoned Nesta and for WHAT??? For Feyre??? This only served to reiterate from the narrative’s POV that Nesta was scum and again, idk WHY. And also, why tf does this girl mistreat Lucien like this??? LUCIEN AKA MY FAVORITE CHARACTER???

I just don’t get how the narrative reiterated that Tamlin is the worst of the worst when you got Rhys hiding shit from Feyre, hiding knowledge of Nesta’s power from Nesta, all of that. Like, was the entire point of ACOMAF not for Feyre to embrace her power and become her best self? Rhys never for one second tolerated withholding Feyre’s power from her. So why tf does this apply to Nesta? Cus she’s unhealthy? Okay... so what??? Why villainize her like this and imply she’s undeserving of her power and a waste of life??? I’M LAUGHING SO HARD RN LIKE WHERE DID THIS EVEN COME FROM??? What did my girl do that was sooooo bad that yall needed to treat her like this. Tell me why feyre and amren and varian and rhys all acted like Tamlin in this book. Cardi voice WHAT WAS THE REASON. I AM SO MAD ABOUT THIS CUS THEY ACTED LIKE THE FRICKING MORALISING SYCHOPHANTS THEY CLAIM TO HATE.

Like bitch??? They’re like those youth pastors that reiterate how broken and messed up people with mental illness are? Acted like Nesta screwing guys was the worst thing ever when they should have embraced her? Like I get she would push them away but really??? “Waste of life”??? 

So we gon gloss over how Amren was insisting Nesta shut up about the baby business to Feyre (aka hiding shit from her)? How she was implying that Rhys should conquer all of Prythian? Hear me out, even as someone from a Caribbean country that was colonized by the whites, it actually doesn’t bother me when the theme of conquest comes up, like, this is a fantasy novel and colonization does not exist within the same context for me. That being said, like, it felt as if the narrative telling me lil Rhysie is just sooooo perfect that he needs to be High King. Like, I respect the fact that Rhys has no wish to do so. Homeboy never seemed to care for conquest beyond ensuring his Court’s prowess and safety so WHAT WAS THE REASON AMREN??? Like? What kinda crack was Amren on this entire book???

The worldbuilding... listen, the politics and history felt all over the place, felt incoherent and flat honestly. Didn’t bother me as much as it did in ACOWAR but it was just *meh*, not good. Not horrible, but not great. I preferred the world when it was directly the result of Beauty and the Beat and East of the Sun, West of the Moon.

The Fae have lost their *magic*: no cus what I loved about the first book was that the Fae were one with the Courts and felt very fleshed out in terms of their powers and shit, but now only Eric and Lucien and Tamlin and sometimes Rhys have that same magic for me. Like... the sensuality of the Fae in terms of their actual Celtic roots, that which felt whimsical and immersive in the first book, feels lost to me. I can’t explain it but I feel less nuance and orthodoxy in their portrayal. However, I DID love this one line featuring none other than the loml : “Amid the pink and white blossoms, the cold-faced Autumn Court heir looked truly faerie - as if he’d stepped out of the tree, and his one and only master was the earth itself”. LIKE I SALIVATED THAT IS MY MAN.

*good stuffs*

Okay let’s talk about the smut like I didn’t like the word choice as usual like quit with the euphemisms and say cock and goooooo. That being said like, okay, I like how she set up the physical dynamic between Nesta and Cassian cus the sex wasn’t some big romantic climactic build-up like how it was in acomaf like they were being NASTY from the get-go and I respect that drip. Like she did not cap on how porny the smut was and thank God it wasn’t some cliche romantic honeymoon type shit, like it was almost on the ao3 level of smutty goodness. All it was was missing was coarse language and hard kinks but in general, I liked the Nessian smut in this book more than the feyrhys smut in particularly ACOWAR and ACOFAS, like Nessian just do not cap.

Listen... you see that whole part when Nesta was like imagining how awesome it would be to dance Lucifer’s Bachata with Az and Cassian? Yeah, my girl just let her thoughts run wild. Like Nesta makes Feyre look naïve. Like you know how Tumblr porn in 2016 used to be with the aesthetic type shit? That’s Feyre, but Nesta is like on Pornhub level and it’s so fitting I was YELLIN lowkey. I feel like less importance was placed on how meaningful the sex and shit should be in the book and I respect that.

YOU SEE WHEN NESTA TOLD FEYRE ABOUT THE BABY!!! I WAS CHEERING HER ON. No cause they were being so nasty to Nesta especially Amren and then Feyre entered with all of her moralising shit like honey you KNOW damn well what you’re doing to Nesta is what you hate being done to you. Like damn right tell her, cus I could not STAND the double standard.

The whole training the women thing was a nice touch. It was kinda corny but also sweet. That being said, I laughed so hard when I realized how this entire book was Nesta’s quarter-life hippie rebirth where she learns to meditate and work out and read romance books and face her inner demons like this is some real New York college shit. All that was missing was a Starbucks.

