#i cannot function what is this plot

[cantdealwiththisnow]

Part 1 - Appreciation post for all the TFP universe Autobot mugshot cameos (known and unknown) in RID2015 3x25 (even if the context is that they've been OUSTED against their will)

[xbadnews]

i'm lowkey thinking abt remaking percy & like starting fresh with who i'm following. because i want, quite desperately to be writing here & it's just severely overwhelming to look at the dash here.

[thedevotionaltour]

even for period typical ableism it still drives me nuts for karen to go oh poor matt how can he deal and get around as if he hasn't been blind most of his life at this point and living on his own by himself as an adult for his entire adult life after college and has also lived in the city his whole life like girl use your damn brain he can get around by himself just fine. good god. like take five seconds to use your brain. literally adult man who lives by himself if nothing else that should tell you he is fine and when he needs assistance has the knowledge and ability to go get it you act as if he can't even walk on the sidewalk by himself. he literally shows up to work by himself. it drives me up the wall sometimes how she sees proof of him functioning fine independently literally witnesses it on the daily and still thinks these things. like again foggy isn't great either bc again the period typical ableism (and just general ableism in the world outside of this period as this is a common attitude of viewing disabled people as helpless and unable to function even if they are people who do live independently (and im not touching on people who do need extra support and caretaking in this context. as this post is about these characters in the context of a story. so im talking about what we see there instead of any truly meaningful nuanced way) but the writing here is like. Particularly this way due to the time) he has a modicum more of understanding that matt is literally a capable grown adult man. literally told karen matt is a big boy who can handle himself and then karen went b-b-but you forget he's blind as if foggy hasn't known him for years of his life and is his best friend like PLEASE SEE HIM AS AN ADULT. I AM GOING TO GO INSANE. PLEASE RESPECT HIM IF YOU LOVE HIM SO DEARLY. AND EVEN IF YOU DIDN'T. JUST RESPECT HIM AS A PERSON!!!!!!

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I am a little creature largely made up of anxieties. There have been times in my life when it was worse. It’s currently significantly better. This story takes place at a time when it was pretty bad.

Food was a prison for me. I moved out early with very little idea of how to feed or care for myself. Every meal was a question mark. For three years I had Brendan doing most of the cooking but when things ended between us I moved in with some other friends. I suddenly had no way to feed myself again.

I was working at the sex shop and living with all my coworkers; a premise that would make sitcom writers weep. In that house, at the age of 24, I learned how to fry an egg. It was the only thing I knew how to do but by god, I mastered egg frying. I was so proud. I could now have one stress free meal a day of an egg on toast.

The problem was my roommates. Living with three other people is already tough but messes pile up alarmingly fast, especially in the kitchen. No one sees the whole mess as their responsibility but the one person who’s responsibility it absolutely wasn’t was mine, as I only ever cooked eggs. Glaciers moved quicker than the dishes got done, mountains of greasy unwashed dish ware were fixtures across the counters.

My friends occasionally cooked for me and each time I happily cleaned all the resulting dishes. This seemed fair.

But on my own I only used three implements for my egg. When I finished with my spatula, pan, and plate, I carefully washed them and set them to dry. Every time I came back to the kitchen there was nothing clean.

Crusted on ketchup, dried food, and unsavory residues plagued everything I needed to touch. So I ended up doing all the dishes twice, once to use my three implements and again once I was done.

I started to realize I’d come home, see the filthy pile of dishes, then go to bed without eating because I didn’t have the energy to wash it all. So I finally addressed my roommates about it. Please, I beseeched them, can these three things always be clean. I cannot function like this, and eating is already hard for me.

The answer returned: no. My request was deemed unreasonable and a counteroffer was made to turn off the small space heater I ran in my room in exchange for them magnanimously cleaning up after themselves. I declined, as my bones ached with cold everywhere except my room since no one else wanted the heat on. The impasse continued. I went to be hungry.

I noodled on it. I schemed. I plotted. And on my day off I went to a thrift shop and acquired a nice little pan and spatula. I squirreled them away into my closet. The plan was just to wash and dry it after meals and keep it in my room.

This is not how it went down. On day one of my pan coming home one of my roommates popped into my room to chat, glanced into my three quarters shut closet and immediately said, “What is that?”

I sighed and admitted my plan. All three roommates roundly condemned my plan as extremely passive aggressive. I tried once again to explain that I wasn’t eating, but my secret pan was now a source of contention, a precious resource held back from the collective.

Their discontent reached a fever pitch and I finally declared, “Fine! I will put my pan in the kitchen. On one condition. If I ever find this pan dirty, ever, I will scrape whatever is left on it into your bedding. I swear to god, if I ever come home to it being dirty there will be a reckoning.”

Terms were agreed.

The first month or two went okay. On the third month I awoke to eat breakfast and found my precious pan sullied. I grabbed it and marched upstairs. Betty was named as the culprit. I strode into Betty’s room and stood over her sleeping form like the vengeful ghost of dishes past.

“If you don’t get up and clean this right now I’m going to dump it on your bed.”

Betty groggily regarded me. “Seriously?”

“I have never been more serious.”

“It’s one time, can’t you just clean it yourself?”

“No. You promised.”

With much huffing and grousing Betty arose from bed and tromped downstairs, hastily cleaning my pan while I watched. “Happy?” She demanded.

I was. I made my egg, cheerfully cleaning the pan afterward, leaving it to dry.

[aeliuss]

Featuring: pussydrunk!chan x afab reader

Genre: smut with the tinniest of plots lol

Warnings: chris is reader's fiance, cunnilingus, semi-public sex (bathroom stall) and over all smut smutty smut.....yeah. minors do NOT interact

Notes: what i do for you guys (and myself). feedback is always appreciated! or you can hit me up and we can squeal together lol

chan is horny. like, unbelievably so.

which, in itself is incredibly inappropriate since he's currently at the work function you invited him to, in trousers that he cannot afford to have a hard-on in, but it's not his fault. how could he not be, when you're walking around the ballroom in your pretty little slip dress, hair brushed to the side, as you interacted with your coworkers. you're so graceful, so professional, so put together, so--

delectable.

he clears his throat, adjusting his pants and sitting up, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from you and back on one of your coworkers, who has been speaking to him for the past five minutes about the company's goals. he could not give less of a shit to be honest, but he's here for you, so he makes the effort, smiling and nodding when appropriate, the picture of a loving, supportive fiance.

that is, until he has your dress bunched up to your hips as gets to his knees in front of you.

he doesn't know how you two got here, just that he met your eyes over the shoulder of you blabbering coworker and suddenly, he was excusing himself, and through a flurry of movement, and mumbled apologies, you two were suddenly in the only place you could get a sliver of privacy--a bathroom stall.

