#god this show has taken over my brain its so good

[r0ryy]

I've been picking up on some narrative clues and I think I have one of the witch from Mercury's big plot twists worked out hehe :3

[hoshigray]

But like…sugar daddy!Nanami bending you over his pool table and just fucking your brains out🙈‼️

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: missed writing for nanami, let's gooo!

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: sugar daddy! Nanami x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - sex on a pool table - finger sucking - lingerie - breast fondling + nipple play - standing (bent over) position - praise - Daddy kink - pet names (baby, good girl, honey, love, sweetheart, sweetpea) - protected sex (bc he's a gentleman, lol) - mention of drool/spit.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

“—Mmmph! Ohhh…Kent—Oooh!”

“Yes, baby…God, you look so good.”

“Your fingers; you’re going too…Mmmm…”

Being a sugar baby is a blessing in its own way. Not having to worry so much about your financial situations as they’re taken care of in your day-to-day life can be a bit overwhelming to comprehend in the days you forget entirely; however, you can’t lie that it’s not a nice lifestyle to live in. All your money troubles no longer being a constant weight on your shoulders, moved aside for you to enjoy your life as freely as you wish compared to before.

And what’s better is that the man taking care of said troubles was indeed a miracle worker — and quite the looker. Nanami Kento, your sugar daddy, took you in when you put your online advertisement looking for a sugar daddy, and you can only thank the stars above for such a wonderful man to come falling from the heavens above to put your mind at ease.

And trust and believe that he’s done so in ways more than one.

He had you bent by his pool table in the living space of his penthouse, your legs spread for him to have your skirt lifted to your waist. It’s easier for his hand to go to your lacy panties and slide his fingers in to meet your folds. And after a few minutes, he’s already made you a complete mess just by the thickness of his digits. 

You squirm, gripping the billard stick that rests on the velvety skin of the pool table. “Hahhhn, ohooo, stoop, don’t rub there—Hic…!” Your hands grip the shoulder of his work shirt.

“Oh? Don’t like it when I do…this?” The blunt of Nanami’s fingertips scrapes the upper wall of your vaginal walls with a curled motion, and you lament with the jerk of your thighs. “But all I’m doing is rewarding my baby.”

His reward was specifically targeted to what you were wearing. Your opened buttoned-up shirt exposed your recent purchase of a new lingerie set; the complex design of the intimate clothing and the bold hue of the color–your favorite color–complimented your skin enchantingly. The blonde man behind you couldn’t keep his eyes and hands off you the moment you meekly showed off the bra of the set. 

“And judging by how tight you’re squeezing my fingers,” he says to your ear while another graze of your inner walls has you arch towards him. “You seem to love this, right, honey?” His free hand was groping one of your breasts; the material of the laced bra felt pleasant to the touch along the squish of your mound.

“Hoooh, ohhGod, Kento, please,” you were a whimpering mess literally in the palm of his hand; he’d made you come once already, so your insides had yet to subside from the acute height that kept you trembling to his touch. “I caan’t, no moooore…If you keep up, I-I’ll—“

“What?” He kisses your cheek, nearly having you give to your knees. “Don’t wanna cum on my fingers?” You shook your head hurriedly, enticing your neck for him to lay more gentle kisses. “What do you wanna cum on then, sweetpea?”

You use your hips to answer, grinding your wet southern lips on the zipper of his expensive, linen dress trousers. Yet, while he returns the motion with synced ruts to your chasm with the tent of his groin, it’s safe to say he doesn’t mind the mess. 

“This,” you moan with more rubs on his pants. “I wanna cum on you, Kent. Please, lemme cum on you…”

The sound of his chuckle has you twitching on his digits, wailing when he stretches your opening with a scissoring motion. “Good girl, asking so nicely…” With a hum, he withdraws his fingers from your warmth and brings your pricy underwear down to your thighs, brushing its garters. After bringing his trousers down and freeing his erection from his briefs, he grabs for the condom from his pocket to release from its wrapper. Once the rubber is on and fitted, Nanami guides his cock to the hole of your vagina. 

The insertion of the cockhead has you gasping sharply, the cue stick in your grasp being the only thing you can use as security as your sugar daddy pushes every inch of his shaft inside you. You could never get used to the girth, the stretch of his limb so euphorically good, and the graze of the tip on the sensitive itches that make you hiccup. And the hilt of his pelvis meets your folds, sighing now that his entire cock is finally one with you.

He rocks back and forth leisurely, careful not to have you released on him just yet. Both his hands now meet your chest, fondling the flesh of your breasts in such a loving fashion that you whimper with the pull of his dick. God, the way his tip perfectly rubs on your inner texture has your brows furrowed and eyes sewn shut, wanting to truly indulge in the sensation that piques the delicate keenness of your nerves.

“Ahaaa, ohoofuck,” you jolt when he suddenly throws a rough thrust to your ass; the stick in your hand hits two Aramith billiard balls to the long rails of the table. “Yesss, right there, Kentoo…! Feel so good…”

“Yeah, honey?” The weight of him on your back as he bends his frame above yours, speaking softly to your ear as if wanting you to shiver on his chest. “Feeling good?” You nod hurriedly with the tweak of your nipples under the rough pads of his fingers. “All cute and good for me…Want me to make you feel even more good?”

“Yes…Daddy,” Oh my, you used the title—a step you were cautious to use at the moment yet albeit eager for the results. And the sand-haired man snaps his hips abruptly, causing a shriek to sneak past you without noticing.

He’s done with the slow pacing—the rhythm now increased to a rapid cadence that evokes more sounds to escape with every rock of your figure. Gosh, you hope you weren’t leaving scratch marks on this man’s pool table. It would make you feel terrible damaging his property. However, that sounds like a worry to check back later when you’re not squealing your mind out.

“—Oooh!! F–fffshiiiit, Daddy!” Your eyes roll up at the scrape of your G-spot. “N–Not shoo fa—Ahhhh! T’oo muuch…!”

“But you’re too close to slow down, love,” Nanami kisses your cheek before slithering his hand to stuff his fore and middle fingers into your mouth. You sounded too cute mewing for him while sucking on his fingers. And it doesn’t help that the erratic ruts to your cunt have you shrilling even more, drool trickling down to your chin just to fall on the table surface. “Come on, sweetpea, let it all out…Hnnmm, let me feel it.”

The piston of his pelvis smacking the skin of your ass with the thick digits stuffed in your mouth is too much to follow through, the climb of your climax becoming more complicated to avoid as the milliseconds rush away. You submit to your growing dizziness as your peak shakes you down.

The orgasm has you screaming out loud, your legs trembling with the flutter of your walls around Nanami’s dick while he slowly plunges himself in and outward, relishing the snugness of your slit. You suck on his fingers hard, nearly choking on spit when your body is experiencing the pulses at its own pace. Your elbows wobble, giving way for you to slump down and accidentally hit an object ball with the cue stick, knocking onto another and pushing it an inch away from a pocket.

Nanami chortles, straightening himself to massage your waist through your aftershocks. “Nice backspin, sweetheart.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – header edit done by me + dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade's life and his mental health issues a lot, and I just thought about this. Not only being abused, but his entire brain being made out of cancer, and the fact that oxygen was physically taken from his brain over the course of 2+ days multiple times?

We see him coloring a lot and claim multiple times that he doesn't/ can't read (this is probably a bit, I guarantee he can read), but it had me thinking what if some days were more childish then others as part of his coping mechanisms?

At first, Logans was really confused about why Althea puts up with it until he realizes that it's extremely good for him to just... be taken care of? Praised and given affection for the bare minimum? He thinks it's weird. This wasn't the same man he was fighting with yesterday.

Coming into the living room, he sees Wade sprawled out with crayons and markers all around him with multiple pictures already coloured, his notebook having pages ripped out of it as he kicks his feet and hums.

On the tv, there are cartoons playing. Once in a while, he'll look up at the tv and then go back to coloring. "What are you doing??"

"Hi wolvie. 'm colouring."

"He's behaving, so don't ruin it." Al says. There's pictures by her, and she is holding a box of cereal.

"O..kay??" Sitting down, he's almost too curious to just walk away, picking up puppins so she doesn't ruin his drawings, petting her confusedly.

Sometimes, Al will hold out some cereal in her hand. "Wade." And he will see him shimmy over and take the cereal. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."

As hes scooting back to his color spot he stops and watches the tv for a bit longer then usual.

"...What.. the fuck." Logan says to her and she gives him a brow raise. "What?"

"What is he doing?"

"He's coloring. And I thought I was the blind one."

"No no I mean.. those aren't murder plans. That's puppins."

"Yes? And?"

"And.. what did you do to him?"

"Treated him like a human being. Give it a try once inawhile." She says, and he comes back with more pictures, climbing in between them with no regard for space as he leans into her.

"Oh thank you. What is it?"

"It's you."

"Oh? How sweet. Do I look good?"

"Mhm!"

"Im glad. How about you show our friend here your amazing pictures. And he better be nice!"

So wade turns and now is leaning on logan as he points to a different picture. One of Logan with Puppins on a leash with a sun in the corner and crappy grass, a hearts all over the place.

At first he wants to tell him to get off of him, but seeing the pictures and how excited his eyes were to show him, it hits him and he understands.

".. uhm.. thank you?" But he puts it back in his hand. "Oh- you want me to keep it?"

Wade nods and starts cleaning up his crayons.

Logan turns to whisper to Al "How long does this go on?"

"About 2 hours or so."

"Why?"

"God only knows, but it helps with his nightmares."

"Colouring helps with his nightmares??"

"Its more then that. Hey sweetheart? Why don't you bring your ponys out."

"Theyre horses."

"Oh im sorry, my mistake. I think logan here wants to play horses."

Logan gives her a look like excuse me? When did I sign up for that? "No.. uhm.. I think im good."

Wade gets this look of sad innocence but goes to get them anyway, beginning to play by himself, brushing them and making them talk to each other quietly. As if he speaks any louder, he would get hit.

Logan groans and is like "Gimme a fucking horse.."

From then on, Logan is quick to understand what's happening and is much nicer to him, starts giving him snacks, buying him actual coloring books, and has pinned his drawings to the fridge each time he's gifted one. His horses name is Buttercup, by the way.

[chronologicalerrors]

Why Crowley Was an Archangel, And Why it Matters: A Fan Theory

Neil Gaiman has said that Season 2 is a bridging season, setting up what is to come in Season 3, which will be based on a story he and Pratchett outlined many years ago. This season is therefore moving characters into place and establishing facts and mechanics of the Good Omens universe that we need as an audience in order to understand what comes next. It moved Aziraphale back to Heaven, and removed Gabriel and Beelzebub. This season has also been heavy on the references to Crowley’s past as an angel.

Season 2 of Good Omens has been practically inviting us to speculate on who Crowley used to be. If we’d just been given that one glimpse of him in the first scene I wouldn’t make so much of it, but we also saw him return to heaven in disguise and reject an offer of being returned to full angelic status. We have to conclude that there’s been so many sustained hints at this because it will be important next season!

Some of this has already been suggested by others, but GO2 has taken over my brain and I need to write this all out. So, let’s have a look at what we already know about Crowley’s angelic past in-universe, and what else we might be able to guess at from that. 

What’s special about Crowley’s powers?

Crowley is the only demon or angel who is shown being able to stop time. When asked about this Pre-S2, Neil Gaiman said the following:

We first see him do this in Paris in 1793, and the second time to speak to Adam to avert the apocalypse at the end of S1. The first time was something he did casually, while the second required a huge burst of power – it needed to hold off Satan, after all - and happened at Aziraphale’s urging.

A: Come up with something or… or I'll never talk to you again.

(GIF from fyeahgoodomens. There’s a collection of gifs of Crowley stopping time through S1 here.)

When we see him stop time this season, in Edinburgh in 1827, it’s also directly at Aziraphale’s request:

This bit is absolutely key to me, as this establishes that stopping time is something Crowley can do that Aziraphale cannot.

This also seems tied to the crank handle of his Bentley. When Crowley has stopped time to hold off Satan, he is gripping the handle in the same way Aziraphale carried his flaming sword, and spins in when he comes to restart time.

C: I'm going to start time. You won't have long to do whatever you're going to do.

By itself, this doesn’t mean anything. Until we see the same handle at the start of Season 2, in the hands of Angel Crowley. He uses this to start up his nebula, as a tool for setting time into motion.

Is this the same handle? It certainly appears this way. Like Aziraphale’s flaming sword, was this a gift from God that he’s managed to hang on to for thousands of years (And it just miraculously happens to fit his Bentley)? It certainly seems that the Bentley crankshaft handle is more than it seems, and that Crowley can use it as a conduit for power – as he needed to when stopping time to hold off the ruler of Hell himself.

The link between this object, a relic from his time in heaven, and his rather unique ability to stop time, suggests that Crowley was once an angel of great power.

What rank did he hold?

We saw Crowley return to Heaven, in disguise, in S2 E6, with events hinting that he was once a very high-ranking angel:

So, we know for a fact he was above the level of Thrones and Dominions. So where does this place him on Heaven’s organisational chart? My analysis here is metatextual – I don’t think looking at external hierarchies of angels is that helpful to understanding the Good Omens universe, so I will only focus on what Neil Gaiman has confirmed when asked, or has been demonstrated within the world of the show itself.