Cassian. Man I love this man so much. No like he displayed peak dilf behavior. I think his attractiveness isn’t based on his bravery or his hotness but his humility man. Like he’s not a thot, he’s respectful, yet tough, yet contemplative. He’s contented with his life station yet wants to always be a better person yet is such a strong rock who really loves Nesta not despite her flaws but because they are part of her. I love the way he stood up to Rhys a lot, he didn’t shame her when she was awful to him, and he is protective (annoyingly so sometimes) but he really wanted her to empower herself. Their relationship isn’t perfect (I’m not in the mood to dissect the problematic aspects rn) but they were so sweet together and I didn’t expect to like them as much as I did back when they were lowkey a thing in ACOMAF.

The mates thing didn’t bother me cus I saw this shit coming since 2016. Yes, it’s cliche and annoying but the mates status also, like, has no meaning to me so it is what it is. Didn’t think they NEEDED to be mates but I was happy that them being mates wasn’t the core of the novel and it was secondary to Nesta’s individual healing journey.

Prepare for me to get sappy but another reason why I loved this novel was because it was a story of healing. :( :( :( The road to healing and growth in the emotional sense is always beautiful to me despite how flawed it often is when SJM writes it. I just felt really immersed in the emotional woes and eventual growth of Nesta despite my issues with the book and this is perhaps one of the main reasons that I found it beautiful, because healing as a theme is always beautiful and raw.

More of Nessian but like their relationship feels so real and raw too. No, cus like, it wasn’t tinged in as much fictitious idealism as feyrhys’ relationship was. They weren’t all stupidly in love and seeing each other in the universe and shit, like they just made each other happy and weren’t portrayed as the perfect soulmates who were each other’s yin and yang and whatever thank the LORD. Them having each other’s back was enough and ughhhh Cassian was just so sweet and such a good trainer and so aloof yet passionate like I been waiting to see more of him since ACOMAF so yayyy.

Okay... that scene where Rhys kneels to Nesta and she embraces him. yes. YES YES YES YES YES that shit was the shit that made my year like I want this man to be in her debt for the end of time like this hoe saved yall like big strong high lord better bow to the “witch” like I could hear angelic choirs at that scene like Rhys doesn’t just yield to people so easily so like, it was just kinda epic okay. Little bitchass Rhys with his perfect little river house and emo boi clothes stfu hoe.

No cus I love how Nesta told Cassian she didn’t wanna hear about Feyre’s special journey or Rhys’s special journey or Mor’s like I got fed up of people acting like they epitomized “good” and the “good path” to self-discovery when they can choke on a baguette as far as I am concerned.

*shit no one except me probs cares about*

Eris. So here is the thing. Since 2015 in ACOTAR when Eris was Under the Mountain being all red-headed and cunning and sexy and evil I have been obsessed with him... well, the idea of him I had in my head and how delectably abhorrent he seems (I like villains and side-characters okay). Maybe it was just his name (Eris is a hot name shut up) or the idea of a rich, cunning fox-faced prince in the same universe appealed to me. Either way, I actually never expected by favorite cameo-character to become... important. I’ll die on the hill of loving him. Here is the thing... I don’t want him to be good, in the same way I did not want Rhys to be a good guy in ACOTAR either. I don’t need him to be a secret angel, I don’t need him to be sweet and good like Rhys always was apparently. Honestly, I want him corrupt but likeable and pertinent to the story. That being said, I really want him as the main character for one of the upcoming novels sooo bad like please PLEASE let me see the autumn court and it’s two-facedness please like if not Eris then Lucien as the main character please.

Lucien... aka my fave character since the first book man. Mannn, SJM does homeboy so dirty like I have always loved Russian fables and hence, I am so ready for Lucien x Vassa x Jurian in the Vasilisa retelling with the firebird trope and Koshei. NO CUS in 2018 I was finna write a 100k word fic about this but then I forgot about it no cap, I still have the story plan in my Onenote actually but let us not reminisce. See, my ao3-loving ass wants an angsty poly relationship and also a hot Koshei I have been waiting YEARS for this you hoes, ever since Elain got the premonition of Vassa as a firebird in ACOWAR like God please please please give it to me and make it feyrhys-less as well yasss.

I lowkey wanna suspect Eris is gay and Mor, also gay, knows and that’s why she lowkey kinda tolerates him now. Yet, I cannot be sure and yeah I just wanna say that I kinda want that arc lmfaooo (my ao3-self is showing shut up).

No cus I was TEASED by only seeing a glimpse of Vassa and Jurian but THEY SHALL HAVE THEIR TIME I KNOW IT.

Tamlin living as a beast is so interesting to me. He’s a side-character now but ughhhh he was so mystical and interesting as our good ole Beauty and the Beast beastie like it’s sooooo mysterious and alluring how he’s becoming his own villainous legend like I still care about Tamlin’s blond ass self despite everything. 

Give us the snowball fight scene you coward.

I just gotta say Nessian could outsmut Feyrhys any day and that makes me proud.