"chris, my dress--" you whine when he shoves it upwards unceremoniously, forcing you to curl your fingers around the hem. "it's gonna get wrinkled and I have to give a speech later."

his deft fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and he looks up at you. "sweetheart....you know I love you, but I don't give a shit about your dress."

"we can't do this here," you protest, trying to regain some sense of composure, but your words come out in breathy whispers as his fingers trail teasingly along the edge of your panties. you can feel the heat pooling between your thighs, your body betraying your protests.

he chuckles, keeping his eyes on yours as he litters kisses on your inner thighs. "can't we?"

your scent enveloped him, intoxicating and sweet, as his fingers deftly peeled away your panties, his gaze never leaving yours. your already wet, and normally, any other time, chan would comment on how needy you were for him, how you were already sopping and he hasn't even touched you--but today? today he was the needy one, practically drooling at the sight of you.

"so pretty, baby," it comes out in a desperate sigh. "so so pretty."

before you can respond, he is flattening his tongue across your entire vulva, dragging it up slowly. his fingers tighten around your thighs when you jump, steadying you, but also keeping you in place for him.

he can't help the groan he makes at the taste of you as he sucks on your labia, lapping up at the juices you're already releasing. "fucking made for me," his words send vibrations into your pussy in a way that makes your knees weak.

your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping your lips as you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to stifle the sounds. the last thing you need is for someone to hear you, but the way chan is devouring you makes it nearly impossible. his tongue works with an expertise that drives you wild, alternating between broad, slow strokes and quick flicks that have you teetering on the edge.

"chris," you whisper, your voice trembling. "we really... we shouldn't—"

in answer, he maneuvers one of your legs so that it's resting on his shoulder so that he can press his face further against your pussy, inhaling deeply. the world outside the stall fades away, the murmur of conversations and clinking glasses becoming a distant hum as his tongue delves deeper. his fervor is almost worshipful, the way he licks and sucks at your clit with a fervent devotion, the tip of his nose brushing teasingly against your clit with every movement.

"please," you moan, your voice breaking. it's not clear what you're pleading for—more, less, for him to stop before someone finds you, or for him to never stop.

he responds with a growl, the sound vibrating through you as he doubles his efforts, alternating between gentle licks and intense suction, pushing you higher and higher until you're trembling. he knows exactly what you need, exactly how to push you to the brink and hold you there, teetering on the edge of release.

he's there when the coil in your lower belly finally snaps, tongue eagerly waiting to lap up everything you give him--and lap up he does. he is so lost in your taste, that you have to physically push him away, thighs already shaking because of the way he is overstimulating you.

he lets you push his head back by his hair, leaning his neck back to give you a perfect view of the glistening of your juices on his lips and the tip of his nose.

you can't help but let out a shaky laugh, a mix of nerves and disbelief at the situation you've found yourselves in. " we really need to get back to the party," you whisper, trying to regain some sense of rationality, even as your body still hums with the aftermath of his expert ministrations.

"right." he stands, helping you smooth down your dress and you up at him nervously.

"does it look okay?"

he gives you a once over, lips trembling in his effort to stop them from curling. your cheeks are flushed, dress wrinkled and he could see the fabric quiver slightly.

you groan.

"it looks awful doesn't it?"

"nah," he plants a soft, lingering kiss against your lips. "looks amazing. now how 'bout that speech, yeah?"

[senseandaccountability]

the narrative that could have been

Having mulled over the game for a couple of days I have realised that the main problem for me is that Veilguard is good based on the premises they ultimately choose, but not based on the set up and promise of what was there before. I know this isn’t a unique take by any means and yes it’s all about the Evanuris and the Veil and Solas. 

Replaying really emphasises how incredibly little the game convinces me of its original main quest - to prevent Solas from doing his ritual. This is a problem as a long-term player because for three games we’ve had build up for a great crescendo tackling the overarching themes of the (restrictions and oppression of) magic, of tears in the Veil, of religious tyranny and oppression based on myths about the Black City and the temptations of flawed humans, we’ve seen and deconstructed the elves quite a bit, we got started on the dwarves and in DAI your Inquisitor can openly ask Solas if it wouldn’t be better if the Veil came down because then spirits wouldn’t be separated from the living and risk becoming demons. Cole, whose function is to reflect the plot, talks endlessly about the old songs wanting to be sung again, about how it hurts to be cut off from part of yourself, how the templars feel it, how the mages feel it, how the elves and the dwarves feel it. The Veil as a prerequisite for life has been deconstructed, the Fade demystified, the gods have mostly fallen. The Veil as an actual wound inflicted on this earth has been presented as a theory and not been convincingly rejected by the narrative. 

The game actually gives no explanation whatsoever as to why the Veil coming down would be worse than what Rook causes in the beginning and what the escaped gods then do to the entire Thedas. The entire south falls to the Blight because Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain are let loose. The Wardens are more or less wiped out. There’s enormous political turmoil. The game gives us Solas saying “thousands” would die when he brought the Veil down, but that he had a host of spirits there to help. (Yes, I know, his sole function in this game is to Trick and Deceive so who is to say if he’s lying, HUH, but even so, THE ENTIRE SOUTH FALLS TO THE BLIGHT IN ROOK’S VERSION OF THINGS.)