Good Omens has its own Hierarchy of Heaven, but Neil Gaiman has clarified that the Archangels we see are amongst the most senior personnel in Heaven. This runs counter to many hierarchies of angels (which are often contradictory in and of themselves) but is consistent with the depiction in John Milton’s Paradise Lost as well as Jewish tradition, where the highest ranking Archangels are given the title of “princes” of heaven. “Prince of Heaven” is also a term that Metatron applies to Gabriel in S2 E6.

Of the heavenly entities mentioned in the show, we can infer the following angelic hierarchy:

God

Metatron (NG confirms here)

Supreme Archangel (Gabriel, now Aziraphale)

Other Archangels (Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, in that order – See NG here)

Cherubim (Aziraphale at the Garden of Eden, when he was the Angel of the Eastern Gate –NG Confirms here)

Thrones & Dominions

Principalities(?) (Aziraphale after the Garden of Eden – NG doesn’t state if this is a promotion or demotion, but it feels very demotion-y)

Other lower-ranking angels (As a Principality, Aziraphale was supposed to lead a platoon of angels into battle in S1 – so there must be many levels below him – see NG here)

Scrivners (Muriel and the level Gabriel would have been demoted to. Appears to be the lowest rank in Heaven, suggested by NG here)

There are likely many other levels in-between these that have not yet been mentioned onscreen. Saraqael, for example, seems lower down than an Archangel (addressing Michel and Uriel as “your beatitudes” before approaching them in Episode 1), but above Aziraphale. You’ll notice Seraphim aren’t in this list, because they’ve not been mentioned on screen – but I suspect they do exist in this universe and are a class below Archangels but above Cherubim.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that Crowley was an Archangel, but confirms pretty explicitly that he was once near the top.

So who was he?

Neil Gaiman has stated that his name when he was an angel was not Crowley/Crawley, and the first scene of Season 2 sees a bit of redirection when Aziraphale tries to get angel-Crowley’s name:

This is quite deliberate, and sets up his name as something important to be revealed later. However, I can’t see why his name would matter to the narrative, unless it’s something recognisable from biblical canon – or, that it’s not necessarily his name, but his rank as an angel that was important.

There are numerous pointed references throughout Season 2 to Archangels, in such a way that feels like the show is setting up for this to be revealed in the future. The misdirection about Angel-Crowley’s name may have been because Aziraphale was likely to have recognised the name of an Archangel.

More than this, I personally do think, that before his fall Crowley wasn’t just any old Archangel, but the Supreme Archangel. This is based on the following 7 points (you know God likes sevens):

The very deliberate way the camera pans to Crowley’s impassive face after Gabriel says “I’m the only first-order Archangel in the room or, you know, the universe.”

2. Metatron’s statement, “For one Prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice, makes it look like there is some kind of institutional problem.”

While it’s quite clear that we’re supposed to associate this line with Lucifer himself (and yes, I know NG confirms that's who this was alluding to!), it’s interesting that ‘Prince of Heaven’ is a title associated with Archangels in Jewish tradition and very specifically with Gabriel on screen in the universe of the series. That Jimbriel also repeats this line to Crowley in the bookshop specifically feels significant...

3. Crowley also recognises Metatron in the bookshop, where no other Archangel does. Metatron deliberately avoids using his name in this scene, calling him ‘demon’. Which is not inaccurate, but may suggest the Metatron remembers Crowley’s angelic name. It may also explain Metatron’s very dark look at Crowley as he exited the shop – the two of them have some history.

4. It’s never stated explicitly that Gabriel hasn’t always been the Supreme Archangel since the beginning, but there’s enough vagueness in the text to guess at this. When Michael and Uriel are discussing what to do in Gabriel’s absence, Michael and Uriel have this exchange:

M:There is, of course, no question of replacing the supreme archangel. I am the Archangel Michael, you are the Archangel Uriel. U: We aren't in charge. Right now, as of this moment, Heaven does not have a supreme archangel. M: There is always a supreme archangel.

“There is always a Supreme Archangel!” not “Gabriel has always been the Supreme Archangel!” According to some traditions, the Supreme Archangel was the first angel ever created, which would support Michael’s statement: There is always, and there always has been, a Supreme Archangel, since the time of creation. It’s possible that someone else held this role pre-Fall, and Gabriel was appointed as successor after the War in Heaven.

5. The way the other Archangels behave around him. There’s a wariness, but also a strange deference. On being discovered by Saraqael in heaven, they don’t immediately throw him out, but let him watch Gabriel’s trial – even ordering Muriel to show him it. Michael and Uriel then follow him back to Earth without much fuss, giving him quite a look, while Crowley seems to be enjoying himself:

(This also feeds into why I think Crowley looked so different during the Job segment. He knew he might encounter a few Archangels he’s not seen for a thousand years or so, and so appears in disguise.) 6. The lightening! I’ve seen someone point out that Crowley’s electric temper tantrum in S2E1 mirrors the lightening used by Gabriel to travel to Earth in S1E6. This could be a coincidence of VFX, or it could be a Clue.

7. That last conversation between Aziraphale and Crowley:

A: I don't think you understand what I'm offering you. C: I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.

That’s such a weighted statement, and could be interpreted in so many ways. But, viewed in this light, it sounds like a warning from a former angel who used to be very high up in Heaven indeed – and has absolutely no desire to return there.  

Why does any of this matter?

Obviously just theorising here…

The story is setting us up for a reveal here – Crowley’s status as an angel, and who he was before the Fall is clearly going to factor into Season 3 in some way. Why tease us with it so much and so often if it’s not important?

In terms of the narrative, a powerful revelation would be that Crowley used to have Aziraphale’s new job. That it led him to asking questions about the Almighty’s plan and then, ultimately, falling. And that the Supreme Archangel, for one reason for another, eventually turns against Heaven – it happened to Crowley, to Gabriel (after a few thousand years), and then will have to happen to Aziraphale too.

I could be way off here, but at some point the show needs to explain why Crowley is so different from other demons and has powers that no other demon or angel seems to possess. A reveal that he was once very, very senior in the organisation of Heaven, before asking too many questions and being cast out, would serve as a explanation and be a meaningful development to the narrative of Season 3.

I don’t think we’ll necessarily get a name (because we don’t need one) – but I do think we will get a rank or some idea about who he used to be, and that’s what’s going to be significant. TLDR: Supreme Archangel Crowley!?

[oh-allie]

shakespeare and swooning

alhaitham x g/n reader

synopsis; you read one shakespeare play and now you want to impress your "buddy" alhaitham with your newfound knowledge !! what could go wrong?

fluff, g/n reader, TOTAL CRACKFIC, OOC alhaitham, SWEARING, kind of a modern au ???? i mention "ringing tighnari" but that could just be imagined as using the akasha terminal !!!! didnt write this with a modern au in mind

warning ‼️ PLEASE dont expect this to be accurate, if youre a big classic literature fan then dont attack me for not being a NERD ☹️ just imagine a poser using their fancy words (because they think its cool)

you know how libraries are supposed to be a place of study and tranquility? no the fuck you don't, or at least you don't care, because running through the house of daena with shakespeares, "romeo and juliet," in your hands is NOT very tranquil.

multiple poor akademiya students look at you, PISSED OFF because your shoes are going clu-clonk on the marble floors, which wouldn't be an issue if you weren't scurrying through the library.

is that kaveh ?? he's giving you the same look he gives alhaitham every day ..

... but this is IMPORTANT !! you're on a MISSION right now !! you just finished reading the first act of "romeo and juliet," and you're convinced your brain has expanded tenfold in size.

you're now rushing to your good pal haitham to share your knowledge! how kind and gracious!

you're stopped before his house, you've known him for long enough and gotten close enough for him to let you come in whenever. you know kaveh isn't home, and haitham would never purposefully work overtime, so you're certain you can get his attention and show off in peace.

why are you so adamant about showing off to alhaitham? is it REALLY showing off, or are you trying to, heehee, impress him?? its too late to be flustered at this thought because you already unlocked the door with the spare key kaveh leaves behind one of haithams ugly ass decorative plants and you've taken off your shoes and oh god hes right there and the sunlight from the door is lighting up his face in that way that only happens to him and hes looking at you with a suprised, slightly annoyed, but incredibly fond look and oh no what was your plan again?

"greetings, alhaitham! ☝️🤓" you say, finding a surge of confidence remembering the story you read.

"... hey. what are you doing here?" his response is quick but before you respond he continues, "did you just say greetings?"

"indubidibdibdly! hath you be surprised?" you pretentious hipster. you think youre SO cool, but unfortunately your little crush doesn't seem very impressed either.

"okay, what are you doing? you're being weird." he's not even looking at you, and he's back in his chair before you can rush over and sit on the couch. "is something wrong? should i get tighnari to give you a checkup?"

you'd be touched by the care of the suggestion if he wasn't so cheeky in his tone.

"wha, what, no?! no what the hell- stop ringing tighnari."

"are thou o'er wrought with admiration?" you grin, somehow still under the impression that you sound cool.

he gives an eyebrow raise to that. not bothering to mark his place in his book, he stands up.

"i lie testy in why you act so unpregnant, my dear."

"what"

HUH ? what did bro just say ? testy ???? unpregnant ?? MY DEAR ??? backtrack again, UN-WHAT ??

"be still my beating heart, thou hast taken mine with absolute cunning." is he making fun of you i genuinely can't tell ... its like hes speaking in moon runes right now.

"haitham, heheh, WHAT are you DOING ??" you can't help but laugh at his funny little words, magic man. even if you're clueless to what he just said to you.

"whatever doth thou mean?" he's totally making fun of you !! after ALL your effort to impress him too?

"well, usually i do all the ranting and you sit pretty and listen, so it's weird that you're talking so much, especially like THAT?" fym sit pretty ....

"when words are scarce they are seldom spent in vain." that sounds familiar, but you can't think about it longer before he continues, "shall i compare thee to a summers day?"

"ALRIGHT, i recognize that one, dummy." you laugh, "were you really not impressed by me?" you whisper, the rush of embarrassment you shouldve felt in that library is finally catching up with you.

he stares at you for a second. you just wish you could find out what hes thinking up there, if you could even understand it.

and then he lets you into his mind, with a simple "i love you." as if alhaitham, renowned scribe of the akademiya, top student, couldn't find the words to describe how he felt for you.

or maybe that was what he felt for you. he loved you.

"... you called me unpregnant."

a/n; i read romeo and juliet like... 3 years ago.... so.. uam... 😇😇 totally accurate! hope this crackfic style of writing isnt too niche so this doesnt flop because EMBARRASSING....... do people even like al haitham anymore like guys lets go back to the good old days before the FRENCH came in..... (this is just me projecting cause i havent played genshin in a while and i still lovelove sumeru)

[genericpuff]

saw this pop up on /r/UnpopularLoreOlympus and I-

Full analysis post that inspired this post can be read here, it's a good read, go check it out!

Now my natural reaction to not assume the worst (shocking, I know) is that what Rachel's actual intention behind making Leto a sun god was due to her being Apollo's mother and her clearly having a stronger relationship with him rather than Artemis. I'm abiding by Occam's Razor here, it's the simplest answer and it keeps my brain from getting too riled up right off the bat LMAO

There's a lot of emphasis put on Apollo being the god of the sun in LO, despite the fact that Apollo is one of the MOST prolific gods in the Greek pantheon, Rachel only ever really focuses on him being god of the sun with some loose references to him also being the god of music (as we see with him playing his lyre). There's really no real referencing to him being the god of medicine though (aside from that scene of him condom-bandaging Persephone's hand in Episode 22 ?? which is silly now in hindsight because she's a fertility goddess who can heal herself but ok lmao and the fact that Rachel established him as a LITERAL DAD with his doctor son Asclepius which ... just feels weird to have in LO tbh) and there's absolutely no referencing (from what I can find or recall) of him being a protector of the young, god of prophecy (for some reason he just magically gives Kassandra the ability to read prophecies... just so she can read his prophecy ??) or archery. Like, he's shown doing a lot of these things but they come across more as just side hobbies or extensions of him being Artemis' brother (like his archery) rather than aspects of his godliness or domains that he presides over. It's just like yeah, Apollo can shoot arrows and bandage people's hands I guess LMAO

All that said, I can see Rachel deciding to make him primarily the god of the sun and then going "oh! let's make his mom a sun god! then she could be a common enemy for both Persephone and Hades!" because Hades doesn't like sun gods yadda yadda.

But... we know Rachel has used front page Google sourcing in her comic before.

(literally the 'source' was copy pasted from a 2004 study guide for Princeton.edu. And we KNOW this was taken right from the first result because it just says 'www.princeton.edu' with no slug attached, which is what showed up back when we first looked into this, the princeton version was deadass the first result with this definition word for word. She didn't even remove the typo where there's no space between Xenios:"Zeus !!!).

And while a bit more into sus territory rather than outright confirmed like the xenia thing above, there's the whole Metis / Métis theory, that has us wondering if Rachel seriously googled "Metis" on its own and accidentally used Indigenous Métis cultural depictions in her version of Metis, the Greek God.

The fringe in her outfit, finger wings, and dark orange/red color really got my attention the first time I saw her design years ago, because she set off so many, "Wait a minute, is that an Indigenous woman???" bells in my Mi'kmaq/Cree brain LMAO And not even in a bad way, but now it feels a little :/ because of how much her character has been assassinated and how clearly accidental it was for her to look like that.

Of course, there's still a more likely explanation that her design was based on this vase:

But IDK y'all. That vase is very distinctly orange while the character itself is depicted in dark garbs and with light skin, so Metis being distinctly red-toned with finger wings and fringe?