FRICKING AZRIEL like first of all Mor doesn’t NEED to come out until she’s ready but she gotta let the man down nicely some other way so he can move on. I do not like Elain. Never did. I still do not. I do not, frankly, want a whole novel where she and Azriel fall in love and she rejects Lucien like... okay, I DO want her to reject Lucien so he can be with Vassa at the very least but also I am not interested in Elain’s POV rn. BUT I WANT AZ’S POV AND LIKE WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO I WANT MY EMO BOI TO BE HAPPY. This is so frustrating cus Az is a walking DILF right and so, what am I supposed to do now.

I kinda miss the Spring Court just a little. It’s pretty shut up. It got that Zuhair Murad fashion too. 

Umm like, what the hell is up with that business with Helion being Lucien’s dad? We need more on this which is why I want a Lucien POV book goddammit.

Yoooooooo yall remember that bitch from ACOWAR who hybern was finna kill and she had a name and everything and then there was some foreshadowing and shit? What’s up with her? Like I can’t even remember her name lowkey but yeah what’s up with that. Was it something like Briar or Briannon or somthing???

Is Mor getting a book? Like deadass I need the Lucien and Vassa book, I need the Eris book, I need the Mor book and I need the Azriel book. Damn. Been waiting 6 years for some of this shit.

Okay that is all for now. Yes, this book has problematic elements at every level but I still loved it yet also hated some things about it. I won’t read House of Blood and Earth nor will I finish the TOG series but I guess I’ll stick with this series which remains near and dear to my soul despite what people gotta say about it. It made me happy and that’s what matters. Nesta is a huge ass inspiration to me as a character and I still wanna see her make the Inner Circle’s life a living hell uwu. I admittedly got HELLA emotional reading this story because it’s nonetheless super meaningful to me even at age 19 and it’s really powerful for me as a comfort book, and I look forward (a little) to what this woman put out next... sort of.

Signing off! Don’t @ me (okay you CAN @ me but idc).

[proper-goodnight]

Detroit: New Beginnings

Summary: It has been one year since the androids claimed their rights to freedom after the revolution, and one year since Connor has decided to stay on the force at the DPD. The duo are currently working on a case involving androids going missing while Connor grapples with what he almost did to Markus at the peace rally and fearing Amanda’s inevitable return.

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Violence, Strong Language

A New Start: Partners (01)

Detroit Police Dept.

August 30, 2039

12:30 P.M.

Tuesday

Chris abandoned his wife’s pastries on the counter in the break room.

Over the years, it had become an unspoken rule to not berate him for the fact that Hank could count the people that were brave enough to try his wife’s newest lifestyle kick for that week on one hand. 

For all of the employees on the force, that wasn’t a lot. He didn’t need any special probability and statistics program to figure that out. 

But, it wasn’t like Hank hadn’t tried. He had, but only once--and couldn’t keep a straight face or control his gag reflex enough to even think about trying it again. Their outward appearance had been what threw him for a loop initially; being made of enough random herbs and healthy shit couldn’t sway the uncanny resemblance between it and actual shit and no amount of Chris promising such couldn’t and would never convince him otherwise.

While Hank may have never cared about what he put in his body, he was still not ignorant enough to test whether or not his tolerance extended to something beyond alcohol or cigarettes. Some days, Connor’s habit of sticking evidence in his mouth suddenly didn’t sound so fucking revolting. 

God, if the kid heard him say that…

In that same area of the precinct, a loud continuous whirring of a coffee machine grinded endlessly. DPD staff shuffled around it eagerly awaiting its cycle to complete, and Gavin had ingested just enough caffeine to erupt into his usual cacophony of loud remarks and comments about fuck-all that morning. 

Of course the prick couldn’t grant them reprieve for even a few minutes. 

Hank supposed if he didn’t then the fucker was either late or… late. It wasn’t like he ever called off.

No, they couldn’t be that lucky.

“No fucking way!” And to complete the morning, here Hank was with a deafening insistence in his tone that left little room to argue over Connor’s suggestion for the umpteenth time that morning. “I have had enough birthdays! I am getting too damn old for this shit!”

In response, Connor looked contemplative, but even more so, unsatisfied with his decision.

Typical Tuesday.

Sitting hunched over his desk, Hank sifted through piles of papers for his tablet. It furthered his incessant personal reminding that he should probably take a few minutes and clear his desk of all of his personal clutter--all of the memorabilia piling up over the years was beginning to make finding anything nigh to impossible, another indication made clear when he bumped a couple of pens to the floor with his elbow. 

Cursing, he dismissed it to the abyss below his desk, staring at the screen with faux concentration. The contrast between their work stations was proving more apparent as the days went on, Connor’s completely clean of surface clutter and retaining a fresh sheen despite having claimed it a little over a year ago.

Besides the mess, the spinning yellow circle glaring at him just outside of his peripherals held his focus, having more recently recognized it as a sign of the android’s thinking--thought processing. Whatever. 

Connor’s brows were furrowed, eyes fixed on him as if deciding in some sort of situational software that he had of some other option that would help move their conversation into a more positive direction, something that would somehow change it in his favor. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and Hank wasn’t going to take any bait. 

The android’s lips parted to speak, but Hank was already turning away, grumbling incoherently under his breath. 

And nothing that he would reiterate unless Fowler was going to lecture him about playing nice with his co-workers. Again.

