#but shes very used to keeping to herself so as to not make the people around her uncomfortable and so wont engage physically unless they do

[sup3riorsese]

My thoughts on Rujinu (Negative)

So (Long rant incoming) do not let the title deceive you, I am not here to start any discourse of say anyone's bad or wrong for shipping what they like, especially since this ship is heavily implied, but I think a large problem with Rujinu is how both the fans and seemingly the movie view them.

I've seen a lot of people say things like "Oh Rujinu are soulmates" and "They belong together" and all this other stuff and I keep questioning if we watched the same movie.

The entire movie, Jinu was a selfish, manipulative liar. Starting with his backstory, he left his mother and sister, literally abandoned them, to live a high life. Mind you, a woman alone during that time would have little to no way of funding herself and her child unless through unconventional means. He actively left his mother, who probably did everything she could to feed and care of him and his sister, to basically starve on the streets because he was the one making the money. He was rightfully tormented and punished for this selfish act and lived 400 years paying the price. Moving to acts during the movie, the only reason he even pays attention to Rumi is because she's part demon, which is fine as it is natural to be curious, but the thing is, he is using her the entire time.

During scenes where Jinu is being "vulnerable," he is lying. Yes, there are times he seems genuinely conflicted or even remorseful (When he was looking at the little girl's picture, for example), but ultimately, the only reason he does all this is to erase the memories of his mistakes. When he tells Rumi about his family the first time, he is actively being deceptive. He lies to make her think he's not evil and makes her feel like she can be vulnerable and trust him. Throughout their meetings, he's giving the impression that not all demons are bad (Which may be true), but that's not the case for him as he was punished for committing a selfish act.

When we get to the climax of the movie, he is the one who uses two of Rumi's biggest vulnerabilities (Her friends and her marks) against her and publicly humiliates and exposes her. He quite literally had them torment her on stage, disguised as her best friends. Then, when confronted, he acts as if this was her fate the entire time. Doesn't apologize, and tells her he lied. He throws the fact that she believed him in her face and leaves her there.

He causes so much strife in her that she asks THE WOMAN WHO RAISED HER to end her life.

People saying the man who almost brought Rumi to death is her "soulmate" is almost offensive, especially because the only reason they say that is for one, his sacrifice, and two, how the movie portrays them.

Jinu's one selfless act during the entire movie is saving Rumi. Everyone acts like it is such a romantic gesture when in reality, it was the least he could do. He damned his family to being poor on the street, fed on people of 400 years, and tormented an innocent woman for his own gain. The very least he could do was sacrifice to stop Gwi-ma. Also, this may have to do with the fact that throughout the whole film, he didn't have his soul. That may be a reason he acts the way he does, but still. Many people think that he and Rumi should've kissed, but no. They shouldn't. Not only does it make the scene more heartfelt, in my opinion, but Rumi has no real reason to. Maybe before he revealed his true nature, and she thought he was a flawed man, I could see it, but in truth, after his reveal, Rumi owed him nothing. He proved that he was like any other demon, maybe conflicted and more intelligent, but still a demon. While she may appreciate his sacrifice and death, she doesn't owe him anything.

I think people think so highly of the two of them together because of how the movie shows them together. They make them out to be the only people who understand each other, and they can change the world if they work together. Firstly, they don't understand each other, and they wouldn't have changed anything because of that. Rumi doesn't understand Jinu because he lied to her. Jinu doesn't understand Rumi because, similar to Celine, he doesn't see her human side, only the demon. The whole movie, he was trying to convince her that this is what they are, what they are destined to be, but they are entirely different. Rumi was born with demon marks. She didn't do anything to gain them; she simply had them. They were and are a part of her. Jinu, on the other hand, did something to get them. He was selfish and was punished for it. He doesn't see Rumi as what she is, a woman who happens to be part demon; he sees her as a demon woman. He can't understand Rumi, because her doesn't know her and he doesn't try to see past something she had no control over. The movie unfortunately makes it seem like they just get each other, with things like Free (Which is truly hilarious as Jinu quite literally lied to her, and that whole song means nothing since he didn't tell her the truth of his own accord).

I think what people should be focusing on instead of Rujinu, is HUNTR/X.

Whether platonic or romantic, the three girls have a way more impactful and caring story and relationship than Rujinu ever could. From the start of the movie, it is clearly shown that the three of them are synced. From the way they move flawlessly together in battle to the way they formulate songs, they are linked. Through the movies, Zoey and Mira both try to include Rumi in things such as couch time or the bathhouse despite her previous refusal. They actively enjoy being around her, and even when she disrupts their brief rest, they don't seem all too upset. When at the doctors, they all agree with what he's saying, understanding each other fundamentally. When Jinu pushed Rumi over and didn't help her, both Zoey and Mira stopped drooling over the Saja Boys and backed her. They are there for her when they think something is wrong, and even when they were arguing, they were still concerned. When they all sat to talk out their feelings, they listened and expressed themselves openly, and were encouraging when Rumi made it clear why she didn't want to sing Takedown.

When they realize Rumi is vulnerable, alone on stage, they immediately try to rush to her aid. When Rumi's marks are revealed, they aren't angry that she's a demon; they're upset that she didn't tell them, that she's actively been lying to them. For two people who have been trained to hate and kill demons, they don't attack, even when they raise their weapons. It seems more like an action done out of instinctual confusion rather than malice. They don't even chase after her when she runs, they just slump in hurt and shock.

Gwi-ma gets hold of them, not because they are angry, but because they are hurt, confused, and separated. Mira thinks she's lost a piece of her family and immediately goes to blame herself. Zoey thinks somehow she wasn't enough to keep them together, and she falls into despair. It's only after she loses everyone she thought was on her side (Specifically Zoey and Mira) is when Rumi goes to Celine.

What I think is really important about Celine's reaction to Rumi is how it contrasts Zoey and Mira's reaction. Where Celine thinks Rumi should hide, her friends want her whole truth. Where Celine can't look, her friends embrace her happily. To show that the very woman who raised Rumi couldn't see past her heritage, to two girls Rumi happened to grow close with, brush past it as if it was nothing, is impactful.

When Rumi comes to the stadium, Zoey and Mira both immediately snap out of their trance after hearing her. By this point, they still had no clue if they could trust her, yet they without hesitation walked through the crowd to her and exposed their souls, to which Rumi did the same (You can tell by the blue lights in their chest, that soon after happens to Rumi right before the World War Z demons attack). Despite having no information about Rumi being a demon, they look past that. Zoey and Mira are the only people to SEE Rumi. They see her as she is: Smart, sweet, energetic, confident, and reliable. They don't just view her as her individual parts. They fully trust her.

After all this, they do normal things. Going to bathhouses, doing nothing on couches, crying about how happy they are that none of them died in a bathhouse. Zoey, who is extremely affectionate, doesn't change her ways. She still touches Rumi even after her marks are shown. They both don't show disgust or plain ignorance to who she is, like Celine and Jinu do, they embrace her to her fullest.

Yeah, this is the end of my very long rant. I just feel like I had to get that out. I don't want to shame anyone for shipping Rujinu, but I just feel like everyone brushes past all the bad he did just to make them a couple. It degrades Rumi, and that's not nice. Be better, be GOLDEN.

Ted talk done :)

[sturniphone]

𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . . introducing:

; ⌗ nerd!matt && lamb!reader﹒💭 ⸝⸝

Everyone at school knows her. She’s the girl who makes eye contact when you pass in the hall, who compliments your outfit like it matters, who shows up to the party in lip gloss and a thrifted tank top and somehow makes it look expensive. But what they don’t know is that she cries sometimes in the girls’ bathroom because being adored doesn’t always mean being understood. She loves her friends; she really does, but they talk over each other and drink too fast and sometimes forget to ask her how she’s doing. Matt is the only one who ever notices when she goes quiet. When she gets that glazed-over look, like she’s smiling but no one’s home. She’s not sure why he sees it—but he does. And that means something.

Matt doesn’t know what they are. He knows they kissed. Once, when she had glitter under her eyes and smelt like strawberry lotion. She leaned in like it was the most natural thing in the world, and he’s still replaying it. He wants to ask her what they are. He wants to hold her hand in public. But what if she laughs? What if she says it was a mistake? So instead, he keeps being her safe place. Carries snacks for her in his bag. Learns her schedule. Keeps the hoodie she borrowed even though it smells like her, and he can’t think when he wears it.

He’s painfully shy and nerdy, especially around her. He blushes if she sits too close. Stumbles over words if she compliments his hoodie. But he’s always there. Always consistent. Always soft-spoken and steady. Her anchor, even if neither of them has said that out loud yet.

He never texts first, but he always answers. She always finds him in a crowd. Always. Whether it’s at lunch or after school, her eyes scan for him like she’s looking for gravity. They don’t talk about the kiss. She lets herself be soft with him—whispers secrets in his hoodie, cries quietly during a sleepover movie night while pretending it’s the film. He lets her take up space in his world, and she lets him hold a part of hers no one else sees.

She always brings him coffee when she’s late to school—black, with one sugar, the way he nervously muttered once and thought she forgot. She doodles on his math notes. Hearts in the margins. Little frogs. One time she drew a very bad sketch of him with ❝cutie nerd❞ written under it. She wears the pink Tiffany necklace he gave her every single day. Tucks it under her shirt around others, but Matt always notices it peeking out.

He still sleeps with a teddy bear. It’s old, worn from being loved for too long, with one ear slightly flopped and a stitched-up paw. He hides it—tucks it under his pillow when people are over, buries it under blankets during sleepovers. But one night, she stayed late and fell asleep in his bed after a movie marathon. And he forgot. She found it. She picked it up gently, eyes wide and heart doing cartwheels, and said, ❝Matt. You didn’t tell me you had a bear.❞ And he. Panicked. Turned the colour of a fire truck, tugged it from her hands with a mortified gasp and stammered something about ❝It’s not a big deal—I just—it helps me sleep, okay?❞ She tried not to cry at how red his ears went. How he couldn’t meet her eyes for a whole five minutes. How deeply human it made him. Later that night, she kissed his temple and whispered, ❝I think it’s the cutest thing about you.❞ Matt hasn’t slept without the bear or her since.

They have a corner in the school library no one really uses. She calls it ❝our office❞ and sometimes drapes herself across his lap while he does homework. Sometimes she sleeps in his dorm when things are too loud—his room smells like clean laundry and paperbacks. He sets an alarm early so he can walk her home before anyone sees. They once slow-danced in a kitchen during a party. No one was around. She had bare feet and grape soda. He doesn’t talk about it, but he thinks about it all the time.

what to expect?

So, um, yeah… I’m kinda blank on texts for them right now (no immediate ideas popping up), but I’m totally down to give it a shot if you want! <3 I’m all about that fluff and angst—like, give me ALL the feelings, please, right now. As for smut… nah, not just yet. They haven’t slept together (there's a tiny bit of sad lore I have for her there but it really is tiny), but they have kissed (which is basically heart-melty enough), so maybe we can write about that moment first? Smut can definitely come later when the time feels right. please asks and questions about them !!

💭 ִ ˖ ་ 𝓛ola talks idk

⌗ ִ ۫  ּ   matts study group .ᐟ ꒰ @chrepsi @ph3ebssturniolo @sturnsxbbyeilish @j21l91 @pip4444chris @mattslutt @sophand4n4 @mattscoquette @mi-co-uk @tezzzzzzzz @emely9274 @oopsiedaisydeer @theowensturniolo @httpssturns @matthewsroses @bugs-tags @mattswrinkleton @victorious8 @h3arts4nat @madz146 @ifwdominicfike @rriverscuomo @ivysturnss @brianaluvschris @mattsgold @sturniolotoast @ariieeesworld @angelicameron @blahbel668 @sturniszn @chriss-slutt @mattsdiva @little-lolaaa @mattsmoth @clairo4life @everythingaboutbags @matts-wife @chrispleasure @ajskorner @mattspillowprincess @freshlovefever @twylas114 @matties-angel @mayax2o07 @sturnsflirt@tonymayor2022 @ifellforanotherloser ꒱

[camdunez]

Weaponized Incompetence | m. bannerman

song playing: conspiracy — paramore

paring: manon bannerman x gn!black!reader summary: manon's been making excuses for your cold behavior. the girls think you're mean and coldhearted, just like the roles you play on the big screen. but manon knows the real you.. that’s why she stayed this long. (or she’s made up a version of you that makes her stay longer than she should’ve) genre: angst, hurt, no comfort, established relationship word count: 3.7k warnings/tags: use of “y/n”, cursing, some suggestive content, y/n’s an asshole and manon is kind of an enabler(?), y/n’s an actor (micheal b. jordan influence 👀), manon’s a little delusional, the rest of katseye hates y/n and y/n doesn’t care, and manon does stay. a/n: my very first fic! i know i know.. why would i write angst for my first work on here? cause i'm in love with angst! can't get enough! and y/n will always be black in my works because i am black myself! a/n #: also, i tend to write fics based off of the music i listen to! so if i'm not writing out requests, i'm usually doing that!

"What's good? I'm Ryan Coogler and I'm here with the star of my latest film Sinners, Y/N L/N——"

the apartment was quiet, lit only by the amber spill of a floor lamp in the corner. the TV cast faint flickers of movement across the walls, cutting through the stillness like ghosts. manon sat on one end of the couch, wrapped in one of y/n’s hoodies — black, oversized, fraying at the wrists. it still smelled like them, faint and expensive. a warm blend of cedar, citrus, and the kind of distance that didn’t wash out in a single rinse cycle.

sophia sat curled on the opposite side, half-buried in a knit blanket, idly plucking grapes from a bowl balanced on her knee. she’d offered to leave an hour ago — said she didn’t want to intrude. but manon had shaken her head, said she didn’t want to be alone.

and now, here they were. watching Sinners: Behind the Mask, streaming in full HD. a twenty-seven-minute sit-down with y/n and ryan coogler. manon hadn’t meant to watch it. she’d told herself she’d catch clips later — scroll past them halfheartedly like she did everything else related to the press tour. but curiosity was a disease, and tonight it was terminal.

y/n looked good. maybe too good.

they were wearing a white tee under the brown carhartt jacket manon had helped pick out before they left. but now, it looked like it belonged to someone else — someone sharper, more golden under studio lights.

she used to curl up in that jacket.. now it was stripped away from her. just like everything y/n had given her.

they leaned into ryan’s questions with ease, all dimples and charm, the kind of smile that made people feel special even when it wasn’t meant for them.

manon watched them laugh. the kind of full-body, throw-your-head-back laugh she hadn’t heard in months.

sophia cleared her throat softly. “they look good... healthier than before.”

manon’s voice was flat. “press tour glow.”

she said it like it was a joke, but it didn’t land. Not even in her own chest.

onscreen, ryan leaned forward. “so, tell me about playing the twins. Smoke and Stack... two totally different energies, right?”

y/n grinned. “yeah — one’s open and magnetic, the other’s controlled and isolating. playing them side by side felt like… confronting parts of myself I usually try to keep quiet.”

ryan chuckled. “so which one are you in real life?”

y/n looked away briefly, thoughtful. then: “depends on who’s watching.”

sophia tilted her head, brows lifting slightly. she didn’t say anything, but manon could feel her looking. judging. or maybe just trying to understand.

“they always seem different to everyone else,” manon said, eyes still locked on the screen.

another laugh from y/n. another glance full of light for someone who wasn’t her.

sophia shifted. “do they.. ever laugh like that with you, manon?”

the question was quiet, almost hesitant. manon didn’t answer.

because the truth was no. not lately... maybe not ever.

“I think the real challenge,” y/n was saying now, “is knowing when to let people in. one twin wears the mask, and the other is the reason it exists.”

ryan gave a knowing look. the moment lingered — serious, intimate, like something unsaid had just passed between them.

manon’s fingers tightened around the sleeve cuff. she remembered when y/n had told her that line was improvised. “it just came out,” they’d said over the phone, voice casual. “felt real.”

watching it now, it didn’t feel real. It felt crafted. like everything else.

sophia was still watching her. manon didn’t need to look to know.

“you miss them even when they’re right there,” sophia said quietly, not as a question — just a truth, laid bare between them.

manon blinked, slow. her throat was tight. her jaw ached from how long she’d been clenching it.

“all the time,” she whispered. her eyebrows now furrowed in thought. "maybe they're just tired, y'know?" she had said, trying to justify y/n's actions once again.

the interview ended with applause. the screen faded to black. sophia muted the remote with one soft click. silence returned, heavy and absolute.

neither of them moved.

after a long minute, sophia leaned over, rested her head on manon’s shoulder. she didn’t speak, didn’t offer comfort or platitudes. just presence. manon closed her eyes for a second and tried to breathe like that mattered.

“you don’t have to keep loving someone who keeps leaving you behind,” sophia said finally.

manon swallowed. she felt the words land in her chest like a needle slipping through fabric. quiet, precise, and irreversible.

“but what if.. I already made peace with being the one they come back to?” she said.

sophia didn’t respond. there wasn’t much to say.

the apartment stayed dim. the hoodie stayed warm. and the ache stayed lodged right where it always had — somewhere between manon’s ribs, where the versions of y/n she’d invented still tried to breathe.

the smell of eggs hits first. something garlicky. butter browning on a pan. the soft clink of a spatula, and sophia humming something under her breath — maybe lauryn hill. maybe just static.

manon stays curled on the couch, half-covered by the same blanket from last night. the hoodie is still wrapped around her shoulders. her phone rests on her chest like a paperweight, glowing faintly with the time.

9:13 a.m. no missed calls. no new messages.

she exhales through her nose and unlocks it anyway.

sophia’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “you want toast or no toast?”

“toast,” manon calls back automatically, eyes still on the screen.

she scrolls through old messages from y/n. heart emojis. dry responses. one clip of them in a hotel room mirror, smirking into the camera while flexing in their Stack wardrobe — a double image of themselves in character. she’d saved that one.

at the very bottom of the thread, her fingers pause.

she types:

manon [9:14 AM] hey. you sleep okay?

then deletes it. tries again.

manon [9:15 AM] saw the interview. you looked good. miss you.

she hovers. glances toward the kitchen. hears sophia humming, hears the sizzling shift of something hitting the skillet.

she sends it.

the moment it delivers, the guilt slinks in.

sophia appears a few minutes later with two plates — eggs, toast, avocado with a little salt and chili flake. her curls are pulled back in a low bun. she looks like she slept okay. like she can still believe in mornings.

manon sits up and accepts the plate wordlessly.

“you sleep at all?” sophia asks.

manon simply shrugs. “not really.”

sophia waits a beat. “you texted them?”

manon doesn’t answer.

sophia sighs, gently, like it’s not worth fighting over. “you don’t have to explain yourself, you know. I get it.”

“no, you don’t,” manon says. Her voice is too sharp for how soft sophia’s being. “everyone thinks I’m stupid. you think I’m pathetic.”

“I don’t,” sophia says. “I think you’re in love with someone who doesn’t show up for you. that’s not pathetic. that’s just sad.”

manon stares down at her plate. the toast’s gone cold already. she grabs her fork and starts to pick at the eggs, soft pout forming on her lips.

“I don’t see myself with anyone else,” she says finally. quiet. honest.

sophia’s expression softens into something more painful than judgment — pity.

“you could,” she says. “you just don’t want to.”

manon looks away. her phone buzzes on the cushion beside her. she grabs it fast.

my whole heart!!! [9:38 AM] coming by later. wear that outfit i like. i got something for you

no hello. no “I miss you too.”

just the usual — a request disguised as affection.

manon stares at the screen. she doesn’t reply right away. just slides the phone facedown and goes back to picking at her food like nothing’s changed.

sophia sees it. she always sees it.

“you’re not a layover, manon,” she says gently. “you’re a destination. don’t forget that.”

but manon doesn’t say anything. because she already has.

sophia's long gone now. manon had convinced the leader that she'd head out to finally "touch some grass" as megan would put it. manon couldn't believe she actually bought that stupid ass story.

not because she thought the younger girl was stupid herself, but because she was a bad liar.. and sophia could read her so well.

the guilt lingered for a while, clinging to the air like the smell of the breakfast they barely touched. but those thoughts were immediately thrown out the window the second she heard her front door open — soft but certain. confident. like someone who’d never been told they weren’t welcome.

she perked up from the couch instinctively. just like a dog at the sound of its owner’s name.

manon stands up.

heart in her throat. pulse a little too fast. she didn’t check the mirror. didn’t adjust her hair. she wasn’t ready — but she’d never needed to be.

y/n stepped inside like they always did: like they owned the space. hoodie pulled low over their curls, dark jeans, expensive sneakers. their presence was loud even in silence — that cinematic kind of stillness that didn’t ask for attention, just took it.

their eyes landed on her — slow, deliberate. A half-smirk curled at the edge of their lips.

“there she is,” they said, voice low and a little amused. “did you wear it?”

manon nodded before she even realized it. the outfit — an off-shoulder black top, soft shorts that barely covered her thighs, the dainty silver necklace they once clasped around her neck after a premiere party.

a stupid little outfit that they said made her look like “something they could ruin and still respect.”

y/n didn’t say anything else. just walked past her, brushing their fingers lightly along her waist as they moved toward the kitchen. casual. like they stayed here. like they always would.

manon stayed frozen for a beat. then turned.

“you want something to drink?” she asked, out of habit more than hospitality.

y/n looked over their shoulder. “you still got those peach things I like?”

“bottom shelf of the fridge.”

“good girl.”

two words. that’s all it took to bring the ache back. like a pulse behind her teeth. she didn’t flinch. she never did. that was part of the game.

y/n cracked the can open, took a slow sip, then leaned back against the counter. their gaze found her again — slower this time, heavier.

“you watch the interview?”

manon nodded.

they waited. sipped again. “and?”

“you looked good.”