While the Xenia thing is definitively copy pasted from the first search result on Google (literally there's no denying that at this point, Rachel's REALLY bad at doing research and then pretending like she was being smart by sourcing it from a university website... completely ignoring the fact that that website literally hasn't been updated since Rachel was working on The Doctor Pepper Show) the Metis and Leto depictions are definitely a lot more up for debate as to what 'research' Rachel did and whether or not they got confused with something else during her searching.

And really, the whole thing with Leto being a "sun god" doesn't make sense really when you think about it. Why is Leto a sun god? It's not even like you could argue there are "some versions" of the myths where she's a god of the sun, or other translations out there, or whatever vague source that could be used like what has been used for other gods like Hades and Persephone. Leto is not affiliated with the sun in any shape or form. Remove Apollo, her eventual son, who didn't exist when she was born and given the title of 'sun god', and it quickly falls apart as to why she would be a sun god in the first place.

She is a goddess of motherhood though, and that's NEVER mentioned in LO. If anything, Rachel makes her a terrible mom on purpose. Because god knows we can't have anyone in this comic be a good mom except for Persephone and Rhea (who are literally just carbon copies of one another). Basically the only thing Rachel gets right with Leto is the fact that she's a Titan and that she had Apollo and Artemis after sleeping with Zeus. That's it.

Unfortunately, unlike the xenia thing, there's no outright proof of what Rachel's reasoning was behind these designs or sources. So I'm not gonna accuse or outright state it as fact that Rachel confused Metis for Métis or ripped the idea for Leto being a sun god from an anime, because the odds of that being true in any way are fairly low.

But they're never zero.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Magic Flute

Aemond Targaryen x Librarian!Reader

Summary: You were in charge of upkeeping the room of knowledge in the castle. Aemond was in charge of upkeeping the upkeeper's sanity.

Word Count: 2k+

Warnings: Brief mention of mama issues, crying, fem!reader, smut (public sex ig, praise kink, biting, vaginal penetration), established relationship, typos, etc.

A/N: move over daemon, it's aemond brain rot time. who needs therapy when you can write fanfics🎈 the title is totally not about aemond's magnum co-

"I can understand why people reread books," I speak to the silver haired man, though I make no effort to turn to him, since my focus was on tomes on its shelf, "but you, my prince, read that as if your life depended on it." I look over to Prince Aemond, who looks like I just asked him to jump out of the window beside him. I raise my brows, "perhaps you are unaware that has a second part?" He stiffens. My face contorts in horror when I see red rise up from his neck, "apologies my prince. I did not mean to offend you." With that, I scurry away. Aemond shot out of his chair and raised his hand for naught.

I heaved heavily, willing the tears streaming down my face away. I ripped at my cheeks and prayed to all the gods that Aemond would be late today.

I laugh pathetically at myself.

Like seven hells he'd be.

I rub my eyes one last time and release a deep breath.

I gather myself up, bunching my skirt in my hand. But before I could even walk to the end of the isle, I drop the cloth and gasp at the sight of the prince standing before me. My hands fly to my chest. His own that were behind him fall to his side.

His one eye takes in the sight of my tears. He tilts his head, "what was it this time?"

"A splinter," I blurt too quickly, too unconvincingly, too prepared.

"Mm," he steps forward, "a funny thing to call your mother."

I do not rebut, nor do I move. I only allow him to press near enough that I could hear him breathe in the silence of the room. I gnaw at my lower lip as his hands land on my shoulders.

"Allow me to rephrase," his hands brush down my arms, "what did your mother say to you this time?" he mutters, taking my hands in his.

My eyes water so quickly that I could not do anything but cry.

His hands rest by my cheeks, pushing my tears away. I instinctively lean into his touch as I shudder out, "I would not dare worry my beloved prince."

"Then speak."

I close my eyes as I sigh. My hands grab onto his wrists and I begin to form the words in my head, "she made me out to be a fool again-- in front of everyone, my younger siblings, the good God in heaven, our housecats..." I heave, finally opening my wet eyelids. I frown deeper when I see his expression, the curve of his brows and lips.

"Aemond, I told you, I-"

He silences me with a kiss. It is firm but quick, and the moment he pulls away, he looks down on me with the same expression, "you're quite annoying when you're like this."

I am taken aback my his words. I scoff, "when I'm what?"

"When you think you're above being helped."

The annoyance on my face fades.

He lifts his head, as if in challenge, "you think I do not worry about the darkness in me that's corrupting you?"

"But that's diff-"

"How is that different?"

I knit my brows at his sardonic look and I grunt, "because I love you."

He chuckles, brushing back hair behind my ear, "you wound me deeply, lover," he presses a kiss on my forehead, "do I not show you enough that my feelings are mutual, if not more?"

I try to push back when he pulls me into his chest, just so I could look at him when I say, "you know I did not mean-"

"Yet it's what it means," Aemond dismisses, locking me in his arms until I have no choice but to relax against him. He releases a sigh once I do, kissing the crown of my head, "good girl."

I begin to snake my own arms around his torso, feeling lulled by the sound of his heartbeat against my ear.

Aemond leans his cheek against my head and rubs circles on my back, "now that my adoration for you has been brought to question," he pulls away to take my face in his hands again, "it is only right I recount all the ways my heart bleeds for you."

I am powerless against him when his lips press against mine. No amount of better judgement could have repelled me from kissing him so eagerly. Even as he shifts in his spot, pushing me against the shelves, sealing me against him, I do not squeak any form of protest.

It is only when his hands expertly grab at my skirts and handle my thighs that I finally gain some semblance of reason. I press my palms on his chest, half-heartedly pushing him off so I could moan his name in protest.

He mistakes this as praise as he bends and pulls me onto him, securing my legs around his hips. I hiss at the friction on my core and moan when I break our kiss, "Aemond, please."

His lips quirk, "so restless," he pecks my lips then trails down to my neck, "I'm getting there, my dear."

My hands dart to his shoulders. I do try to push him off but he is too eagerly working on my skin than I decide it would be better to dig my fingers into his nape and tug at his roots.

He moans my name against me, hips grinding me harder into the shelf.

"Aemond," I whine, breathlessly.

"Shhh," he kiss my lips, laughing darkly, "someone could hear."

All at once, the haze in my mind is lifted. By the time Aemond secures me against the shelf, I glare down at the scumbag, "that's what I've been trying to t-"

One of his hand flies to my mouth and my core is absolutely titillated by the vibrations of his chuckles as he rubs against me.

"Don't test me," he whispers against my ear, "you know I love the pretty sounds you make." The remaining hand on my thigh makes its way to my center. I screw my eyes when I feel his fingers rub against me. Aemond chuckles again, "be a good girl or I'll make sure you have no choice but to scream."

When he pulls his hand away from me, he props me down on the floor. I look up at him and gulp at his hot gaze as he undoes his pants. I lick my lips and watch him as he does so, readying my skirt back up, making him chuckle.

Once he is free, I don't manage to do much as he carries me back into our previous position and hastily sheathes himself in my burning heat.

He does a better job at concealing his groans. I however have to bite down on his shoulder to shut myself up.

"Good girl," he praises, positioning his hands on my thighs again, squeezing the flesh tightly.

My hands claw up to his shoulders as I pull my head back to allow myself to heave heavily.

He takes this as his cue to begin his ministrations. When he does, my arms latch around him and I bite my lip for dear life. I bottle in the whines I would have screamed out had we been in his chambers. In exchange, however, so I don't slip into madness, I rip at his blonde roots and bite at his earlobe.

He sucks in a deep breath, repositioning me against the surface so to get a better angle.

I cannot help but mewl against his ear when he begins to move so deliciously into me. I choke back whines, opting to bite down on his neck to keep myself mute.

He growls when I suck on his skin, pulling away. He looks down at me and warns with both his voice and his hips, "play fair."

I barely have my eyes open when I retort, "you feel so good."

I make the mistake of not closing my mouth after, which is why my moans ride up and down with this thrust.

"Fuck," Aemond mutters, covering my mouth with his in an attempt to shut me up. He nips at my lower lip, thinking it would make me close it, but I only end up moaning louder.

He quickly pulls away and slaps a hand back on my lips. He does not even scold me upon seeing how I was coming undone against him. His lips tug into a smirk as he roughens his actions, my moans threatening to spill from his palm.

"So pretty against me," he croons, as if he wasn't absolutely destroying me right this moment, "so loud and wanton, and all for me."

My pulse begins to quicken. My breath begins to lose me.

Aemond watches me as I open my eyes. He releases his hand on my mouth and I crumble against his shoulder, biting down again at his shoulder.

Aemond is so wondrously controlled that his brutal actions were barely audible, even with how he was fucking me against the ancient shelves.

"Say my name," he commands.

Obviously, I don't, cause I wont' say it, I'd scream it.

He still urges me though, and snaps his hips harder in that instant, "say my name against my ear so you will not forget again who loves you so, who makes you feel so good like this."

I hold back a whine. It takes everything in me not to be loud. I mutter under hot breath, "Aemond."

He growls, pace reaching a plateau at the speed he is in, "again."

The squeeze he gives my thighs make it impossible for me not to squeak. Still, I do my best to do his bidding, "Aemond."

And as if that was the secret code to pleasure, I clench around him and moan out his name one last time, a lot louder than anyone else in the vicinity would have enjoyed.

Aemond doesn't find it in himself to care as he chases his own high and subsequently spills into me as I shake against him in pure relief. The feel of him coming into me leaves me reeling.

He lets us ride the feeling up until he is too sloppy and spent to move at all.

I drag my lips over to his and pepper him with kisses as I repeat his name over and over and over again.

He leans into me, repeating the praise but with my own name instead. His hands finally release my thighs, only so he could gently put me down and bring his hands to my back.

I whine in protest, unwilling to unravel my legs against him.

He chuckles at that, and cannot bring himself to deny me of his touch. Aemond pulls me back closer, making me squeak and he throws me up in his grip to readjust me on him.

He kisses both sides of my cheek before muttering, "you did well, my love."

I wrap my arms tighter against him as I release a breath, "only because you did me well."

"Mm," he smiles, planting a kiss on my lips.

"My prince!"

My heart leaps into my mouth.

The sound draws nearer, "Prince Aemond!"

As much as I don't want to, I shuffle against him. He looks down at me with a raised brow as he suppresses my motions. I whine, looking up at him, "Aemond," I whisper-yell, "he's going to-"

"My prince!" the voice yells, "are you h-"

"I swear to you," Aemond growls so loudly that I cower at its intensity, "if you so take a step closer here, I will have both your eyes and feed you to Vhagar."

I slap his shoulder, releasing a whine.

"What?" he turns to me with a pout, "you wanted this."

[willysnylander]

I COME WORH A WORD AND A PAIRING!!!!! to be simple it is just ‘sweet’ + nicojack :]

thank you so much for this, olive!! hope you like it! <3

“I got you something.”

Jack’s eyes are bleary as they lift to Nico’s face - the pain meds he’s been on since the surgery make him tired, so he’s been napping a lot lately - and the smile that takes over his face is tired, but Nico still thinks he looks beautiful.

“Yeah?” Noticing the way Nico holds one hand behind his back, Jack immediately attempts to peak around his boyfriend’s waist. “What is it?”

Nico quickly twists, keeping his little present hidden from view, and laughs a little when Jack pouts.

“Close your eyes, schatz,” he instructs. “It’ll be a little surprise for you.”

“I don’t like surprises,” Jack mumbles, voice closer to a whine than it probably would be if the pain meds weren’t still affecting him. In addition to the tiredness, they’ve also been making him a little more emotional than usual, which he’s complained to Nico several times by this point that he hates; Jack is the kind of person who prefers to have a grasp on what he’s feeling and how much of it he outwardly shows, and it hurts Nico almost as much as it hurts Jack himself to see that, on top of the still-not-completely gone pain in his shoulder and the tired sluggishness that the meds have made settle over his brain, some of his control has been taken away from him.

But, well, that’s what Nico’s little present is for, isn’t it? A little thing to cheer him up, to clear away the air of tired sad in pain that has been drifting around him since he got hurt again, even if only for a few moments.

“Close your eyes,” Nico repeats, “and hold out your hands. Don’t open them until I tell you.”

Jack heaves a sigh that he would likely insist is not dramatic at all, thank you very much, if Nico were to tease him about it, but he obeys. Despite his annoyed act, Nico sees an anticipatory smile fighting to make its way onto his face, and the sight makes his own smile stretch a bit wider.

He makes sure the gift is set securely in Jack’s palms, not wanting his boy to drop it and risk making him even sadder, then says, “You can open your eyes now.” When Jack does, and Nico watches his eyes light up and hears the tiny delighted gasp that escapes him, it’s all he can do not to grin so wide it splits his face.

In Jack’s hands, partially wrapped in a white napkin so it doesn’t make a mess of his palms and fingers, sits an impressively-sized cinnamon roll, big enough to give their team nutritionist a heart attack if the poor guy was ever to see it, golden-brown and slathered with cream cheese frosting that hasn’t even hardened yet. It’s still warm through the napkin; a worker at the bakery down the street from Jack and Luke’s apartment where Nico bought it, the one Jack loves and has regularly mourned not being able to visit every day because of their diet plan, had just been putting a fresh batch into the display case when Nico had walked in earlier, an amazing little stroke of luck.