Perched on the only unoccupied corner of his desk, arms crossed over a broad chest, Connor worked a tick in his jaw. If androids had actually possessed the need to breathe--and their biocomponents that simulated breathing were actually functional for that sole purpose--the asshole may have just sighed. For the briefest of an instance, he caught his partner’s stoic expression, tight-lipped and silently asking for some sort of agreement between the pair.

It wasn’t offered.

“I have been researching human cultural practices and I thought that maybe--”

“Drop it. You want to celebrate, then do it for yourself why don’t ya? Celebrate your one year since deviating. That’s in a couple of months.”

Connor almost looked thoughtful, features folding over in confusion as he worked through some sort of response. Hank’s celebration into an even older age was many in the long list of arguments that the two seemed to have, but it was also one of the only topics that Connor seemed ever insistent to talk about that didn’t revolve around a case.

That made it unavoidable.

Goddammit. 

“I don’t think that qualifies as the same thing, Lieutenant.”

“Take my word for it. Let’s just go over the case.” To further his point, he swept his hand over the case files that had piled up on his desk the last couple of weeks. One large unorganized mess of manila folders and reports. “If Jeffrey dumps any more shit about it on my desk, I’m going to resign it.” It was a harmless jab in an effort to get Connor motivated, anything involving the words case or leads never failed to catch his attention.

Connor straightening from his rare hunched posture proved that fact rang true. 

Even after finally closing the deviancy case. 

The conversation, begrudgingly, wasn’t done though. It would be brought up again eventually. Unless the kid forgot or got distracted with something else.

Who the fuck was he kidding?

Connor never forgot. He didn’t possess the ability to forget. Maybe his stubborn nature could be argued with but in the last year or so being his partner, it was something that Hank faced with raw aggression and chose to avoid. 

“Could’ve originated from the peace rally.” Hank went on, rubbing at his chin with faux concentration at the various folders opened up in front of him. He didn’t think any of them were relevant to their current case anyway. “The dates between that and the first android incident are pretty damn close together. Then again, maybe it’s just a weird coincidence.” The words unfolded into a low mutter under his breath, slumping back against his chair. 

He spinned to the side to assess the clutter, a quick sweeping gaze over the mess and he retrieved the file that they needed and extended it to the android. 

Connor’s eyes had followed every movement, and Hank assumed he was judging his lack of organization. 

At least he kept his mouth shut if he was.

“Two guys were sent to the hospital last night.” Hank went on.

“According to the reports from Officer Miller, they were walking home from a Red Ice Anonymous meeting.” Connor confirmed.

Of course he’d kept up to date.

“They were jumped. He went to ask them some questions, bust aside from a brief statement, we ain’t getting much out of ‘em right now.” While he spoke, Connor flicked through it with practiced precision while simultaneously picking it apart. For what he already didn’t know, and Hank didn’t figure that was a lot. 

And while it would be denied for the rest of Hank’s life, he would never admit that he was even somewhat jealous of Connor. If humans possessed the ability to see anyone’s information by a quick scan or retaining an entire casework of information in a few seconds, the meeting and getting-to-know-you shit of social relationships would be made easier by miles. Then again, he didn’t need any superior programming to know that his time would be better spent at home with Sumo. 

“According to their file, Mr. Greene and Mr. Nicholson did in fact have a Red Ice history in the past.” 

“That bit checks out with what Chris managed to get from ‘em at least. Not the worst druggies I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with.” A smirk pulled at one edge of his lips. If they were the worst of the worst, his job would have been a lot easier and most cases would be an opened and closed one. 

“Possession and usage that earned them a few months jail time.” Connor confirmed, turning a suddenly quizzical gaze in his direction, dipping his chin. His brows pinched. “Wasn’t Detective Reed assigned all cases involving Red Ice?” The mention of their most eccentric detective was enough to pull a look of discomfort from the android. 

Maybe it was the ill memory of the beating that he’d been forced to give him in the evidence room last year. Either way, Hank swore that Connor had some kind of satisfaction from it. He didn’t think so. 

The bloody nose that he had given Perkins however? Fucking classic! 

“He is, but there was Thirium found at the scene. No fingerprints on the weapon that was likely used in the attack. We’re looking at another Carlos Ortiz case except we can push an android through a fair trial now.” 

Connor closed the case folder in his lap, his fingers plucking gingerly at the corner. That spinning yellow circle glared accusingly. “If the claims of their whereabouts are in fact correct, then I think that our best course of action is to question them ourselves. Maybe they can recall more when the shock period has passed. Distinct characteristics, how many androids there were in total, even.”

“Not to bust your balls kid, but we can’t scan a serial number like you can. Not to mention all of you androids have the same face. There’s no record of them ever owning an android, but…” Hank threw up his hands in surrender. “Maybe there’s a past history we don't know about. We’ll follow another lead over the next few days,” he decided. “See if they can’t give us anything else by the end of the week.”