“I always look good,” they said, not cocky — just certain. Then, after a pause: “you okay?”

the question sounded like mock concern. performed. like it didn’t matter what she answered.

still, manon gave them a quiet, “yeah,” because anything else would sound like begging.

y/n walked back toward her, peach drink still in hand. “missed you,” they said, dipping their head down just enough to ghost their lips against her cheek.

it wasn’t a kiss. not really. it was a claim.

manon stood there, not moving.

this was what she did. let them come in. let them touch her like she was familiar. like furniture. like memory.

she didn’t ask how long they were staying.

she never did.

the sheets were a mess. manon’s legs tangled with y/n’s, her body still slick with sweat and something worse — something like surrender. the bedroom was dim, lit only by the lazy wash of mid-morning light filtering through the sheer curtains. y/n lay next to her, arm draped over her waist like it belonged there.

for a moment, it felt perfect. for a moment, she let herself believe.

y/n brushed their fingers along her jaw, slow and indulgent. “you been sleeping okay?”

manon hummed, eyes closed. “not really.”

they kissed her temple. “guess I’ll have to tire you out more often then.”, their kisses travelled down to the side of manon's neck. that spot they knew would make her melt.

she smiled despite herself — weak and automatic, like a muscle reflex. y/n always knew how to make her feel small and precious after they took what they wanted. this was the part that hurt the most: the softness that followed the chaos. the whispered I missed yous, the forehead kisses, the way they pulled her against their chest like she was sacred.

like she was theirs.

her phone buzzed once. then again. then six times in rapid succession.

she ignored it.

y/n noticed. and backs up from the girl. “you gon' get that?”

“it’s nothing,” she mumbled, pressing her face into their collarbone.

Buzz.

Buzz buzz.

THE GIRLS I KINDA LIKE 🙄

fiafia! [11:41 AM] manon.

larz [11:41 AM] don’t tell me you let them in.

megan [11:42 AM] and you better not be answering the door in that little black thing again either!

yoonchippy [11:42 AM] girl WHAT is going ON

dani [11:43 AM] just say the word and we’ll jump them

fiafia! [11:44 AM] manon. seriously. answer.

her heart thudded a little harder. the screen glowed hot in her hand, but she still didn’t respond.

y/n shifted beside her, pressing another kiss behind her ear. “you’re quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

“you don’t sound fine.”

manon rolled onto her back, cradling her phone to her chest like a secret. “I just don’t want to think about anything else right now.”

y/n smiled — that devastating, lopsided smile that always undid her. “good. you shouldn’t. not when you’ve got me.”

they dipped down, brushing a kiss against her stomach, then looked up at her through their lashes.

“you know I’d give you anything, right?”

manon’s breath caught. she looks down at y/n, licking her bottom lip. “yeah?”, her hand running through y/n's hair.

y/n nodded, their hums rumbled in the back their throat. “you’re my girl... I’d spoil the hell out of you if you let me.”

the words sank in slowly — sweet poison. she swallowed hard, holding back everything she should be saying.

O\outside her bubble of warmth and sheets and too-late apologies, her phone buzzed again.

larz [11:46 AM] this is what they do, manon. they don’t love you. they love control.

fia!fia! [11:47 AM] you deserve better than table scraps and pillowtalk.

manon locked the screen. threw the phone face-down on the nightstand.

y/n pulled her closer, hand sliding along her waist. “you’re so pretty when you’re mine,” they whispered. “and you’re always mine, aren’t you?”

manon nods, muttering a soft uh-huh before closing her eyes— allowing y/n to drown her in their lust once again.

even though she wasn’t sure anymore if it was still love… or just a habit she didn’t know how to break.

I've lost my power..

[athzhowakar]

Hands As Cold As Ice ❄️

⚜️ Pairing : Cregan Stark × Female!Reader

⚜️ Period : Post Dance AU where Jacaerys and Daemon are alive. Rhaenyra is the Queen.

⚜️ Synopsis : The widow of Prince Aemond and the daughter of Queen Rhaenyra is to marry Lord Cregan Stark as a means to secure a political alliance. The princess marries Cregan despite not wanting to do so.

⚜️ Trigger warnings : Intimate scenes ahead, mention of death, kind of non-consent, depression, incompatible relationships.

It had been a month since Queen Rhaenyra had taken the throne. Princess Y/N was strolling in the garden and gazing at the walls of the Red Keep. It had only been four months since she became a widow with an empty belly. She loved her mother, she loved her mother's husband who had raised her, she loved her brothers and she loved her cousins. That was the sole reason behind escaping the Red Keep after her poor dear brother, Lucerys was killed by her very own husband. She had disliked Aemond, loved him and hated him. After all this time, she missed him. She did not understand by which sorcery, Daemon and his dragon survived something which Aemond and Vhagar could not. Caraxes was wounded. But wounds heal, lives do not come back.

Y/N had worn black for quite some time. They thought it was to show loyalty to the 'Blacks'. But she herself knew and so did a few others, that she was mourning her husband. Because despite everything, he loved her. He used to look at her with the one eye the Gods had spared him and smile. She used to play with his long silken silver hair and kiss him. Now that he was gone, there was no one to hold her.

She had moved into her dead husband's chamber after Queen Rhaenyra had taken the Red Keep. For she feared that anyone else would throw away Aemond's things and she would have nothing to remember him with. The war was a tragedy for everyone. It broke several families. One of them was her own.

Y/N had many responsibilities during the war. She could not spare time to cry for her husband whom she had left in the Red Keep or cry for her husband who had died fighting her step father. She did not get the time to grieve for the child which she had lost during the war either. Sometimes she wondered, "Did my mother know about my child? Were she and Daemon responsible for me losing my child?" Difficult times do not grant the luxury of such leisurely thinking. She called it the will of the Gods and carried on.

While she was walking, she saw a man approaching her. She had not seen him before but still, she recognised him. People had described him enough.

"Princess Y/N"

"Lord Stark"

"It is good to see you."

"I am glad to see you too, My Lord. I hope that your stay in the capital is comfortable."

"I am sure it will be, My Princess."

"Why are you so sure?"

"I was... being polite."

"That's nice of you to do so."

"Your mother suggested we spend some time together and get to know each other. After all, we have to be ready for what is to come."

"I... don't understand, My Lord. What is to come?"

"Why? Our wedding. Prince Jacaerys wanted it to happen as soon as possible. He insisted on getting us married next week."

Lord Cregan Stark said, giggling. Y/N's eyes widened in shock. Her eyes filled with tears of pain and anger. Before she could say anything, Jacaerys appeared. He said to Cregan, "My Lord, I would like to borrow my sister for a moment." He held her hand and took her inside the Keep.

While in the hallway, Y/N freed her hand from Jacaerys' grip. Jacaerys looked at her. He knew that his sister wanted answers.

"Y/N... Sister...listen to me"

"LISTEN TO WHAT?"

"It was an alliance. We needed the support of the North."

"So you promised my hand to him?"

"It is your duty. All of us need to perform our duties."

"Do not dare to talk to me about duties. I know what duties are."

"Then why are you fretting?"

"WHY SHOULD I NOT? You didn't think that it was necessary to consult me before making a decision on my life?"

"I had to make certain decisions on my own, Y/N. You are not the only one whose matches were arranged by me. I arranged the matches for Joffrey and Aegon too."

"They are babes! They can't give an opinion about matches. But I am not a babe!"

"This was a diplomatic decision. Lord Stark gains an advantageous match and we get his men."

"And was insisting on getting me married next week also a part of your great diplomacy?"

"Sister....listen..."

Jacaerys had not even finished speaking when he felt a blow on his face. He looked up to see his sister's tear stricken face and eyes filled with rage. She started slapping and punching him. When he fell down, she started kicking him.

The guards separated them with some difficulty. In this commotion, Y/N fell on the ground. Facing the cold hard floor, she started sobbing. Lord Corlys and Queen Rhaenyra were informed about the argument and they rushed to the site. Rhaenyra was horrified to see her daughter sobbing in that way and then her eyes fell on her son, who was bleeding from his broken nose. Lord Corlys helped Y/N get up. She hugged him and started sobbing even louder. The old Lord only caressed her head to comfort her.

Y/N did not want to cry. She had not cried openly after Aemond's death. But now, she could not stop crying.

Coincidentally, everything happened outside the chamber in which Dowager Queen Alicent was confined. She had heared and understood everything. She felt strange. She did not know that there was someone else who mourned her poor child. She had not expected the mourner to be the very same wife who had abandoned her son to join his enemies.

Lord Corlys, Prince Jacaerys and Prince Daemon were discussing the situation with Queen Rhaenyra in her chamber.

"My granddaughter has done nothing to deserve this," Lord Corlys said, angrily.

"We are not punishing her. It is an advantageous marriage. She will be wed to the Warden of the North. She will be the Lady of Winterfell," Jacaerys replied.

Corlys approached him and said, "Are you blind? Can you not see that your sister is in pain? She is grieving!"

"Grieving for a traitor!" Jacaerys almost shouted.

"Do not talk of treachery, My Prince. We all know who the traitors, liars and usurpers are," Corlys said with a low tone hinting at something. "What I am trying to say is, my granddaughter is entitled to her feelings. She did what was right. She fought for the rightful queen. Now, if she wants to grieve her husband, she should be allowed to. It doesn't matter which side her husband fought for. What I know is, he loved my granddaughter."

"My Lord," Rhaenyra said. "I have seen my daughter. She is lonely. If she doesn't get married, she will only continue to grieve. I want her to start a new family."

"War has left scars on our chests, Your Grace. I lost my wife. I know about the pain," Corlys replied.

Daemon had been silently listening to everyone till now. He spoke up, "My Lord, the date for the wedding has already been fixed. Changing it will not be a good idea. Lord Stark might think that we do not intend to wed our daughter to her at all and he might take this as an insult."

"So will my granddaughter not even get a year to grieve?" Corlys asked, with tears in his eyes.

Daemon replied, "I am afraid not, My Lord."

Corlys did not say anything further. He bowed to Rhaenyra and left the chamber.

Corlys searched for his granddaughter everywhere in the Red Keep but could not find her. The search continued for some time before he found Y/N in one of the least frequented part of the Godswood. She was sitting by the fire which she lit herself. In that fire, she was throwing one thing after the other. He approached her.

Y/N was throwing several things into the fire. Books, papers, letters, clothes made of wool, clothes made of the finest silk, leather and many other things.

"What are you doing, my dear?"

"I am burning his things."

"Why are you doing that?"

"It is better to burn them myself than to see them being thrown away by someone who doesn't care about them."

"Granddaughter....."

"I should have burned his body. He should have gotten a funeral. I could give him nothing. I couldn't even save him. I am such a failure as a wife."

Corlys wished he could say something to calm her. But the deeper he thought, the sadder he became. It was indeed true. Y/N had been an ideal daughter, an ideal sister and even an ideal granddaughter. But she could not exactly fulfil her duties as a wife.

"No man is flawless, my dear. Besides, it is not your fault. You only did what you thought was the right thing to do."

"I loved him so much....Why did he have to be on the Usurper's side?"

Corlys could not answer her. He sat beside her and watched her cry as she burned all of her dead husband's possessions one by one.

Once everything was burned, Y/N was exhausted from crying. She kept her head on Corlys' lap and closed her eyes.

"Grandsire..."

"Say it, Granddaughter."

"Can you take me to Driftmark for a few days? This place suffocates me."

"Sure. I shall talk to your mother."

Even though Rhaenyra had denied to postpone the wedding, she could not deny Lord Corlys when he expressed his desire to take his granddaughter with him to Driftmark for a few days. However, she did that on the condition that he would bring her back for the wedding on time.

The wedding was a grand affair. Many Lords attended the wedding with their wives, sons and daughters. Prince Jacaerys and Prince Daemon were talking to the Lords in the feast.

Y/N was getting dressed for the wedding. She had worn a cloth-of-gold gown. Her necklace had rubies and her earrings had them too. Her hair was braided and arranged around her temples like ram's horns and then covered by a hairnet.

Rhaenyra entered the chamber to see her daughter already dressed.

"You look very beautiful, Y/N," Rhaenyra said, smiling at her daughter.

Getting no response from her, she asked the ladies-in-waiting to leave them alone. She then made her daughter sit beside her on the bed and said, "Y/N, I know that this is hard for you. I do not blame you for loving my half-brother. He was a good husband to you. Besides, we do not choose whom we love."

Y/N only stared at her mother and said no word. Rhaenyra held her hands and said, "Lord Stark is a good man. He will keep you happy. I want you to accept him and start a new life. Be a good wife to him, give him children. Do your duty to him. You cannot hold on to the past forever. You have to let go."

Y/N wanted to say, "If you had let go of your foolish feelings for Harwin Strong, then our lives would have been much easier." But she remained silent.

Rhaenyra made her stand and put the cloak containing the colours of House Targaryen and House Velaryon around her shoulders.

Rhaenyra had tears in her eyes. "Will you not speak to your mother at all?" she said.

"Did you kill my child?" Y/N said, with a voice which was barely louder than a whisper.

"Child?" Rhaenyra asked, bewildered.

"Yes, the child in my belly...Aemond's child...which I lost only a few days after fleeing to Dragonstone," Y/N replied. She asked again, "Did you kill that child?"

"Oh my poor child!" Rhaenyra burst into tears. "I would never. I did not even know that you were with child. Trust me, I have done no such thing."

"If you say so," Y/N replied with a cracked voice.

Rhaenyra was crying. But Y/N did not want to look at her. She was not fully convinced. She walked out of her chamber and saw her brother Jacaerys standing outside her chamber.

"It is time, Sister. I will be the one to give you away. Come with me," he said to her.

Y/N spoke no word to Jacaerys. She did not even look into his eyes. She walked with him through the hallways into the Castle Sept. He took her to the wedding altar with a smile on his face. Lord Cregan Stark was standing there with the most charming smile he could have. In front of him was someone who looked almost like a Goddess. However, like many men, he too failed to read her mind. But the other women present there didn't.

Dowager Queen Alicent saw her son's widow getting on the altar with a face as pale as snow. There was no joy in that face. It looked like someone has drained all the happiness out of her and she could burst into tears at any moment. Y/N's lips were dry and shaking. The area around her eyes had turned pink from frequent wiping of her tears.

"Poor child! Look what that whore has done to her own daughter!" Alicent said to herself.

The vows were exchanged. The septon blessed Y/N and Lord Stark and declared them man and wife. Now, it  was time for the bedding. Jacaerys was about to declare the starting of the bedding ceremony when Rhaenyra glared at him, as if daring him to speak.

Daemon approached him and said, "My Prince, you do not want to make matters worse. Arranging this wedding already gave you a broken nose."

Jacaerys nodded.

Y/N was escorted to her chamber by her ladies-in-waiting. She sat on her bed reflecting on what her life had become. She saw the decorated bed. There was a knock on the door and it opened. Cregan entered through the door and shut it close from inside.

He approached her with a smile on his face. Y/N would have traded all the gold in the world for the ability to evaporate from that place at that moment. He tried not to show any signs of discomfort. She had married him and she had to perform her duty.

Her gently kissed her cheek and said, "You look very beautiful, Princess. Just like the moon."

He took her right hand in his and said, "I am aware of everything. I will not force you to do anything that you don't want to. If you don't wish to lie with me, then it will be that way."

"That won't be necessary, My Lord," Y/N replied. "The marriage has to be consummated anyways."

"I am glad you think so," Cregan said. "And I want you to address me by my name, at least when we are on the bed."

It did not take much time for Cregan to undo the laces of her gown, nor did it take him much time to unbutton whatever buttons came in his way. Soon, Y/N was out of her gown and as naked as her nameday. She lied on the bed and tried not to look at Cregan getting undressed. He climbed on her and claimed her with quite a great passion. His touches however, contributed more towards triggering the memories of Aemond than it contributed towards pleasuring Y/N. She certainly did not like the way her body was betraying her mind.

Cregan claimed her several times that night. And fell asleep after rolling off her.

Y/N curled up on the other side of the bed and sobbed.

Cregan was very pleased with his wife. He had been a widower for a few years. He was glad to have a beautiful wife like Y/N by his side.

However, things were not so easy for Y/N. Pretending to be a wife was harder than she had imagined. After returning to Winterfell, Cregan visited her almost every night. "Filling your belly is one of my favourite things to do, you know," he used to say.

Cregan used to think that his wife likes to bed him but was shy. He used to think that the war had made her quiet and reserved. So, he used to try to cheer her up by saying those things. Little did he know that bedding him was the most traumatizing part of their marriage. Men can be so clueless sometimes.

Y/N's nights were sleepless. The first half of each night was taken by Cregan and the second half was spent crying. She preferred bathing alone. She used to rub her body vigorously to forget the feeling of Cregan's hands on her and to remove his scent from her body. The scent seemed to never go away, no matter how many perfumes she used on herself.

She started keeping to herself most of the time. She craved loneliness. She spoke very less and only if it was very important.

It was one of those nights. Cregan entered Y/N's chamber. She had worn only a thin gown for sleeping. Y/N's fingers started shaking when she saw him. She tried to calm herself by holding on to nearby objects. Cregan took off his robe and held her waist.

"Was I disturbing your sleep, my love?" Cregan asked.

"As you can see, I haven't slept yet, My Lord," Y/N replied.

Cregan turned her to face him. He caressed her face and touched her lips with his index finger. He said, "Do you know how beautiful a smile will look on these lips? I think you don't. Because if you did, you would smile more often."

Seeing no response, Cregan whispered into her ears, "Let us bet. If I make you scream in pleasure tonight, you will smile for me. What do you say?"

"Sure," Y/N replied.

Cregan bit her neck as he grabbed her waist. She had a weak spot somewhere near the waist and below the navel. He discovered it a few days ago. He pressed that area and saw his wife biting her lips.

Y/N clenched her fist so hard that her nails almost pierced her skin. "Just a few hours," she kept telling herself. On the other nights, Y/N did not only cry after the deed was done, but also in between. She made sure he didn't notice it. But that night, as Cregan turned her around to undress her, she could not control herself. He had finished undressing her when he moved the hair from her face and saw her face. The suppressed tears had finally fallen. She was crying.

"What happened?" Cregan asked.

"I can't do this...I can't anymore...I am sorry...I am sorry...I can't..." she kept saying.

She was hiding her bare breasts with her hands and had closed her legs. Cregan had never seen her like that. He panicked.

"I do not understand. What is the matter?" He asked.

"I can't do this... I don't want to do this... I did... I tried... I can't anymore..." Y/N kept saying tearfully.

Cregan covered her with the sheets. He sat at the edge of the bed. An hour later, Y/N had calmed down.

Cregan looked at her. His eyes were red.

He said, "On our wedding night, I asked you whether you wanted me to bed you or not. You said that you wanted to go for it. All this time, I had been trying to win your smile and happiness with my love, while you had been grieving for a dead man. You brought the load of your past marriage into ours. That dead man was and is everything to you. While I am nothing. You find my touch disgusting. Yet you lie with me every night and pretend to be the perfect wife. Tell me, Princess, was there anything that was real between us?"

"I am sorry... I can't..." Y/N said, when she was interrupted by Cregan.

"Stop that. I don't want to hear that. I don't want an apology. What I wanted...was honestly and that is clearly not your virtue," Cregan said.

He got up from the bed and wore his robe. He then walked out of the chamber.

A month had passed since that night. Cregan stopped coming to Y/N's chamber altogether. Now that he had realised that his wife actually loathed his presence, he avoided her completely. This sudden change in behaviour did not go unnoticed. It was a topic of gossip among the servants but he paid no heed to them. But the seed that Cregan had left in Y/N's belly did not seem to ignore her.

Y/N noticed that her moon blood was two months late. But she brushed it off thinking that it might have been caused because of stress.

She was sitting at a table in her chamber and waiting for the maid to bring her food. Cregan no longer dined with her. The maid brought chicken and mushroom pie. Y/N remembered that it was one of the things which she liked a lot. But as she took a bite out of it, she spat it out.

"Gods be damned! What is this?" She shouted at the maid.

"It's....the pie, Princess," the maid said, tearfully. The little girl got scared of the sudden outburst.

"You call this a pie?" Y/N asked. "Horse shit must taste better than this. Take this away from my eyes."

An older maid who was standing nearby signalled the maid to take away the remaining pie. The old woman brought some boiled potatoes and sprinkled some salt, poured a little vinegar and added some herbs to them, and then smashed them a little. She gave them to Y/N and said, "Try these, Princess."

"Boiled potatoes?" Y/N was confused.

"Just try it once, Princess," the old woman sighed.

Y/N took a bite of a potato and surprisingly, found it very savoury. She quickly finished all the potatoes. The maid then brought some pieces of lemons and asked her to eat them. Y/N ate them too.

When she was done, the maid said to her, "These are the early signs of being with child, Princess."

"Child? How do you know that?" Y/N inquired.

The maid smiled and said, "I am nine and eighty, Princess. I know a woman carrying a child when I see one. However, for your satisfaction, you should get yourself checked by the Maester. That old man is believed by everyone after all."

A chill ran down Y/N's spine. A child would change a lot of things. Besides, her relationship with Cregan was not good anymore. Truth to be told, she hoped for a daughter because a son had no future there. Cregan already had an heir. Her son would only be a second son who would stand to inherit nothing. A daughter, however, could be married off to a Lord.

She sent for the Maester. The maester arrived with haste. She shared her worries with him and he listened to all of them very attentively. He said to her, "Princess, it is very much possible that you might be with child. Please lie down so that I can examine you."

After examining her, the Maester said to her with a smile, "You are to be a mother, Princess. Your doubts were indeed correct."

"How long have I been with child, Maester?" Y/N asked.

"One and a half months, Princess" he replied.

Just then, Cregan arrived at her chamber. They exchanged a brief glance. The maid had informed Cregan that Y/N might be with child and that's why, he had come to talk to her. On seeing the Maester, he asked him, "What did you find out, Maester?"

"The princess is indeed with child, My Lord. You are to be a father again," he replied. He then glanced at both Cregan and Y/N and said, "I shall take my leave now."

Cregan approached Y/N with slow steps and sat on the bed beside her.

"We are to have a child, Princess."

"Aye"

"Do you know what that means?"

"I do."

"Our child deserves parents who love each other."

"I know."

"What I am asking from you is, a chance. I want a chance to make you happy. We cannot play pretend husband and pretend wife in front of our child."

"I will try."

"Will you...truly? Or will you say that to my face and cry when I turn my back?"

Y/N burst into tears on hearing that. Cregan hugged her and kissed her forehead. He cupped her face and said, "Look, I know that you loved Prince Aemond a lot. I am not asking you to forget him. I have not forgotten my Arra. But you see, Arra and Aemond are our past. But the child in your belly is our present and future. I am not asking you to bed me. I am asking you to let me into your life and to let me take care of you. Because I married you to start a family with you. I want to love you."

Y/N was still silent. Cregan had gotten his answer. He said, "If that is your wish, I will stay away from you. But once the child is born, you will not try to keep it away from me. If you do so, I will not tolerate it. Because the child is mine and I will never ever give up on my child."

..

..

..