“Neeks!” Jack practically squeals, looking up at his boyfriend with a huge grin. He certainly doesn’t look as tired as he did only a moment ago - his eyes are alert and shining with happiness. “Is this from the bakery down the street? You did not have to get me this, oh my God.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” says Nico. “But I wanted to.” He moves from where he’s been standing above Jack to sit on the couch beside him, leaning over to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek as soon as he’s seated. “You deserve a little something sweet.”

What he really means is, You deserve something that’s going to make you happy, even if it’s just something as small as this. You’re going through a lot right now, and I hate that I can’t fix everything that’s wrong, but I can do this for you. You deserve everything sweet and good in this world, and I would get it for you if I could, but since I can’t, I’ll give you this instead.

He means all of that, but he doesn’t have the courage to say it, so he just leaves it at that. Somehow, he gets the feeling that Jack understands, anyway.

His boy turns to look at him, smiling in that way that makes his eyes and nose scrunch up, that way that makes sunlight explode in Nico’s chest whenever he sees it. Still holding the cinnamon roll in his hands like a precious treasure, he pecks Nico on the lips and says, “Don’t even need this. Already got my something sweet right in front of me.”

Nico laughs, even as Jack’s words make the sunlight in his chest shine that much brighter. “You’re so cheesy.”

“You know you love it.”

“Of course I do,” he agrees without a hint of hesitation. After taking a second to feel good about the slight blush that blossoms across Jack’s cheeks when he says that, he reaches over and taps one finger against the inside of Jack’s wrist. “You should start eating that, they’re never as good once the frosting hardens.”

Jack doesn’t need to be told twice. He brings the cinnamon roll to his mouth, carefully rearranging the napkin so that he can hold it to eat it without getting his fingers sticky, and takes a big bite. His eyes close as he chews, and Nico has to fight a smile at the loud, satisfied moan he lets out, even tilting his head back slightly and letting the longer bits of his hair fall around his shoulders.

Jack takes two more bites, getting half of the pastry gone, before he turns back to Nico, smiling wider than Nico thinks he has since he hurt his shoulder. The frosting is smeared around his mouth a bit, little flecks of it caught in the fuzz on his upper lip. His eyes, Nico’s favorite shade of blue, are brighter and more alert than they have been in a little bit, crinkling at the edges from his joy at the simple pleasure of a sweet treat after the stress and pain the last few weeks have held for him.

It’s a relatively simple sight, a bit of a messy one even, but to Nico, right now, seeing the man he loves smiling and happy is damn close to art.

“Thank you, Neeks, really,” says Jack, never losing that beautiful smile. “This was really thoughtful, and I definitely appreciate it. You’re always really good to me, I probably don’t thank you for that enough, so thank you.”

And rather then telling Jack that he doesn’t need to thank him, that would do anything if it meant making Jack happy, that he loves Jack more than he will ever be able to properly express in words, Nico answers his boy with a kiss. It tastes of sugar, cinnamon, sunshine, and love.

send me a pairing + a random word and i’ll write you a little something!!

[gumnut-logic]

Along the Way (Part 7 and The End)

Sweetapple | Dear Mr Tracy | Along the way - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

It's finished! ::runs around the room like a loon:: Though I have to say that I doubt this will be the last we see of Mr Sweetapple as there are several threads that need a good neat tie up :D

All the wonderful thanks to @onereyofstarlight for staying up extra late and answering my poke across the Tasman Sea for a last minute read. I hope Alex gives you some nice sleep ::hugs tight::

Also, special thanks to all of you for supporting my geeky fanboy Alex :D There will be more as someone sent me some OC asks about Alex and I've realised that the only way I can answer them is by writing fic. (some other OCs of mine might pop up in fic at some point,too, for that exact same reason) ::so many hugs to all of you for being so kind to me::

But anyway, I will stop my excited rambling and present you with the last chapter of this fic....which has taken so long to write - so many apologies. Though I am excited that I'm writing again :D

I hope you enjoy this :D

-o-o-o-

Alexander Sweetapple’s head was spinning.

Not so much from the concussion he had no doubt he had, thank you, Mr Holographic Scott Tracy, but more from the fact that Virgil had just kissed him.

Not Mr Virgil Tracy, Head of Research and Development at Tracy Industries, no….more ‘ohmigod, I finally found you and you’re alive, I want to hug and kiss your brains out’ Virgil Tracy.

The man was covered in concrete dust and grime, there was more grey than blue on his uniform bar the scratched patches where his now discarded exosuit had sat.

Alex had proof Virgil had hugged him via all the dusty patches on his damp clothes, on his arms, and in his hair.

Virgil Tracy had hugged and kissed him.

For real.

Alex stood beside his mum while Virgil assessed the condition of her ankle and she went about embarrassing her son every way possible.

To be honest, it had been such a day that she was welcome to show Virgil Alex’s naked baby pictures for all he cared. She was safe and that was all important.

A glance over at the remains of the museum building prompted his heart to add a few extra beats per minute to its routine.

Alex let his jaw drop as he watched the roof float away.

Oh god.

“Alex?”

Virgil’s voice was so rich and deep.

“Alex?” And then Virgil grabbed him. Was he trying to hug him again. That would be nice. “Whoa! I think you need to sit down.”

Okay.

He folded himself smoothly down onto the pavement beside his mum.

“Hey, honey, look at me.” Her fingers were suddenly in his hair. “Allie, how the hell did you do all that with a head injury?” She peered closely at him. “Virgil, what do your scanners say?”

And yes, Virgil was waving a yellow light over Alex. “Concussion, bruising…” He frowned. “You’re both wet. You’ve been in the river?”

“Nearly drowned. My foot got stuck and Allie pulled me out. Some water, possibly sewage, may have been inhaled. My recommendation is to watch for symptoms of infection. In both of us.” Dr Sweetapple was in the house.

He turned to Virgil only to find his friend’s eyebrows fully deployed.

They were very nice eyebrows.

Virgil caught his stare. “Thunderbird One, I need to leave the danger zone. Ten minutes there and back for patient transport.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Two. Make it quick, we need your help in the industrial sector.” A pause. “How’s Alex?”

“Concussion, but well enough…and safe.” Virgil still had his eyes.

“Good to hear. Thunderbird One out.”

“What are you doing, Virgil?” The words slipped out without thought.

Virgil looked down at his wrist control poking it. “You both need medical supervision. I’m providing it for you.”

A good hundred metres away, Thunderbird Two rose up on her struts and her module door slid smoothly open. Two hoverstretchers darted out across the road, gliding around obstacles until they reached Virgil’s side. He pulled out a control surface and reconfigured them into hoverchairs. “Sorry to rush this, but time is short. Alex, stay put while I help your mother.” He held up a gloved hand and Alex was forced to settle back and obey.

Besides, the world was spinning again, and after all, Virgil was technically his boss.

He let his head fall into his hand and closed his eyes, suddenly ever so tired.

So this was what an adrenalin drop felt like.

Ugh.

“Alex?” Virgil’s voice was soft and his gloved hand gentle on his arm. That was really nice. “Alex? You with me?”

He blinked. Oh. “Yeah.”

“Let’s get you up.” Virgil nudged him, both hands holding his arms to steady him.

The world wobbled, but a few steps and Virgil had him snug and safe, strapped into the hover stretcher…chair…whatever the hell it was.

Virgil was running, Alex and his mother beside him, until they were all swallowed by the green of Thunderbird Two.

At some point, Virgil must has triggered the chair back into a bed because Alex was lying down and Virgil hovering over him, once again with a scanner flickering yellow light. “You can go to sleep, Alex. You’re okay and you’re safe.” A gloved hand gently brushed away the hair from Alex’s forehead. He knew this should mean something, but he was so tired.

Thunderbird green danced as his eyelids drifted closed.

Somewhere something was roaring just like a Thunderbird launching, but he had no energy to care.

-o-o-o-

Jeff stepped into the elevator only to almost collide with his mother. “Mom?”

“I’m meeting Thunderbird Two.”

“Why?” Was Virgil hurt? Why hadn’t John told him?

A hand on his arm quelled the sudden panic. “Virgil is fine. We have visitors.”

“Who?” Did he have to draw the information out bit by bit?

“Do you remember Alexander Sweetapple?”

“Of course, I do. Gordon thinks Virgil might be…interested.”

“He is.” She held up a finger so close to Jeff’s face, his eyes crossed. “And you are not going to say a thing. Yes, he’s breaking protocol, but he has good reason.” She looked away and let her finger drop. “The poor boy has been terrified all day. Thank god, they finally found Alex. And I don’t blame him for not wanting to let him out of his sight.” His mother stared up at Jeff with all the fire he knew she possessed. “Your son is bringing home his first romantic interest ever and you are not going to spout security blather all over him. This is our house and we can have guests. Especially important guests.”

Jeff took a step back. “I wasn’t going to say anything!” Virgil was bringing home Alex? As a love interest? “What the hell happened?” He really needed to speak to John about keeping him updated. He knew his orbiting son was selective, but this was ridiculous.

The elevator doors opened and his mother glared at him. “Something good. Don’t ruin it.” She stomped off into Two’s hangar, detouring into the medical supply cupboard on the way, just as the hangar doors started their opening sequence.

Jeff stepped cautiously out of the elevator. He had no idea what warranted his mother’s ire. Okay, maybe he had had some words with his eldest at one point, but that was nearly a decade ago.

His priorities were a little different these days.

Two roared in, a little faster than the norm. Virgil was obviously in a hurry. She spun on her turntable and the moment she settled, her forward hatch was lowered, Virgil standing between two hoverchairs.

Jeff hurried after his mother, cursing his cane, as Virgil strode with the two chairs towards them.

“Grandma, this is Doctor Lolly Sweetapple. Doctor Sweetapple, this is my grandmother, Doctor Sally Tracy, she and my father will be taking over your care.”

The two doctors exchanged greetings and slipped into medical babble two seconds later.

“Dad?” Virgil gestured him over. “You remember Alex?” Why was there so much hesitation in his son’s voice?

“Certainly, the creator of Siliwrap.” The man was obviously asleep. “How is he?”

“Concussion, bruising, he and his mother need monitoring for possible lung infection. They were caught in contaminated water.” His son swallowed; his expression hesitant. “I wanted them here, Dad. Grandma has the skills and the tools.” He looked away. “I just couldn’t leave them to the system.” His eyes fell on Alex and Jeff’s heart clenched.

“We will look after them.” He dropped a consoling hand to his son’s shoulder.

Vulnerable eyes looked up at him. “Thanks, Dad.” His hand was squeezed and Virgil was again moving. This time running back to his ‘bird.

His mother immediately took over and bustled them all into the elevator before they could acquire new coiffures a’la rocket engine.

As the doors closed, Thunderbird Two accelerated out on to her runway and the elevator shaft roared as she took to the sky.

-o-o-o-

Alex rolled over in bed and sighed into his pillow. He was extremely comfortable. Temperature was perfect. Pillow was soft. “Mmmmm….”

“About time you woke up, Allie. You were starting to worry me.” His mother’s voice was always reassuring.

“He’s fine, Lolly. Concussion is healing and there is no sign of any lung infection. See, look at the scans.”

Alex frowned. That was a female voice he didn’t recognise. Also, why was his mum in his bedroom?

“You’re giving me equipment envy, Sally. My god, the science behind this is amazing.”

“Virgil has them in development, don’t you worry. A good percentage of our breakthroughs do get filtered down into the market. Unfortunately, there is a difference between the ability to make a device for International Rescue and making devices in efficient, ecological and economic mass production. Our teams do their best.” A snort. “And your boy is part of that team. His devotion to Siliwrap is all to his credit. Alex is saving lives as much, if not more, as any at Tracy industries. You should be proud.”

“Oh, that’s a given. He’s always been a little obsessive, especially regarding the Thunderbirds.”

Wha-?

Alex flung his eyes open to find his mother lying on a bed beside him, smiling. She had her ankle wrapped and raised and was obviously talking to the owner of the other voice, an older lady dressed in a purple jumpsuit.

Both were smiling at him.

“Where am I?”

Yes, that’s the first question out of any alien abductee’s mouth, no doubt about it.

“You’re on Tracy Island, Alex. You and your mother are safe and our guests.” When Alex didn’t respond as his brain automatically overloaded. “I’m Mrs Tracy, Virgil’s grandmother.”

“Watch it, Sally, he may combust on the spot.”

Thanks, mum.

His mother was grinning at him. “I swear he’s been looking for the location of this island since he discovered his first Thunderbird.”

“Mum!”

“Shhh! You’ll wake him up.” His mum was pointing behind him.

“Lolly, don’t worry, Virgil sleeps like the dead. Especially after a rescue like that.”

Virgil? What?

He twisted around and found a third bed behind him. Virgil lay sprawled face down on it, snoring softly into his pillow.

“Don’t worry, honey. He’s just tired. Our boys exhaust themselves and then wonder why their bodies shut down.”

It was only then all the events leading up to his current situation fully loaded into his brain.

Virgil.

Virgil had kissed him. His chocolate eyes held such relief and joy…

The scene played back in his head over and over, declaring that it had happened. That something Alex may have dreamed about but never really considered actually possible, had happened.

He stared at Virgil.

Gone was the uniform and in its place a simple black t-shirt outlining a lax bicep hanging off the edge of the bed. Alex’s eyes tracked down the length of Virgil’s arm to his hand.

Such strong hands.