With that, Hank breathed out a long-winded sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as though fighting off a headache. Connor was a headache enough, the case being the migraine. He waved his free hand over his desk. “Take your pick. God knows we’ve got plenty.” A pained laugh slipped past his lips, almost incredulous. Borderline sympathetic. 

For them.

Propping his elbow on the chair’s armrest, he leaned his head against a curled fist. His partner’s gaze was distant, even as Hank tried to meet it with a vague curiosity of his own. 

He waited.

“What are you thinking, Connor?” No response was offered, that same accusatory yellow glaring at Hank just out of the corner of his eye. 

Connor’s features folded, looking to an empty space at his right. Upon further inspection, Hank noted that nothing was there, looking between the two confirming the assumption that he was in some far off place elsewhere. An abrupt snap of his fingers in front of Connor’s nose brought him back. He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head. “Nothing. Nothing relative to our case.”

“Any other time you’re pulling leads out of your ass.” The remark was followed by an exaggerated sigh. His eyes rolled to the side. “This is the first time that you don’t wanna input your opinion? Finally hit a damn wall with enough dead leads, didn’t ya?”

A slight tug pulled at one edge of Connor’s mouth, working a tick underneath a rigid jawline. “Hilarious, Lieutenant.” He mumbled.

“It was a pretty damn good joke in my opinion." With a dismissive hand gesture--a quick slice of his hand through the air--he reached across his desk to retrieve one stack of case files. It didn't account for the other large piles but hell, it was a start. 

“That is a personal opinion.”

“What the fuck ever.” Running a shaky hand through his hair--something else that Connor blamed on Hank's poor diet--his gaze never left him, flicking over his rigid form with a blatant curiosity. "We should go talk to Markus. There’s a good chance that he would know somethin'?" 

And then Connor moved from his perch. Carefully--stiffly was a better way of putting it--around the edge of the desk. Long precise fingers fumbled for the coin in his pocket. It rolled across his knuckles, coming to a complete stop as it was flicked into the opposite palm. Hesitation made the movement rigid, not as fluent as it normally would be. A tick worked itself underneath a rigid jawline. Connor didn't look at him, and instead passed by to his own desk. 

"You haven't seen him since the peace rally," Hank prodded. "I think it's about time we paid him a visit, don't you?" 

"I don't know," He answered in what was almost a whisper, voice low. Unsure. "I've assessed the database's files and all of the reports involving our missing androids. I have only come to the conclusion that older models, or new deviants are being reported disappearing from Jericho. That and it's still limited to Detroit and only a few surrounding cities.” He shrugged. “So far." 

Connor shook his head in defeat. "My most recent solution was to send a scan parts to Cyberlife, but-"

"All of the missing reports we’ve managed to solve end with the android self destructing and destroying their systems," Hank finished for him. "That and its considered murder with your rights. Can't just go pulling apart an android and not expect to get your ass busted." 

"I do not know if an exception can be made for some kind of malfunction. I could probe its memory, but there is no evidence as to how that would affect my own systems." 

"Keeping you at a distance makes the shit harder." Hank agreed, and other than nodding in response, Connor offered no comment. "Until we can figure out if it can be spread, there isn’t much that you can do." 

"Why don't you take your chances and see what the hell happens?" An all too familiar and unapologetically arrogant voice drew closer to their desks. Gavin came to a full stop at their desks, arms folded over his chest with a smirk that never ceased to infuriate him. Both of them, he assumed.

He grimaced. 

Fucking asshole.

"Fuck off, Reed. Don't you have your own case?" Hank grumbled, an edge to his tone that Gavin brushed off a condescending smirk.

"Unlike you and the plastic prick, I've actually made headway." Gavin boasted, his interest in Hank diverted to Connor who watched passively. Most of the time he acted as if Gavin was gum under his shoe that he could scrape on the sidewalk and be done with. Like he couldn't be bothered even when he had a gun in his face and death threats on his name. Hank had been guilty of that look once.

Gavin was full of shit, but Hank wouldn't put anything past him. Even now.

"Hey plastic," Gavin halted in front of the android, squaring up his shoulders. The situation would have been alarming if the difference in height wasn't so obvious. Reed had to look up to address him and Connor responded by raising his eyebrows, tilting his head to the right. 

"Hello, Detective Reed."

"I thought that after the walking toasters were suddenly recognized as people you would leave. A detective android prototype hunting androids is still doing the exact same damn thing." He sneered. 

"I assessed that it would be appropriate to remain in the android crimes department to further offer my assistance to the DPD." His hands folded in front of him, meeting Gavin's eyes with that usual infuriatingly neutral expression. The little twitch in Connor's facial features gave him away however, signaling his annoyance at the detective's harsh jobs.

Gavin didn't see it, but Hank knew him well enough that it was impossible to miss. 

"Yet you're still wearing your Cyberlife threads. I'd almost think that you liked hunting 'em down. Does it give you a sick thrill, prick?" 

"Reed!" Hank interjected, rising stiffly from his desk chair. "That's enough."

"I believe that wearing my uniform shows more professionalism than a leather jacket and a relentlessly hostile attitude, Detective." Connor's brows raised and relaxed sequentially, a slight and subtle twitch pulling at one corner of his mouth. 