The game puts emphasis on Solas's questionable methods and past horrors but it doesn't ever explain why his goals are despicable here and now. It doesn't convince us that tearing down the Veil with lots of safety measures in place and after considerations is a bad result, all things considered - save for Varric’s initial yelling about demons. (We even learned in DAI that the Veil itself creates demons because it restricts the passage of spirits, come on.) Because three games have suggested it's not, not ultimately. Trespasser especially nuances this, just as it nuances Solas’s view of this current world state. Right after his long nap he would have nuked it all, I’m sure, but the whole point of character arcs is that things happen in them and what happened to him is that he was shown layers and angles he had not considered and adjusted his mindset and ultimately his plan accordingly. That is where DAV should have picked it up. That's where the build up was headed. But, now he must serve the narrative solely as the God of Treachery and Lies which means that previous build up is washed away for the most part. (In no way do I think he is OOC in DAV, I just want to point that out so nobody thinks I’m a sappy fangirl or whatever. I think he is perfectly in tune with his inner Dread Wolf, but that is also all he gets to be, because of the narrative, and I’m always much more interested in when roles and personas clash.) Again. The main problem is that the narrative cannot explain why bringing down the Veil would be the worse option than the shit we see unfold on screen. Instead it gets a bit lost in the past.  And I have Issues with that, as well.  Like, the dumbing down of the war against the Evanuris. The war that started because the leaders of the rebellion - who previously had to carry out terrible orders so the Evanuris, the upper crust of the Elvhenan, could play gods - decided that the Evanuris was a threat to them all. And the game gives us what, a depiction of how the rebellion ended up crossing lines, too? No shit.

Like, I am fully on board with the individual theme of regret on Solas’s part and he ought to be wrecked with guilt but I wish the game could be less all over the place with what sort of things he ought to be wrecked with guilt over. Saying fuck you to the Evanuris is the best and brightest of his character, I suppose I just don't want it dragged down to the same level as him breaking the Titans. I suppose I would have wished for a narrative that also worked on a systemic level when depicting things like, you know, war and revolutions and subjugation. But we don't have that, because DAV is only about personal choices. The Lighthouse crew flippantly writing the hierarchical and violent power struggle off as being about love and betrayal is on my shitlist forever. 

No, Taash et al, it was not about pussy, it was about feeling compelled by superiors to commit heinous war crimes and being lied to about the actual purposes of your damn war in the first place. The elves shouting at Elgar’nan and Mythal in this painting aren’t driven by love and sex they have been lied to by their ruling class. It was never about freedom or ending the wars, it was always about Elgar’nan jerking off to ultimate godhood. The writing even suggests betrayal here is to be understood as Netflix drama betrayal, maybe some juicy porny plot but it’s ABOUT THE BETRAYAL OF THE ELVES BY THEIR OWN KIN.  ((ETA: I would have wanted my Dalish mage to be allowed to be furious, NOT WITH SOLAS, but with the fucking Evanuris for betraying her people and being so fucking vile that the only option that remained was to create a world where she's a second-class citizen. I would have wanted the game to recognize that not all causes are equal and that Elgar'nan's cause for godhood was objectively more vile than Solas's cause for freedom because as it stands now, there are some really iffy vibes of "both sides are equally bad" and other things authorities tend to say when comparing destructive regimes with uprisings.)) I’m sorry, this shit hits me on a personal and political rage level. 

I also can’t help but mourn a game where the Trickster God fulfilled his trope’s duty and shook the stagnation apart with his actions - for good or ill, the way trickster gods are wont to do - and where Rook was tricked into helping and then, a more complex game about its consequences could have unfolded. The Evanuris could still have been the bad guys, if they wanted big villains frothing at the mouth. There could still have been numerous unplanned consequences, like all of Solas's plans have. Maybe other ancients awake as well. Maybe ancient evils who aren’t elves, who knows. Point is - the Veil should have come down, at least in some form, at least in some outcome. THAT is what they've been building up to. In this game that never was, Rook could be an actual interesting character where we could mold her as either accepting of this trickster role (which fits perfectly for a blank slate with no ties) or set to overturn it and enforce status quo, with some vanilla option in the middle. Maybe the Veil doesn’t come down until the very end of the game, ancient magic takes time after all, maybe a lot has happened by then. But ultimately, Rook’s choice in the end should not have been about siding against Solas because he’s lying to you or because he did horrible things in the past or siding with him because you want him redeemed. The narrative should have provided those options either way. The narrative should have been brave enough to suggest that hey, maybe Solas isn't wrong at all - his methods maybe, but his goal, no. If they truly wanted mirrors between Rook and Solas, Rook should have tackled the issue of actively bringing down the Veil herself, not because it's a roses and sunshine-outcome but because it might very well be the lesser of two evils. Gods, that would have been interesting. It should have been a choice about what sort of world Rook and the Veilguard wants to see in the future. It should have been about the people, the world, not how angry Rook is that an ancient elf has tricked her. 

That would have been the game I wanted to play.  This story doesn't really give anything new to the world of Thedas, which a world without the Veil would have. It accomplishes closure for our favourite trickster god and bless them for that, but as for the plot and the world-building it ends on a meh because the narrative isn't about the people unless they're brought up as being endangered. This is why I can feel satisfaction regarding the thematic conclusion to certain character arcs, the trickster becomes the healer with the bloodiest hands, the wolf submits willingly to his trap and so on and so forth, and I can have fun with the characters and their arcs but also really mourn the game that was there, in subtext and build up over three previous games and in several tie-ins.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

I've recently been subjected to the first two X-Men movies and I literally cannot stop thinking about what a shitshow professor x's academy for mutant babies is as an actual school.

there's no way they're accredited, right? there are four teachers (three post-X2, RIP) and three of them were raised by the fourth. you clearly don't need any actual teaching credentials to work there other than a mutation and nepotism. I don't believe any of these people have a degree in the subjects they're teaching, let alone in education or human development. there appears to be a total lack of counseling services available, despite the fact that most of the student body are apparently runaways who all face heavy society discrimination. did Rogue get any support after she was kidnapped and almost killed by Magneto in the first movie or did Xavier just give her brain zappies until she was functional again.

there's no way in hell a "diploma" from the charles xavier institute for genetically anomalous youth is worth anything on a college application. do all of these kids end up having to get a GED if they want to have a prayer of accessing higher education? do they receive any support for that?