To be continued

Taglist : @anime-lover-forever-1127

[molqr]

behold, psychoklok! these goobers are a silly psychonauts/metalocalypse au i've been rotating in my head for almost a year now. less focused on psychonauts characters but more on dethklok, and how their lives would be changed if they were psychic/in the psychonauts universe, and had to deal with all this in their 30s-40s (yeah, their powers would get more intense as the metalocalypse dawns) while charles (also psychic) has to frantically yet hesitantly consider getting the actual psychonauts involved after their mental health declines/spirals out of control post-aotd. much fun!

more ramblings/closeups/textless stuff under the cut!

my sillies...

nathan's good with a few things like psi-punch and mental connection, the latter being how he gets so many of his ideas. his thought train's slowed down now that he's a rich sheltered asshole, though. you'll notice some of their powers have little brackets next to them, and it's because i only think they'll realise they have these powers later in their story, like nathan and his very powerful hydrokinesis. surely that's not a sign of anything at all.

murderface isn't too varied in the psychic department. all of his self-hatred over the years has formed into a very, Very powerful form of blastokinesis though, and he make does very well with how he uses this (who am i kidding, he's using psi-blast to blow up squirrels and frogs and piss off the others) despite his insecurities about knowing only one power. well! good news willy! you're gonna get some command over ice post-salacia possession! surely you won't have complicated feelings about that at all!!!!!!!!

skwisgaar skwigelf is truly taller than a tree here!!! directly contrary to how cold she acts, she's unusually adept with pyrokinesis. which could mean nothing. she's familiar with clairvoyance, she sees the others like this--

(old doodle from like a year ago lol back at the conception of psychoklok, with an example of clairvoyance views from the psychonauts wiki for context on how it works with characters) --with them being extensions of their instruments they play in the band, nothing else, because she's keen on seperating herself from them and insisting theyre just bandmates. girl you live in the same house together. and yeah, toki's guitar looks beat up and stupid for a reason, she's not subtle. despite this, she's sort of insecure too, hence the clairvoyance, she thinks a lot about how people see her, especially in regards to her no.1 guitarist schtick. if you havent noticed, skwisgaar is a woman to me and i use exclusively she/her with her btw. #transgenderism

pickles looks like a pickle on purpose, yeah. it was just too easy! he used to use his telepathy for much cooler things (or sneakier things, like stealing beer as a teen) but now he mostly uses it for grabbing beer bottles that are out of arms reach while he sits on the couch watching tv, or pissing people off. depends on the day. pickles is probably one of the only people in the world who can regularly lace their weed with psitanium, and not suffer a total mental collapse, for some reason. how he works is unknown. the adverse effects of the psitanium consumage is that he's starting to float everrrr so slightly off the ground, but its more apparent with his floaty hair. (which i plan to resemble octopus limbs more, so im keeping his visible shitty white guy dreads down to 8, like 8 octopus legs!) he's silly, i love drawing his lanky ass.

toki seems pretty much the same, but he's very insistent that psychics arent a good thing. ...despite being a (repressed) psychic himself. it's a lore-piece that ive elaborated on in another drawing, but suffice to say, with the parents he has, him being psychic wouldn't end very well. i think he and loboto have a few things to talk about. (notice his head scar. hm...) anyway, his death curse manifests as precognition in this au, once that repressed power begins to unleash itself, toki becomes all to aware of all the death surrounding himself and the band. oh the tragedy! oh, and rockzo isnt a character in this au (because i hate him) but rather a figure from toki's imagination as a child manifested as mental projection, more like an imaginary friend which embodies him impulsivity and things he couldnt have as a kid. he came back after toki got his dad killed as a method of toki coping by being impulsive and shit, now he drinks vodka at 6 in the morning as urged by his little paper clown friend. this rockzo serves in furthering tokis character development only, once toki finally lets go of him and what he stands for (impulsive self destructive habits to cope) thats him gone forever. because iiii donttt likkeee himmm...

psychonauts is a really fun series to work with for aus and character stuffs because the games are just so lovely, i've even got a whole doc focused on what i think their mental worlds would look like! nathan explosion and his mental blood ocean and toki wartooth with the horrors of his icy past.. would love to draw some memory vaults for them sometime!

fun trivia! nathan is the only one here with 4 fingers. this is because he's the only one out of the band with no experience with instruments, he just does vocals :]

anyway thats all for now (on this post at least lmfao) thankes for reading if you got this far...!!

[nerdygaymormon]

Gather Conference 2025 - my highlights

Before I even got to Utah, met an amazing person while on a layover at DFW airport, Raquelle Roulette (google her). We truly would be in awe at all the heroes and amazing folks around us if we only knew their stories

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I arrived in Utah on Thursday, June 26th, and my friend @loveerran picked me up and drove us to a restaurant where we had lunch with Peggy Fletcher Stack, senior religion writer for The Salt Lake Tribune.

I found Peggy to be open and authentic. She was herself and wanted us to be ourselves. It felt like we connected on several levels. She shared with us her thoughts about the many changes that President Nelson has made to the LDS Church, the importance of community, and which fairly well-known person she refuses to interview or quote for stories because they are a liar. We talked about things in our life, like her cats, MAGA family members, and that being Primary pianist was my favorite church calling.

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After lunch, Erran and I traveled to Provo where I unpacked and took a nap. When I woke up, I washed my face and was rudely reminded that water comes out of the faucet very cold in Utah, not lukewarm like in Florida. I was wide awake. 🥶

That evening was the Gather Conference's Meet & Greet which was held in a Provo city park. It was great to connect with friends who were there and to meet some new friends. 

I was introduced to Cynthia and Paul Winward and exclaimed that I know who they are, and Paul replied, "you mean you know who she is." Nope, I know him, too. He's treasurer for Affirmation, and I'd seen him give financial updates over the past two years when I served on the Affirmation Board or as VP. I told him he looks more handsome in person. I think he blushed a little and his wife said everyone looks better in person compared to the little box you see them in on Zoom.

Cynthia is a co-host of the podcast At Last She Said It. I am a regular listener, and told her that I love it's women's voices, so several times I've had a comment I thought about sending in, but I didn't want to be a man stepping into that space. Then I shared how I loved a voicemail on their most recent episode by a woman who had served as her ward's compassionate service leader, and if a man requested a meal for his family, she'd contact his ministering brother. If the ministering brother's wife asked what sort of meal is needed, she would answer, "whatever HE can make," and a LOT of pancakes got delivered. I LOVE THAT.

I shared how when I became a stake executive secretary, I convinced the stake presidency to stop asking the stake relief society presidency to make meals, we're capable men. I also told Cynthia about making a meal for 30+ people when an apostle came to my stake center, and afterwards he came to the kitchen and expressed surprise that it was all men cleaning up, to which I replied that the Handbook doesn't list cooking or cleaning as duties of any of the sisters' callings. Cynthia laughed, high-fived me, and said while they don't have male guests they do sometimes play voicemail comments from men and encouraged me to send that message to them.

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On Friday, June 27th, the Gather Conference began with an invocation from Elder Steven E. Snow, an emeritus Seventy, who recently went public as an ally because he loves his gay granddaughters.

Dr. Jennifer Finlayson Fife gave the keynote address and spoke about developing self-trust and to value ourselves and that this is necessary to create healthy relationships. Being true to ourselves, being authentic, allows us to be authentic in our relationships. If we have to outsource our self worth to others, that leads to problematic relationships, for example we could become subservient to someone in order to get their praise because we need them in order to feel good about ourselves and to obtain love. The focus becomes keeping the other person happy, which means we avoid bringing up truthful things to avoid conflict. It can feel like you are disappearing.

When we need the validation of others, it's hard to live authentically because we have to hide parts of ourselves or things that bother us in order to not risk upsetting others. We need companionship and love, and many people compromise in order to find it. However, when you are true to yourself, you're able to be loved and known by others, and they will love you for who you are and not who you pretend to be.

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J. Kirk Richards is an artist who creates beautiful images around the idea that all are alike unto God, including LGBTQ individuals. He spoke about early church history when dancing was completely forbidden and even referred to by church leaders as a “mortal sin!” He then shared other quotes and stories about how this changed radically in a span of only seventeen years. He quoted Brigham Young who proclaimed dancing to be a “divine ritual.” Imagine that ….. in the short span of 17 years from MORTAL SIN to DIVINE RITUAL.

When our understanding changes, things which once seemed dangerous and sinful can actually be uplifting and righteous.

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Jessica Angus, a trans woman, and Ben Higinbotham, a trans-masc nonbinary individual, each shared they felt divinely inspired to transition. Don't they worry they might have misunderstood and they'll face the wrath of God? Ben answered, "God isn't throwing lightning bolts at us, He's throwing love."

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Friday afternoon were Breakout Sessions based on identity. I went to the Gender Identity session where Hannah Bryan, who performs drag under the name Charity Heels, showed that trans and nonbinary people have existed in many societies. She pointed out that we call some people nonbinary because our society has decided there's just two genders and not everyone fits this binary, but many other cultures acknowledged multiple genders, they actually have words for people whose gender is neither male nor female.

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@loveerran spoke of her experience at learning she's intersex. She only learned this a few years ago because her parents had kept this from her. Erran followed this up by explaining that the LDS Church needs to expand its understanding of gender. For example, the church has decided that your spirit's sex matches that of your mortal body, and you're either male or female. While for most people their outward genitals, their inner reproductive organs, their hormones, and their chromosomes, all line up, that isn't true for everyone. Do we consider someone to have a male spirit if they have XY chromosomes but are missing the SRY gene, which its absence causes the individual to have feminine characteristics? What of the Guevedoces where some males are born looking like girls and grow a penis at puberty?

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Friday night I was among the last at the conference center and was on hand when someone asked Charlie Bird to do a backflip. He nailed it!

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On Saturday, June 28th, the Gather Conference began with an invocation offered by Reverend Mother Dani Lee of St. Mary's Episcopal Church in Provo, Utah.

Bishop Karen P. Oliveto was interviewed at the conference. In 2015, she became the first openly lesbian bishop in The United Methodist Church. She was assigned the Western Jurisdiction which includes Utah, Idaho, Wyoming and Montana.

When she'd visit congregations in rural towns, she often was the first openly-queer person these church goers had ever met. She describes this as a "ministry of vomit," because people would express all the pain, trauma, questions, doubts, and misgivings they have about queer people. She was there to catch the vomit, to show that no matter what is thrown at her, she is there to love and help people, she will be there through their worst and best moments. Eventually the saying went around, "If you want to keep hating on the bishop, don't meet her."

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Carol Lynn Pearson spoke of her husband who was gay and they divorced but he remained in her life. When he was dying of AIDS, he moved back in and she took care of him. The next year, in 1986, she wrote a memoir about the experience, Goodbye, I Love You, which led to a national book tour including appearances on programs such as Good Morning America. She has been a pioneer in bringing the attention of Latter-day Saints to the plight of queer members.

Carol Lynn describes LGBTQ+ members as modern-day pioneers, some acting as scouts out front who see what is ahead and urging the rest of the church to shift and move faster. She said we haven't yet arrived to a place where we can say, "This is the place," so we carry on, we don't have to settle for things as they are now.

She hopes people leaving this conference have a “more immediate understanding of the hugeness of this situation. Everybody in our church has a gay son or a lesbian cousin or a neighbor that we love. All of us are affected by this. And so today, we are listening with different ears than we did before.”

“We are ready. People down here at the bottom in the church are ready for more progress, and more rapid progress toward the goal of a kind of equality.”

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Alisha Anderson, who is lesbian, gave my favorite address of the conference. She spoke of planting mustard seeds and what she learned from that experience. “I have learned to listen to plants. I can’t say to a wilting plant, ‘I gave you the right amount of water.’ No, it’s not about what I think it needs, but what it knows it needs. And if I listen, I can give it what it requires to grow.”

Seeds and plants know what they need. Queer people know what they need and should be listened to rather than instructed to be like straight people.

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Travis Steward is a former mission president and worked for decades at the missionary training center. He is gay and in a mixed-orientation marriage. He said that if others are disappointed in us, that's their problem, not ours. They created the expectation. Being ourselves is not a problem or a wrong, it's up to them to change their expectations.

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Saturday afternoon's breakout sessions covered a variety of topics. I actually skipped the first round of breakouts to speak with a friend about their journey of coming out and how his family has reacted and what has changed.

I attended the breakout session "Steps, Detours, and Discoveries: Plotting Your Church Path" which was a panel of four queer Mormons and was moderated by Tom Christofferson. I thought it interesting that initially they spoke about good leaders they'd had but then each shared about problematic leaders, definitely highlighting the idea of "leadership roulette."

Meghan Decker shared that when she was suicidal because of her mixed-orientation marriage, her bishop advised her that "God would rather have you get divorced than dead." But in response to a question about possibly getting her temple recommend revoked for dating women, she replied, "Their game, their rules." She can't control him and his decisions. Her relationship with Christ isn't determined by what her bishop does. She'd like him to be a spiritual advisor and mentor, but not to tell her to go against personal revelation.

Another woman who is a senior at BYU shared that her bishop took away her recommend when she said that she intends to date women in the future (presumably after she graduates and isn't beholden to the BYU Honor Code). I was shocked. This was a preemptive cancellation, she hadn't yet done anything to warrant her recommend be removed from her, she was still living her life in compliance.

Tom Christofferson ended the session with his rules for revelation:

Don't tell the Lord what He must say

Don't tell the Lord what He can't say

Keep to yourself what He does say

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Saturday evening was a concert by The Lower Lights. I loved it! They are so good! They give a folk rock interpretation of Christian songs. If they're in your area, do yourself a favor and check them out.

Pastor Stan Mitchell ended the conference with a wonderful prayer. I thought it beautiful there were several leaders of other Christian traditions invited to participate in this conference. We have much to learn from each other.

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For me, the best part of this conference is people. I got to meet friends of mine and hug them and catch up. I met some folks I've only known online from Tumblr's queerstake, and I met some people for the very first time.

There's the wife of a YSA bishop from SLC who came, she is a delight and whoever is in her ward is fortunate. I later learned she's the mom of someone from queerstake.

There's the mom from Arkansas who told me that her bishop & stake president won't allow a Gathering, so Scott Mena and I, who both do Gatherings in Florida, said she can simply have friends over each month, and that doesn't need to be endorsed by the church. We talked about ways to promote her Gathering and described how the different Florida Gatherings do things very differently from each other as a way to give her ideas of what she may want to do.

There's the dad who came because his child recently came out, and at the Meet & Greet he told me he was wearing the gayest shirt he owned, and I nodded, then he said it's because the logo is in colors. I replied, "Oh, it's not the logo that makes this shirt gay," as I waived my hand across his front, "it's purple with artistic accents." The next day he found me at conference and says he told his wife what I said about his shirt and they laughed, but he doesn't have anymore "gay" shirts for the rest of the conference. "I have something for you, a pin that looks like a CTR ring shield but the background in rainbow colors. Now you can signal you're an ally no matter what you wear." He immediately pinned it onto his bag.

There's the lesbian couple who are facing leadership roulette. They attended the Saturday breakout panel moderated by Tom Christofferson, and it was as though it was put together specifically for them.

There was the friend who pointed out someone he thinks is attractive but is too nervous to go over and meet. I said it's time to head towards the next session and I walked us right over to the person he pointed out and said I really liked his hair, it's so curly. He smiled and said thanks, and I introduced myself, "oh, and this is my friend." He complimented my friend's curly hair. It was fun to be someone's wingman.

I don't like standing alone in the hallways during breaks, it makes me feel anxious, so at those times if I saw someone else alone and they smiled at me, I took that as an opening, that perhaps they were also wanting to connect with someone while at the conference. That strategy worked pretty well.

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Rather than go to the after party, which sounds like fun with karaoke and board games, Erran and I went back to the air bnb we were staying in. Erran baked a cake and I played funny TikTok videos and we laughed and laughed, almost to the point of wheezing. It was such a good end to the day

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On Sunday, Erran and I attended the local ward. Sunday School was great, the man who taught the lesson is a counselor in the bishopric and works as a therapist. My main takeaways are that we should consider what things bring us closer to Christ, there are many things which don't. He also shared that two of the most successful things to do when someone is suicidal is to look them in they eyes, and physical touch, because these reinforce that someone cares, someone loves them. It may seem simple, but its among the most effective things to prevent a suicide.

Afterwards, Erran and I spoke with him outside in the summer sun, or rather, Erran spoke and I was there for moral support. Erran shared a bit about her story. He listened without interrupting then made some affirming comments. He had been facing Erran so I couldn't tell how he was receiving her story and was relieved at his positive response.

Erran explained how what he taught in Sunday School was in line with her experience of accepting her transness. Erran asked if he'd be interested in being a presenter to LGBTQIA+ LDS people at a future conference?

Before he could answer, a woman came out the doors and walked over to Erran to greet her and say she remembers Erran from last year's Affirmation Conference. She had several pins, such as "you're safe with me" and her church bag had a picture of the folding chairs with one of the seats in rainbow.

As she's speaking to Erran, I feel prompted to give her the CTR ring I had on my pinky finger. I commented that I liked her bag, and handed over the ring. She got emotional and showed us her finger, which had a dent around the base of it where her old CTR ring had been. She had an MRI last week and needed to remove the ring, but because she hadn't taken it off for 10 years and her fingers had gotten larger, they had to cut it off. So now she has a new CTR ring, but one with a rainbow background. It fit her finger perfectly.

I don't know how the bishopric counselor interpreted this, but it seemed to me like God sending a confirmation that Erran is out here doing good things and this man should accept the invitation to speak to queer members.

He then asked a few questions about what does she think he should say, is it just a repeat of his lesson or does she want something different. She clarified that she will recommend him to be a speaker and would like to remain in touch and communicate more about the topics in his lesson.

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I have some extended family who live in Utah and they usually will host dinner for me and some of my queer LDS friends. It's become my favorite part of trips out to Utah for conferences. After dinner, we all hang out.

One of my friends who comes to dinner is an expert on Pioneer Day and he told us that the Salt Lake airport was dedicated on Pioneer Day and at that time they had the few surviving Mormon pioneers take a plane ride over Emigration Canyon. A journey that had taken them 3 days in their covered wagons was completed in 9 minutes.

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After dinner, we had an invitation from Bree & Kit Borrowman to come to their home to meet Pastor Stan Mitchell. My group actually showed up late. We arrived as others were departing. The pastor stayed, and so did 3 others: the parents of a child who had recently come out, and a trans man. It was a very small group. It was a good conversation. I admire him and his ministry.

I thanked him for his prayer to close the Gather Conference, it was very meaningful to me. He commented that public prayers like that are difficult because it's easy to say things for show, to try to be impressive. What the person offering the prayer should do is channel what those in the room want said, to act as the mouthpiece for the group. We agreed that he expressed the hopes and yearnings in our hearts.

Erran confessed that she did not know who he was until earlier this year when I shared a post which quotes him saying, "It's not the elders, it's not the leaders, not the apostles, not the pastors, not the bishops, not the clerics. It's the mothers who are the prophetic voice. Everyone else is playing with plastic chips and monopoly money. The mothers are playing with every damn dime they have. They are playing with flesh in the game and that makes them not compromised weaklings, but the veritable prophets of this movement." He found his original post and read the entire passage to us. Very moving.

He spoke of meeting Liz Dyer who started Mama Bears in the hopes she could make the world kinder, safer, and a more loving place for all LGBTQ+ people. He met with her and his heart was opened.

Since then, he has found the mothers of LGBTQIA+ kids, who call themselves Mama Dragons and Mama Bears, to be his co-laborers in 'gospel work.' They are not professional clerics, they are like Mary to Jesus, they are the witnesses of the suffering, they are there when the other disciples run away.

He shared that as we learn more about the character of God, how we interpret the words on the page will shift. But also, the things we experience also causes change. He spoke of how slavery is permitted in the Bible and that for centuries Christians defended slavery. However, the huge number of slaves in the Western hemisphere caused many to see the extreme suffering that slavery caused. They saw mothers crying and pleading as they were separated from their children at slave auctions. They saw the brute violence casually perpetrated on slaves. They saw how cruelty transformed the character of the slave owners. They may believe the Bible, but they felt dissonance from what it said with how they felt about the consequences of its support of slavery. This caused churches to reevaluate what the Biblical words mean and decide that opposing slavery is the position that is most Christlike.

Same thing is happening with queer people and Christians. As they hear our stories and learn of the pain and shame we inherited from church, as they attend funerals for those who died by suicide, as their children come out and don't fit into their faith community, people are saying there's a dissonance between what my church teaches and how the consequences feel to me. Surely this isn't what God wants happening to his beloved children.

Of all the Christian traditions, the LDS Church is best setup to make changes towards progress due to our belief in ongoing revelation. Those at the top who sit in the red chairs need to get on the ball because the suffering is ongoing and bodies are piling up. The sooner they act, the less pain and hurt will be incurred. 

However, change like this usually happens in the pews, it comes from the ground up, not from the top down. The change is made at the grassroots level by families who have a child who comes out, by people who are unhappy at what is being taught at church about queer people because they have a gay uncle they love. They see the hurt and trauma first hand, and their visceral reaction against it leads them to want and advocate for change.

He shared a story about when he visited Haiti and he saw a young girl drinking water in the street which had sewage in it. He went to stop her but a woman stopped him and asked what he was doing? Well, he’s trying to stop her from taking in these toxins which will make her sick. Yes, but she needs water to survive. She doesn’t have access to clean, life-giving water, so she has to make due with this polluted water. Similarly, for queer people what gives us spiritual life also contains toxins which make us sick.

He thanked Bree & Kit for opening their home. He said that he's been sharing their story since before he ever met them, that the idea of a teacher transitioning and being supported by the school administration, parents, and students at a school in Utah was hopeful.

Afterwards, he spoke with me for a few minutes. I thanked him for all his efforts, that change needs people like him, that there aren't enough queer people to get the change we need. I asked why a cis, straight man with no queer kids would be so invested in ministering to queer people and fighting for our inclusion and equality in Christianity? He answered that once his heart changed, he took up the cause of love and inclusion of queer people in church.

He will be in Florida later this year and invited me to meet with him over dinner. He also said he'd invite me to attend church with him while he's in Florida, but knows that may be complicated for me.

I will gladly worship with that man and look forward to meeting with him later this year.

[cannibalisticskittles]

one way or another

inspired by alo’s gorgeous art; this piece and this piece respectively 💖 also on ao3!

summary: the thunderbolts never reached bob, and he stepped into the role of the sentry hard. yelena is determined to bring him back.

The trouble with tracking someone that's all-powerful is that it is very difficult to sneak up on them. 