The emergency responder had a blanket draped over him, obviously placed there after the advent of slumber, likely by his purple grandmother.

“Why is he here?”

Mrs Tracy walked around Alex’s bed so she could face him. “Now, don’t you start worrying your head off, young man. He is fine. He’s in the bed because otherwise he’d be asleep in a chair and that is not acceptable self-care. He wanted to stay here with you and it was the bed or out. Exhaustion did the rest.”

He stared at her a moment, his thoughts spinning.

“How are you feeling, Allie?”

Huh? He turned back to his mother. “Mum, your ankle…”

She waved him off. “Hon, I’ve done worse tripping over kids in the waiting room. Nothing to worry about.” She frowned at him. “How’s your head?”

How was his head? How was he in general?

There were aches, yes, now that attention had been drawn to them, but generally, considering that he’d just been through a major disaster, he felt okay. “I’m okay.”

His eyes drifted back to Virgil.

“Don’t you think of getting out of bed just so you can sit at his bedside, Alex. I know how you boys think, so don’t think you can pull one over on me.” Virgil’s grandmother was proving to be as bad as Alex’s mother.

“Don’t worry, Sally, he’s been very well trained from birth.”

“How did you manage that? I’ve been trying for nearly thirty years with the grandkids. Their father is just as bad.”

Alex’s eyes widened. Their father? Jeff Tracy. The Jeff Tracy who gave his name to Tracy Island. That Tracy Island that was ever so secret and Alex was currently resting his butt on. Well, the bed his was resting his butt on was on the Island. It was simple transference of molecular ownership.

Perhaps this was not the best moment to realise that he was wearing a black t-shirt very similar to Virgil’s and that it was not one he owned, nor was it one he was wearing the last time he was aware and conscious.

He pulled up the blanket and found black shorts. “Where are my clothes?” Perhaps the step up in octave was a little ridiculous on his part, but it had been a very stressful day.

“Your clothes were ruined, Allie. Jeff and Mrs Tracy were kind enough to supply and dress you in some replacements.” His mother was ever so matter-of-fact, as usual.

“Jeff Tracy saw me naked?!”

Okay, he had to admit, that was supposed to be inner voice and not shouted at the top of his lungs. In any case, it proved that it was possible to wake up Virgil Tracy, no matter what his grandmother said.

“Alex? What?”

He turned to find Virgil pushing himself up off the bed, hair sticking in all directions, obviously still half asleep.

“Honey, the man brought up five boys. One more is nothing new.” Mrs Tracy was as matter-of-fact as his mother.

Great. A team up.

“Virgil, go back to sleep.” Mrs Tracy bustled over to her grandson and attempted to get him to lie down.

But Virgil had caught sight of Alex. “Alex! You’re awake!”

Mrs Tracy actually rolled her eyes as Virgil threw off his covers and climbed out of bed. He closed the distance between them on bare feet. “Hey, how are you feeling?”

Alex couldn’t help it. “You look adorable.” Because he did. Big tough rescue operative with puffy eyes and hair sticking up all over the place, not to mention the black t-shirt and shorts that hid absolutely zero anatomical detail. And above all, he was smiling, as if ever so happy to see Alex…which was some kind of miracle and honestly how hard had he hit is head?

“You’re not bad yourself.” That smile turned to one of appreciation.

What?

His mother did mention a concussion…

“Okay, it’s obvious Virgil is not going to listen to his doctor’s advice, so Lolly and I will leave you two boys alone.” Mrs Tracy poked at his mum’s bed and it detached from the wall, hovering quite happily and easily nudged out of the room.

“Allie, take it easy, love. You are recovering from a concussion, after all.”

Yeah, yeah, mum, whatever. Virgil’s eyes were such a beautiful shade of brown.

Both women muttered to each other as they left the room, closing the door behind them.

Virgil was poking Alex’s bed controls with his fingers. “Good. You’ve rested.” His eyes were tracking over medical readouts. Alex’s medical readouts.

“I’m okay, Virgil.”

The man looked up at him again. “Good.”

Alex frowned as Virgil lifted a hand up and gently brushed Alex’s hair clear of his left temple and the abrasion there. “Grandma’s treated you well.”

Alex wanted to fall into that gentle touch. His eyes may have at least partially closed.

“Are we okay?”

Alex’s eyes snapped open.

“I mean…” Those eyes looked down and away. No, come back! “…we haven’t talked about-“

Alex was suddenly kissing Virgil. There had been space between them, but now it was gone, Alex had his arms around those truly magnificent biceps, and startled lips were pressed up against his, ever so warm, and god, Virgil was kissing him back…

There was a brain whiteout for a moment as Virgil’s arms returned Alex’s eager embrace…and then Virgil’s tongue was in his mouth and…

“Whoa! My bad.”

Alex pulled back.

“No! No, you two just keep doin’ what you were doin’ and I’ll just put this coffee down and-“

“Gordon, what do you want?” Virgil hadn’t let go of Alex, but his head did turn towards his brother.

Alex was busy dying on the spot. Why did he do that? Kiss Virgil? Him?

“I brought you coffee! You know, life blood and all that.” Coffee? “Uh, you might want to get back to that tonsil hockey you were playing. Alex looks like he’s might dump you for the coffee.”

“Go away, Gordon.”

“Going away, leaving, like a tree. Happy for both of you. ‘Bout time, Virg.”

“Gordon!”

“I’m gone!” And he was, the door sliding shut behind him.

Virgil turned back to Alex. “Sorry about that.” A slight shrug. “I have brothers.”

Alex blinked. “I have sisters.”

Virgil’s smile was a sight to behold. “So, we’re okay?”

Alex had had a very hard day, his head was a bit of a mess and there were several truths he was ignoring to keep his sanity. But right now?

He tugged Virgil closer. “More than okay.”

“You want some coffee?”

But Virgil’s lips were brushing his and… “No, I’m good.”

The coffee went cold.

-o-o-o-

FIN

[helpallthenamesaretaken]

EPISODE 6 (just realised no one is asking me to do this too bad) spoilers for series up ahead

ITS NOT A MUSICAL EPISODE 😭

Disney was too broke to show us the animals in the zoo truck WHYY

why am i so happy for the second seaweed brain, man the things being a pjo fan does to you

The way you could see luke’s smile drop when they say that they found the lightning thief (:) —> :/)

The way luke didn’t even let them finish he was like “CLARISSE YES CLARISSE SHE MUST BE THE ROBBER”

No one’s talking about “Chiron should arrest her” Not the mental image of chiron holding a gun saying “ANY WORD CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU IN COURT” while clarisse is pushed into a police car lollll

Old married couple im falling out of my chair plsssss if luke did something right in his life it was this

i love annabeth’s face like she knew this was coming the older brother-sister dynamic is POPPING

Disney really needed a way to show that grover liked animals and had convos with them without actually showing them lol

cue the “omg animals are so elegant” speech which served nothing at all

WHATS THE POINT OF ZEBRA TO VEGAS IF THERE AIN’T NO ZEBRA MR HOUSE OF MOUSE????

Idk but i kind of miss the trio action so far this show has only been percabeth + grover instead of percy + annabeth + grover you can tell they’re focusing more on fan service and developing percabeth than developing the more important dynamics which are the three of them having fun

oh HELLO RANDOM CAMEL WHO ISNT EVEN A ZEBRA BUT WHATEVER

“You are two seconds ahead of meeee” the simp eyes the simp eyes

The lotus casino from the outside is so COOL

LEVITATING BY DUA LIPA (some of yall still stuck in poker face era so im leaving it at that)

WISE GIRL I REPEAT WE GOT WISE GIRL (i was honestly expecting it to sound super corny on screen but walker pulled it off like he always does)

look im so mad about the fact that there’s no montage of them being silly little kids and having fun at arcade games. It hits so hard since percy has never afforded to visit fun places, annabeth has never left camp so is absolutely thriving with her architect games, grover is hunting down humans which was so funny and cool and they decided to make it more serious and plot centred

”ill take percy this way” WHY CAN’T GROVER TAKE PERCY THAT WAY HUH ANNABETH? 🤨 (girl just say you want to spend time with him)(and disney say you just wanna write more percabeth scenes)

I love the ‘if you dont know, i dont know either 😄’ mentality that percy has, he knows annabeth wants to be in charge now so he’s just feeding into the hubris

The augustus plot was so weird ngl but it was a great way to introduce the pan stuff

“Biaannncaaaaa biancaaaaaa” NICCOOOOOOO

He sounds so little and innocent and cute 🥺 im so sad now

GROVERRRRRR REMEMBERRRRRR

i gotta say, i guess that i was taken away by the people making fun of lin manuel miranda, but his acting was really really good

We got some may castellan exposition early

Percy thinking that the only thing he could do to sally was hurting her 🥹

i really hope they talk about that later on, you know we love some angst around here (especially with the dreams of the headmaster which was from the books!!! I was thinking that they’d cut it! But they didnt!! But it speaks volumes about percy that he has nightmares of headmasters)

I WANT ANNABETH FLASHBACK ANGST

annabeth pickpocketing the god of thieves will forever be her girlbossiest moment

”Im multitalented” percy: 😍💙🥰🥹 🤩(walker’s acting be that amazing is it not obvious by now that percy likes annabeth)

“Who’s grover ☺️?” “Wait, i know grover 😅!” Walker is cementing himself in the percy throne every single episode

”wow grover got really old😃”

“you lose sight of what’s important when you’re alone” “we weren’t alone 🥰” poor grover

The eons long wait to see how percy was hugging while falling the way down is finally over

The way that you can see percy’s empathy shining through his eyes as grover talked about pan>>>> (honestly tho, hug!)

the way they focused on percy’s reaction, i know this is going to be something he brings up as a reason for him to sacrifice himself for hades

Percy and annabeth looking at grover like “ ok mr. 24 DRIVE US”

Percy trying to drive a car will forever be cinema and comedy peak

The road rage this child has its so funny BEEP BEEP

annabeth: 😁 percy: 🥹 *cutely crashes car and almost kills her* PERCY IS TRULY GIVING A LOSER BOY WHO HAS NEVER HAD A GIRL LOOK AT HIM AND THATS SO PERCY OF HIM

the heartbreak in percy’s eyes alexa play the moment i knew by taylor swift

Four pearls?? *cue that one meme where that girl is calculating*

the way my smile faded when i saw annabeth hanging over the cliff TOO SOON RICK TOO SOON

[ughgoaway]

when teacher finds out about the date and sulks a little while babysitting annie..... and annie points it out..... and annie tells matty about the slight change in mood....... and mattys heart skips a bit...........

- 🐈 (is this emoji taken 😅)

not taken yet!! 🐈 is all yours my love <333

but this... is so so good. Annie truly is the mastermind behind your relationship with matty, so this just works so perfectly.

so matty has just left, the door clicked shut and you're still standing in the hallway motionless. Annie has run off to her room to grab a toy to show you and mayhem is lying at your feet, looking up at you with sad eyes.

"Don't you start, mayhem. I'm totally fine with this. so he's going on a date? pffft, who cares!? he deserves to find love. we couldn't ever date anyway, so it's fine... I'm fine." and somehow mayhem manages to give you an unconvinced look, and potters off to the front room.

Annie comes back, and the night begins, and of course, it's fun. spending any time with Annie is fun, but she can tell you're feeling off.

you get lost in your thoughts more than usual, she has to say your name a few times to get your attention. she notices you looking at the photos on the wall with a strange look on your face, sad but not in the way she's used to. a sad yearning almost, but Annie doesn't know what that look is.

you try and be present and chat with annie, keep her happy. but it only works for so long before you start obsessing over this date.

he's been gone 30 mins, and you can't help but wonder what they're doing right now.

is he holding her hand over the table? is he rubbing his thumb gently over her hand as she speaks, nodding and listening intently to her? or maybe they're on the same side of the table. Maybe he's leaned in close with his arm around her shoulder.

or... oh god, what if they didn't even make it to the date? what if matty got to her house, saw how beautiful she was, and just ditched dinner altogether? was he kissing her right now? fucking her?

you were blankly staring in the corner as your mind swirled, and annie knew something was wrong, but she also knew not to ask what.

you manage to salvage the night, and annie honestly has fun. you watch her favourite movie and braid her hair, she shows you all her teddies and you have a tea party.

/////

it's the next day when annie sees matty again, already in bed when he gets home from the date. she's colouring on the floor in his office as matty types away, answering emails and messaging Jamie.

matty sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, stretching his arms and groaning at the feeling of his bones clicking into place. he looks down at his daughter and can't help the smile on his face. Seeing her just sitting with him colouring makes him giddy. he loves this simple domestic time more than anything. Knowing his daughter wants to spend time with him makes his heart swell.

he decides its time for a break and sits on the floor next to annie, she immediately squeals from joy and plops herself in his lap, hands full of drawings to show him.

After a long tour of each peice (a beach scene, a doodle of matty on stage, Ross with a giraffe, Adam with a lion, and finally George talking to the sun), matty asks how her night with you was.

"so how was your night last night peanut? have fun with y/n?" he fiddles with her curls as he talks, twisting her ringlets of hair around his pointer finger.

annie hums thoughtfully before saying, "it was fun. miss y/n seemed a bit sad though" Annie nods as she speaks but doesn't look at her dad, instead focusing on colouring the horse she had just drawn.

fuck. you were sad once he left?? did matty make you sad?? his brain runs through what he said, and he can't think of anything offensive or rude.