also did I mention there are four adults in this entire school. in X2 they all take off on the same night and leave the kids in the care of Logan, a famously unstable man who freaked out and stabbed a student last time he visited. it would have been lethal if it was anyone but Rogue. also in X2 half the student body has to flee in the night in their pajamas with no one to take care of them but a teenage Colossus and the adults just. do not feel the need to follow up on that. because they're busy dealing with the stupid plot du jour.

the entire setup seems like a massive lawsuit waiting to happen; while we the audience obviously know that there's nothing malicious happening to the kids (except for mutant terrorists and trained mercenaries alike regularly infiltrating the school) you have to admit that an unlicensed group home for children, some of whom are very young, masquerading as a school and staffed entirely by people with no real credentials to speak of is a pretty bad look. I think genuinely any parent would have a pretty strong case for a lawsuit here and it wouldn't even necessarily be mutantphobic of them to do it, although of course anyone with an anti-mutant agenda could have a field day here. genuinely I have to assume that the only way they've avoided it this long is Xavier lobotomizing anyone who tries it, which is so cool and normal.

[babey-fruit-bat]

Mar Rosso - Red Sea

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla discovered the curse of Terra Mater

🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺🩸🍇🏺

Author note: There is no way in hell anyone explained the menses to these guys- (who would?) they find out the hard way

Set before plot of the movie- author finally saw it- author does NOT wanna talk about it :( Not my blorbos !! (They were terrible people)

Not a poly relationship - No Y/N used - reader is F and has a period but has no description

Geta 👑🏛️🍇

You arose with a stretch next to your husband, today was the first day of the spring gladiator tournaments. You rolled over into Geta’s arms waking him from sleep “Good morning, Dulcissima“ he says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips

As you leave the bed and the sunlight enters the room you hear a yelp leave Geta “My love! You’re bleeding?”

You turned looking down to see a small pool of blood on the bed that had leaked through your shift. You groaned turning away to sit back on the bed, face in your hands. You’d only been married a few months and so far had managed to keep your season undetectable

“Are.. are you-you’re not hurt? What’s happened to you?” He pleads you to look at him with worry. You lift your head with tears in your eyes “I’m sorry, I- this.. this is normal- it’s supposed to happen,”

He looks in bewilderment, like you have a second head- “This ailment? Is normal..?”

“Yes..? It is a step in bringing forth a child, no child.. well- this” you gesture to the bed and between your legs

“Wait.. the blood is coming from?” His gaze drifts down to your shift. Your eyes meet and you nod, both holding your breath

“Oh… OH- oh Gods!” His eyes widened piecing the puzzle together “You must rest! Sit!” He rose from the bed donning his red and gold robe and summoned the servants to draw a hot bath for you- he stopped one of the ladies before they finished and mentioned your incident this morning. He was assured your clothing, and sheets were no worry and he ensured every medicinal herb available was added to ease your bleeding

He stood proudly before you feeling accomplished of the care he could give you, though he noticed you still wincing

“What is it now? Is this not helping stop the bleeding?”

“Stop the bleeding? Haha, my love it doesn’t work this way, it will stop on its own!” You laughed softly at his confusion

“About how long will that be? Surely not forever..” he shuddered thinking about if he had to endure that curse, how could he function? Run an empire? Bleeding? He’d sooner kill over and hand the nation to his brother

“Uhh? About a week-“ “WEEK?” He screeched

“Surely you aren’t serious!?” You nodded, no lie in your eyes

“You absolutely cannot go out today- you must stay here, rest, recover- I could never ask you to go out in this condition? Around all those people? That must be exhausting..” he trailed off eyes lowering to the floor

“Why not? All women do this, go out, continue living”

“All of them?” “Every one” you said and lifted yourself from the bath. You dried off and threw on a slip garment and sat by your vanity as the servants began to fix your hair

Geta appeared behind you, hair a mess, and a doting look in his eye- “You are stronger than you appear, Carissma”

You turned rising to cup his face in your hands

“Don’t you forget it” you whispered pulling him in with a longing kiss

It wasn’t long before you were dressed in your most comfortable stola, Geta chose a darker shade to avoid any noticeable bleeding or accidents and he held your hand guiding you carefully to your seats to watch the games, making sure you sat and the fluffiest cushion in the palace.

Though choosing a simpler style you still felt divine, still adorned in gold pieces and fine silks gifted to you by Geta, each chosen by him for your taste.

He truly cared for you and watched over you in all ways- respecting you now more now than ever. His empress, his wife, his love

Caracalla 🐒✨🏺

Opening your eyes the soft moonlight strewn about the room and you paused hearing two pairs of footsteps patter into the room. You retired to bed early from the banquet tonight, a celebration of Rome’s latest conquest and victory.

The pain in your abdomen had started in the morning and had gotten worse as the day continued. You hadn’t brought attention to it, not wanting to disturb Caracalla’s peace. He loved the games almost as much as you, and you felt well enough to press on, but by the end of the night the pain was nearly unbearable

“Shhh Dondas!! No!” He whisper yelled watching him leap onto the bed, right onto your sore abdomen

“Urgh..” you groaned as Dondas moved off you as quickly as he lept on- startled by your noise of pain

“Sorry Carissma, I thought you were asleep- but now that I’ve found you, come join the party! You’ll miss all the entertainment-we’ve got singers, musicians, and the fights! We have real fights, we’ll have swords too!” He said gleefully, like a child on Saturnalia

“I’m not sure Calla, I haven’t felt well all day-“

“Not well? What do you mean? Should I call a healer?”

“No! Well.. maybe? I don’t know..”

“Well, decide quickly and let’s go! I’ll get whatever you need don’t worry, Carissma!”

He was too loud to speak over sometimes, his enthusiasm overtaking his reason. You rose from bed stretching and rising before Carracalla cried out

“Guards! Servants! Anyone! The empress is BLEE-“ you ran wide-eyed and threw your hand around his mouth “CALLA! Not so loud!”

You shushed him and he furrowed his brows “Certainly not! You’re bleeding what if something’s happened what if I loose you!?”

You laughed softly “You’re not loosing me I promise, I’m okay- just.. hurting”

“Well I can see that, clearly! But how? How do I fix it? Fix you?”

“You don’t need to fix me Calla, this is normal, a part of life”

“What.. what do you mean?”