Now, finding him is fairly simple. He doesn’t make much of an effort to hide up in that vaunted tower of his, and when he’s out, well – everybody knows it. He’s battling some oh-so-dangerous foe, or… being fawned over by an adoring, if still somewhat wary, crowd. Yelena’s not exactly in a position where she can be in the midst of that sort of thing, these days. 

Valentina can’t call for a nationwide manhunt, not without revealing her hand, so Yelena isn’t officially wanted by anyone. But that woman has enough eyes and ears lurking about that it’s risky enough just stepping out of her erstwhile hideout. After all, Valentina’s got him. 

For now. 

But – whatever it was he was sent here to do seems to be finished. Yelena didn’t catch all the details from the broadcast; some man-made catastrophe, buildings collapsing. Right up his alley. The dust seems to have settled, and she watched him duck away from the main commotion. Or, as much as you can duck when gently levitating. 

Down one alley, then a side street, then another. She thinks she’s getting close, but –

Yelena is not used to being seen when she doesn’t want to be seen. Or being heard when she doesn’t want to be heard. But the usual tricks don’t work on him. And the secondary trouble with tracking someone all-powerful is that it is very annoying trying – and failing – to sneak up on them. 

A slight change in the breeze is the only warning she gets. The moment she tries to turn to investigate, she finds herself backing up into something solid – and a hand, firm but relatively gentle for all the strength it possesses, lands on her shoulder. 

Shit. 

She’s sure he can feel, if not hear, the way her pulse hitches in her surprise, which is annoying. And she’s also sure he catches the way she stiffens, before she forces her limbs to relax – at least, the faintest ghost of a laugh suggests so. Which is doubly annoying. 

Her thumb hovers over the activator for her widow bites, but she resists the urge to flick them on. They wouldn’t help, she knows that. She’s caught enough news programs to know that people have thrown much worse at him and he didn’t even flinch.

It’s not what she came here to do, anyway. This is a much different sort of mission. Because it’s still Bob, under it all. It has to be.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

In lieu of answering directly, Yelena twists in his grip to face him – a motion he allows by sliding his hand from her shoulder to her wrist as she turns. His grip isn’t tight, and it’s a loose sort of leash, but she doesn’t need to test the boundaries of it to know that he’d hold firm, if she actually tried to pull away.

Jesus, he’s really got to keep up the appearance of having caught her? Fine, whatever. 

“That’s cheating,” she says. 

And he – blinks, at this. 

“Cheating,” he repeats flatly. 

“Mmmyeah, I can’t exactly fly or move at the speed of sound, so… sneaking up on me like that is cheating, yes.”

She’s caught him in a good mood – or just caught him off guard – because she swears, swears that she sees the corner of lips pull up into the beginnings of a smile. 

Yes, there. Come back, Bob, drop all this Sentry business and clock Valentine right in her stupid face for what she’s done. 

But it fades.

“That’s what happens when you’re dealing with a real hero.”

The words sour in her stomach. 

“I won’t tell anyone I saw you here,” he says, and for a moment, her hopes soar. Stupid, useless, flighty hopes, because he finishes with, “this time. As a courtesy, you understand. Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Or… just save everyone the trouble and turn yourself in.”

Yeah, like that’s going to happen.

Bob – The Sentry – releases her and steps back, and she knows what happens next, how this ends – he flies away and out of her reach, again.

She’s reaching for him before she even realizes she’s raised her hand. 

“Bob, wait–”

Something hardens in his gaze. His irises, shot through with gold, seem to… shift, ever so slightly. 

“It’s The Sentry to you.”

He doesn’t bat her hand away, doesn’t even move a muscle, but the sudden coldness in his eyes makes her shrink back, her fingers curling to her palm on instinct. Her hand, however, remains outstretched. 

He angles his head, regarding her hand for a moment, and then his gaze slides slowly to hers.

“Go. You’ll have a minute’s head start.”

Shit. So much for not telling anyone.

Yelena is running before the sonic boom above her signals that he’s well and truly gone.

She makes it back fine, of course. If he’s not going to bring her in directly, none of Valentina’s other little lapdogs stand a chance. But it’s the principle of the thing. 

And it's only once she’s run through all her security protocols and slapped an ice pack on her aching calves from all that stupid running that she realizes he didn’t even use her name.

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When she wakes that night, it is to the distinct feeling that she is not alone. Years of training kick in an instant, all vestiges of sleep falling away immediately – breath control to keep her steady as she scans each corner, each shadow, and reaches for the gun that’s never far from her hand. This room seems clear, but the feeling persists.

The next, then. 

Yelena moves soundlessly, each footstep careful, methodical, but… though she checks everywhere, she cannot find even the smallest trace that anything is out of place. Not in the halls, not at the entrance… all her security measures are just as they were before she went to bed.

And still, still, Yelena turns at nothing as though she is hearing someone there, the back of her neck prickling. She feels as though she’s fourteen again, about to be snatched up by the Madame for failing to rouse quickly enough, for missing the obvious threat after a week of sleep deprivation, made to undergo another round of punishment for her mistakes. But where, where–?

It takes until her fourth sweep to see it – the shadows in the corner of her erstwhile bedroom are… ever so slightly wrong. When she switches on a light in the hallway, that area should be illuminated – but it doesn’t change at all, though the rest of the room does. And as she approaches, they shift, not in tune with her own movements, but… as though completely independent. 

Yelena takes a step back even as she secures her hold on her gun. Another step, eyes never leaving that mass of shadows, then another, then another. They don’t shift again. 

But she realizes her mistake when she’s back in the center of the room. She’s been so focused on these shadows that she hadn’t noticed that her own has changed. 

There, cast against the far wall. It’s – taller? Yes, definitely too tall, even with the light coming in at an odd angle. And the shape of it… it’s not right.

Yelena takes another step away and reaches blindly behind her for a lamp, eyes locked on what should be her shadow but isn’t, switching it on and angling it until its light beams out directly behind her. Now it comes into focus, its features brought into sharp contrast. 

But they’re not her features, and it’s not her outline. 

It’s… his.

It looks like him, anyway. That mop of messy almost-curls, the broad slant of his shoulders. 

She reaches again for the lamp and brings it with her as she settles onto the floor, shifting it until the shape refocuses.

She tilts her head. It does not mirror her. She raises an arm. The shadow does not. 

Yelena watches it until dawn, when it begins to fade and look like her own once more. 

She does not attempt to sleep again. 

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Valentina’s been busy. 

Granted, Valentina’s also been enmeshed in serious legal and ethical dilemmas, but the appearance of a golden guardian, Earth’s perfect protector, who's also sticking by her side, has thrown a wrench in the proceedings. Yelena watches the stalled impeachment efforts and the news reports, but she won’t pretend like she understands all the nuances. What she does know is: it’s not looking good. Not for Val’s opponents, anyway. Valentina seems to be getting everything she wants, or… she's at least delaying consequences long enough to give that appearance.

Yelena can’t stand it. Every smile, every simper, every attempt at humility and show of virtue – it all seems so patently, transparently, false to Yelena. 

But not to the world at large. Not enough of it, anyway. And when her critics seem to have found a chink in her armor, Val has a counter – which almost always comes in the form of her godlike protector.

Bob.

Or rather, The Sentry, showing up suddenly in another carefully arranged PR stunt. 

It works, she’ll give Valentina that credit. He rescues someone from a burning building, stops a bridge from collapsing, and everyone loses their minds. 

Rightfully so, but her heart aches to see it. Because – he’s the hero he wanted to be, but what can he really do when Val has him wearing blinders and a short leash? 

Yelena watches his interviews for signs of – contentment? Discontentment? Just being… Bob? He doesn’t smile, not really. A little bit, sure, but it’s contained. Careful. 

What do people really know about him, anyway? All those interviews, and yet, it’s not the real him. He makes vague references to an unfortunate past – wise, because it’s not long after his debut that his arrest records are dug up and headlining every tabloid in the area – but wanting to do better, be better, and Valentina giving him that chance. How grateful he is to be the hero the world needs, to have their safety in his hands. Canned, coached, rehearsed. Fake. 

There’s a part of her that knows this is – ridiculous to think. Does she really know him so much better, after a few hours spent escaping Valentina's death trap? And yet. Yes, she decides, she does. If only by a little. The him that she saw, that was real, that wasn’t filtered through hours of public relations training and practicing lines.

If he wants the world to know him and what he’s capable of, this is not the way to do it. This is just – more shoving it down. Something she’s beginning to think was a mistake.

…they do seem fond of him, though. The public at large. 

There are dissenting murmurs, those who question where he came from, whether he deserves to be where he is, what regulations keep him in check, what qualifies Valentina Allegra de Fontaine of all people to be involved at all, given her history – and yet he’s soon amassed quite a loyal bunch of fans that far outnumber the naysayers. 

And despite the legal questions involved in trying to establish him as a new Avenger, it only takes a few months for him to be – well – accepted. Now, The Sentry and his tower are a de facto part of New York, and more and more beyond that are coming around to him.

And she sees him everywhere. He’s on the front of her cereal box. He’s on merchandise. He’s on TV. He’s giving interviews. He’s saving people. He’s on posters, on billboards, on everything. 

Yelena can’t get away from him. 

She supposes it makes sense that she’d think she sees him even when he isn’t there; why her shadow seems to be more of a reflection of him than of her, these days, even in the daylight. Her mind is playing tricks on her, reflecting what she expects to see even when there’s no possible way she could. 

He’s just… well-marketed, that’s all. Hell, people love him so much that she even starts seeing unofficial merch, alongside what Valentina has pushed out. 

On one of the rare occasions she ventures out of her hideout without a strict purpose in mind, Yelena does consider nabbing herself one of those overstuffed plushes being sold at a stall along the street, just for fun.

That stupid, slicked-back, bleached blonde hair makes something twist in the pit of her stomach, though, and the dead plastic eyes are… unnerving. She feels watched enough as it is, these days. She moves to pass by without it, but – actually, maybe there’s some use to be found in them. Especially the backpack variations. 

“Shut up,” she mutters to her shadow as she leaves the row of plushies behind, $20 lighter and with an abomination of a backpack in hand. “I have my reasons.” The shadow remains, as always, silent.

Her next plan goes off without a hitch, and it’s not dramatic at all:

She blows up a building. 

A little building, mind you. And quite a small explosion, all things considered. 

But it ought to be enough to get his attention, even so. Everything about this stunt was decided specifically with him in mind. 

Though she’s anticipating him, she knows she has little time to react – and even less margin of error. She can’t really evade him; her muscles, tensed and primed to move, are prepared for one thing only – to lessen the inevitable impact to something she can manage. 

It must be a slow day, because he arrives before the wave of sirens. A glint in the sky and the faint whistle of air moving rapidly around him is the only warning she gets, but it’s still something she can work with – Yelena twists and dodges just enough that when he reaches her, she’s hoisted by the front of her sweatshirt into the air, instead of by an arm, or her neck, or any other parts of her body that she quite likes to keep intact. Woof, is this what flying feels like? She’s not a fan. 

Now, she is still pushed back into a wall with enough force to wind her, but that's fine, she's not going to let a little thing like that stop her. She’ll take the fact that both her arms are free and that she can talk readily as a victory. 

There’s an intensity to his expression that… shifts ever so slightly once they’re face-to-face.

“–you.”

“Hiiiii!” She aims a sunny smile his way, beaming up at him despite the vague nausea that rushing through the air so quickly and being suspended like this elicits. 

“I should have known it would be you. You just can’t leave well enough alone, can you? What were you even trying to–”

And then he glances down at the fabric that’s twisted in his grasp and he stops in his tracks. For a moment, he simply stares. “What are you wearing?”

Yelena grins. 

“Didn’t you know?” she asks breezily. “I'm your biggest fan. 

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Yelena…”

“What, you don’t think it’s cute?” She tries to ignore how the simple act of him saying her name after these long months makes her just a little giddy, and instead she plucks at the hem of her sweatshirt, the same golden yellow as his suit, with his face emblazoned in the center of it. “I dunno, I thought it looked pretty good on me. And the hat!” It’s got a slightly lopsided recreation of the symbol on his belt smack dab in the middle. Then she gasps. “Ohhhhh wait wait wait, you haven’t even seen the best part.”

She twists as much as she can while being suspended in the air – which is a surprising amount, honestly, the sweatshirt has a comfortable amount of give to it. In response, the arms of her terrible little backpack – much lighter now that it’s no longer packed with C4 – flop around with her. It’s… well, frankly, it’s even worse than the regular plushies. Just as overstuffed, and its little yellowy eyes don’t look any less dead, but the proportions are markedly off, like whoever designed the stationary Sentry plushies couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to properly modify it to not look uncanny as all hell when hollowed out.

Yelena kind of loves it a little bit, actually? It’s funny how fast it grew on her. 

It does not seem to have the same effect on him, though. 

His mouth presses into a line, entirely unamused. “Yelena, no more games. What are you here to do? Or did you blow that up just to get my attention?”

She shrugs. “You don’t call, you don’t write… what’s a girl to do when she needs to have a little chat?”

“And what exactly was so important that you had to risk public safety?”

But she snorts. “Oh, relax, I’m not an amateur. There was no one in that building. They’re fumigating today.” After they conveniently found a whole colony of little cockroaches, the day after she released a few hundred into their vents. “So no one got hurt. Well – maybe some roaches got blown up, but no people.”

“Mmh.” His expression does not soften, but he does not argue, and she knows she’s got him – at least for a little while. 

“And,” she adds, both index fingers raised into the air, “if you were to take a look inside, I’m sure you'd find some really really interesting things being worked on in there. Fun stuff – illicit experiments, surveillance… probably more, but I figure you can sort that out.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t expect anything, but it’s pretty easy to just take a look.” The majority of their data storage ought to still be intact. Probably. 

“And you’re doing this… why?”

“To… help?”

He scoffs. “You think you’re a hero now?”

Yelena blinks at that. The derision in his voice feels unearned. “…no,” she says, “I never claimed to be. That’s your thing now, anyway, right?”

“Right,” he says, “so you shouldn’t be getting involved. And yet, here you are.”

“Wellllll, it only seemed fitting to step in once I learned our old pal Val had been sniffing around. Felt like something we ought to be on the same page about, don’t you think?”

But instead of agreeing, he chuckles mirthlessly. “Of course,” he says. “You’re trying to make me turn on Valentina.”

“…I mean, yeah? She sucks. We’ll all be way better off once she can’t call the shots anymore.”

“Mmh. And you’re trying to bring her down out of the goodness of your heart – nothing to do with the fact that she has dirt on you that’d put you away for a long time, right?”

Yelena… doesn’t think it’s a good sign, the way his irises start to lighten.

“You think I don’t know just how many people you’ve killed? How many more you’ve hurt along the way? That parade in Kyiv, the hotel in Madrid, god, the charity event in Rio? Everywhere you go, you leave a trail of bodies.”

Images flash through her mind, surprisingly vivid; ones she hadn’t thought about in ages, ones she hadn’t really been able to, done when Dreykov had his hand on her brain stem and made her dance like a little puppet for his benefit. 

“I read your files,” he tells her, “I know what you’ve done. A red room assassin with a conscience? No.” He shakes his head. “Yelena, you are no hero. Whatever you’re trying to do here, it’s not help.”

She resists the urge to squirm under the force of his judgment, but the memories press upon her, and her pulse stutters. She remembers screaming, pleading, the agonized sound of someone begging as their lung started to collapse from a well-placed puncture; blood, always blood–

“You think,” she manages, through a throat tight with the beginning of a panic attack, “Valentina’s hands are any cleaner? She knew who I was, and she went looking for me. She may not have killed anyone personally, but she was happy enough to give the orders. And here you are, letting her call the shots. So what does that make you?”

His eyes narrow – and even so, she can see the color flicker, almost glow.

“...she is not,” he says, “in charge of me.”

“Oh, no, of course not,” she says, overly-saccharine, “but she’s happy enough to manage everything, isn’t she? And you listen to her. You let her pick your outfit and bleach your hair and tell you what words are safe to say on TV, let her point you towards danger–”

“That’s enough.”

“–because it’s easier that way, right? Then you don’t have to think about it, or anything else, just about doing what’s right. Your duty.” Just like she did with Yelena. “And if you never stop to question her, what’s the difference?”

“That’s enough.” The word comes out in a snarl.

“Sure, fine, go back to letting her puppet you around. I mean, she did have you stuffed into a box and fed to an incinerator, and had a paramilitary organization try to feed a couple hundred bullets into your torso, but yeah, now that you’re powerful and useful, it’s all water under the bridge, right?” 

“And what would you know? You want me to trust the word of an assassin?”

All that shit those tabloids dredged up comes to mind, the things he did in pursuit of a high – and all those rumored accidents in the lab, too, after the experiments. Before she can stop herself, she finds herself spitting back, “oh, but a former meth addict gets grace? Don’t act like your record is clean, either; I know it’s not.”

She’d expected that to make him mad, even as she’d said it, and it does – but there’s something else, too, in the way the line of his mouth goes taut; a flash of hurt crosses his face, and she regrets her words immediately. 

“I didn’t – I never wanted to hurt anyone.” He says it through gritted teeth – but it’s insistent, too. Like he wants, desperately, for her to believe that. 

“...I know,” she says softly. She finds herself pressing gently at his hand with her thumbs, rubbing circles there in an attempt to soothe. As close to an apology as she can bring herself to give, right now. And for a moment – he feels like Bob again. Just Bob. “And I won’t, either. I’m trying to help you, Bob, just–”

All that vulnerability is gone in an instant, and there’s that flash of gold again. “Sentry.”

“...Sentry. If you could just–”

But he shakes his head. “We’re done here. I gave you a head start last time, out of consideration for how you helped me once before–”

“I didn’t want your consideration,” she interjects with a scowl. 

“This isn’t about what you want, Yelena,” he snaps. “This is about what needs to be done, and you are too dangerous to go free.”

There is a growing tension in the line of his body, and his grip tightens, like he’s about to jet away with the both of them.

Yelena places both of her hands over the one that’s holding her up, and bats away a fleeting thought that she wishes there wasn’t a glove in the way. When did he start wearing those, anyway? She’s pretty sure that wasn’t part of his original look. 

“–I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. I get it. I’m not hero material, and it’d be stupid to overlook that. But you have to know that Valentina always has an ulterior motive. One that probably doesn’t have your best interests in mind. And if you won’t recognize that, and if you won’t let me do something about that – damn it, she’s going to use you until there’s nothing left.”

And he – looks at her, silently, for a long, long moment. 

When he speaks, his voice is soft. “What do you think you can do?”

Though it’s far from an expression of trust or faith in his abilities, she could almost sob with the sudden relief that some part of him is willing to listen a little longer. She suppresses the urge, of course. 

“Whatever it takes,” is her response. “I know how people like Valentina operate, and whatever proof you need that she’s the same as she’s always been, I know I can find it for you, if you let me.”

“You want me to let you go,” he says. “Again.”

“I’m good, but I’m not good enough to do that from a cell,” she says. “And… it’s not like I can really hide from you, anyway. Pretty sure you could hear a pin drop from a mile away. No way you couldn’t track me down, if you wanted to. So what harm could I do?”

“You could blow up another building,” he says flatly.

“Heh, yeah, I could do that.”

His eyes narrow.

“–but I won’t, I swear,” she amends hastily. “I won’t hurt anyone.”

He still seems doubtful, though. Yelena racks her brain for something, anything that might convince him. 

–ah, wait. 

“…here.” It takes a bit of fiddling, but before too long – off pop her widow’s bites. She scoops them up in one hand – quite a feat, and without dropping either of them, though he doesn’t seem the slightest bit impressed – and holds them out. 

He looks at them, then at her face, then back to them.

“...you don’t need these to be lethal,” he says. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly come with a whole arsenal, so this is the best I can do for now. It’s, I don’t know, symbolic? That I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

Another moment of silent consideration, and then he says, “even Valentina.”

“...really?” At his look, she backtracks. “–alright yes, yes, fine, even her.” Damn it.

He slowly lowers them until her feet are touching the ground again. There’s a bit of disorientation that comes along with that, and it takes a second to find her bearings, but she manages. 

“If you do…”

“I know, I know, you’ll bring me in, or kill me where I stand, whatever. But you won’t have to. You can trust me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

She frowns. He did trust her, once. But – he'll see. For now, it’s enough that he’s leaving her be a second time. She won’t take that for granted.

He tilts his head, and she hears it not long after – sirens. 

“That’s your cue, I take it?”

He nods. “Remember–”

“No hurting anyone, I know. Promise.”

This time, she does not run. She doesn’t have to; there’s no one out to get her today, and she looks like any other member of the teeming masses wondering what’s going on. 

It’s not until she’s back at her hideout that she allows herself to slump on her mattress and endure the rest of the panic attack she’s been saving off, and the memories he managed to dredge up stay with her far longer than that. 

But – 

Evidence. She can do that. It’s not like Valentina burned a mountain of secrets in an inferno already. But there must be more, she's sure of it. A woman like Valentina doesn’t start following the straight and narrow after almost getting caught, she just gets sneakier. 

Her searching would go faster if she didn’t have to be so damn surreptitious. And if she had a little more help. 

At least she has some, though. The bare minimum, but it’s more than nothing. Really, the only thing she has going for her is that Valentina has no fucking idea who Alexei is, so Yelena’s got someone to act as a go between, or get her a few things she needs, on the occasions that she isn’t able to do it herself. 

…sometimes. There’s still a risk in being spotted together, and the more often they’re in the same area, the higher those chances get. So it’s maybe once a month. Still, it means she has food more often than not, and she’s able to learn a little from him.

Valentina’s other snubbed agents are enacting their own efforts to oust her, to… about as much success as she's currently having.

Walker is insistent that Bucky Barnes, of all people, can help. She knows he’s a congressman now, but it feels like the once-dreaded Winter Soldier would be of more use here. Yelena doesn’t hear much about Walker from Alexei, but she also hasn’t caught his arrest on the news – or mention of him in the obituaries – so she assumes he’s meeting with some success. 

And Ava is – well – she’s doing a great job of living up to her codename. From what Alexei passed on, the very few times he’s been able to make contact with her, she’s been quite successful in evading all other attempts to find her thus far. Which seems to Yelena like it’s her main priority right now. Just… waiting it out until there’s less heat. Yelena can’t complain too much, though, because Ava does manage to pass along some pretty good intel. Phased through somewhere high-profile enough that she’s insistent she not be bothered for another favor for a long while – and to her credit, it’s starting to look like this might actually pan out. 