"oh. Well that's a shame sweetheart. did she say anything about why?" matty is desperate to find out if this was his fault, and if so- what the fuck did he do this time?

"No, but I didn't ask her why she was sad. but she was looking at photos of us and acting funny"

wait. this wasn't because he went on a date... was it?

because if it was, that would mean there was actually something between you, matty hadn't just been imagining a connection for the last however many months.

even the thought of you feeling weird about him dating made his heart skip a beat. Maybe this could actually happen. maybe he could love you the way he so desperately wants to.

"I can ask her at school tomorrow if you want, Daddy?" Annie sweetly asks, looking up at her dad with questioning eyes.

it's then the world matty had created in his head came crashing down.

ah yes, school.

the same school where you teach his daughter. meaning you could never have a relationship, even if you were in love.

but you're not in love, so does it matter?

well... matty is, but he's pretty sure you couldn't care less about him or his dating life.

"No, no. It's okay, pumpkin. just make sure she's happier on Monday for me, yeah?" Even if matty wasn't the cause for you not acting like yourself, he wanted to fix it.

anything to make you happy, even if it killed him inside.

[graveyardparade]

kim kitsuragi skillset

Wrote a Kim Kitsuragi skillset! If you’ve seen this before: yes, you have, I just accidentally deleted my tumblr! Whoops! Thanks for the love this got before, and I hope y’all enjoy it again. 