What DID he mean?

“Calla, this.. this must happen, it’s a natural bleeding, needed to produce an heir one day?”

He looked at you with confusion “So the bleeding is not from a wound? So where is it coming fro-..?” He trailled off gazing down to your legs

“Ooooohhh.. OH MY GODS? From..? There? You’re.. you can’t be..?”

Dondas curled into your lap softly pulling at your clothes to get closer to you, Caracalla sat beside you pulling you both on his lap

“Calla, the blood-“ “I don’t care about the blood, my poor poor empress”

He held you calling for servants to clear the bloodied cloth and start a hot bath, you told the servants which herbs to add and Caracalla listened silently for next time, something he also discovered- to his absolute horror- was this wasn’t a one time event

You left the baths and entered your room to find every candy, pastry, cheese, fruit, meat, and wine scattered around the room as if the banquet had moved upstairs

“Take what you like Dulcissima, Dondas and I will share the rest!” He said with a mouth full of food. You rest beside him on the bed and he popped grapes into your and Dondas’ mouths, each of you taking a side by your beloved emperor

“Aren’t you worried you’ll miss the party?”

“No, I could have another tomorrow if I wanted, I’d rather be here with you even if we just do nothing” he said gazing down to your eyes and kissing your forehead

Author note: One thing I’ll stand on is they were both idiots, and eat the rich (I’d want their heads on a platter if I was a peasant in yee old Rome)

Somehow CARACALLA made white boy of the month™️ ?? Beating GENERAL MARCUS, LUCIUS, AND GETA ?? Caracalla gang rise !!

Author question: LMAO Can someone break that down psychologically in the comments for me? Is it because I’m the oldest daughter and my maternal instincts revved their disgusting engine to save yet another pitiful man with wet puppy eyes? Probably. Someone tell me I need answers !!

[howtofightwrite]

So I have a character that heals faster than normal. Nothing like Wolverine, where he basically gets stabbed and although it hurts, he keeps rolling because he'll heal in 5 seconds. Or even Deadpool who can regrow limbs. My character would heal way slowlier. Where maybe a wound that would take someone a week to recover from would take them a day.

But my problem is that, determining the speed of the healing process in comparison to the wounds. Someone like Wolverine and Deadpool have their healing abilities cranked up to a 10, which makes it easier to write imo. When mine is dialed up to a 4 or 5, how do I determine the healing speed and keep it consistent with each wound, even if they're all different from each other? Especially with deadly wounds. I hope that makes sense.

It's not that Wolverine and Deadpool's regenerative abilities are, “cranked up to 10,” those operate strictly under, “the power of plot compels thee!” There's nothing inherently wrong with that approach, but it can cause problems down the line. (At this point, it's functionally impossible to kill Wolverine because he's been shown to be able to regenerate from any surviving tissue. Which does make it a little harder to hold him up as being in significant peril.)

So, really, the question becomes, “how fast do you want your character to heal?” “What can they recover from?” And, “how realistic do you want to be?”

In a lot of cases, you can look up projected medical recovery times from injuries. This is usually calculated around a healthy adult (18-35), and will increase as you get older. Or as other health factors slow your ability to heal.

It's pretty easy to take wound recovery estimates and just divide them by a fixed value. So, for example, recovery from a minor gunshot wound is estimated at a few weeks, so if your character heals 7 times faster than a normal human, then they'd be back up and going in a few days. If you want, you can pretty much stop there.

This practice of looking up how long it takes to recover from a given injury will also apply to a lot of those mortal wounds. It doesn't matter how horrific the injury is, someone has probably lived through it.

The question of what they can recover from is a little more involved.

On one end, you have the normal limitations of a character who can only recover from injuries they'd be able to naturally heal from. While in other cases (like broken bones or severed tendons) they'd still need significant medical attention, even if the resulting recovery times would be dramatically reduced. On the other end, you might have a situation where these kinds of injuries can self correct with minimal assistance from your character (and no, formal, medical assistance.)

Then there's the question of being able to regenerate lost limbs. That is biologically possible, and in fact young children can regrow lost digits, though the ability to do so genetically shuts off as we age.

At the same time, humans cannot heal off nerve or spinal damage. Again, this is biologically possible, but the ability is genetically shut down. (In this case, it's theorized because scarring on the nerves could result in horrific issues down the line.)

Ironically, one of Wolverine's more plausible powers is his biological immortality. If his healing factor regenerates his telomeres (which, again, is quite possible. In the real world, some cancer cells exhibit this behavior already), then that would mean that he is not subject to the Hayflick limit. The Hayflick limit is the number of times an individual cell in your body can undergo mitosis, and once it's expended, when the cell dies, it cannot be replaced. In a very real sense, the Hayflick limit, and telomere shortening are what causes biological aging. Regenerating the telomeres would mean that a cell could, potentially, undergo mitosis an indefinite number of times. So, if a character's regenerative abilities do prevent telomere shortening, it's likely that they would be biologically immortal.

If your character's regenerative abilities can restore brain damage fast enough, it might also be impossible for your character to die from bloodloss. So, this probably needs a little more explanation. Bleeding to death is, really, just suffocation with extra steps. Blood is critical for getting oxygen to the brain, and when your cardiovascular system can't do so (for example, because someone's punched too many holes in it) then your brain asphyxiates and dies. With a fast enough healing factor, your character would literally immune to death from bloodloss. (And, you'd probably need to tap them in the head to kill them.)

How fast does that regeneration need to be? I'm honestly not sure. Brain death tends to occur within a few minutes of lack of oxygen to the brain.

This also creates a related potential outcome, depending on whether or not their regenerative abilities shut down when they died. If their abilities are dependent on them being alive, so killing them is enough, then that's normal. However, if their healing persists after brain death (which can happen, as some autonomic functions can continue after death, at least, for a little while), killing them could easily see them regaining consciousness some time after the lethal injury was inflicted, with most of the damage having been regenerated.