 …though it would be easier to follow up on this lead if Yelena wasn’t so damn tired all the time. 

Because that shadow doesn’t go away. Hardly a night passes that she doesn’t see it, and it’s beginning to creep into her waking hours more and more. She sleeps during the day sometimes, but… she needs those daylight hours, other times. Needs to be able to monitor who’s coming and going from various labs and research centers, needs to track things down. 

So, on occasion… she lets herself sleep under the watchful eye of his shadow, stretched across the wall. And when she does, she has terrible nightmares – Anya. Nat. She’s small and vulnerable and failing again. Sometimes, though rarer, she dreams of him, waving that gun around in his distraction attempt – and in her dreams, he lies still and cold and does not stand again. 

Sometimes, when she wakes from these nightmares, she… hears things. Whispers, just on the edge of consciousness, that feel familiar and yet so, so strange. She should probably be concerned at just how accustomed she’s becoming to that.

It’s hard to focus. And so it takes… a while to dig anything substantial up. Weeks of searching. Weeks of nights spent doggedly pretending not to notice the shadows elongate and twist around her. Weeks of daytime naps, interrupted by occasional nightmares. 

But she isn’t giving up on this. And she finds the lead she needs, in the end.

It’s not too difficult to connect Valentina to what is, at first glance, a rather run-down old building just past city limits. Particularly with Ava’s intel; she knows that whatever is going on inside is definitely not meant to come to light. 

So, naturally, Yelena’s next goal is to infiltrate it and do just that. 

This, too, is fairly simple, after she figures out what schedule the guards are on. They’re pretty regular, and they’re minimally staffed as well. Valentina must be banking on the unobtrusive nature of the building to dissuade interest in poking around, more than on force. Which works just as well for Yelena. 

Non-lethal, she reminds herself, taking out one after the other and leaving them in heaps on the floor. Of course, she didn’t exactly promise no injuries, and… their concussions are probably not severe enough to kill them. 

Probably. 

Ava comes in handy again when she gets to the server. Yelena’s not bad with ciphers, but having the code definitely saves her some time. She makes a mental note to thank the other woman – though, bringing down Valentina with this information might be thanks enough.

What she sees once she’s in is, predictably, incredibly incriminating. Several felonies worth of material. Oh, Valentina, you really can’t help yourself, can you? But she only skims these as she looks for anything to do with Bob – and what she finds gives her pause. 

Documentation of tests they're putting him through. Data collection. Like he’s a lab rat. And most damning of all – evidence of a kill switch. The very idea turns her stomach. 

Something planted in his head. A small thing, a little connection between his spine and the base of his brain they must have put in during his testing. And all Valentina has to do is press a little button and she turns him off, forever. 

Yelena wonders at first if this means Valentina is in his head the way Dreykov was in hers – but no, the files she meticulously scan mention nothing of the sort. There is perhaps the smallest bit of disappointment, but mostly just relief. His mind is his own. She just has to… change it. To make him see, somehow, what Valentina is up to.

There’s two; one which which Yelena assumes Valentina would keep on or near her, and a back-up somewhere, referenced as being near the target. So, in the Tower? Seems like a safe enough bet. 

– and this is when she learns that one of the guards isn’t quite as unconscious as she’d thought.

She hears his footsteps, the sudden shuffle of hurried movement, but as the man swings his nightstick towards her, habit has her reaching to activate her widow’s bites – which she is not wearing. An amateur’s mistake. 

He brings it down on her collarbone with a crack that she feels echoing through her whole body. 

She doesn’t pause, doesn’t even cry out, just arcs her leg out in a kick that sends him careening into a monitor – and then to the floor, out cold. Yelena resists the urge to kick him again, and just nudges him with her foot so that his mouth is no longer pressed to the floor. Assuming he’s still breathing, he won't suffocate, now, but the pain radiating out from her collarbone makes her disinclined to check. 

She prods at the area gently, wincing when the motion sends sharp pain radiating through her shoulder. 

Broken. Damn. 

If she was smart, her next move would be to lay low for a while, let that heal before straining it more. But she knows Val won’t let this rest, and if she gets paranoid enough to move the back up while Yelena is healing – or to actually use it – 

Yelena can't let that happen. She’ll just have to carry on, injury and all.

She copies the most relevant files to a flash drive that she tucks into her vest – and before she leaves, she picks up the man's nightstick and smashes the rest of the monitors and the server rack until they stop sparking. Try finding someone to restore that data now, Valentina. 

Her next stop is obvious – Valentina needs to be removed from that personal switch immediately. 

It's almost laughable how much plainclothes security she has around her place. Too many; they’re disorganized, too confident in the idea of safety through numbers, and it only takes a moment of lapsed concentration for her to slip by and access the roof. From there, it’s a hop, skip, and a jump to Valentina’s room – a painful one, sure, but even if she is a touch clumsier with her injury, she’s still red room raised, and her footfalls remain silent. 

In fact, the hardest part is not reaching down and strangling Valentina in her sleep with her one good hand. She doesn’t need both to be functional for this, she could do it, easy. 

But. She promised Bob. 

With any luck, he’ll give her the go ahead to give Valentine exactly what she deserves once she presents him with all this evidence – but, one thing at a time. She slides open drawers, carefully, until she finds something that matches the blueprint in the files. It’s relatively small, easily handheld.

And with one press of that shiny button, it could bring Bob’s life to an end. 

She looks back towards the bed, towards Valentina and her shiny satin eye mask, snoring gently. 

…she could do it. Slit Valentina’s throat here and now. Let her die gasping for air, frightened, reaching out in the darkness for help that will never come. He wouldn’t have to know. She could cover it up. And it’s what she deserves.

But then there’s a shuffling noise outside, and Yelena knows she’s out of time. She darts towards the window and hoists herself up, one-handed, though the motion still puts some pressure on her other side, and off she goes. 

Last stop. 

They call it the Watchtower now, but thankfully, it isn’t watched by all that many. The darkness helps, too. Lets her slip in, fuck with some wiring – there’s still a few areas that are clearly under construction, months after dedicating the tower to him, and it makes accessing things behind the scenes a little simpler than it ought to be – and cut off the cameras.

There’s guards here, too, but mostly on the ground floor and a few of the lower levels, and she doesn’t even have to directly deal with many of them – just until she can get to a maintenance section. Crawling through ducts and vents is not her favorite activity with a fractured collarbone, and she’s… admittedly a touch less graceful about it than she would normally be. There’s a lot of sliding around, since crawling is too much. And falling. Controlled falls, but they still smart. It’s better than putting more pressure on the break, though. As it is, she can already tell that it’s worse than the initial impact left it. She dreads to imagine how long recovery will take. 

If she even gets that chance.

But there’s no use thinking about that. She’s aiming for a room just a little above the midpoint, where security and lock-up seems to be concentrated. Here, they’re in a tizzy about the disconnected cameras, and it seems some have already left to take a peek at the electrical system. A mistake, but one Yelena is happy to take advantage of. That means there’s only two skulls to crack. A few well-aimed swings later, and they’re sleeping soundly, courtesy of some minor brain swelling. 

It does take a bit of fiddling to get the door to lock-up open – it’s apparently meant to be done with two simultaneous key turns at once. But she’s flexible, and… well, the guard whose hand she jams into position isn’t awake enough to complain. 

Inside is… Jesus, a shitload of contraband. Much, much less than she imagines there would have been when the actual Avengers were in charge – back when Nat was here, she thinks with a pang – but there’s still some objects that must be left over from those days. Those don’t matter, though. What matters is the back-up kill switch. Thankfully, it’s out in plain sight. Easy access in case of an emergency, she guesses. Bastards.

She takes it with her, and doesn’t bother closing the heavy doors behind her.

Before she resumes her ascent, Yelena ducks into a side corridor to fuck with the switch, carefully teasing out and disconnecting the wires that allow it to function, just as she did with Valentina’s. Can’t risk activating it with an accidental bump or brush. Then she stows it away and up she goes.

She… doesn’t have a plan, exactly, for finding which floor he’s going to be on, just starts with the lowest one that could be considered his and… goes from there, searching in the dark. 

Yelena makes it up three floors like this before doubt creeps in. He might not be here. That’s… not the worst thing in the world; she has already robbed Valentina of both switches, and hopefully destroyed the blueprints for how to make another one, which should at least stall the process, but… she doesn’t love the idea that Val might be able to spin this, somehow. There’s about six more floors left to check when she starts entertaining the idea of turning back. The cameras won’t stay out forever, and someone will stumble across those unconscious security guards eventually, anyway. 

And even so, she continues her search.

Not here… not here… not here either… wait. Is that – 

The barest of noises, but she reacts on instinct, launching herself towards the source in a move that would normally end with her thighs cutting off someone’s airways and her weight pulling them down to the ground; it’s a move that relies primarily on the leg strength, but even so, the motion makes her ache.

It’s like slamming into a brick wall.

Because – the Sentry isn’t normal anymore, is he? So of course he doesn’t go down like a normal, mortal man would. 

He’s totally unmoved, he just reaches up and grabs her by the back of her suit and plucks her off of him. When he drops her, she doesn’t try to fight it at all, she just… falls. Rolls a little so that she doesn’t land on her bad side and to absorb the impact less awkwardly, but there isn’t a single part of her that wants to keep up this fight.

“Ouch. Hi, Bob.”

“…Yelena?”

There’s a mild touch of – is it outrage, in his voice? Irritation? But primarily, it’s confusion. She can work with that. 

“Sleep well?” She asks, dragging herself up into a crouch. Haha, fuck, even that hurts. She is really pushing this injury.

“Better before you threw yourself at my head.”

“Aw, I can’t hurt you, we both know that.” She waves a hand in the air, dismissing the idea. 

“Uh-huh. Care to tell me why you broke in to the Watchtower at… what is this, 3am?”

“Technically,” Yelena says, “I did not break in; someone left the first door open. It’s just entering if I didn’t have to force that first step.”

“Mmh. I’m sure that’ll look so much better on your record.”

“Won’t it?” She agrees genially. 

All the lights on the floor are off, but she can still see well enough, with the moonlight and the city lights outside filtering in through those massive windows that surround the top floors of the tower. 

Bob is – not in the suit. It’s the first time she’s seen him out of it in months. Since the vault, actually. 

Instead, he’s wearing… a slightly baggy, casual shirt and loose sweatpants. They might be Sentry-branded, but it’s hard to make out right now. His hair isn’t slicked-back, either; it looks freshly washed and a little bit sleep-mussed. 

He looks more like him than he has in a long time.

“Well?”

“–ah?”

“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Oh.” Right. Got a bit distracted with… him. She fishes around in her vest pocket and pulls out the flash drive, and the back-up kill switch. “Here, catch. Evidence.” She tosses them his way. 

He does catch them easily, of course. “And this is…?”

“The drive,” she says, “has files. Documents. Valentina’s been taking notes on you, you know. She’s got plans. Looks like she’s thinking about starting up with the serum again, and you get to be her little lab rat for refining the formula that made you you–”

“Valentina,” he says, voice carefully even, “did not make me me.”

“–noted, yes, but she’s so full of herself that you know she doesn’t see it that way. She thinks she can just… jab a syringe at someone and churn out another loyal super soldier, if you turn on her.”

His expression hardens when she says loyal. “She can’t hurt me. Why would she make plans for another serum?”

“About that,” Yelena says. “She sure can’t now, but she thought she could. That–” And now she gestures to the switch in his other hands. “–is a kill switch.”

And now his brow furrows, and he brings the switch closer to examine it. 

“Don’t worry, it’s safe for now, and so is the other–”

“The other?”

“Yeah, Valentina had a personal one. I nabbed that one first and smashed it to bits, you’re welcome.” After some very tense examination of the switch, and mentally rehearsing the steps to follow based on the blueprint.

“Mmh,” he says. “Convenient.”

“...come again?”

Now he looks back to her. 

“I’m supposed to believe that there’s – some switch that can just… kill me at the press of a button? And there’s two in existence, and you’ve brought me one of them. But I shouldn’t worry about it, oh no, because the other one is safe, because you said so.”

She stares at him. “What, you think I kept it in reserve? Bob, no, I want you to live, I broke the shit out of that thing as soon as I was sure I knew how to do it without activating it.”

“Sure.”

“You still don’t believe me?”

“Should I? It’s all – too perfectly arranged. Makes you look good, makes Valentina look bad. Like I said, convenient.”

Yelena’s mouth presses into a displeased line. “It’s not hard to make Valentina look bad,” she says, “and all the proof you need is on that drive.” She shakes her head. “You shouldn’t even need that, what she’s done already should be enough.”

She doesn’t get it. If this doesn’t convince him, what will?

…nothing, she realizes. The pieces are there, but he won’t fit them together because that isn’t what he wants. He wants so badly to be the hero that he’ll ignore all the warning signs. 

“You know what? Fine.” 

Yelena struggles to stand, and casts a glance around her. There’s a little sitting area off to the side, a table and some relatively cozy looking chairs. She heads for them, ignoring Bob and how he tenses a little as she passes him. 

She picks a chair with a decent view of the elevator, and slumps into it. 

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting,” she says. Her eyes slide close. God, she forgot how much more everything hurts when she’s tired, and she is so tired. She’s losing her touch. “‘m tired.”

“That’s it?” he asks. “You don’t have anything else up your sleeve, no other proof to offer?” 

“Nope,” she says, settling in. “You don’t believe me, I’m a big scary untrustworthy assassin, blah blah blah, I get it. Now shhh, everything hurts.”

It takes a moment for him to respond, and when he does, he sounds skeptical. 

“...you’re hurt?”

“A little. Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

He’s quiet once again, and she sneaks a glance at him. His gaze seems focused on her neck, where her vest ends. Right, the bruising from the break would probably extend up there, huh?

“You think that’s bad, you should see the rest of me.” And she lets her eyes slide closed again.

There’s a soft shuffle, and then – fingers at her neck. 

She jolts, moving to swat him away with her good hand – but of course, he is immovable.

“–that wasn’t an invitation,” she complains. 

“Too bad.”

He kneels down and pulls her collar back slightly. Though the motion is gentle, it still hurts like a bitch.

“Fuck,” she gasps, and pushes at his hand again. 

He frowns but continues peeling back the fabric to examine the damage.

It aches, but…

Well. It’s been a long time since she felt the touch of a human being that wasn’t actively trying to kill her, and she finds herself leaning into his touch – until he inadvertently presses on an area that makes her shoot bolt upright. 

“It’s broken, it’s broken, leave it alone,” Yelena grumbles. 

“What happened?” He asks, and then, sterner, “who did this?”

“One of Valentina’s security guards at the place I got the files from,” she says. “Got a lucky hit in on me. Woulda been a lot easier to push him off me if I’d had my widow’s bites, but…” She manages a one-shoulder shrug. “Non-lethal, minimum damage, remember? Don’t worry, I sure did.”

He makes a contemplative sound, but does not respond beyond that. 

His fingers pass over the area one more time, ghosting lightly enough that she can hardly feel it, then move down her arms, checking for further damage. Unable to find anything noteworthy, he passes his hand over her bloody knuckles – dried to scabs, now.

Only then does he pull back. 

“I’m not going to let you go a third time just because you’re hurt.” His words are soft. That doesn’t rob them of the sting they elicit. 

“Great, because I’m not asking you to,” she snaps. “The cameras will come back on, or someone will find an unconscious guard, or you’ll alert them, whichever comes first – they’ll come and try to detain me, which would normally be very stupid but which will work out for them this one time only, then they’ll alert Valentina, she’ll come here to gloat, it’ll be a whooooole thing.”

“You definitely won’t be able to walk out of here if Valentina sees you,” he says dryly.

“Yeah,” she says. “She’d pitch a fit – which’ll be perfect. You can watch Valentina panic when she sees you have that and maybe then you’ll believe me.”

“…you’re going to let yourself be caught?”

“Aren’t I already caught? You’re right here. I’m in your Watchtower.”

“Why?”

She wants to say something sarcastic, remind him that they’ve already gone over why she’s here, has he forgotten already? But… that’s too much effort. 

“Because you think this is bullshit,” she says, gesturing vaguely in the direction she assumes he set the kill switch. “And as long as you do, she can get to you. She can kill you if and when it pleases her. I don’t know what else I can do to make you understand that, so… here we are.”

“That’s… worth it, to you?” 

“Sure, why not?”

“No, not why not, just – why?”

“...you already sacrificed yourself for us once,” she says, letting herself slump down a little more in the chair. “I can’t watch you do it again. Don’t ask me to do that, because I won’t. I can’t.”

Yelena closes her eyes once more. She doesn’t want to see his face, doesn’t want to waste more time trying to decipher what each little furrow or frown means when it’s pointless. 

“Just… give her hell for me, yeah? Really fuck her up.”

There is silence for a good long moment. He is so still that she almost wonders if he’s left her and she just hasn’t noticed. That’d fuck up her plans, if Valentina throws her tantrum without him there to witness it. 

But then –

There’s a hand on her good shoulder, then his arm looping under it, and she is pulled into him.

“Hey, what–”

And then the world is a blur of movement, air rushing past so fast she cannot breathe, let alone speak.

She reaches for something to hold on to, anything to anchor herself, and ends up clutching at the fabric of his shirt, using that to press herself against him.

It’s over almost as soon as it began.

It takes a lot longer to orient herself than it did the last time he had her suspended in the air, and as the world slowly comes back into focus, she realizes that the streets around her are familiar.

“This is – near my hideout,” she says. “You did know where I was this whole time! And you made it sound like I could ever hide from you, you dick.”

But he says nothing. 

He’s still holding her, and she has to crane her neck to look up at him. 

“Bob?” And then, after he remains silent, she tries, “…Sentry?”

He looks at her at last. She’s… not quite sure how to read his expression. 

Slowly, he descends until he’s standing on solid ground, and he sets her down. His motions are gentle, and oh-so-careful. 

“...you alright?”

“Yyyeah,” she says, “a little dizzy, but otherwise no worse for wear than I was before.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, “good.” He opens his mouth again. Closes it. His gaze drifts down to her fractured collarbone and lingers there. 

“Yelena–” But he stops there, his striking face marred with a sudden frown. Instead of speaking, he reaches out and – cards his fingers through her hair, then rests his hand there. 

Without thinking about it, she leans up into his touch, her eyelids fluttering shut. 

Oh, she has missed him. Though the motion brings a twinge of pain with it, she raises her good hand and sets it on his, their fingers overlapping. 

“Yelena…” And once again, he does not finish this thought. Her turn, then, she supposes. 

“Why are we here?” she whispers. It feels like speaking any louder than this will – break some sort of spell. “Why did you bring me here? I thought – you didn’t trust me, so why…?”

“I…” His hand slides lower, cupping her cheek, and this, too, she leans into, appreciating his warmth. “I couldn’t just…”

And then something shutters in his gaze. He shakes his head and steps back, his body suddenly tensing, braced for movement. 

“Don’t – do this again,” he mutters.

“Do–?”

And then he’s gone, flying off into the night, back towards the tower. 

Ah. Great. Cryptic. 

…what the fuck was that? She can still feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, in her hair – he sure made it sound like he thought she was bullshitting him, but then, why wouldn’t he turn her over to Valentina if that were the case?

And what is she supposed to do now?

He knows where she is. Which means she really should gather what few belongings she has, do a controlled burn, and strike out for someplace new. 

But… he’ll be able to find her anyway. Why bother?

So instead she just… slips inside, trudges to her mattress, and finally, finally sleeps. 

Alexei brings her supplies.

Painkillers; the good stuff, he says – “but not too good,” and he’d rapped his knuckles lightly on her temple. “You must be able to think still. To escape, if they come for you.”

A brace, which he has to help her into, a process that’s downright humiliating – except that she could weep with relief when it settles into place and some of the pain immediately lessens as the pressure shifts. Only a little, but it’s something.

And vodka. Lots of vodka. 

The brace stays on. She stops even trying to change her shirt after the second day, feeling her body scream at her in protest. So, she’ll be a little musty for a while. Whatever. Similarly, bathing is… too complex to tackle. She settles for wiping down as much of herself as she can reach with a damp washcloth, and just tries not to think about what a rats nest her hair is becoming. That’s far too complicated to handle right now.

The painkillers run out after about a week and a half, and she’s reduced to swallowing handfuls of ibuprofen, which does not do nearly enough. 

That’s when the vodka comes in handy.

And… that’s also when she starts examining the shadows more closely. 

The wariness has worn away by now, and seeing them begins to be something she expects. It begins to be… comforting. 

Comfort is something she has so little of, these days.

And one night, when the pain sets her teeth on edge, strong enough that the vodka can’t cut through it, she pulls herself from bed and flicks on that lamp again. Just as it did the first night, the shadow – his shadow – gains its form on the near wall. 

But this time, she approaches it. Slowly at first, making sure it doesn’t disappear, then more steadily. She sinks to her knees before it, and presses the tips of her fingers to the dark outline of his face. 

“I wish,” she murmurs to it, “I’d been back there with you. In the truck. I wish I’d seen what you were going to do, tried to stop you, keep you there with us. We should have taken our chances together. Driven straight through the checkpoint and not looked back. But you had to be so–” Stupid. Reckless. Brave. 

The shadow does not respond. It never does. But when she scoots closer, turns so that her back is to the wall, she can feel it. When she leans against it, it’s – different. Makes her shiver with a sudden wave of cold. 

“Always the hero, huh?” she mumbles.

She pulls her knees up to her chest, and… dozes there, tired enough to sleep with the light of the lamp in her eyes, surrounded by that shadow. 

Her nightmares that evening are awful, worse than they’ve been in months, but – but.

Yelena swears this time she hears him. More than just a faint echo, too. Swears that his murmur follows her through each of her dreams, low and soft and… him. His words are – not comforting; she awakes with the distinct feeling that she has wept in her sleep. And yet… to have him there, even for a moment… 

She’ll take it. 

From that point, she doesn’t have to do anything to seek it out, it’s just there. Each time she wakes, there’s a sense of –

Shame. Loathing. Hating herself. Like she can remember every flaw, every fault she’s ever had, and it’s dawning on her that she’ll never overcome them. It’s… a familiar feeling, and it’s easy to let it blanket her. 

Soothing, in a way. 

Once – only once – her dream of him is… different. 

He isn’t dead already, for one. No, in this dream, she stumbles into him.

One minute she’s running from now-familiar memories, leaves crunching underfoot, then hearing heels click on the polished staircase that led to the Madame’s room, and then – then she’s somewhere she doesn’t recognize at all. She supposes that’s how dreams often go, but it’s strange, when her dreams have been so regular for so long. 