"The hell did you just say to me, tin can?" Gavin leaned forward, hand clenching at his side into a fist that he pulled back and took aim on the android. 

"I said that's enough!" Hank barked, shoving himself in between them. 

Gavin was shoved back a few steps.

Connor didn't budge. 

"Back off! Can't you ignore him for five fucking minutes?" 

"Fuck," An enraged gaze flicked between Hank and Connor. Gavin snarled in frustration, one hand slipping seamlessly into the pockets of his jacket, the other pointing an accusing finger in the android's direction like it hadn't been the detective that had approached them with the intention of starting shit. 

Hank scoffed. 

"I'll never so much as tolerate the plastic asshole. The day there are two of him is the day I put in my resignation." One last threatening glare was thrown their way, the threat released into a spat. Before either could comment, Gavin was storming off, cursing incoherently under his breath. 

Surprisingly it had gone better than most of the other times. Hank would have admitted that. 

Evidently, every altercation passed by Connor without a second thought. Hell, maybe not even a first. The evidence room incident remained the only time that the android actually retaliated on him. That being that he needed to in order to accomplish his mission. 

Still, he caught Connor's expression as Gavin was leaving. He watched him through distrusting slits, LED flashing yellow for a split second before correcting itself. His jaw was tense, something dark stirring within him, something troubled that Hank didn't quite recognize. It was only when Hank actually decided to speak that Connor finally looked at him, eyes softening into something more calm, relaxed. Normal. 

"Let's go ask Markus some questions. Any idea where he might be?" In a gesture of reassurance that didn't quite reach him, Hank placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Markus has been overseeing the conversion and stock of dormant androids at the remaining Cyberlife stores. We can pull up those that have yet to be listed as maintenance and distribution centers and start there." And as if nothing had changed, as if the threat from the DPD's most eccentric detective had already been forgotten--at least it would have been if he wasn't squirming underneath a clenched jaw--the task of talking to Markus seemed to unnerve him more. Talking to the deviant leader was a task that Connor was less inclined to do over listening to Reed berating him every chance he got. 

The observation was a question for later, and truthfully Hank didn't anticipate an answer. 

Connor stepped back to allow him through first, Hank's hand slipping from his shoulder to dangle uselessly at his side instead. Expression falling flat, he waved him through. "After you, Lieutenant."

[softschofield]

i’m so perpetually frustrated with the audience members who criticise 1917 for having “no backstory or development for the characters”

like, yes, it’s subtle. because they’re friends and friends don’t talk to each other like “oh, yes, remember all these details of my life i’m conveniently and clearly reiterating for an omniscient third party?” but fuck dude, if you pay attention and know basic facts about war or do your goddam research, there is SO MUCH DETAIL TO THEIR BACKSTORIES

like, just from one TINY DETAIL, you get so much: schofield’s wounded stripe on the left sleeve of his uniform. to get a wounded stripe in world war 1, you had to be officially listed in dispatches as being a CASUALTY, not just having been in a field hospital, meaning the wound was BAD. but, wait, what kind of wound could be so well-hidden and subtle? it could be a gunshot wound or trenchfoot, but there were also two categories that could earn a soldier the wounded stripe: gas, or shellshock. it’s therefore entirely possible that he was suffering from trauma rather than a physical wound before he met blake. given that 60,000 rounds of field artillery and 45,000 rounds of heavy artillery were fired in the first DAY of fighting, and one german described the experience of the shelling as “the earth shook, the sky seemed like a boiling cauldron [...] the ability to think logically, and the feeling of gravity, both seemed to have been removed”, shellshock is a very plausible diagnosis.

so, we know he fought in the somme, and we know which battle he fought, meaning he had been at the front for at the very LEAST 7 months. SEVEN MONTHS. that is a LONG time to be in the trenches, and it is a STAGGERING amount of time to have withstood the horror and still come out of it soft, gentle, and compassionate - think on THAT when y’all say schofield is a flat character. think about what kind of a person could kill and see people killed and live in the constant, crushing, claustrophobic terror and boredom and nothing of the trenches for most likely LONGER than that and stay kind and quiet. NEED i say any the fuck more, NEXT

just from that, we then know that blake did NOT fight in the somme, meaning he arrived at the front some time after november 1916. and, judging by his excited and fearful reaction to the front line trench before a predicted push, there’s the distinct possibility he had never seen a battle, meaning his arrival can be placed after the 18th of december 1916 and that he was still deeply innocent.

if he arrived in december and the film begins on the 6th of april, that ALSO means that they had known each other at the most for just over 3 months, very possibly less, and that they had formed a very close bond in that time.

which brings me to my next point: where are their other friends? all the other soldiers are shown to have close-knit groups, so where are theirs? why is it only them? why are they even friends in the first place? why is blake, a new recruit who had only just arrived, already the same rank as a veteran who had been there for very possibly up to or more than a year? why is a veteran hanging around with a chattery, bushy-tailed, never-seen-battle replacement? why isn’t he hanging out with his own cohort of soldiers who has been there the same amount of time as him and could much more easily relate to his trauma and exhaustion? WHY is a middle-class-sounding guy even hanging around with a lower-class farmboy in the first place?