One final consideration (and one that doesn't happen that often with superheroes) is the consideration of how you actually fuel all of this. Regenerating an arm is going to require a lot of energy, and your character's going to need to get that from somewhere. Whether they're literally pulling in power from some fixed source (as with the early Spawn comics), or if they just have an implausibly aggressive appetite for food. They will need to get the energy from somewhere. Again, there isn't really a correct answer here, just an answer that fits the story you want to tell. (A fixed power source, like Spawn's, does give you a lot of room to have healing at the speed of plot while still maintaining tension. Or, at least it did, until the countdown was removed.) Of course, if they do run out of energy to fuel their healing ability, that probably means it will fall off, though it could potentially kill them in the process.

One legitimate concern over running out of juice would be scurvy like symptoms, which causes previously healed wounds to reopen. It's pretty horrifying, but might be a way to inject some serious tension into the story, if you've set up the rules to support it.

-Starke

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[meanbossart]

I have another intense ask about bhaalist AU drow...

Would drow be “forced” to procreate? And how would Asatrion take that information? If Astarion is his consort, would he be jealous of concubines? Would this also contribute to his overall dissatisfaction during his time trapped at the bhaal temple? Or Would he be happy that his lover has distractions, so he can have time alone - maybe plotting his escape?

I’m overall curious about how drow and Astarion’s relationship falls apart in your AU

I don't think so! Not that I care about biblically following canon or anything like that, but there was nothing throughout the story that made me think procreation was a requirement in Bhaal's plan. If you take the scrapped ending into consideration, it seems to be more of a punishment first and foremost.

Not to say I don't believe it to be a part of the man-made gospel in some form or another. Sarevok seems fairly invested in this idea of generating bhaalspawn that are pure of blood, and this is an agenda that he subtly pushes onto DU drow throughout their years operating the temple: that said, like it often is, Bhaal is silent on the matter.

There seems to be a lot of conflict within the cult about what Bhaal wants and how he wants it, and I choose to interpret his failure to clarify as part of the Murder God's nature, as well as a fun nod at the (dys)functionality of real-life cults where you have several people claiming to have a direct connection to a god.

But back on topic, there IS the heavily implied Dark Urge To Multiply. A few instances where durge or someone around them suggests that, eventually, having children will be an irresistible biological necessity. There are a few ways to interpret this! But I can't help but notice that this theme is absent in a route where you do willingly become Bhaal's chosen - maybe its a failsafe Bhaal cooked into The Dark Urge in case his child became a weenie? To possess them with the need to spread their seed around until SOMEONE down the family tree stepped up to the role?

This definitely turns out to be the case in DU drow's redemned route, where he is plagued with bouts of breeding-related mania and depressive episodes that come and go as a result of a nest remaining empty, But I hadn't really considered this for his Bhaal-embracing self He definitely harbors an obsession with procreating in that AU - but... I'm not sure that's Bhaal's doing anymore. I think he just wants for there to: A) Be more of him around. B) Create a tangible, undeniable connection between himself and Astarion that cannot be severed.

A theme with DU drow is that he is aggressively monogamous. This remains constant in every possible iteration of him and it's a pillar of the character - he is devout to a partner until the end whether they want him or not, and so, Bhaalist DU drow would be violently opposed to the idea of being sexually involved with anyone besides Astarion. If Sceleritas or members of the temple insisted otherwise, he would balk and them push them off into a Chasm. If Bhaal demanded him do it, he would jerk off into a vial and hand it to whoever he deemed pretty enough to mix up with, and then probably kill the child as soon as it was born, anyway - because it's not right.

DU drow (again, in all iterations) almost believes there to be a magical component to true love that affects a person's life beyond just their choice in long-term partners. Just like he once decided that Orin was his forever-mate, he's now decided him and Astarion are intrinsically linked, that they are stronger together than they will ever be apart again. And It is particularly romantic to him (a matter of ironic fate, really) that the Murder Prince's true love would be undead. In DU drow's mind, and SPECIALLY in his Bhaal-embracing version, this is simply the universe's plan for him, and to divert from it in any way (by, for example, procreating with someone else) would be blasphemous.

Now, obviously him and Astarion can't have biological children for a plethora of reasons. But this is fantasy. Bhaalist DU drow would simply not stop until he found the best way to create someone that could be, spiritually and physically, considered their functional blood-offspring. Through Alchemy, magic, ritual, whatever it may be - as long as it works and works according to his high-standards. I suspect he would have specialists shipped in from wherever they may be in the realms to look into the issue, and probably someone who's sole job is to research the matter, though I'm not sure he would ever be satisfied with the results.

I think Astarion would be utterly checked out of the matter.

[alyakthedorklord]

Chiroptophobia: the Fear of Bats.

Bruce Wayne is Scared of Bats. This is a Canon Fact.

In a difference from canon, Batman pretends to actually BE a bat man.

(Again, “Loading and Aspect Ratio” by JUBE514 situation with fake wings. Please go read it I love it so much.)

Bruce turns himself into a physical manifestation of his personal worst nightmares, and sets out to be a street cryptid. People see him flinching from bright lights and loud noises (he hasn’t slept in three days and he really hates guns) twitching weirdly (testing his wings function/stimming) not fully understanding human social niceties (you cannot tell me this man isn't Autistic) and, duh, wings, and go ah yes this being is Inhuman.

However, people KNOW Brucie Wayne™ is petrified of bats. There was an incident at a party when one flew through a window, another at a zoo, there was this one time Manbat showed up and he practically teleported away. No one saw him for a whole month, even after Batman had captured Manbat. (He got injured in the fight.)

By extension, this means that Bruce Wayne is afraid of Batman. Just- absolutely terrified of him. No ones seen them in the same place. Ever. Bruce Wayne actually publicly refuses to even believe in the cryptid for YEARS past when he's already been proven to exist.

When the Justice League gets called in to protect Bruce and his smattering of children from some plot (batman conspicuously absent, despite Gotham being his territory) Bruce straight up tells the league that he doesn’t believe in Batman, and he feels much safer with “real heroes” rather than “a urban legend spawned from overdramatic furries and gang wars.”

The justice league is, obviously, confused.