So: she’s batting away coat sleeves that reach for her, knowing the Madame will soon find her, punish her, and then she’s falling backwards, out through the closet although she could swear the doors were on the other side, and landing on – him. 

She doesn’t even realize it at first, so disoriented by the fall, by her new surroundings. An old house? A bedroom? 

And then he shifts under her and she’s scrambling to stand. 

His eyes are bleary, puffy like he’s been crying, and he looks like he’s close to drowning in those oversized, teddy bear-print pajamas. She can’t judge much, though; she’s still wearing that stupid tutu. He swipes a sleeve over his eyes as though that will conceal the redness. 

“Yelena? What are you doing here? How are you here?”

Silly man, preoccupied with finding logic in a dream. 

She reaches up to cradle his face in both hands, grateful that she doesn’t carry the pain of outside into these dreams, just… the ones she gets in here. Her back still smarts from the earlier chastisements about positions she missed in class, how terribly wrong she angled her feet, how she squanders those ballet lessons – but in here, she can move her arms freely. 

“I knew I’d find you somewhere,” Yelena says. “At least, I’d hoped.”

Even in a dream, his hands are large and warm and soft when he returns the gesture, holding her face carefully, like he’s not sure she’s really there. 

“But how? This is – I thought–” He stares at her in wonder. 

“I think I’m always chasing after you,” she murmurs, “I just haven’t caught up with you in a while, that’s all. I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

All the things she wants to say to him bubble up inside her, and there is so much to say. 

“We never should have left you – I shouldn’t have left you – we should have stayed, and fought, and–”

She’s weeping – they both are – when things go sideways. Because they always go sideways, here. Any time she thinks there’s a moment of relief, a second to breathe, something chases it away. 

The house shakes under the weight of a fist pounding on the door, and the voice outside gets louder and louder until she can’t think; the walls start crumbling, the floor cracks and splits apart, and as it swallows her – 

Yelena wakes up. 

Sweating, panting, heart racing – and with a new ache, a sharp desire to find a release from the loneliness like those few moments gave her. 

The nightmares continue, and dreams like that one are rare. But she chases them, sleeping whenever she can, wishing this pain away – even if that means inviting in another kind of pain. 

And the days slip by in a blur.

__________________________

She only leaves because she has to. There isn’t a single speck of food left in the hideout, and it’s starting to gnaw at her. The urge to subsist entirely on vodka is entirely too tempting, and she knows how that ends. 

Alexei has been by too recently, though. If her hideout is already known, she cannot have him by any more than she has to, and while wrangling her clothes until she looks somewhat decent is a task and a half, it is doable. So, out she goes. 

The walk there is… fine. It is a little demoralizing to look over her options with the knowledge that anything she gets, she’ll have to make last as long as possible but also be compact enough to feasibly be carried with just one arm. But this, too, she manages.

It’s the walk back that gets to her, a little. It’s been almost three weeks, and she’s not sure her collarbone is healing quite right. Even if it is, she’s likely to have a lot longer to go until it’s healed up completely, but if she’s put too much pressure on it, shifted too much in the night, and the bone is knitting back incorrectly… that’ll set her back to the beginning. Worse, even. But she’s not in a position to go to a hospital, so…

“Yelena.”

She’s so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't hear his approach until he says her name. Fuck, she really is losing her touch. 

He looks – stupidly pretty. Put together. Television-ready, even. 

And she’s… in an oversized hoodie with a baseball cap shoved over her greasy hair, carrying a bounty of microwave meals and cereal boxes. 

“You couldn't have done this before I went out for groceries? Now they’re all going to go to waste.”

He glances over her bag with a half-grin already growing on his face. “Those poor TV dinners.”

Yelena scowls. “I’m injured,” she reminds him.

A flash of something like – guilt? Regret? – passes over his face, and for a moment, he glances away. “Right. How is that healing?”

“...’s fine,” she mutters. She doesn’t need to get into the details with him. Especially if he’s come here to tell her her time is up. “You didn’t just come to check in on me, did you, though?”

He shakes his head. “I did not.”

Yelena releases a slow breath, and tries to keep it steady. Well, she couldn’t dodge this forever. 

As she looks at him, she thinks about – how much more himself he looked that night in the tower. She thinks about those fleeting moments she’s seen him in dreams, or rather, her imagined version of him. And about that awful, haunting loneliness – if it’s this bad now, how much worse will it be when she doesn’t have the faint hope that he’ll come to his senses to cling to? …assuming Valentina doesn’t just have her incinerated again, which feels like a stretch. 

“...alright, look. If we’re going to do this, so be it, but – can I… do something first?”

‘So be it,’ he mouths, looking a bit puzzled, but he asks, “and when did you start asking permission?”

“...now?”

He huffs out a laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

“First of all – stop floating when you’re talking to me, it makes you look like an asshole,” she says. 

“Not really the way to ask for a favor, is it?”

“This part isn’t a favor, this is basic decency. Get down here and look me in the eye.”

He descends, slowly, but chuckles a little as he does. “Not sure that’s going to help there, Yelena.”

“Ha, ha, height jokes, so funny.”

But even so, he is humoring her, instead of just hauling her off straight away. She’s not sure if that makes this better or worse. 

She approaches – slowly, cautiously, until he’s right in front of her.

“...lean down.”

His eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Come on, just lean down for me, we already know I can’t hurt you. I just need to… fix something.”

His eyebrows lift at that. “Vague, Yelena.”

“Yeah, well. Humor me a little more.”

So he does. And when he does, she combs her fingers through his hair, mussing it, fluffing it out. 

“There,” she says. “Better.”

When he begins to lift his head again – ah. They are… very close. 

An errant strand of hair falls across his forehead. She brushes it back, and watches how his eyelids flutter just a little in response to her touch. From here, the blue of his eyes, even through his eyelashes, is so clear, and she can see flecks of gold and brown through his irises. 

She repeats the motion just to see what he’ll do, and she’s not sure if she’s imagining it or not, but it seems like his pupils dilate a little as her fingers sweep across his skin. His lips part, and –

“Is that it?”

“Not – quite,” she says. She’s distracted by the way his breath ghosts over her lips. “I… give me a minute,” she whispers. “Trust me for just that long.”

For the first time, something like uncertainty flickers in his eyes, and yet –

He nods. “...alright.”

So – Yelena moves even closer still and cups his face. After a moment, her fingers find his hair again, twirling around the locks idly.

She wishes, not for the first time, that she’d been faster, lighter on her feet, that she’d never sustained this stupid injury. But not for any practical reason, now; solely because she wishes she could touch him with both hands. 

His hand comes up to encircle her wrist, but his grip isn’t tight, just… there. It’s nice. She can feel his pulse, faintly, so she’s certain he must feel hers. Yelena leans up to rest her forehead against his and nearly sighs with how safe it feels, despite everything. She closes her eyes and –

Shivers at a sudden chill that passes over her skin. Strange. But stranger still is the voice that murmurs in her ear. 

“You’re empty, aren’t you? Purposeless. This is all you have – this fool's errand, trying to win him over. Otherwise you have – you are – nothing.”

His voice? But… not his voice? 

“Sounds kind of bleak when you put it like that,” she mutters. Not… wrong, necessarily; she’s accomplishing so little these days that it sure feels like that. But bleak, yes. 

“Are you content with that? Don’t you want better?” 

“Yelena?”

She blinks, like she’s waking up – though, wasn’t she awake before?

“Mmh?”

“You were mumbling.”

“Oh… couldn’t have been important.”

As she comes back to herself, her eyes meet his. They’re nose-to-nose and so, so close. It wouldn’t take much effort to just… close that gap. 

In fact – she starts to stretch up to do just that and he… laughs. 

“Is that what you wanted?” he asks. “Because your minute’s up.”

Ah. Mortifying. 

“...right.” Yelena takes a step back, letting her hand fall to her side and ignoring how much she misses his warmth already. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing this to have been enough to commit it to memory. “Alright, fine. That’s it. Bring me in, or whatever.”

But –

He chuckles, and she, confused, opens her eyes. 

He’s tilting his head. “Is that what you think is happening? 

“...is it not?”

And he grins.

“I didn’t come to take you in. I came because Valentina has something planned that I… disagree with. I want you to help me put an end to it.”

“Oh,” she says. “…you could have said that before.”

“You didn’t exactly give me a chance,” he says, and something wicked shifts in his eyes. “And you seemed so eager to get ahold of me.”

“Asshole,” she mutters.

She begins to move away, but he catches her good wrist and tugs her back, sudden enough that she stumbles a little into his chest. 

“Not disproving my point.”

The sound of his laugh, light and airy and more than a little smug, soothes the sting of it, though. “I do need an answer, Yelena. It’s happening tomorrow.”

She hesitates. “...much as I want to rock Valentina’s shit, and trust me, I really do, I don’t know that I’m in a state to do anything useful.” She can’t imagine how she’d be anything other than dead weight, right now, regardless of what he has planned. 

He shakes his head. “You won’t need to do much. I’ll take care of things. Just be there.” And then he tilts his head. “Though… I will need a favor from you when you get there.”

“What?”

But instead of answering, that smirk comes back. “Humor me,” he says, echoing her words from earlier. And then his expression softens, just a little, and he catches her hand in his. “Trust me until then.”

And she does.

“...alright.”

“Noon,” he says. “No later.” He rattles off a location – she doesn’t know the exact address, but she’s familiar with the cross streets. “Bring whatever you feel you need to, but I’ll take the lead.” And then, with a glint in his eye, “and… maybe shower first? Think ‘camera ready.’”

And before she can protest, he takes a step back and his feet lift off the ground – and off he goes, gone again. 

Oh, she could strangle him. 

Yelena scoops up her neglected, defrosting groceries and hurries back to her hideout. 

Foiling Valentina’s plans has to be good, no matter what the details are. That means – he’s finally recognizing what a piece of shit she is. But what part could she play in this? It feels strange no matter how she thinks about it. Getting him the initial information, sure, yeah, that’s something she can do. But he’s pretty much all-powerful; what else could he need from her? Her usefulness is pretty limited compared to him. 

And this fact is starkly on display as she tries, as he suggested, showering.

It’s… technically successful. But there’s no triumph in it.

Yelena can’t take off her brace one-handed, so she has to angle herself carefully and rub her back against the wall like a goddamn bear to get it to unlatch. 

Scrubbing is another problem; even with slow, careful movements, everything she does seems to pull at her injury. But eventually, it’s… done. As done as she can be, anyway, and then she lets herself… rest. Presses her forehead to the shower wall as the water runs over her, hoping for it to numb her. 

There’s something soothing in that, but the effort of getting here robs it of that – and getting re-dressed afterwards is absolutely miserable. 

She’s not able to get the brace on by herself, and she can't bear the thought of summoning Alexei’s help for something so utterly simple as this, so… she just goes without. Even so, it takes more than an hour of careful maneuvering to make herself decent again, and by the time she's finished, she’s already decided that this is what she’s wearing tomorrow. She cannot go through this process again so soon.

“Don’t you say a word,” she mutters to the shadow on the wall. It remains silent, but she swears she can feel it laughing at her.

And then – all too soon, it’s time. 

She can hardly sleep a wink. A mix of anxiety, anticipation, and the ache of not having her brace on anymore, is likely the culprit. In some ways, that might be good. Better to be sleep deprived than on edge from brutal nightmares.

She’s not completely sure what sort of ready he means, and she knows he said non-lethal before, but – if a confrontation with Val is in the works, she does not intend to show up unprepared. 

Yelena feels tense the whole way there, sure that this is going to end up being some cruel trick, an elaborate ploy just to get her hopes up and dash them to pieces. She feels this all the more keenly when she arrives at the location he specified, prepared to see nothing at all –

But no. He’s here. Not floating this time, just waiting at ground-level. 

His face breaks into a smile when he sees her, and she glances away to hide the fact that she’s doing the same. 

“Good, you’re finally here. Catch.”

And he tosses something her way. 

She grabs it midair with her good hand and looks down at it. 

Fabric, though the feeling of it is not quite like anything she’s ever felt before. It’s bright white, with a few yellow-gold accents on it, similar to his suit. 

As she unfolds it to take a better look at it, she says, “I thought you didn't like when I wore your brand?”

“I – never said that. But that’s not what this is.”

Oh. It really isn’t, is it? 

When it’s finally fully unfolded, Yelena can see that it’s a suit, not dissimilar to ones she’s worn before; it looks somewhat form-fitting, for ease of motion, but thick enough to provide some protection.

“This is–”

“Nice, right? Nanotech, high-quality. Practically bulletproof, and reflects back some energy.”

“–so visible,” she finishes. 

It seems to take the wind out of his sails. 

“...sure,” he says. “It is pretty visible.”

“Where did you even get this?

“It’s…” He shrugs, glancing askance. “Valentina was your boss long before I ever met her, why don’t you ask her? Maybe she intended to give this to you before it all went south.”

Yeah, sure, like she’d waste this kind of money on Yelena. Still, it had to come from somewhere, and expensive bribes disguised as practical presents does feel like something Val would do… there’s just one problem.

“...you know I can’t wear this, right?”

He frowns. “And why is that?”

Yelena gestures broadly to her left side. “You’re lucky I’m wearing anything at all right now, but this? With the little… snaps and zippers? I can’t put this on.”

Relief smooths out the frown. “Oh, if that’s all – come here.”

“–what?”

“Come here,” he repeats.

“What, are you going to help me get dressed?”

And he nods. “Why not?”

“You can't be serious,” she says. “I'm – I don't need help to dress myself.”

“Except you just said that you do,” he says, “and we're on a time limit. So stop acting coy, and just come over here.”

“…not being coy,” she complains.

Irritation drives her first few steps towards him, and the refusal to back down drives the rest. She stops only when the tip of her shoe bumps his boot. “Well?” she challenges.

And he certainly does rise to that challenge.

Yelena has changed in front of others before, hell, she’s been stretched out nude and wounded on a table for strangers to prod at more times than she can count; such is the life of a Widow. This feels – strange, though, from the moment he grasps the hem of her sweatshirt and begins to tug it over her head. But why? Just because it’s him? 

She… settles into it, though. His motions are careful, particularly around her injury, bracing the area as best he can to avoid bumping against it, but… fairly perfunctory nonetheless. It helps that he’s able to actually fasten her brace, which she’d slid on but left loose, unable to properly fix it in place by herself. His fingers skim over the area, mapping the bruises that stretch across her back and shoulder – and then he moves on. 

By the time he’s shifting her to get her injured side into the suit, she can tell herself that there’s nothing strange about this at all; it’s practical, that’s it. Nothing more to it.

He helps her refit her gear as he goes, too – the grappling hook with its retractable line, the batons, everything finds its place here.

When it’s all bucked together and zipped to the top, his hand skims up her spine, and she has to suppress a shiver. Practical. That’s all.

He begins to move away, then stops. “Ah, wait,” he says, “one more thing.”

And he produces her widow’s bites and begins to secure them around her wrists. She has to look away when he does it, overcome with an odd sense of – attachment to how tender he’s being. He, on the other hand, cannot seem to stop looking at her. He’s in a fantastic mood, too, with an ever-present smile tugging up the corners of his lips. She supposes that the chance to fuck with Val will have that effect. 

Once done, he steps back. 

“There. We don’t have much time left now. Are you ready?”

“...maybe?” she says. “What exactly is she planning to do, and how are we supposed to stop it?” And kick her stupid teeth in.

“It’s a long story. Easier to show you.”

He spreads his arms, and she steps into them. After a moment’s consideration, she wraps her uninjured arm around his back. They begin to rise. 

“You sure you don’t want to share any of that long story on the flight there?”

“It’s not going to be a long journey, Yelena.”

“Oh, no, I’m going to be very sick once this is all over aren’t I…?”

He laughs. “You’ll get used to it.”

She wants to ask him just how often he expects her to fly with him, but he picks up speed from there and, as before, the rush of wind makes it hard to speak; she focuses instead on pulling in even breaths. 

It’s – a little less disorienting this time, but it's so fast that she's still left reeling.

They land in another alley, and she can already hear the buzz of something going on nearby, some event. He sets her down, and she sways a bit on her feet. 

“You doing alright?”

“I’ll live,” she says. The dizziness ought to fade soon. “So what’s the plan, what are we doing?”

“I am going on ahead. And you–” He places a hand on her good shoulder. “–are going to stay here.”

“…seriously?”

“I did say I’d be handling most of this.”

“Well, yeah, but – you dress me up like a doll and then just… leave me?”

He chuckles. Dick. 

“Just wait here. I won’t be long.”

Ugh. 

But – fine. It’s not like she has anything better to do, and she still doesn’t know what this is about. 

So she waits. 

And waits and waits and… waits. 

What is he doing? Where is he?

Once again that flicker of paranoia that this is all a set-up returns, but this is a pretty elaborate waste of time, and effort, and – materials, she thinks, looking down at her suit. 

She glances around, and catches a glimpse of herself in a tinted window. 

She looks… different. Not nearly as put together as him, of course. There was no way she was bothering with cosmetics when it was such a pain just to get dressed. But the suit is – fancy. Sleek. Not quite as many pockets as she likes, but some. And it feels sturdy. 

…there’s bruising visible at her collar, still, though. It isn't the dark purple that it was when the bone first broke, but that deep yellowish-green remains quite visible. Worse, when she shifts on her feet, it’s evident that something's not right, just from the way she carries herself. She’ll need to fix that. A visible injury is a sign of weakness.

What is she doing here? What can she even do, but… wait?

So she does. 

Until the faint sound of screams breaks through her thoughts. 

Oh, that’s not good – particularly as they're getting louder by the minute. Yelena creeps to the end of the alley and peeks out. 

She can't see what's happening, exactly, but she can see people running, panicked. 

Shit. 

Okay – if things have gone south, she can't just stay here, right? She has to find him, she has to see what's gone wrong, help if she can, though the idea is absurd. 

And so – out into the fray she goes. 

It’s an immediate struggle not to be overwhelmed, not helped by the fact that she's running to whatever everyone here is running from. People knock into her, sending sharp stabs of pain through her more than once, but she pushes through all the same.

Someone stumbles into her and careens to the side, off balance; she catches them on instinct and pulls them back upright. They murmur a thanks as they keep running.

It takes her another moment to locate what’s going on. Running, yes, but from what? 

Ah – there.

There are figures around them, dressed in dark outfits, their faces fully obscured by masks with large, bug-like goggles. They seem to be causing chaos indiscriminately, smashing buildings and snatching people up off the street without much rhyme or reason.

Where is he? This feels like the perfect time for the Sentry to come swooping in to play the savior. 

Well… she supposes they’ll just have to settle for her for now, until he’s finished with whatever’s got him tied up. She couldn’t look him in the eye if she let people get hurt in his absence. 

The way they move is… strange, and she can’t ignore that, but figuring that out also can't be her priority, not when there’s this crush of bodies wandering with no heed of where they're going. 

Yelena focuses on this, on diverting, on clearing paths where she’s able, on lifting up those who have fallen before they’re trampled underfoot. 

Someone shouts a warning and she looks up to see debris falling, a chunk of building that’s been sheared off – big enough that more of it is likely going to come toppling down, unstable as it’s becoming –

And there are people standing where it’s likely to fall, who… seem to be deep in the freeze response.

Yelena sprints in their direction, hoping to be fast enough to make a difference and not just join them under the rubble.

One, she pulls to her with that retractable line – it snags their clothes,  but she’ll bet they’d prefer a ruined outfit than being smashed to paste; another she’s close enough to grab and toss in a safer direction – might end up with some bruised knees or scraped palms, but they ought to be out of range, now. But the last –

The last is just out of reach, courtesy of the reduced range of motion, thanks to that broken collarbone. Her good arm is raised anyway, to grab? To push? To do anything that might help, though she knows as she runs that she will not make it in time – and yet, as their eyes lock on her, they go flying backwards, just before concrete and brick slams into the ground. 

Yelena reels back from the force of it, and as she looks around to see what on Earth that was, she catches a flash of golden yellow above her. 

Bob. The Sentry. Here at last, and just barely turning away to deal with… presumably, whatever the larger threat is. 

Did he–? Well, sure, that seems like the sort of thing he’d be able to do. No time to linger on that, anyway, the chaos is still raging around her. 

Again, she jumps into action, ignoring the ache of her muscles and the protests of the barely-healing bone. 

Slowly, slowly, it feels as though the screaming is getting fainter – the crowd is certainly thinning out, at last – and that they're pushing back the tide. That he’s pushing back the tide, rather; Yelena won’t fool herself into thinking this is her doing. 

But then, there –

One of those figures, hoisting a man into the air by the neck. 

She's lunging at it before she can give it a second thought, hoisting her weight onto its back, widow’s bites already sparking to life – and it rockets off into the air. 

Up, and up, and up, and up–

It reached dizzying heights astonishingly quickly. She amps up the power on the bites and goes again, and again, and again, pushing her weight onto it with both arms, though it is agony just to try, until it starts – sparking?

Yes, sparking, as the fabric burns away around its neck and wiring starts to melt. Huh. 

It judders, violently, and then its limbs all lock up at once –

And she falls. 

Oh. 

Well. 

There are worse ways to die, she supposes. Certainly less cool ones, though the splat she’ll make at the end will be pretty undignified. 

She closes her eyes and –

– lands a lot sooner than she’d expected, with arms around her, scooping her up.

Bob, curling an arm behind her back and bending the other under her knees, stable and solid and here.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he’s murmuring. 

She loops her good arm around his back and leans into his chest, shaking with adrenaline.

But then she cranes her neck, nearly-shouting to be heard over the wind that whips around them at these heights. 

“Bob, they're – robots, or something, they’re–”

“Androids, yes,” he says. “Security, supposedly.”

“So what, Val wanted to debut a new security force and they went rogue?”

“No, this was always the plan,” he says. “This was supposed to be a show of… superiority. And a marketing tactic.”

“Marketing… what? Shitty robots?”

“Me. As a… glorified security task force, all-in-one, ready for hire.” A muscle twitches in his jaw, the only sign that he’s deeply displeased with that idea, as he plasters on a picture-perfect smile as he begins his descent. 

“Well – how the hell was this foiling her plan? You beat the shit out of them!”

“You’ll see.”

“Now who’s being vague?” she mutters. 

“It was never a question of whether I was stronger than them, Yelena. That’s not the point. Just trust me.”

And… she does, is the thing. 

“Now… there’s some talking to do. Let me take the lead.” He tilts his head a little as he looks down at her. “You aren’t exactly… trained for giving interviews.”