QUI VIVRA VERRA stay alive HAND-EYE COORDINATION: COOL FOR: TAILORS. HEAVY MACHINERY OPERATORS. PINBALL ENTHUSIASTS. Hand-Eye Coordination is all about those fine details as synapses fire in your brain, connecting your eyes to your hands -- and those eyes of yours aren't so good, are they? You've had to work extra hard for this one. It's what allows you to thread a bobbin, to make that hairpin turn that's more cool than wise and though you hotly deny it, yes, it's what lets you really go ham on the three-ball special for the Man From Heimdall pinball machine to nudge at it at just the right time to win The Babe and an adolescent light show. If you want to have any hope of shooting a firearm well enough to pass your exams, this is the skill you need. At high levels, Hand-Eye Coordination will help you survive. You'll make that shot. You'll catch the wrist of a desperate criminal before he jabs you with that switchblade. You'll be able to sew a bar tack so that you don't ruin that beautiful - and expensive - antique coat. At low levels, you won't be fit to function in basic society, let alone be a cop. Everyone will see the weaknesses they expect from you. INTERFACING: COOL FOR: MECHANICS. RADIOCOMPUTER PROGRAMMERS. MASTER MAGICIANS. Interfacing is what allows you to connect with the mechanical world. Dive into the world of radiocomputers, dig your fingers into that engine, go ahead and fix that leaky faucet yourself because god knows your landlord is never going to take care of it! It's a useful tool to have in life to make sure you can be the independent adult you want to be. With this skill, you can identify this skill in others as well. See what suspect is trying to pull the wool over your eyes by citing that they were doing repairs with the wrong tool that just so happens to be the murder weapon. See when the motor pool's trying to scam you. Use your clever fingers to pick locks and pockets alike! At high levels, Interfacing will ensure that humans lose their charm. They are not predictable and controllable the way machines are, bending coyly to your whims, and why bother dealing with your fellow man when you can simply lose yourself in pistons and valves? But your motor engine can't keep you warm at night. At low levels, you'll -- wait, what do you mean your motor engine can keep you warm at night? Forget it. You're already too far gone. KINETIC DRESSAGE: COOL FOR: SEOLITE MONKS. CEOS. PROFESSIONAL ATHLETES. Kinetic Dressage is what keeps you running as a well-oiled machine. Everything you do, everything you wear, everything you use is made with functionality in mind, even the things other people don't think about. Your ballpoint pen is a wand in your hand, waterproof ink running smoothly along the crisp off-white paper of your notebook. Everything you wear has pockets, every item you carry on you has its specific place. You eat your vegetables, you get your 8 hours of sleep, and you have the willpower to smoke exactly one cigarette a day. It's the sort of rigidity high net worth individuals say is a testament to how they got to where they are now. You are not a high net worth individual, but you're keenly aware of the fact that you only get one body in life. Best not to let it go to ruin. At high levels, you're incredibly functional. You will not succumb to the temptation of drugs and alcohol, your feet will remain unblistered, your tools well taken care of and streamlined. You're prepared to take on anything and everything, and you won't tolerate anything less from yourself. But it's not cool, is it? There's a point at which it sucks all spontanaeity out of your life, leaving you with no freedom to truly express yourself. At low levels, you'll indulge in all the illogical creature comforts you want until you look up and see nothing but the wreckage of what could have been a good life before you. RESILIENCE COOL FOR: OVERWORKED NURSES. WINTER CAMPING ENTHUSIASTS. SERIAL MONOGAMISTS. Maybe Kinetic Dressage is what keeps you running as a well-oiled machine, but Resilience is what keeps you running period. It's the skill that will have you endure, will have you flourish in the midst of the pounding adrenaline that inevitably end with a crash. Sleepless nights? No problem. Raging winters? Part of the job. That pounding headache? Pushed aside, baby. A racist screaming in your face? This will give you the strength to stoically bear it until you can give them the old what-for. Pain and heartache and strife is what it means to be alive, dearest. This will give you the strength to keep going, not because you want to, but because you must. At high levels, resilience will help you weather every storm and adapt to whatever life throws at you, but it will make you overconfident in your own abilities. No matter how high your resilience is, it will not turn you to stone. If you keep going as much as your resilience tells you you can, you'll keep taking more and more on until you break down under the pressure. At low levels, it won't take much pressure to trigger that breakdown in the first place. Have you considered a career change? PANIC AND STRESSOR DISORDER COOL FOR: WAR ORPHANS. SURVIVORS. LIEUTENANTS THAT CAN'T CATCH A BREAK. After an event that has been classified as being sufficiently traumatizing, it is RCM policy to have their officers undergo a psychiatric evaluation. It does not come with psychiatric help, of course, but it's better than nothing. The woman you spoke to mentioned potential Panic and Stressor Disorder. You had countered her with the fact that in Revachol, you would have to be a fool not to demonstrate caution. She responded with a noncommital hmmm. Panic and Stressor Disorder is what fuels the fear in your heart. People without fear never tend to live for long. It will spot the switchblade in the pocket, the stalker in the night, the malevolence of a man unafraid to pull the trigger. It is something ancient and carnal in you that tells you to react on instinct and to believe the worst in people. Worse yet is how often it's right. At high levels, you'll be too jittery to focus, seeing threats around every corner for you and your buddies alike. You'll pull your firearm too soon, pull your trigger too soon. What you thought was a monster crouched in the night was actually your neighbour's fluffy little dog. But at low levels, you'll have trained yourself out of all survival instincts. Keep your eyes peeled and your hands stilled. Nobody but you can hear the clamour of your heart. BRAWN COOL FOR: SAMARAN BEAR WRESTLERS. WEIGHTLIFTERS. YOUR DREAMY NEIGHBOUR WHO CARRIES ENORMOUS BAGS OF CAT LITTER UP FOUR FLIGHTS OF STAIRS EVERY SUNDAY. Brawn is a necessary skill that no amount of brains can make up for. You will get into fights. That's a fact. Brawn is what will help you survive it. It will help you knock down doors, pry open locked containers, push someone's stalled vehicle up an icy hill and, if you're good enough, catch someone's hand in mid-punch like those action movies you pretend not to like. When the cards are down and you're stuck fighting some guy twice your size, it helps if when you punch him, it collides with a crunch. At high levels, you'll be able to do every physical feat you set out to do, but your vanity and desire to solve things straightforwardly will set you on the wrong path. You'll want everyone to see how well you can break down that door even though the key's in your pocket. In other words, you'll be a dull meathead. But at low levels, you won't be able to do the bare minimum, your fists flabby and as weak as your gut. Good luck fighting in that condition, binoclard. DETECTIVE just like in the movies DEDUCTION COOL FOR: DEFENSE LAWYERS. MOB BOSSES. SCHOOLTEACHERS. Deduction is the primary skill in your toolbox, you mean, lean, detecting machine. It allows you to look, really look at a case and put all the little details together as smoothly as you solve your crosswords or as relentlessly as you minmaxed your Wirral characters back in the day. You'll be able to see evidence from every angle, spot footprints in the mud, draw invisible lines between persons of interest, pounce on inconsistencies, and make flying leaps of logic. It's the fun part of your job. The world doesn't look like the terrifying mystery that it is from this perspective. It's a puzzle, and it's yours to solve. At high levels, deduction will be your best friend on a case, helping you put two and two together. But you'll become so reliant on the way things should be that you'll be blinded to how the truth is often less logical than fiction. At low levels, you'll be rendered too senseless to be of any use as a detective at all. REVACHOLIÈRE COOL FOR: TRIVIA BUFFS. PATRIOTS. HOMEBODIES. Lady Revachol has devoured you. She runs in your boots, your brains, your blood, your bones, for even if she doesn't know you - and she does not; you feel this as a sad fundamental truth - you know her. You were born on these streets, kiddo. You love her even when she's dirty and corrupt, her beautiful skin pockmarked by the wreckage of bombs, her heart made heavy by failure. Being a true blue Revacholière means that your knowledge of the city is unparalleled. You know her storied history and her place in the world, you know how her people think, you know the quiet alleyways good for smoking and rampant homicide alike, you know her slang and her dirtiest swears. You'll be able to contextualize her people and their crimes of passion; knowing the details is nothing without knowing their stories. You'll also know an absolutely insufferable amount of trivia about the city. Remember that nobody really cares that that Fritte on the corner used to sell pathogen-ridden hot foods for courageous drunkards. At high levels, you'll struggle to look at the world beyond Revachol and its influence on even your small life. You'll be unadventurous, too busy where you are to see where you're going. Your pride in this place will make you less likely to see the grime underneath, laid bare and unromanticized. But at low levels, you won't know her at all. What are you still doing in this dead-end shithole? You'll wonder. You'll get up one day and come to your senses to fly somewhere far, far away. KIMBALL COOL FOR: THESPIANS. JUVENILE DELINQUENTS. LOVERS OF CHEAP BEER. Oh, Kimball. Don't roll your eyes. You really should just accept that you're never getting rid of that nickname. Embrace it! Your time working undercover has given you invaluable insight, even if you insist on pushing it away. This skill is what let you connect with the criminal underground as part of the underground. It's your skill to bluff, to lie, to act reliably as though you're someone you're not even if you're forced to piss out pint after pint of shitty beer they ply you with. It also makes you really, really good at pinball. At low levels, you'll no longer be able to reliably pass as anything but the sane, functional adult that you are. You'll be disconnected to criminals and the youths alike. Your intimidation tactics will fall flat. At high levels... well, you don't have to worry about that. You've been actively repressing this one. Good luck forgetting about it. Nobody else will. PAS DE DEUX COOL FOR: THE NATURALLY CO-DEPENDENT. COMRADES. MOVERS AND SHAKERS OF STATION POLITICS. Pas de deux -- because what is detective work between partners if not a carefully choreographed dance? All right, it can be a great many things, but in your eyes, partners should be in sync. This skill helps you connect with your fellow officers. Catch the subtle flick of their eyes that tells you to be on your guard, notice the uneasy shifting of their feet, see the way that their spine straightens when the Captain strolls into the room. You'll be able to speak without speaking and empathize with their worldviews. On a greater scale, the Precinct's a stage; with this skill, you'll be able to deftly move through it, aware of your place and aware of how best to navigate it. Maybe you can even get a promotion. Lieutenant-yefreitor Kitsuragi has a nice ring to it. At high levels, you'll turn a blind eye to your partner's flaws. You'll cover up for them and do anything to maintain good relations in the station. You'll catch a bullet for them, even if they don't deserve such devotion. But at low levels, you'll get nowhere. No partner, no rising in the ranks, no understanding of the way the Precinct functions and, perhaps most importantly, you won't catch their warnings right in the nick of time. PROFESSIONALISM COOL FOR: STONE-COLD KILLERS. TEACHER'S PETS. WALKING ENCYCLOPEDIAS. The consummate professional. That's you. Professionalism will get you everywhere. With this, you'll remember everyone's ranks and proper titles, you'll fill out every piece of paperwork with the Is dotted and the Ts crossed. The first-aid training everyone is supposed to receive? You'll remember every word. Combat training? That too. You'll turn down every bribe, turn your nose up at every hint of corruption, refuse to indulge in your colleagues' immature schoolboy antics. Your brain is packed with scripts and rules and resources that will help you navigate the murky streets of Revachol's underbelly with some sort of guidebook. Everyone else will see your professionalism too, whether it intimidates them or inspires them. At high levels, you'll be a rigid law-abiding machine, isolated and remote from the people you serve. You won't pause to consider what will really happen to that person when you arrest them or weigh the law against the mercy in your heart. At low levels, you'll just be another bribe-collecting scumbag willing to beg, steal, and borrow your way to the top. AUTHORITY COOL FOR: RADIO NEWSCASTERS. MOB BOSSES. DISPASSIONATE PATRIARCHS. All of the detective skills in the world won't help you excel at your job if you don't have Authority on your side to make people actually listen to you. Let's be honest: you were not born with the natural gifts of some of your colleagues, who command respect simply by existing. No, you're a bespectacled Seolite with a weak chin and a naturally quiet voice, shorter and slimmer than your peers. But none of that matters. Your carefully cultivated sense of Authority is more powerful than anything that comes to someone naturally. Stand up straight, stick out your chest, and clear your throat; you can do what others do with a shout with a voice no louder than a whisper, because people know you mean business. A single raised eyebrow from you will turn people's legs to jelly. When you speak, people will listen. You'll be able to assert control over a situation, whether that's to command respect from your colleagues from your sheer gravitas so they'll follow your lead in a tight situation or to intimidate criminals into spilling the information that you need to solve the case. At high levels, you'll be a power-tripping monster, too obsessed with being the biggest and baddest of them all to exercise empathy and kindness when it's warranted. But at low levels, people will just walk all over you. You've had quite enough of that for one lifetime. ANIMUS guide your infernal machine VOLTA DO MAR COOL FOR: INTERISOLARY TRAVELERS. WELL-ADJUSTED HUMAN BEINGS. CREATURES OF HABIT. The Volta Do Mar is a technique used by interisolary travellers to remain sane on their long journeys through blinding nothingness, but it's not just for these intrepid travelers. Sometimes even the land-bound need a little help. No matter at how lost at sea you become, the Volta Do Mar will help you find your way back to shore. It's what keeps you centred within yourself, making sure that even if nothing else makes sense, you do. You will resist succumbing to temptation and histrionics alike. No matter how hard things get, you'll sit down at the end of the day, close your eyes, and the Volta Do Mar will welcome you home, a sense of peace and clarity at the end of all things. It will keep you sane. It will keep you yourself. At high levels, you will be an island. But at low levels, you'll lose yourself, whether that's the oblivion at the bottom of a bottle or falling deep into the Pale. COMPOSURE COOL FOR: DRILL SERGEANTS. CAREER GAMBLERS. DELIVERERS OF BAD NEWS. No matter what emotions swirl underneath, Composure is what allows you to keep up that poker face. With this, you'll be stony, unmoving, a pillar of reassuring stoicism no matter what you're faced with. People will look at you and think, man, nothing gets to that guy. Nobody will be able to pry past the front you put up, which means nobody will know how to manipulate your emotions or dig into your squishy bits to really hurt you. Not everyone's as good at this as you are. Holding yourself separate will allow you to see all the chinks in their armour too. At high levels, Composure will make you deeply emotionally constipated. Good god, man, you're alone in your own apartment! Surely you don't need to keep a stiff upper lip there! It just can't be healthy. But with low Composure, you'll crack like an egg. Your every emotion will rise to the surface. People will use you. And you'll let them. TORQUE DORK COOL FOR: TECHNICAL DOCUMENTARY ENJOYERS. PORNO-TUNERS. BOMB DEFUSERS. Being a Torque Dork goes beyond just knowing how machines work. In this, you're a specialist. You know everything about aerostatics and motorcarriages by heart, even if you'll never be able to get your hands on the really good stuff. Given the proper tools, you can do far more than change a tire, and you can recognize an aerostatic model from a single schematic. You know the names of the pilots and the drivers and you can happily hobknob with even the experts without batting an eye. You might even win a debate with a professional TipTop announcer, a subject in which you have extremely strong opinions. They'll be incredibly impressed with your prowess in the field and your co-workers will be even more impressed when they don't need to call in a mechanic to identify what's really wrong with their motorcarriage. At high levels, you'll be an obsessive, insufferable know-it-all. You're not nine anymore. People are less forgiving of you rambling on about that really cool plane rotor. Criminals can distract you with a single cry of, "Look! It's a Septa 9000 model dragline with vinyl-coated graphene cord!" At low levels, you'll live. It'll just be a lot less fun. RULE OF COOL COOL FOR: SMOKERS. TRENDSETTERS. NARCISSISTS. Rule of Cool is what guides you to do something for no reason other than that it's sexy. It's the part of you that pushes your sober-minded nonsense aside and screams, look at me! Reason has no place here. It's all about how you look. Cigarettes are bad for you, but my god, look at the way the smoke plumes delicately out of your mouth and into the night's sky. That jacket won't keep out the chill, but it makes your shoulders broad and your waist tantalizingly trim. With this skill, everyone else will see your carefully cultivated image too. After you've impressed them, they'll want to impress you too. Hang your approval and your smile just out of their reach; when you play hard to get, they'll give you what you want. At high levels the Rule Of Cool will rule out common sense. There's such a thing as too cool. It'll also make you a douchebag. Cool people are aloof, after all. Being emotionally accessible is some dull normie garbage. But at low levels, you'll just be some schmuck people will simply overlook and discard. NOTATION COOL FOR: COURT TRANSCRIPTIONISTS. PEOPLE WITH CHRONIC MEMORY PROBLEMS. CULTURAL ANTHROPOLOGISTS. You could blame your profession for your reliance on writing things down, but that argument falls apart when it becomes clear that you don't just write things down that are pertinent to whatever case you're working on. Notation is what compels you to write everything down. Everything. Somewhere down the line, externalizing your thoughts through paper and ink is how you think. It helps you remember details, assess situations through an objective eye, and make decisions that are right for you through exhaustive pros and cons lists. No matter what you're facing, you feel a lot better if you can open one of your many notebooks and thumb back to something that could maybe help you, or at least help you feel a little more in control of the situation. And in some way, in this solitary life of yours, it's proof: I lived. I was here. I had thoughts, even if those thoughts were pick up eggs, milk, bread, shaving cream. At high levels, you'll be paralyzed by indecision before you can go through your notes as though right and wrong is an objective thing and can be separated and analyzed. Plus, writing everything down when you're not on the job tends to spook people. Don't do that on social calls. You'll look weird. At low levels, you'll be prone to blundering into situations unprepared and you'll forget the important details you didn't think were important at the time. Plus, you'll lose your main methodology of thinking; maybe other people can think without a pen in their hand, but you're not one of those people. PRACTICALITY COOL FOR: RESPONSIBLE ADULTS. EXHAUSTED PARENTS. LIVE SLOW, DIE OLD. Practicality is what keeps you as a functioning member of society. There's nothing very exciting about it, but it's important to be tethered to reality. Practicality is what urges you to make sane decisions for yourself. You'll pay your rent on time, your fridge will remain stocked with sensible, easy-to-prepare foods, and you remember to water your plants every week. You'll do things not because they're fun, but because life would be a lot worse if you let those dishes pile up in your sink for weeks at a time. Practicality also doubles as an encyclopedia for everything that nobody really sets out to learn but figures out in the long journey of being alive. You remain aware of the sociopolitical situations of the world. You understand how currency works. You know how to navigate social interactions with strangers so you can politely talk about the weather. The world can be a big, scary place, but you know your own comfortable place in it. At high levels, practicality will make you inflexible and dull. But at low levels, you'll forget the things that are really important, and while others may make fun of you for your steadfast sanity and notable lack of creativity, everyone would be worse off if you threw it all away. SELF-ACTUALIZATION you, warts and all SPEEDFREAK COOL FOR: ADRENALINE JUNKIES. IMPULSE SHOPPERS. NAUGHTY BOYS. The Speedfreak inside you is that creature that's just waiting for its next rush. It makes you want stimulation, and it makes you want it now. It's the little voice inside your ear that tells you: the road is empty, why not turn up the music and go really, really, irresponsibly fast? Do it! Do it now! Blast music until you can hear it in your bones! Go dancing! Have sex with a stranger! Maybe drugs aren't bad, actually. Maybe you'll have a really good time! It serves a purpose. It will help you let loose a little. It will help you understand others who live for such simple creature pleasures. Letting yourself have a treat every now and then will help your other, more boring skills stay as effective as they need to be without completely imploding. At low levels, you won't understand the party people that make up Revachol and you'll be too much of a stuffed shirt to be able to connect with them. Plus, all that repression can't be good for you. How far can you reasonably shove that stick up your ass? At high levels, you'll go skydiving without a parachute. Splat. PASSION COOL FOR: HOMEBREW WIRRAL GAME MASTERS. ART SCHOOL REJECTS. BEAT POETS. Remember, before the prospect of the Pale terrified you, you used to want to take to the skies and fly? Remember the pure, unfettered joy you felt when your school librarian gave you a box of pulpy sci-fi books they had to take off the shelves? Remember when you didn't reschedule so many Wirral games that your party had to kick you out? Remember when, at the ripe age of 39, you bought that model you've coveted since you were nine and spent evening after evening in the joyous pursuit of putting it together? That's Passion, baby. Passion is what you have for the things that you really love for no practical reason that you can justify. It's a rejuvenating, energizing source. With it, you'll be able to learn more about the things you love, and you never know when more knowledge will come in handy, do you? It also connects you to other people -- but that sort of passion is something you squashed down a long time ago. At high levels, you'll neglect the dreary, depressing aspects of your life in favour of your fun, exciting hobbies. It turns out that dealing with corpses all day isn't the sort of thing humans naturally enjoy. At low levels, you'll have a hard time wanting to crawl out of bed in the morning. ALIENATION COOL FOR: CHILDREN OF THE DIASPORA. FACTORY WORKERS. BIG CITY LIFERS. Alienation is the name of what you feel when a second-generation white Revacholiere yells at you: Welcome to Revachol! It is what you feel when your elderly Seolite neighbour starts talking to you in a foreign language and looks pityingly at you when you say sorry, I don't understand. It is what you feel when a well-meaning co-worker tries to set you up with his sister and you can't be honest about why you're saying no. (Not that you'd agree to being set up with his brother either.) It used to be painful. But you're old now, and comfortable in your own skin. You've taken the barbs and directed them outwards instead. Alienation will help you stand firm in who you are as a person, not dictated by expectation, but by who you know yourself to be. It helps you stand a little bit apart from everyone else and give you the clarity of an outsider, able to make assessments others miss. It helps you compartmentalize, separating your feelings and motivations into little boxes until you're ready to properly deal with them. At high levels, Alienation will ensure that you'll never be able to genuinely connect with another human being. Being an outsider isn't always the gift you can make it into. But at low levels, you'll be compromised. You'll take every snide word personally and try to twist yourself into unnatural shapes just to fit in. And no matter how hard you try, you never will. UNDERGROUND COOL FOR: SHHH. DON'T SAY. ANYBODY WHO NEEDS TO KNOW, KNOWS. Oh, darling, you always knew you were different. It was tiring labouring underneath the weight of others' expectations, wasn't it? It was tiring feeling like perhaps something was wrong with you. But then you grew up and there it was waiting for you: The Homo-Sexual Underground, filled with people with all sorts of interesting thoughts about sexuality and gender. All of a sudden, you weren't alone anymore. You were a part of an exclusive club, and what an exciting club that is! The Underground is your ability to navigate these spaces with ease. You know the symbols, you know the language, you know the secret codes you pass among yourselves, the bars and clubs and board game groups in which everyone's a little freer to be themselves. It will help you recognize your own in the wild, and it will let them recognize you too. Maybe in a kinder, more accepting world, there would be no kinship based solely on who you feel desire for. Even so, you relish it. At high levels, you'll be able to stay on top of all the new words the kids are using these days. You didn't think the Underground would stay the same forever, did you? But don't worry. To the Underground, you're an elder. They don't expect this of you. At low levels, you'll find a wife so you can be the sexually-incompetent, emotionally-unavailable husband you know you could be. SELF-CRITIQUE COOL FOR: RELIGIOUS FANATICS. RESPONSIBLE ADULTS. CHILDREN WITH DISTANT FATHERS. Self-Critique is the skill that keeps you in line. You'll be able to see how others see you, and it's not always in the most flattering light. More importantly, you'll be able to see how you would see yourself if you were to meet yourself. Keep yourself in line. With Self-Critique, you'll be able to see every mistake you make or are about to make, you'll see what interests make you look frivolous and foolish to the outside eye, you will be able to restrain yourself in the pursuit of perfection. It's that voice inside your head that tells you when you're being stupid or mean or vain, the voice inside your head that says all the nasty things to you before anyone else can. Sometimes this voice doesn't sound like you at all. Sometimes you suspect this skill gets closer to the truth than the others ever will. At high levels, you'll be too stymied by self-critique to do anything, like a communard writing manifesto after manifesto and throwing each and every one of them away. It is a joyless, unforgiving way of living your life. At low levels, you won't be able to identify your own flaws. Someone else will be able to see that you like things. They'll think you're stupid. You don't want that, do you? LE COEUR COOL FOR: BLEEDING HEARTS. LOVERS. YOU. Underneath the cool facade, there is a soft tender heart: Le Coeur. It's the part of you that cares about other people. Your friends affectionately call you a worrywart, and they're not wrong. It's the part of you that will drop off groceries to a sick friend, that will see a young homosexual and try to push them towards people who will understand them, the part of you that will write poetry about your lover's crooked smile, the part of you that yearns to hold and be held. Being in tune with your own feelings means being in tune with others' feelings as well. You'll be able to see to the heart of them, but once you do, you won't be able to look away. At high levels, you'll guide yourself through life with your heart, which is a very stupid way to live. You'll get hurt. You'll want to help people with no intention of helping themselves. You won't be able to put aside these tender feelings to be able to do your damn job. At low levels, you'll stick to the yearning, a comfortingly familiar place at the end of the day.