Certified little shits Dick, Jason, and Tim, (because we’re going with JUBE514’s canon and jason doesn’t die they’re all brothers f off-)

ANYWAYS: Certified Little Shits Dick, Jason, and Tim, ready for chaos/solidifying secret identities: “Don’t worry! We believe in batman! We saw him!” :D

They then proceed to tell the justice league that Bruce HAS met Batman, but he has a phobia of bats, so when Batman saved them at a gala Bruce screamed so loud and shrill he threw off the bat-hearing and then punched batman in the face so hard he knocked him out cold, grabbed then-baby Jason and ran. (Nightwing and the second Robin had to HEROICALLY rescue a dazed Batman, Dick saw it with his own eyes!)

Bruce was so scared of the bat coming to take revenge that he jumped at every shadow for a whole month. Why, Jason, (who was younger then) had slept in Bruce's bed to keep him safe! (Dick is crooning about his cute little brother. Jason, who is hitting his growth spurt and not a little kid anymore, is infinitely embarrassed.) Right now, Brucie has settled into firmly denying Batman’s entire existence so that he can sleep soundly at night.

“Why is he so scared of bats?” The Justice League is wondering. Oh, they are so glad they asked!

“Alfred told us a story once,” Dick says, eyes wide and innocent as he prepares to lie through his fucking teeth, “that when Bruce was little, really little, he got trapped in a cave filled with bats, and his dad had to come rescue him. Apparently, Little Bruce had been crying about a massive bat, even bigger than he was, with glowing red eyes and human hands and (gasp) wait oh my goodness gracious what if that was the BATMAN :0”

“The baby batman.” Jadon adds.

“Batboy?” Tim wonders.

“Alfred, do you think Bruce met Batman when they were little?” Dick asks.

“I believe,” Alfred “the greatest enabler” Pennyworth hums, offering fresh baked scones to thier gleeful audience, “that Master Bruce referred to what he saw as ‘the bat king’ and reported seeing him outside his window several times over the years.”

“Maybe it really was him! Will you ask Batman for us?” Tim asks, already planning to hack the watchtower cameras and set up some popcorn with his brothers.

The Justice League, who have learned more about the Batman in one conversation than they have over MANY years of working together, tell the Wayne children that it will be their Genuine Pleasure to quiz batman on his interactions with BRUCIE WAYNE who has, apparently, laid batman out cold with one punch.

Alfred adds on that he personally thinks the Batman is being rather courteous to Master Bruce, as “bat king” sightings were after “difficult times” and he doesn’t come near the manor otherwise, as robin had been the one to return some family heirlooms that one time they were stolen. He calls the batman and his robins “polite young gentlemen” and then leaves.

But now the gears are turning in the justice leagues heads. Batman? Courteous? Polite? Batman is not Courteous or Polite. Not unless something else is going on.

Now. From their point of view. Batman lives in the cave systems under the richest houses in Gotham, Phantom of the Opera style, hiding his meta form (because this batman is playing cryptid really well. Maybe he was a mutant baby of some Rich Gothamites, who threw him into the caves in shame!) He’s been watching Bruce Wayne, likely as he struggled with the highly reported on demise of his parents, seeing the effects that crime had on the boy that fell into his cave all those years ago. Batman has always been so protective of children, so hateful of guns, obviously the Wayne tragedy is part of what motivates him. He loves Gotham dearly, territorial of it to the point of keeping other heroes out, and yet he breaks that rule here, for Gotham's prince, solely for Bruce’s comfort.

Bruce, another person who obviously loves the city of Gotham just as much, putting millions into charity and relief efforts. Who is clearly very protective of his children, even if he usually has no spine, to the point of attacking his greatest fear to keep then safe, and good enough to land a hit, even. (Bruce Wayne is also considerably attractive.)

Its all so clear to the Justice League: Batman is madly in love with Bruce Wayne. Has been for years. To the point of watching him sleep, on occasion. How very tragic! Batman, in love with someone he can never be with! Not only would it paint a massive target on Bruce’s back if they ever did get together- there’s no questioning what Gotham villains would do if they discovered this, (and denying himself love out of an attempt to keep others safe is EXACTLY the kind of self-sacrificing nonsense Batman would pull) But Batman can’t even truly see the man he’s in love with without Brucie running away in terror! Well, the poor guy… how sad…

This conclusion can be supported by the following evidence-

Batman being the one to catch the guy who put the hit out on Bruce. He sent them to babysit/make sure Bruce was safe while dealt with the actual threat. (Bruce had a suspiciously long bathroom break/a nap)

Batman’s first appearance being right after Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham. Was the bat following him to protect him in those missing years? Or maybe he decided to clean up the city now that his beloved had returned?

Batman always being seen near where Bruce is. He’s never once been at the watchtower when Bruce has a public appearance- he must be watching over him, a silent guardian in case someone gets it in their head to kidnap Gotham’s Prince.

Batman insisting that Bruce is innocent in a corporate scheme, despite evidence to the contrary. (Hes right in the end, of course, but they’ve never seen him ignore evidence so clear.)

Batman casually referencing Wayne Tech/Foundation inner workings- he keeps an eye on them, of course. (If he can’t be close to the object of his affections, the league reasons, of course he’d make sure that Bruce’s company and projects are on the right track)

Nightwing, when asked, confirms the Bruce Punching Batman story. He says “honestly I think B was impressed! Caught him off guard!” (Since when does Batman lower his guard? Only when he’d be… distracted, perhaps…)

Superman saves Bruce, who thanks him with a kiss on the cheek. Later, justice league was teasing Clark, batman huffs and leaves the room. He’s CLEARLY jealous! Superman feels just awful!

Batman inexplicably knowing social dances/high society manners- he must have learned by watching (stalking) bruce! He can navigate high profile talk if he wants to, he just doesn’t want to most of the time. but if the situation calls for it he can talk like the Richest of Pricks in a way that only comes with observation.

Batman bristling when some of the league members start making Comments on Brucie Wayne’s Physical Attributes. (Jealousy? Defensiveness? Perhaps… embarrassment at GL’s detailed explanation on what he’d do with a chance in bed with Brucie.)