the most plausible answer? all of schofield’s friends he went through training with are dead - probably in the somme - and he’s purposefully isolated himself to grieve with his survivor’s guilt. he was most likely wounded, lonely, and agonisingly depressed for months until a cheerful replacement arrived at the front and befriended him. and THAT’S where schofield’s fanatic devotion to him comes from, and THAT’S what “he saved my life” means, more than in the literal sense - he was lost, and broken, and numb, and blake saved him.

furthermore, because boy have i got more, blake’s backstory, in case someone out there has seen this film and still wants to hit me with that fucking “we know nothing about these characters”: we know he has an older brother, we know he has a female dog called myrtle, we know they live with their mum in a farm in the countryside with a cherry orchard, and we know his father isn’t in the picture and that he most likely hasn’t been for a long, long time, judging by blake’s lack of bitterness and daddy issues, his closeness with his mother, and the fact he isn’t in blake’s family photo. we know, from interviews, that he enlisted as soon as he came of age because his brother was an officer and he idolised him, and we know he was barely this side of 18.

another thing? the story about wilko. blake knows stories about men schofield has almost certainly known for far longer - but he didn’t interact and wasn’t told, and blake did, and he was more familiar with all of them and had stories to tell that schofield would have known if he’d been sitting in the same circle when the gossip was told. how’s THAT for subtle characterisation, chumps.

and if you just think about it, there’s so much depth to blake’s overly trusting nature - because he’s still naive, he’s still innocent, he’s still young. schofield tucks the things most special or necessary away in his inside pocket, where’s it most safe, because he’s learned lessons the hard way; blake puts them carelessly in his trouser pockets where they could fall out. schofield keeps his rifle with him even as he’s going to fetch water for the german pilot; blake discards his rifle and leaves himself vulnerable. if you just LOOK, it’s all there!

FURTHERMORE, we know schofield is in his early 20s and older than blake. we know he has a much more refined accent, and we know from interviews that he’s from cookham, berkshire. we know he has two daughters and a wife (or a sister and nieces, it’s open to interpretation, go to town), we know he suffers from shellshock, we know he most likely couldn’t face going home on his last leave and instead stayed in france and gave his medal away to a french captain, we know the subject of home is deeply triggering for him, we know he refuses to talk about his daughters, we know that his family haunts him as much as he longs for it, and we know that he didn’t receive any mail from his wife - interesting, considering blake received a letter just telling him his dog was having puppies.

and don’t even get me started on the “lack of character development”. watch me scream here about that.

also, some more backstory because now i’m on a fucking roll: lance corporals were typically the second-in-commands or heads of sections, of which there were 4 within each platoon, each comprising 12 soldiers, it's likely blake and schofield were in command of different sections in the same platoon. where does that come into play? well, scho seemed to slip very easily into a position of authority when the convoy got stuck in the mud, didn’t he? MOVING ON.

more? i have more. another little tidbit: lieutenant leslie asks schofield and blake if they are his relief, and then asks when the fuck they’re getting there when they say they aren’t. he and his men are exhausted and it was said by another soldier that “they had been blown to hell a few nights ago” - they’ve clearly been at the front a long time, which, again, is interesting, considering front line soldiers were typically rotated back into reserve after 8 days. clearly, it’s been a lot longer than that, meaning order and routine have completely broken down and a new type of despair, hopelessness, and mess has taken root. there, more backstory again. 

“oh, it’s just a shitty saving private ryan” “oh, it’s definitely no all quiet on the western front”. FIRST OF ALL, it fucking IS all quiet on the western front, have you literally even read it? baumer goes to such lengths to hardly ever use the word enemy because he doesn’t view the soldiers in the other trenches as bad, just as other innocents swept up in a war that no one should be fighting. he spends a whole chapter sobbing over the only man he’s ever killed in close combat. it’s a hundred times slower than 1917 and it hasn’t even GOT a plot. what the FUCK are you talking about?

oh, and it’s just saving private ryan? show me WHERE. a bunch of soldiers have to go into enemy territory to rescue a soldier because all his brothers have been killed in action and his family wants him home. two soldiers are sent into enemy territory with a letter to stop an attack. i am LITERALLY struggling to think of any more similarities than that and even THOSE are fucking reaching.

also, it’s literally a different war. who are you and why are you saying these things to me i am BEGGING you to please use your fucking head for just a few seconds and actually THINK

“it was so convenient that the river just happened to take him to the devons” ??? “the river. it goes there” did you just entirely miss everything lauri told him? the river quite literally flows exactly past where he is supposed to go, that’s the entire POINT, that’s WHY he jumped into it, because he KNEW it would take him there, oh my GOD

“if the convoy was going exactly where he needed to go, why didn’t erinmore tell him to meet it?” i know it might be a shocking concept, but even a general may not have known exactly the route a convoy of trucks was going to take, especially in the confused wasteland the germans had left behind in their retreat. in fact, he might not have known about the convoy at all if they were coming from a different sector of the front - WHICH, guess what, THEY WERE. captain smith mentioned they crossed no man’s land just outside bapaume, which was much further south, in the old somme battlefields. scho and blake’s trench was somewhere near boyelles, 11km north of bapaume. 