[onehundredandeleventropicalfish]

Sorry if this sounds like a stupid question but I'm confused about the whole embodiment and their opposite deal. Like does Dream embody both dreams and reality or does Death embody both life and death and so on or is it more like an influence thing? Like dreams influencing reality but Dream not being an embodiment of reality. Sorry again if it sound like a stupid question but it just confuses me so much.

no questions are stupid questions! even if i don't always get round to answering everything i get sent (i try, but it's always a little reliant on whether my brain cooperates with me), i do want everyone to know i will never judge you or look down on you for asking questions, even if you think the answer's obvious

so, correct me if i'm wrong, but i think this is mostly about everything destruction says at the end of brief lives about the endless and their opposites? and maybe also how the fandom has taken it from there

as far as the in canon conversation about this goes, destruction doesn't use the word embody, he uses the word define. death defines life, destiny defines free will, destruction defines creation, dream defines reality, and so on.

to use the most bare bones metaphor for this, think of it like light and shadow. they exist where the other isn't. it's why it's such a popular metaphor for everything, because they are a zero sum equation. the more light, the less shadow, and vice versa

if you take a torch and you move it around, you're only moving the light source, that's all you have physical control over. but because it's a zero sum equation, you're also deciding where the shadow is. which is exactly how the endless work. death may not control where life is, but she controls where life isn't, which when you take a step back is kind of the same thing. when someone doesn't have a destiny, they have a choice. despair has just as much control over hope as dream does, because dreams can create it and despair can destroy it, as we see in three septembers and a january. some of the others are a bit more complicated to explain, or we don't actually know for sure what their opposite is, but that's the essence of how they define their opposite

as far as embodiment goes, the endless don't always embody their opposite? but they do sometimes, in a similar negative space kind of way, because (with the exception of delirium) they don't experience their own aspect

destiny has no path of his own, he lives in a realm of eternal choices. death will never die, and she deals with that by living to her fullest

you can take the opposite of desire two different ways, either hatred or indifference, but i'd say they've got a good helping of both

dream has no dreams of his own, he doesn't let himself - as far as he is concerned, he is the only being in the universe without a story (and yes he does fail to see the irony even when the reader of the comics are themselves a character in the comic), and god knows he's got no hopes for his future. not necessarily embodying reality, but he's certainly embodying the opposite of dreaming!

now, the reason i say he's not necessarily embodying reality, is because i think destruction was slightly wrong. i recommend reading this meta if you want me to break it down fully, because i can't really say it better here than i already did there

but to sum up - reality can mean a few different things. if we take reality to mean the waking world, the things that people experience when they're awake, then sure, dream only defines that because he controls dreams, and when people see the difference between dreams and the waking world, that's what makes them act to change it

but we also use reality to mean the truest state of something, a thing without lies or delusions or places to hide. and this is where a lot of confusion can lie - because that is dream's purview. you can't lie in a dream, or pretend to be something else. dreams are helpful because they show you your truest self, and then its up to you to decide what to do about that. its why he builds nightmares like the corinthian, to show people the parts of themselves they can't face, because only through facing the lies that scare you will you be able to get rid of them. and so in that sense, dream doesn't embody reality at all. he embodies lying to yourself. and as anyone who's read the comic is aware, he definitely definitely does

[myuni-moon]

hfhzkrhzkjfzmjd thank u for the god tier dan heng yandere fic 🥰 please write more for him!! (or even a sequel where he does enact those dark plans of his 👀)

thank you! i'm really glad you all liked it huhu. not a fic but i suppose i can muse about it. more utc!

warning: yandere (sensitive content ahead, read at your own risk), drugging, abduction

this can go about two ways: first is where he completely gives into all his animalistic urge, and the second is a more rational way of going about it.

the first way happens when dan heng gets triggered in some way, acting completely out of impulse. it could be that you were injured badly, and it causes him to enter his form as imbibitor lunae. the assailant to your injury is promptly taken care of, but dan heng still remains feral. the only thing going through his brain is "my mate is hurt, and it's my job to protect them." that translates to taking you somewhere he deems safe (somewhere no one can't find you), even if he has to drag you by the neck-- he is not taking any chances. he will follow his instincts depite your protests. he doesn't want to hurt you, protectiveness ingrained in his very muscles; however, he knows that he has to do what must be done if he wants to keep you by his side.

it can also happen if he feels threatened in his position as your beloved. he's possessive by nature, draconic at his very core. he's not above just snatching you away the moment someone gets too close for his liking. he hopes you aren't too upset with him when he ends up clawing someone's eyes out for even looking at you in a way that's not platonic. in this scenario, he isn't as dimissive of your distaste towards his own actions. in fact, the entire thing can be avoided if you satiate him. coming back to his side, spending more time with him, letting him scent you even if you aren't aware at all.

your abduction is more likely to happen when he's in a rational, more human, state. dan heng had been mostly in control of his animalisitc side up until that point, so he still has some emblance of self-control (even if his draconic side seems to force its way somehow). he likes to be prepared, and dan heng makes sure that everything goes as smoothly as possible. he might knock you out after drawing you away from the rest of the group and defecting entirely. if you ever catch onto his obsessiveness, he'll drug you. he's still wise in his own ways, even if he's not too sure of his past memories. he has an expanse of knowledge; it's not too far-detched to say he acquired the knowledge needed to knock you out with a slip of something into your food or a cloth over your nose.

either way, it ends with you in his clutches as he tries to evade the forces that are keen on tracking him down. he's not backing down, not when he finally has you in his grasp. chances are he might even follow a different path if only to secure you. the aeons all look down upon your situation in curiosity and amusement. whether one is willing to help you out really depends. after all, an audience loves a good show.

it just so happens, yours is the most interesting tragedy so far.

[time-is-restored]

oh shit i forgot here's another one, this time its an old neal caffrey analysis rant (this one fueled by insomnia, and written much earlier into my first watch of white collar - i think early season 3??):

im gonna be weird about white collar but the thing is so many people are weird about white collar in the wrong direction

like woobifying neal to hell and back or inventing whole new personalities for el or . i don’t even know how to describe what they do to peter

like the thing about neal is he Is a magpie he’s just a surprisingly loyal one, he flits from shiny thing to person to ideal, sure, but certain classes of ppl can fully hold his attention

peter holds his attention bc he is good as in skilled (it’s borderline canon that no one else can catch him, or even really come close), and extremely principled w a cunning streak which neal basically approaches as like. a puzzle box, bc like none of their principles line up so he’s curious how the apparent closed system rube goldberg machine of his morals work LOL

then it becomes a dedication through loyalty, in that peter sticks his neck out multiple times due to faith in neal, and neal is EXTREMELY weak to loyalty/consistency (gestures at the mess of his childhood)

and due to generally low self image (morals wise, he kind of thinks he sucks? like he’s competent and cool and charming and everything, but he also tends to consider himself a nuisance, w how he’s disruptive to ‘normal’ / ‘good’ people) that dedication can become disproportionate

we see through kate (and later, adler) that the easiest way to con neal/get him acting against his own self interest IS to cultivate that loyalty

there’s an easy archetype to it, even, in that u present him with a competent, smart individual (bonus points if they’re a conventionally attractive woman), but have her off limits in some way (uninterested, taken, stand off ish, whatever), activate his thief urge to ‘take’ what he wants, then when they are friends/partners whatever, his inadvertent guilt over like. corrupting/endangering this person/tricking them about who he ‘really’ is will loop around into VERY strong loyalty, and a commitment to being whatever they want him to be x2, bc he Cannot handle being left behind LMAO

peter simultaneously feeds into + challenges this framework, bc he clearly has the least biased opinion about who neal is, even though he’s still wrong about a lot of things. and beyond that, he REALLY likes neal, thinks he’s interesting and funny, but at the start of the show can’t deal with even 0.01% of his chaotic neutral methods

WHICH IN TURN!! actually breaks through some of Neal’s shit bc:

peter picked him out of prison before neal had changed at all

he essentially sees his role, from as early as ep 1, as tactically breaking the law where peter can’t/won’t, in ways that help them close the case faster

after peter (more or less) gives a thumbs up the first time he does this, neals puzzle box brain goes ‘oh?? morally grey bestie??? CRIME BESTIE????’ and now he’s trying to ‘solve’ peter’s moral code

this is actually almost in complete opposition to elizabeth, who is compete open and clear about her affection and friendship w him basically since they meet, and apparently has no prerequisites for it. which, again, pointing to the low self esteem, triggers the ‘oh god what have i done to deserve this i haven’t even CONNED her yet’ so he’s low key more invested in + comitted to elizabeth in a specific. 'i want to be on good terms w this person' targeted way than he initially was w peter (since their mutual obsession manifests so fucking frequently as 'what, you're gonna hit me? you're gonna hit me with that big bat? better make it hurt. better kill me in one shot!' style antagonism)

HENCE the constant check ins w their relationship, reminding peter about anniversaries and dinner times etc, though that’s also due to a general fascination he has w stability + permanence

we learn in s2 he was seriously considering proposing to kate, and that he genuinely wanted to take the ‘true love’ way out of the conman life, even though he wasn’t quite sure whether it would stick, hence we see a lot in s2 his fascination w peter + els marriage, along with june (crime aunty <3)‘s relationship w her passed husband

a lot of his dedication to peter circa s2 is, by my reckoning, explicitly because peter is so determined to stick with Neal, and doesn’t give up on him/their deal even when it would be entirely reasonable (neal admits to crimes, gets put back in prison, constantly breaks rules and goes looking for kate) which is like. neal HATES being trapped, but he also REALLY values consistency + competency

hence the complexes, y'know?

[beardeddetectivepaper]

€122,136/€130,000 ‼️‼️

Dear people with living pronouns.. Peace and humanitarian greetings to you. I am Rama, a cancer patient from Gaza undergoing treatment in Egypt. War and my battle with cancer are similar. The events of October 7 came without warning, and cancer struck me unexpectedly. Our loved ones and friends were killed and taken away by the war, so my baby girl died, because of cancer and chemotherapy. I don't know where to begin. We've spent a lifetime in wars, but this war is like no other. The building in which we used to live in Gaza was divided into two sections: one for my sister's Raneem family and the other for our family—my parents, and me. Our family home wasn't easy to establish. It took my family years to gather the funds, immense effort to design its furnishings, and an abundance of love and patience. As the situation worsened and rockets rained down on Gaza like never before, the Israeli army announced a ground invasion, instructing residents to head south "south of the Gaza strip". My family refused to leave our home, but concern for the children eventually forced us to flee to Rafah. We shared a house with a friend of my father's, but life became increasingly difficult. Food is scarce and very expensive, water was contaminated and almost non-existent, diseases spread, in addition to electricity shortage over the past months.

My family is in a very critical situation. Tasks are divided among us to sustain ourselves. My father fetches water -if ever found- from a distant area early every morning. He suffers from a back disc issue and has undergone seven surgeries in his life. He had a medical appointment in Egypt, but the war came between it. My sister's husband Ismael, who lost his job, searches for household essentials and tries to find canned goods and flour to feed the family. My sister wakes up early to prepare dough manually and bake bread over wood fires due to gas shortages and bakeries closures. My mother Ghalia, who had a brain tumor previously, could only sit and pray day and night. She had delayed her medical appointment in Turkey scheduled for earlier this year because of the ongoing war. Meanwhile, the children, who should have been playing and studying, spend hours searching for energy sources to charge our family's phones and small lights. Unfortunately, my sister's baby no longer receives sufficient breast milk due to his mother's malnutrition. This abnormal life became an unbearable burden on my family. My sister Raneem’s family before the war

Financially, we couldn't bear more losses. We lost three homes—two for the family and one for my sister. These were the assets we relied on. Getting permission to leave Gaza requires paying around $8,000 per adult and $2,500 per child. This process is a slow escape from death. You can't travel immediately after payment; you must wait about twenty days. These sums are far beyond our means. I still hear my mother's Ghalia voice in voice messages to her family abroad, saying, 'Pray for me, my house will be bombed. This house is my lifetime work.' My family invested their life savings in this house. With the war events, my health deteriorated, and the treatment was ineffective, forcing doctors to change the treatment protocol. They advised me not to expose myself to news and events that affect my mental and physical health as a cancer patient. After changing treatment and trying not to expose myself to psychological pressure, my health improved slightly, and the new treatment showed good results. But with threats of a ground invasion in Rafah, I try to calm my fears. However, time is not on our side. My family has narrowly escaped death several times, thank God. Your donation means saving my life and theirs. I have no life or hope without them, and they see me as their hope for safety. In the end, we ask for nothing more than our right to live. If you've reached this point, I want to thank you for your time and attention. With warmth and kindness."

*Campaign aim: - Collecting the security coordination funds to exit Gaza safely, ensuring the entire family's departure. Since the number of family members in the campaign is seven (mother, father, sister, her husband, and their three children), including three children, the total amount due is $39,500. - Securing a financial amount for temporary accommodation in Egypt until they can leave. - Covering visa and flight ticket expenses to the countries the family will seek refuge in, depending on facilitations and the opening of doors for asylum and residency for Palestinians. - Covering the medical treatment costs and medications for my mother, and the need for comprehensive examinations in Turkey to ensure her safety after the war. - Covering the family's living expenses until one of them finds work. - Obtaining the cost of psychological recreational treatment for the three children, estimated at $3,000 at a minimum. - Improving my mental health, which will subsequently affect my physical health and accelerate my response to treatment. - Establishing a start-up business for my sister's family, if circumstances permit, with a minimum of $8,000. If you cannot donate, please pray for my recovery and the safety of my family from war atrocities, and share my story on your social media accounts"