She’d take more offense to that if her stomach didn’t drop out from under her as he picks up the pace, and lands –

– in the midst of a waiting camera crew? Damn, he wasn’t kidding. 

Yelena looks up at him, and watches the gold ringing his irises fade to blue, watches his features smooth over into a pleasant but authoritative expression. 

“What happened here was a barely averted tragedy.”

It’s pretty undignified being held like this in front of – however many are here, and however many more are watching this live, but she’s not really in a position to get down. Besides, it feels… better, being here with him. Safer. And it makes a nice little show of solidarity for Valentina, if she’s watching this. Yelena hopes she is. She hopes she’s seething.

With that pleasant image in mind, Yelena settles back and lets his voice wash over her. 

“Valentina Allegra de Fontaine has long presented herself to the world – to you, and to me – as a friend, an ally, someone who wants to protect you and shepherd you. Today’s events have revealed that she is anything but.” He gestures around them to the destruction. “It was her hand that set these events in motion, a play for prestige, for power.”

Oh, he is good at this. 

As he speaks, the pieces start to fall into place, the things he’s left unsaid slotting together in her mind – he knows all this because Valentina told him. Because she was expecting him to fall into line. What’s she going to do now that her favorite pawn refuses to march for her anymore?

And then he’s removing the arm that’s under Yelena’s knee and helping her to stand – sort of. They’re still mid-air, still suspended, and he’s still bearing all her weight like it's nothing, but she can’t help but notice how this shifts the focus onto her. She’d give the cameras a little wave, but that would involve letting go of him, and though she’s fairly sure he could still hold her aloft, she doesn’t feel like putting that to the test.

“And we have Yelena Belova, the White Widow–” The what? “–to thank for averting the worst of this, and discovering this subterfuge. She has been working tirelessly from the shadows to uncover this threat, like her sister before her, the Avenger’s own Black Widow.”

Yelena tries to hide the stab of pain that the mention of Nat brings. It certainly gets a reaction from the crowd, a chorus of gasps and murmurs even louder than anything else has garnered thus far.

But he continues.

“None of this would have been possible without her, and I’m glad the world will finally get to know her as I do. She has been a true hero, and… a loyal partner, trustworthy to the end.” 

Yelena barely suppresses a snort. Yeah, very heroic. He’s really laying it on thick.

And then –

His attention turns back to her. He dips his head and bumps her nose with his, urging her to angle her face up, and when she does – he kisses her. 

Oh. Oh, alright. 

It’s – soft. Warm. 

And over far too soon. Yelena finds herself trying to pull herself closer with the hand that's holding onto his suit, chasing after him as he pulls back, breathing him in, pulse racing. 

Someone whistles. Right, the crowd.

Yelena feels suddenly exposed, but she suppresses the urge to bury her face in his chest, aware that that will look worse.

“–and she's done it at great personal risk to herself, as you can see. So I’m trusting in the fine people of this city to look out for one another and assist fully with clean-up efforts; we are needed elsewhere.”

When he rises again, it’s to raucous applause. God, they really do love him, don’t they?

He doesn’t take her far – or, at least, it doesn't take long to get there. As she glances around, she realizes she's not familiar with the area at all, so this might actually be several blocks away from where they had been before. They land on a low rooftop, surrounded by other, taller buildings, that provide a modicum of privacy. At his prompting, she hops down, and when he sits, she follows, dangling her feet off the edge of the roof.

He looks at her. She looks at him – then down at the ground, far below. 

“…that was really good,” she mumbles. “You had them eating out of the palm of your hand.” All that media training has really done wonders. 

“Practice,” he says off-handedly. 

“Mm. You’ve had a lot of that lately.” She kicks her feet, calculating how long it would take to fall if she were to slip. Old habits. “…speaking of practice,” she says, “how’s… the other training? You, uh. Figure out new parts of those powers? Anything… different?”

Y’know, like shadow manipulation, dream visitations, anything to explain why she’s been seeing him absolutely everywhere? No way to ask that directly without sounding off her rocker if she’s wrong, though. 

“...perfect,” he says. When she glances over, he meets her eyes only briefly, then he swipes a hand through his hair and looks up at the sky. “It’s all going great and very much as expected.” 

“Mmh. Great.” 

He peeks back and then away again just as quickly, so – is it not? But then, having a bit of trouble with his training doesn’t necessarily mean months of nighttime shadow visitations, so she probably is just crazy. Good to know. 

Yelena looks back down. “...hey. You could’ve stopped all that before it started, couldn’t you?”

“Valentina had public favor on her side. Now she doesn’t. Sometimes that requires some risk. But no one got hurt.”

She gives him a look.

“Not seriously,” he amends. “A few bumps and scrapes are nothing compared to what might happen if Val goes on thinking she runs things.”

She’ll… concede that he may have a point. Her doubt must show on her face, though, because he catches her good hand in his. “Yelena, I wouldn’t let anything happen to them. You know that.”

She… does, she thinks? Or she did. This… new, Valentina-media-trained Bob, this requires-risks Bob, is… new. But she thinks he wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

“...alright,” she says. “But I don’t understand why bother with all that. Couldn’t you just… take Valentina out yourself?”

“I could,” he says, “if I wanted to deal with another round of Sokovia Accords.” Ah. “Besides, now the world knows you. Win-win, right?”

And that’s another thing. “Actually, hey, what was all that about, back there?”

“What? Introducing you?”

“No – well, yes, but not just that. The – you know.” Giving her a new suit, a new name, that’s one thing. Standard bullshit hero stuff. But after that. 

He tilts his head, an expression of utmost innocence on his face. “Do I? I’m not sure I do.”

Oh, the smug bastard. He does, he just wants her to say it.

“The kiss.”

“You didn’t like it? Or…” And the way that smirk creeps across his face makes her want to – shit, ‘grab him and hold him tight’ probably isn’t the right response, is it? “...did you want another?”

“No,” she scowls, and looks away. “…maybe. Not the point. I thought you – mmh.” None of this has gone quite how she thought it would go, and she finds it difficult to put into words. “That you… thought I was a dishonest assassin who left a trail of bodies in my wake. I didn’t think you… ugh.”

He gets what she means, right? 

He winces. “I may have been… harsh before. Yelena, my trust is…” He trails off, and starts again, stronger. “There are a lot of people whose lives depend on me. I can’t be reckless with who I trust.”

And yeah, sure. She’d just… thought she’d already had that trust, before. And it’s quite a jump to go from having each other’s backs, literally, to that total lack of trust, to – knowing what he tastes like. Finding out in front of the whole world.

“Alright.” He pushes off the ledge – and for a moment, her heart stutters, in the half-second before she remembers he can fly now. Right. No Bob-pancakes on the sidewalk today. He extends a hand to her. “Come on. You need a hospital. You haven’t been taking care of this the right way.”

Yelena huffs. “Whose fault is that, Mister ‘I’ll definitely be right back, you won’t have to do anything?’ …and it’s hard to manage it with one hand, anyway.”

“It’s a good thing you have mine, too, now.”

She places her hand in his, but hesitates. “...what then? You go back to your Watchtower, I go back to the shadows?”

“Oh, no.” His fingers entwine with hers. “Yelena, you stick with me now.”

It’s almost sickening how deeply that relieves her. 

There is so much more to say, to ask – but she’s tired, and she hurts, and when he holds her, all of that feels bearable.

“...I’m going to get used to this eventually, right?” she asks. 

“I did,” he says. “Just takes practice.”

And so she pushes off the ledge and falls into his arms.

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 "i miss you" rookanis enjoy 🪶

Lucanis could have collected every finger of his every last target and still not have enough to count the times he's heard the echo of his own name being yelled through the Villa's halls bouncing off its many walls.

Summonings. Illario getting into trouble. Their other cousins ratting him out and Illario drawing Lucanis into it, as well.

The countless times Caterina stood on the fourth step from the ground, yelling his name like she'd caught him to lure him out of his hiding place. The countless times he fell for it.

The quiet fury when he'd still not gotten up for breakfast even after the fifth servant tried to rouse him with a young messere and knuckles rapping against his door.

Yells that imply abuse and punishment and shouts of leather belts whipped across his growing shoulders.

The sound of his father coughing out his name, cut down in front of him as his nursemaid hauls him to safety through the hidden corridors inside the walls.

Never before, though, did it come accompanied with the thud of a heavy bag hitting the ground and flat, nimble feet losing their shoes as he's trying to find a hidden corner to have his coffee and his book.

Rook is sprinting across the foyer and hurling herself into his arms like a drunk man into sheets. Coffee splatters against a jacket and his book falls to the ground.

"You're home."

"So are you."

"This is my house!"

Rook's lips, already inside his collar, split into a smile, teeth against his skin. Her fingers grab the mouth of his coffee cup, steadying it mid-air, to keep the liquid in the porcelain and off her clothes.

"Like you'd ever say no to an opportunity to get out of here."

"If it means I can't be there waiting for you to come back? I would never."

Rook pulls him into her embrace again, so tight he has to hold on to the small of her back, but they tip back against the door, anyway. The handle digs uncomfortably into skin and muscle below the left shoulder blade.

"I missed you so much, Lucanis. I've gotten used to having you along for every single job."

"Well." He pushes against her, his hand moving to the side of her hip, until she sinks back down onto her heels and he can detangle them - just enough to shuffle to the sofa hidden in the corner. "That can be rectified easily enough."

"How?" She pulls at him easily, making him rest against her like it's all they both were made to do. "People will notice the First Talon running along on another House's jobs."

"Rectified easily enough," he says, again.

A snort, somewhere above him. "Good luck hashing that out with Viago."

"First Talon. Stealing a Crow. I don't have to hash out anything with Viago."

There's a beat of silence.

It's rare for him to have the last word when talking to Rook. On the (so very rare that it borders on inexistent) occassion that she doesn't have a retort, it's usually Spite taking her side, on principle.

No matter how often they've both tried to explain to him that they're not on opposing sides. They never have been.

But you're wrong so often. So is Rook. Different kind. Curious kind. Fuck around and find out kind. You're wrong because you're stubborn. You say that as though you weren't. As though she wasn't. Different kind. Does that mean a better kind?

Spite pauses, slinks down from his toe tips and stops trying to catch the flame of the wall candle with the splitting overgrowth of his fingernails.

No. Just Different.

"Oh, before I forget!"

Rook moves out from her position as his backrest and retrieves a poorly bound collection of papers.

"So, bad news, my contract was on the author of that serial you've started the other night."

"The Truths Between?"

A hum, affirmative.

She says it as though they hadn't taken turns reading it aloud to one another.

"But the good news is: I brought you the manuscript for the last part."

The bundle of papers is dropped into his lap. The sheets are crumpled, bloodstained, the stitches holding them together uneven, the thread just a little too thick, dissolving a little where it emerges from the needlehole.

Like the author had been led to believe hastily binding and handing out the manuscript would leave them alive.

But that's not Rook's way to do it. He doesn't think. From the way she moves on the open battlefield, even cutting the Dread Wolf's hand to tie him to the Veil when she just as well could have pinned him to it with his own dagger through his heart - a killer, yes, flamboyant, yes, but not deceitful, or cruel. Never that.

Which means someone else tried to kill them before she ever got to him. Perhaps even before the contract reached Viago's desk.

Something to look into. Later. Tomorrow, maybe.

For now...

"Last part? Does that mean you read it?"

"Yeah."

"How do you feel about it?"

Lucanis knows, with every fibre of himself, that Rook would never ruin the ending for him. Nothing he, or anyone else, could ever say to her would make her spill it.

Not until he's read the ending himself and asks to discuss it with her.

Lucanis also knows, also with every fibre of himself, that right now, she's dying to tell him.

He can tell from the crease in her lips, the furrow between her brows, from the way her index slides off the pages and taps impatiently against his knee.

It's terrible. You don't know that. The serial is terrible. The ending will be terrible. Look at her. She HATES it. You hate the serial, Spite. Don't impose your thoughts and feelings onto her expression.

Spite opens his mouth, then clamps it back shut again instantly when they hear Rook inhaling to finally speak.

"Ettore doesn't deserve all that."

Something about the deadpan, resigned way the words escape her mouth, as if Ettore were an old friend of theirs who keeps getting into difficult dalliances with habitually unfaithful people, makes Lucanis burst out laughing.

He laughs and laughs until the sound of a vase shattering against tiles, followed by the rough, sleep-deepened voice of his grandmother shouting runs through the halls like children through tall grass.

Even when he and Rook collect their things and quietly make their way back to their own chambers, he's still giggling to himself.

🪶

i overthought on this so much i no longer like it lmao. I'm not in my writing era rn apparently and tbh that terrifies me. I don't want to abandon my fic. I dont want to phase out of Dragon Age Brainrot :(

shoutout to @chubritza for helping me fix it

[~rina]

[yanderes-galore]

Noelle Holiday Yandere alphabet

She's normally a very soft yandere... Normally.... This does not include content from Chapters 3-4, I haven't seen anything about those at the time of writing this.

Yandere Alphabet - Noelle Holiday

(Mostly normal route Noelle with occasional references to Snowgrave)

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Clingy behavior, Jealousy, Thoughts of violence/attempted violence or murder, Guilt over yandere behavior, Slight manipulation, Mentions of kidnapping, Dubious relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Noelle isn't a very intense yandere. She's normally very sweet and caring. She also tends to avoid making her obsession upset.

She's a submissive yandere who would enjoy hugs, cuddles, kisses... or just any attention at all.

I hate to say it but Noelle is the type of character who would allow her obsession to bully her just to have attention. She thrives off attention.

She does anything to be around you, even if she's shy. She'll follow you around like a lost puppy... even asking others what gifts you'd like to surprise you.

Her affection, for the most part, is very soft. She wants you to be happy, she wants to be the reason you smile.

She just wants your attention.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

I feel in the normal world she may have thoughts of violence... but can't bring herself to act them out. In fact, I'm pretty sure she's scared of what she's thinking and of her obsession over you.

She isn't normally like this... why does she want to hurt others who talk to you...?

In the Dark World during Snowgrave? Well....

She certainly has thoughts of freezing all of those around you... just so she's the only one you can pay attention to....

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

I highly doubt she'd kidnap OR be cruel. She may have thoughts of kidnapping... but immediately shames herself. She doesn't seem to have it in her.

But if we say she snaps, maybe due to Snowgrave or something, she may kidnap....

In that case, if she did kidnap you, she often apologizes for it. She rambles that she just doesn't want to lose you like she's losing her family. She NEEDS your attention on her.

She'll make sure you're comfortable, have everything you need... yet at the same time is begging for forgiveness and for you not to leave her.

She isn't sure if she could handle it... she's already brought to the brink of rational thinking and sanity just by abducting you.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

She tries not to, she really doesn't want you to hate her. She knows she isn't doing the right thing...

But hopefully you can forgive her?

She just isn't in her right mind.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

I'd say Noelle is a vulnerable yandere, yeah. She's willing to do nearly anything just to feel like someone cares for her. She's as honest as she can be... often trying to appeal to you to have your attention.

She feels she needs you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Devastated, honestly. She usually stays away from making you upset. So if you fought with her, she'd most likely immediately back up.

Although, if we're talking Snowgrave, she'd have a higher chance of standing her ground. Maybe even freezing you in place due to snapping.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and she does not enjoy you escaping at all. It makes her feel incredibly guilty and horrible....

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Any bad experience would have to be during Snowgrave. In that case, it's watching her snap and freeze people around you to keep you to herself. She views everyone as a threat who wants to use and hurt her...

But not you...

Soon... It will be just the two of you... trapped in a blizzard....

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

It's probably simple little crush fantasies. Cute dates, late night cuddles, etc.... All very innocent.

Despite the fact she could freeze someone if she wanted to.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Yes but she finds ways to cope. She may lash out if someone like Berdly causes it... but most of the time she stays quiet.

Snowgrave? She'll freeze them if she can... usually without realizing it.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Clingy, meek, follows you like a lost puppy... It's a bit cute.

During Snowgrave she seems more distant, cold, yet scared to lose you.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

She struggles to even approach you. It's all usually brief encounters and talks. Eventually she develops a crush on you... following you around eagerly to see you.

She wishes she could be more... assertive... but she's completely content with watching you from afar!

Hopefully you'll notice her soon though....

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not really unless we're talking Snowgrave. In Snowgrave, yes, she's different since she's more willing to hurt others then.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

She... straight up doesn't punish. Again, she doesn't like the idea of harming you or making you hate her.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

None, usually. She can't imagine doing such a thing.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

She'll be as patient as you want if it makes you happy.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

... No... No, I feel losing you would finally break the poor girl. She isn't going to be the same after that. Maybe even worse than before since she's lost her feeling of control.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Yes and she would let you go. She feels you're happier when free, which is infinitely better than most yanderes.

Snowgrave though... She's guilty but DOESN'T let you go, too scared to lose you.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Probably childhood considering how her family is. Her sister is gone, her mother ignores her, her dad is in the hospital, her childhood friend is distant lately...

You're somewhere she feels she has to latch onto to not lose you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

She feels horrible and wants to make you feel better. She'll try giving you space at first... but soon walks over and meekly tucks herself against you to try and comfort you.

She's the cause of your problems... but she just wants to make it all better... and have you focus on her....

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

She's not too bad to deal with as a yandere... Mostly just a clingy reindeer.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

I'd say playing along. She isn't that intense of a yandere. She's mostly clingy but can keep her obsession controlled if she doesn't feel like you'll leave her.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not intentionally if at all. Although, in Snowgrave I can see her freezing you or parts of you to keep you in place.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Noelle does seem like a worship yandere at times with how she idolizes you as her obsession.

She goes to great lengths to win you over, with carefully picked gifts and hang outs just to have your eyes on her.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Girl could probably pine forever. She'd wait an eternity for your attention. Mostly because she's too meek to ask you out....

But who knows, if she's pushed to it, she may just snap.

She does have a hidden darker side... it just needs to be brought out.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Not intentionally, in fact she'd probably cry if she did. If this was Snowgrave Noelle, she may enjoy the control... but ultimately feel HORRIBLE about it.

[bad-holmes-impression]

varian redemption moment where he stands up to andrew on his own/with rapunzel’s support. where he uses the alchemy andrew took advantage of in order to safely trap him, and as andrew says “you’re just like them. you’re just like the people who hurt us”, varian replies, “i will never be anything like them again. but i won’t let you hurt anyone, regardless of how innocent they may be.”

varian redemption moment where he figures out how to stop the quirineon from blowing up corona on his own (hey, tts, remember how he’s a genius?), and there’s a moment where he looks at rapunzel and grins sheepishly— like the old him— before saying “this is not an attempt to murder you, by the way” and chucking her off the ship. she uses her hair to stop her fall and secure herself to the castle’s tower, as he knew she would. varian safely deactivates the quirineon without the ship exploding, but the balloons have been damaged and it crashes. he wakes up days later, bewildered and injured and in corona’s hospital. he wakes up to a pardon, a second chance, and apologies from all sides.

varian redemption progression in “day of the animals”, where he’s twitchy and snapping at rapunzel. he can’t stand being trapped, especially where he can barely see the sky, and he can’t stand being around her right now. rapunzel is trying to keep everyone together and varian is making it worse with snide comments and passive-aggressive insults. finally, rapunzel demands what his problem is, and he’s too worked up to be anything but honest. he tells her about prison.

(angry and catalina look away. they’ve had their fair share of close calls, and shivers go down their spines as varian talks.)

rapunzel goes pale. she knows what it is to be trapped, and though their captors were cruel in different ways, she finds herself relating to varian.

she is furious at frederic— why did he have to lie again? why couldn’t he have genuinely gotten varian help?— but frederic isn’t here, and varian is.

she apologizes for what he’s been through. varian just shrugs in response, but he’s breathing more easily, and when he says “i’m sorry for making this so miserable for you guys”, she knows it’s genuine.

varian redemption progression in “be very afraid”, where rapunzel shares that her worst fears are towers she can never escape and the light leaving eugene’s eyes and blood on her hands and powerlessness that hurts her and those she loves.

varian could dredge up old wounds. he could ask her “if you knew what it was to lose people you loved, why didn’t you—“ but they’ve already talked it over.

the past can’t be changed, and neither can their fears, but both of them are together and facing them. that’s something. that’s more than he’d dared to imagine a year ago.

varian puts a hand on rapunzel’s shoulder. “we can’t keep this stuff bottled up, you know. if we’re walking around with this inside us, being shaken up by more and more things, we can just… explode.”

rapunzel laughs in her breathless way. “you like sticking to your science analogies, huh, mr. alchemist?”

he rolls his eyes. “yeah, yeah. just give me a boost.”

she begins to, but he stops her.

“and… look. it’s like we told each other— these fears might be grounded in reality, but they aren’t real right now. you’re not alone, princess. you’ve got me.”

she smiles as bright as the sun, and varian doesn’t shrink from the light.

varian redemption progression in “cassandra’s revenge.”

he is sitting inside a cramped cage, trying hard not to look down as he makes himself useful to them all. or he would be, if he could make the cracked lenses of his goggles reveal the incantation already.

rapunzel’s voice carries to him, saying something about getting him out (how? he wants to know), and he automatically calls, “not now!”

“yes, now!” both rapunzel and eugene yell. rapunzel follows up with, “you’re our friend!”

varian bites back a grin. “okay, thanks, but i’m on the verge of a breakthrough, so do any of you have something like a prism, or a glass?”

varian redemption progression in “once a handmaiden…”, where he’s trying not to look where he shoots. (which. hmm. not very conducive to, uh, hitting your target, but in his defense, he’s shooting amber. not fun.)

eugene places a hand on his shoulder, checking on him with concern veiled by levity, and varian insists he’s fine.

rapunzel signs the document, and varian tells himself he’s doing the right thing.

cassandra is encased in amber, reaching out like quirin reached upwards, and oh.

oh, varian has caught himself in a lie.

he is numb on the way out of corona, just present enough to keep himself alive. he is so glad that gun is destroyed.

when rapunzel wakes up, varian is babbling apologies, but eugene and lance cut him off.