“it’s unbelievable that scho would just sit quietly and relax in the convoy truck, and then get out to give orders and take command, after what he’d just been through - and, plus, he would have gotten to écoust quicker if he’d just walked” there’s this thing called trauma. shock. dissociating. compartmentalisation. just shutting down in the face of too much grief when you don’t have the time nor capacity to let yourself feel it, acknowledge it, register it. in the script, scho is said to “almost disappear into the noise of the men.” and, honestly, the emotional illusion of regaining a scrap of control over a situation he was utterly out of control of would have been enough to prompt him to get out and give orders - but as it is that wasn’t the only thing driving him: he was desperate, and an NCO, and he needed to go. AND “he would have gotten there quicker if he’d walked”?? ???????? first of all, he didn’t know that? second of all, scho said it would take them nine hours AT THE MOST to get there and, given the fact they weren’t attacking until dawn and it was most likely morning when he and blake set off, he wasn’t in a TERRIBLE rush. THIRD of all, it was a direct order from a captain. FOURTH OF ALL, do you really think he felt like walking all that way when a truck was RIGHT THERE?

“there are too many coincidences” films are built on coincidences. they are conveniently put with a character who will end up being their soulmate at the end of it all. they conveniently uncover information that would take people in real life months to find. coincidences drive stories - one of the greatest tools of screenwriting? “don’t write what would happen, write what could happen.” what could happen is that scho finds a teenage girl and an orphaned baby sheltering in a ruined town - in a war. what could happen is that a convoy of trucks heading north towards the battle of arras logically uses the road running alongside a farmhouse. what could happen is that scho jumps into a river that he knows runs east. i just don’t understand what you’re trying to say

“oooohh for soldiers on a life-or-death mission to save one of their brothers, they sure do take their time to sight-see” they’ve seen absolutely fucking nothing but the walls of a trench and the reserve camp for months. also, it’s pretty much just common sense to clear out a building before you turn your back on it and keep walking. also, they had 8 hours, scho ended up getting there in under two hours, and blake is allowed to feel more than one emotion at a time and to be excited about exploring new places, ESPECIALLY when it’s almost certain that neither he nor schofield had ever even been out of england. war or not, the french countryside was still beautiful and blake is allowed to appreciate that. next question 

“how was there a milk pail full of milk if there was no one around to milk the cow” german soldiers were stationed in the farmhouse before they got the order to move out. “they’re not long gone.” they left an hour before hand, someone probably milked the cow before they knew they were leaving. you don’t have to read the script to have a functioning braincell 

“unbelievable that they weren’t killed by the tripwire explosion” it detonated in the tunnels, not in the bunker. they wanted to collapse the escape routes first and foremost. please, i am begging you, use your head

“why did they pull an enemy out of the plane” basic human decency. i cannot believe i have to explain this concept. soldiers in the first world war were especially conscious of the humanity of the men in the other trench. you say blake had no character and then get mad when he’s shown to be so kind and selfless that he’ll burn himself rescuing a german. i don’t know what you want from me, get out of my kitchen 

“schofield was an idiot for stopping to interact with lauri and the baby” he was concussed. he knew there was somewhere he had to be but he didn’t remember what or where until he heard the church bells. also, for people who criticise the “lack of character development and backstory”, ya hate to see character building moments. it clearly wasn’t the first time he’s recited that poem to a baby. make the connection dipshits 

“the germans shot like fucking stormtroopers, how did they not hit him?” point one: one of them was blind drunk. when muller is ranting while scho is strangling baumer, he says that maybe they should head back and that maybe they won’t realise they’ve been missing. the implication? either they’ve gone AWOL, or they’re stragglers from the retreat back to the new line. either way, at least one, and very possibly all of them are off their fucking faces, considering the one by the burning church tripped over his own goddamn feet chasing scho. point two: not in a thousand years would they have expected a lone english soldier to just pop up out of nowhere in ecoust. it was so unexpected that you really can’t blame them for being flustered and confused.

“how the FUCK did the letter survive the river in one piece?” he put it in his tin. there’s literally an entire 30 seconds of the convoy scene just devoted to showing scho tucking it in there. i don’t understand how i have to say this

“it’s too gruesome” aside from the hand in the corpse and the dead horses, where? where? also, it’s the first world war. i can’t believe what i’m hearing. who are you people

“it’s not exciting enough, it’s slow, it’s dull” IT’S SUPPOSED TO SHOW THE CONSEQUENCES AND AFTERMATH OF WAR INSTED OF THE SHALLOW EXCITEMENT OF IT YOU DUNCE

in conclusion, suck my ASS anyone who says they didn’t have backstory or development or that there are ~raging plot holes~. FUCK

anyone who doesn’t want the actual soft and only good person in the world William Schofield to live a happy life in peace just isn’t valid and that’s all i’ll ever say on the matter you fucking degenerate scum rotten tomato reviewers