“it wasn’t his fault,” lance says. he is bloody from his own encounters with the rocks, being bandaged by a pale-faced faith.

eugene nods. “his device malfunctioned.”

varian’s mouth hangs half-open. he is still prepared to defend himself, still prepared to talk his way out of prison and loneliness and fleeing, but.

but he doesn’t have to.

they trust him. they’ve forgiven him. he’s one of them.

rapunzel sits up, and as varian watches her take in their ruined kingdom, he finds the strength to try again.

varian’s redemption ends in “plus est en vous”, where ruddiger gives him permission to use the growth serum on him.

he and the others storm the castle, and he builds a portal to send zhan tiri back to their realm. the surrounding area of the castle caves in at the moment of its completion, so that’s a no-go.

luckily, varian has a backup plan.

the rocks being golden— with different properties— is a wrench in said plan, for sure, but as everyone was preparing to storm the castle, he had enough time to make a couple tweaks to “project obsidian.” and hey, “project gold” isn’t as cool of a name, but varian’s not out to win any science expos here.

he’s already had to electrocute his own father. he’s already had to watch cassandra’s face stretching in that grin of wrongness from the moonstone’s corruption and zhan tiri’s influence. he’s had his ribs broken and his tongue forced to spill near-endless truths and he’s had to stagger through a blizzard that left its frostbite-blackened mark on his life forever.

varian has a demon to kill.

he doesn’t succeed, no. but it feels— it feels like he’s turning the page in the storybook of his life. it feels exhilarating, to stand straight and tall as he fires blasts of amber at zhan tiri, immobilizing a few of their tentacles before they can twist away in time. they either shatter the rocks or wrench them out of the ground in order to get their mobility back, but they’re being slowed down.

and varian will gladly do this for as long as he has to, because this is his statement.

he is forgiven and has forgiven. he has declared that his past doesn’t define him, and he has used the fingers once frostbitten to create tools that he reclaimed.

he can fight on the side of the heroes, and in the face of that overwhelmingly joyful realization, he doesn’t have the space to feel any fear.

and then zhan tiri is saying that awful decay incantation, and as varian sinks to his knees and his vision goes dark, he is forced to give in. yet, somehow, he surrenders with a sense of tired victory.

and then he wakes up.

[disco-troy]

White Knight and the Art of Ruining Batman - Part 2/3

[Part 1 here]

Characters

If it wasn’t enough for Sean to drop every single theme from a 40 foot cliff, he has to go and run the characters too.

Bruce Wayne

Bruce Wayne in this comic doesn’t care about victims and causes insane amounts of property damage

The worst part is that as bad as Bruce is in this comic, he never properly sees repercussions for his actions. It could have been some sort of statement in the comics if there was change, or even an acknowledgement that Bruce’s reactions are wrong.

Bruce’s blatant disregard for civilian lives makes Dick decide to help the police turn him in. When he makes bridges fall down and collapse on people he gets arrested, but even that is nowhere near a reckoning. Several characters point out he could very easily break out of the prison cell he gets thrown into, and he himself admits he’s just there waiting for the Joker to come to him for help to take down Evil Harley. Then he does exactly that with no apologies and everyone magically forgives him. He basically uses his sojourn in jail to brood.

There are a few pieces and panels that bring back the Bruce we know but those are few and far between. They ring so hollow because none of the themes or actual plot at all reinforces them.

“This isn’t out of a duty to avenge my parents” okay why did you literally want to kill someone for changing your perception of the Wayne legacy.

“I want to leave a safer Gotham that you can be proud of”. Literally how. All you’ve done is beat the shit out of the joker and not respect Babs and Dick. He's not really shown prioritizing saving civilians. The only thing he doesn't to protect Babs and Dick is to keep them off cases but it seems like its more because he doesn't want to work with anyone.

Other than Frank Miller's version, this is the first version of Bruce that I simply can’t bring myself to believe that he fights for his children and for justice.

Harley Quinn and Neo Joker

Everyone knows the story of Harley Quinn. A woman in an abused relationship who falsely thought her abuser cared about her until she broke free from an abusive relationship and - oh

Okay I guess she was right about her abuser caring about her?? I guess it was fine that she was in a toxic relationship for years, because actually deep inside, there was a caring man and she had to find him. That’s what White Knight tells us, even this rhetoric is literally what many abuse victims falsely think about their abuse and leads them to staying with their abuser longer

This is something that continuously gets stated throughout the book.  Even Batman agrees that Harley's role “balancing” the joker was essential.

To reiterate - Batman thinks it's good that Harley stayed in an explicitly toxic relationship where her partner was in love with someone else (Batman) and also a murderer and made her the accessory to her actual crimes because it made the partner in question less violent. Literally reducing Harley's life’s importance to be the emotional regulator of her abuser…

What about the other Harley (later dubbed Neo Joker)? She’s evil. Straight up. She never gets to see the redemption the actual joker gets despite the fact that her background is genuinely chilling

Before she is the second Harley Quinn, she is depressed, cutting herself, working at a bank. Emotionally vulnerable, which is how a lot of people fall into abusive relationships. 

Its a tale as old as time, villain breaks into bank and you are so terrified that you would do anything and pretend to be anyone to live and oh wow now you are dating huh

The text of course insists that the Joker is not at fault for the birth of Neo Joker.

“She could leave at any time”, “She chose to continue to be Harley” The text wants you to take these bits from the narrative and blame Neo Joker for deciding to be Harley Quinn when she's an emotionally vulnerable woman who was terrified of the joker and then treated to the first pieces of kindness she's been treated to. Most victims of domestic abuse can also leave at any time as well. Does that make them responsible for being groomed?

“I know its fucked up that the joker completely rewrote a woman's name and personality but its okay bc she was depressed!!”

Later, when the Joker becomes Jack and becomes "good" this second Harley becomes Neo-Joker and tries to make Jack the Joker again, to belong with her again.

You would think that now that the joker is “cured” he would realize that the second Harley is a victim of his crimes as the joker. Just like how he blames Arkham for making him do more crime, he literally kidnapped and manipulated the second Harley into committing crimes. You would think he would realize this right?

But instead they redirect the faults. The make the second Harley comically evil, even implying her to be abusive in trying to keep the Joker the Joker. The book makes the joker the victim and erases his history of abuse at the expense of a women whose narrative arc is about escaping an abusive relationship. Despite the fact that he was responsible for Harley becoming “Neo Joker” in the first place, there is no sympathy for her.

There is no sympathy for the second Harley/neo Joker. Not from any characters, not from the narrative. We are treated to a horrifying backstory framed to take all fault from the joker, blaming the victim.

White Knight tries so hard to obscure the role of the Joker as an abuser and the Harleys as victims that it does a 180 spin and portrays the second Harley as his abuser and the reason he’s evil, blaming her for not being a perfect victim and emotional regulator like the first Harley. Its evil Harley’s fault Joker was evil 🙂

You heard it here first folks! When you get so traumatized you ruin your sense of identity to become a man’s old girlfriend, it's your fault. She should have been perfect and knew that the guy kidnapping her was a good person all along like the other Harley!

It drives me insane that neither Harley Quinns get the fact that they were in an abusive relationship acknowledged. The first Harley is rewarded for not leaving her abuser. The second Harley is villainized for being a victim.

Not only is this a horrifying portrayal of abusive relationships, it is a betrayal of the fundamental theme that Harley and the Joker have in literally every single piece of media.

Duke Thomas

Let’s start with what White Knight got right. Duke in the comics is a good leader and he was one in this book. That’s it. There is nothing in this Duke’s personality, jokes, general way of life that reminds me of my beloved comic Duke. When most characters in White Knight are out of character there is at least a lacroix taste of what the actual character is hidden somewhere in the book. There is none of this with Duke.

I also feel like in general, comics and many forms of media have an issue with aging up black characters. This happens to Duke in this comic, he’s Bruce's age, a military vet, and built like a tank. Nothing against tank characters but that's not generally Duke's body type either.

An example of a backstory change that Murphy has from the comics is that for some reason Duke’s home is called Backport instead of the Narrows. The Narrows are a fairly important part of Duke’s character in rebirth: it's Jason’s nickname for him and it has its own specific history within the context of Batman that gets touched on a decent amount.

Backport has no personality, so it doesn't make much sense to reinvent the narrows. I think I’ve figured out why he changed it though.

He didn’t know the narrows existed. I’m 95% sure this man has never read a single comic with Duke ever. Like not a single one. He read like the blurb on the back of his cereal box and made up everything else - from art design to personality.

To make this GodAwful joke:

He also makes Duke Joker’s main ally in changing the city.

You are going to strip Duke of his themes and his interesting parts and his symbolism and who he stands for as a hero to give it to THE ANTAGONIST in his story who gets a half assed redemption arc and you’re not even going to do anything interesting with it?!?

Duke says Jack has earned his trust little by little even though they just met, and compares his “rap sheet” and the “rap sheet” of people in the neighborhood, which is, yannow implied to be due to broken windows policing and nonviolence crimes TO THE CRIMES JACK COMMITTED AS THE LITERAL JOKER.

If Sean had read anything with Duke in it, he would definitely know that Duke Does Not Like Cops. He is the only Batfamily member to explicitly say so in the mainline comics, and he does so on many occasions. He does not subscribe to the idea of there being good cops, and he’s suffered at the hands of the system.

Though Duke expresses distrust for cops in the first half of the comic, its mostly because they didn’t let him join, and when they do let him join he’s ecstatic!

He also compares the police to the military. “Duke” may call cops pigs but he agrees that they should be policing like it's a war.

I just don’t understand what this book thinks people generally mean when they say ACAB means like at all or call cops pigs. Duke cannot say “there are no good cops” and also say “we should run the cops like the military” at the same time. Those are fundamentally irreconcilable ideologies.

Its just so jarring! Duke in issue 4: cops r pigs Duke in issue 6: im cop again eheheheh

According to Duke we’ve solved all the problems of Backport because we have black cops now!

changing the system from the inside (: of the super militarized cop group, explicitly stated to be corrupt on page and now with more weapons!!

(I feel anger at the implication every time that all this community needed was one white man to fix anything and also that white man was the joker)

@dukethvmas SAID "ITS ACTUALLY EVIL TO INCLUDE DOES WE ARE ROBIN MEAN NOTHING!!!!!" SO TRUE DON"T PRETEND U KNOW SHIT ABOUT DUKE!!!!!

Barbara Gordon

Babs is written as a quirky basic girl like some version of Batgirl of Burnside on steroids. She is the only one with brain cells in emotional situations.

The rest of the time she’s innocent or dumb as bricks!

She forgets to take her costume off when confronting a man about their meeting in her civilian identity. Do you… Literally 10 year old Barbara Gordon wouldn’t make this mistake.

You want me to believe she's an actual vigilante???? She solves cases and shit????

She goes to a lab and gets surprised when the rats get experimented on. In a lab.

Later in the second book, her identity gets out. It's to get back at Jim Gordon instead of being about her at all even though she is literally also a hero. Instead of responding by fighting back, coming up with a plan, doing literally anything with agency she cries and needs her dad to yell at Bruce for her.

As if the characterization wasn’t bad enough, they decide to recreate the Killing Joke in the comic by having Barbara have a spinal injury. Like a lot of things in this comic it's window dressing. There is no point to it and it further rubs salt in the wound that is that Babs is not allowed to be competent in any sense of the word, and especially not as Oracle

Its short plot you have a scene where she is shot, a scene where (she is pushed!) in a wheelchair at Jim's funeral, a scene of her in rehab but it's just about talking to Bruce about Bruce’s problems and then she's back in the Batgirl suit! It's never about Bab’s story, but about her in relation to Bruce and Jim. 

White Knight takes a storyline that was problematic because it centered man in Barbara’s story and centered men again in Barbara’s story. It took a storyline that was problematic because it erases disability and you erase the disability. 

Dick Grayson

Dick Grayson in White Knight is mostly just an idiot and very volatile.

[I'm out of image space again ::((((( continued in part 3: Dick Grayson and Why was this comic Like This?]

[Part 1 here]

[freyafrida]

rilla of ingleside, chapter eleven

“Walter, too, was quiet and dull, all through the holidays. He showed Rilla a cruel, anonymous letter he had received at Redmond—a letter far more conspicuous for malice than for patriotic indignation.”

Interesting Things brought up in further discussion: one, only 4% of PEI/Novia Scotia enlistment was voluntary before conscription (per @asymphonyofstarlight here; although also worth mentioning that it was mostly British-origin men who enlisted, so possible all the other men who didn't enlist are ignored by the narrative since they wouldn't be part of the characters' Anglo milieu); two, several other characters are mentioned to have sons/brothers who aren't going. Irene Howard herself has a brother who "hasn't any idea of enlisting."

So -- apart from the story purpose of giving a facet of the war experience to a main character -- kind of weird that everyone's on Walter's case about it! My first thought is like, everyone already thinks he's a sissy/gay/a weirdo who goes around talking about tears of blood, and that makes him a target even though he's not doing anything different than the majority of men. It might also be that he doesn't seem to be contributing to the war in other ways? If he'd joined a Patriotic Society or did some kind of volunteer work he might also dodge suspicion. (That said, the white feather was often given out to any guy just walking by who wasn't in uniform, so he might not have escaped that, anyway -- but it also must have been happening to way more dudes at Redmond. It's possible Walter's being myopic and thinking he's uniquely being singled out for being a coward. I wouldn't be surprised if he thought it was broadly wrong but dismissed it when it happened to other guys like, "Well, it's wrong because they're not cowards," but when it happens to him, it causes a crisis because it attacks the part of him that does think he's inadequate, deep down.) walter/una agenda time: and una's letters make him feel like he's enough?? i cry 🥹

The Dr. Milne mention (that he's always made a pet of Walter then turned on him) is kinda odd to me. This is Walter's first year at Redmond, right, and this is Christmas of the first term? It's not like he met Walter before the war broke out and the question of enlistment came up. "Always" feels like an odd choice if it actually means, like, two months.

“Nor I,” said Mrs. Blythe. “I hate going to bed now. All my life I’ve liked going to bed, to have a gay, mad, splendid half hour of imagining things before sleeping. Now I imagine them still. But such different things.”

Oof. "But such different things" just implies so much.

“Do you suppose it could have been a Zeppelin, Mrs. Dr. dear?” “I do not think it very likely, Susan.” “Well, I would feel easier about it if Whiskers-on-the-moon were not living in the Glen. They say he was seen going through strange manœuvres with a lantern in his back yard one night lately. Some people think he was signalling.” “To whom—or what?” “Ah, that is the mystery, Mrs. Dr. dear. In my opinion the Government would do well to keep an eye on that man if it does not want us to be all murdered in our beds some night.”

As with so many Susan things, this is meant to be quirky and funny but is a little dark when u think about it :/ Susan is so easily led into hating countries and people she probably couldn't find on a map four months ago; her suspicion that zeppelins might be invading her not particularly militarily prominent home because she thinks some guy she doesn't like could be a spy is rather reminiscent of people looking for scapegoats in their community -- 'private disputes were given a veneer of patriotism' (article is specifically about suspicion of enemy aliens in WWI, but the book reflects similar paranoia about pro-German Canadians). I know Susan is intended to be good-hearted and plucky, and reflects a lot of things people actually said and felt, often in a funny and even over-the-top way -- buuuut I just struggle with seeing her as straightforwardly lovable and wacky. At the very least, she's as much part of the conversation about how contemporary WWI beliefs affected and are woven into this book as Jem's enthusiastic enlistment and Walter's sacrificial attitude are. (lmao I know everyone loves Susan but 😭 get behind me Walter you and I are gonna have unpopular WWI opinions together) (I do think she's funny sometimes though. If you see me laughing at her I'm not being inconsistent 😌)

(FWIW, other characters often suggest that Susan would probably be soft-hearted were she to actually meet the Kaiser -- or more realistically, any actual German person or a pacifist who wasn't a total caricature -- but since the only actual pacifist character in the book is Whiskers, who's Wrong About Everything, I guess we'll never know.)

Speaking of -- don't have enough brain cells left to touch on Rilla quite literally being the reason a few more men enlist and Jem thinking Germany and German soldiers emanate evil, but those things are also there :/

“oh, not the babies, mother! Just say the babies are not hungry, mother.”

i'm sorry but sometimes i laugh a little at Bruce's lines. This is like a parody of a Victorian child.

“The only things that are the same are the stars—and they are never in their right places, somehow.”

God. That's such an elegant line; fascinating how LMM walks the line between acknowledging the war is horrific but still clinging to the idea that it's necessary :(

glossary:

Readying Rilla bits:

Jem's "goblet" from Marilla is originally written as a "tumbler", then a "glass". Gotta say I've always been intrigued/confused by the image of him drinking out of a goblet, possibly because it just reminds me of Harry Potter.

Susan originally "cheerfully" says "Bury them" re: invading Germans; this is changed to "off-hand."

Interestingly, there's a whole chunk after Anne says "But such different things" that isn't crossed out, but does seem to have been cut (unless there's yet another unabridged version of this novel floating around lmao) -- she talks of seeing "trenches -- and blood-stained snow -- and dead men -- and Little Jem! And when I hear the wind wailing round the coves I think of all the souls going out on the western front."

When it's mentioned that Jem and Jerry are in the trenches, "and Robert Grant" was added later. LMAO sorry Mr. Grant, I too forget you exist sometimes.

Jem originally writes that the Nova Scotian was "blown to pieces" instead of just "killed."

[beneathsilverstars]

@candaru: but... but the game? genuinely please explain to me. Odile pretty exclusively gives good advice in canon when she's brave enough to actually say it and not keep her thoughts to herself

she’s not as bad at emotions as she says she is, but she’s not exactly good at them either… sometimes she just stays out of it when she doesn’t know what to say, but she’s also a “if you want a problem solved you better start solving it yourself” type (see: joining the orbquest, susquest as a whole), and she can be a bit quick to jump to making the practical, hard decision (see: act 5 clocktower convo, attacking bigfrin). so she's definitely not always staying out!

the act 5 clocktower convo is an example of her giving bad advice. it's very reasonable and in character, but it wasn't the right thing to do this time, which is how mistakes in isat tend to work. isabeau focuses on how siffrin is their friend and something must be wrong, but odile's like yeah something is wrong so we need to buckle up and lock in on the king. fair enough, but it doesn't help. vs if isa had been more insistent (which he wouldn't do bc he's a coward) maybe they woulda been talking about talking to sif, instead, and taken a more productive action.

and, there are instances of odile making poor interpersonal choices herself (see: her sus quest approach, being too mean in her teasing), which tells us something about her thought process which we can then extrapolate to situations where she's advising others.

she does give some good advice! at the end of kingquest, she was right to hesitate while sif and mira and then isa agreed to give the king another chance. she's great at practical stuff. and she has her emotional moments! she checks in on siffrin sometimes, she has cute her little "tell me just one thing that's wrong, it doesn't have to be the thing." but then it's like... if that doesn't help, too bad, it's all she has, that was her strategy, convo ends here. it could be that there's some great advice in her mind that she doesn't feel confident enough to say, but could be that she already gave her great advice and there's a reason she doesn't feel confident in the rest of her ideas. maybe some of them are good, but maybe some of them aren't, and the only way she's gonna learn better which are which is by trying them sometimes.

and she will! bc post-canon, everyone's gonna be working on communicating better, right? and everyone's gonna be doing a lot of heavy work helping siffrin, and each other and themselves. so she's probably gonna be discussing more complicated emotional matters more often. and when she has those conversations, she is probably going to lean practical in a way that can be helpful but also could make everything worse, like in the clocktower convo. everyone is gonna fuck up sometimes, but when you compare her to like, isabeau... isabeau is great at reading people, deescalating, etc, he's just a coward. so when he starts giving more advice it'll probably be more nuanced, if not super decisive. vs odile... she's gonna be floundering a bit more, and hedging a bit less. and sometimes that'll be good! but surely sometimes it won't.

so like. i'm not saying she's ALWAYS going to give bad advice. she's practical and perceptive and cares a lot. but practical can be a bad thing, too. and she doesn't always know what to do with the things she's figured it out; she alternates between letting things go too easily, and latching onto solving things that she doesn't actually know how to solve. and she loves her friends and doesn't want to hurt them, but she's used to acting aloof and callous, so she sometimes struggles to recalibrate -- and she knows this, but knowing doesn't fix it.

and meanwhile she's got the most confidence of anyone in the party, and just like every other trait, that can be good or bad. she's not confident in all areas -- she's got her abandonment issues, hence her own failure to ask the others to travel with her -- but when she decides on a course of action, she's more likely to follow through, for better or for worse.

so! i just think she should give really bad advice sometimes! especially when she's trying really hard to help with emotional/interpersonal situations that she doesn't have much experience with or has very particular experience with (ms. "fell in love one time with someone she hated" "multiple stalkers" aiuchi). and it'll be advice that makes sense bc she's a logical and level-headed person, and she'll sound confident about it bc she doesn't second guess and undercut herself the way siffrin and mirabelle do, and it'll be easy to trust her bc she's odile. but oops <3

ofc everyone is gonna make mistakes and give each other bad advice sometimes, but i point out odile in particular because it's easy to accidentally slot her into the "mom friend" or "wise lesbian wingman" archetypes if you're not making an active effort to remember what sorts of mistakes she tends to make, and also because i love her and i support women's wrongs. i also enjoy a good therapyspeak fic where everything goes right! but odile fascinates me and i love to see her in particular fuck up <3 it's enrichment for me

you have to write odile giving really bad advice. for my health

[knockknockitsnickels]

ML Characters as Minecraft Blocks

Let's fuckin go

Marinette: Cobblestone (in tribute to the cobblestone tools you keep using because you "don't want to run out of iron" even though mining with a cobblestone pickaxe is a pain in the ass)

Adrien: Wood planks (specifically the kind you forget to bring with you into the mine until you've got no torches, no tools, and no way to rebuild either of them)

Master Fu: The humble dirt block that you used to reach a high place and then forgot about

Alya: Crafting table (she helps to move the story along. In this season you also forgot to bring her into the mine)

Nino: Jukebox (He likes music, and I just like what he brings to the atmosphere)

Gabriel: Sculk shrieker (he makes bad things happen)

Chloe: Sculk sensor (she enables bad things to happen)

Kagami: Redstone (it takes a while to learn how she works but she's very cool)

Luka: Copper (he keeps getting new features but you can't make a pickaxe out of him)

Felix: Crimson planks (Huge crimson fungus trunks can be either thick or thin: thick trunks grow up in a 3×3-plus shape, with stray stems sometimes in the corners, while thin trunks grow straight up as a 1×1 column. To determine the size of huge crimson fungi, a random integer is chosen between 4 and 13 [inclusive]. There is then a 1⁄12 chance of that integer)

Lila: Infested stone (full of silverfish)

[wewerebornsextuplets]

i missed you sooooo so so much!!!

[fisherrprince]

oh so alisaie’s exaggerated bully behavior is 80% fanon. saying this she casually picks up a large rock