Batman absolutely freezing up when confronted with any of the above evidence. (He’s trying SO HARD not to laugh/go tell his kids)

Dick/Jason being big enough to wear the Bat-wings rather than thier own and be convincing- they save Bruce, though the man passes out (from fear? Blood loss from an injury? Perhaps- he is faking) and Dick/Jason, either out of genuine concern for their dad or general “how can i stir the pot” chaos, gently strokes his hair away from his face in an act of compassion that the cameras just so happen to catch. (There’s a few tears shed in the justice league- poor batman! He can’t be with his love!)

The robins (in both identities) telling the justice league that they've seen batman watching him.

“oh yeah he does background checks on aaaaaall bruces conquests. Had a conniption when brucie found a mafia boss that one time.”

“And when he found out Bruce and Two-face had a fling!”

(The league notes that often, if a criminal gets too close to Brucie, they’re put away not long after. B is usually collecting evidence in his civilian ID. But it looks like angry Batman wanted them to get the hell away from his mans.)

The Justice League is swooning over this tragic, forbidden love story. Batman is a little creepy but hey. He apparently grew up in a cave system. Its a wonder he's as well adjusted as he is. Batman has their sympathy, he seems less unflappable/untouchable, they’re a little more understanding with him now. Superman is all too happy to be a rebound, if needed. There are magic users offering glamour spells. Green Lantern is making exposure therapy innuendos.

The robins can’t believe how lucky they got. They’re def grounded but B can’t be too mad bc his secret identity is FUKIN SET.

Alfred is rather proud of Batman's new nickname in the league being “the bat king” and keeps sending batman along with cookies. The league thinks Batman is checking up on bruce with his butler. Its a mess.

Eventually, Batman loses a bet to one of his kids. Committing to the Bit with an exasperated sigh (he’s definitely not having fun, shut up jason.)

He admits to his crush.

[sammis-svsss-brainrot]

OKAY WAIT I SAW THIS POST AND IT MADE ME THINK OF LIKE-

Shen Yuan transmigrates into Luo Binghe, BUT Luo Binghe's soul doesn't exactly like... Leave?

Like there's that one really popular fic that always comes up on ao3 search results that I haven't gotten around to reading yet where Shen Jiu reloads into Shen Qingqiu's body and he and Shen Yuan have to work at being Shen Qingqiu together BUT LIKE CONSIDER THAT SAME CONCEPT BUT WITH SHEN YUAN LOADED INTO BINGHE'S BODY-

Shen Yuan dies, and wakes up in the world of PIDW, watching the events play out from Luo Binghe's perspective

It's a bit weird to get used to, getting used to watching events play out in this way, but he thinks he's grown so obsessed with PIDW that instead of watching his life play out before his eyes, he's watching Binghe's play out instead

But in true Peerless Cucumber fashion, Shen Yuan cannot stay silent while Binghe endures such abuse, and finds himself cursing out this shitty movie for Binghe to actually do something and fight back

Imagine his surprise when Binghe suddenly stops what he's doing and acknowledges Shen Yuan's comments that have appeared like a voice in his head

Cue mass confusion and panic and eventually Shen Yuan figures out that Binghe can hear him??? Somehow?? Similar to how I imagine Meng Mo will function in the future but Binghe has not yet encountered Meng Mo so he's very shocked and Shen Yuan is also very shocked

Cue Shen Yuan realizing that he's in a very unique position to help make Binghe as OP as possible without any of the trauma because uhh maybe without having a physical body, he doesn't get a System?

Meng Mo eventually appears and Shen Yuan gets a "physical" body in Binghe's dreamscape but by this point Shen Yuan has been doing such a good job of teaching Binghe everything he needs to know about everything, Binghe has already extremely latched onto Shen Yuan (and the shizun obsession begins once more)

Anyways, we basically get Shen Yuan guiding Binghe through the plot of PIDW and reshaping it to his making, much to the chagrin of Shang Qinghua, who very much still has a System and is still stuck trying to move the plot along

Cue shenanigans and things actually relevant to the plot, and maybe a cool mechanic of Binghe being able to pass control over to Shen Yuan at certain points?

And long story short it ends with overpowered Demon Lord Binghe sans the harem of so many women finally finding a way to get Shen Yuan's soul out of his head and into a body of his own

Shen Yuan, being super fucking oblivious assumes that Binghe has not pursued the harem because he didn't want Shen Yuan spying on his papayaing with his many numerous wives and turns to leave Binghe to a life in peace or something only to get wifed to Binghe himself

Bonus sequel fic ideas if getting his own body gives Shen Yuan a system of his own but because he's essentially an OC, his mission requirements are basically to fulfill as many wife plots or something lighthearted and stupid type deal

[fangedhorizon]

I absolutely love the idea that Claudia’s actress change between s1 and s2 is also because of Louis as an unreliable narrator. While yes, it can be said that it was due to Bailey Bass going to work for avatar, I think it also does wonders for the story.

Through the interview, Louis is beginning to piece his memories into a more full, coherent picture. He is losing some of the bias from emotion and inconsistency from memory as he relives his past. Therefore, the change of Claudia between seasons could still be relevant for the plot.

In the first season, Bass’ Claudia looks more like their child. Of course, interracial couples can have kids of all different shades (I am mixed myself), but it’s interesting to consider this Claudia as an unreliable construction within his memory. This Claudia, the one he reminisces during his ‘golden years’ before everything went downhill, looks like she could be their love child if biology allowed it.

As the fruit of the disaster that is them, the peeling band aid holding together a dying marriage, it wouldn’t surprise me that Louis remembers Claudia as looking like both him and Lestat. She is both the best and worst parts of them, sharing a mental connection with Louis (literally) and an emotional one from his coddling. Yet, she inherently acts like Lestat as well. Much to Claudia’s dissatisfaction, she cannot escape his likeliness, cannot help but think like him. She uses this to her advantage at the end of season one, but knows he will return because of Louis’ fragility.

After being turned while grieving Paul, all Louis knows how to do is love, and protect. But he cannot protect Claudia from her fate, which Lestat tries to tell him. By possibly envisioning her as a more traditional mix of the two of them, perhaps Louis is trying to offload some of the blame and guilt to Lestat, while simultaneously knowing subconsciously that he still played a major role in her doomed existence. Claudia is the byproduct of two broken hearts desperately trying to heal, which the dark gift does not allow.

It was never about her.

In the second season, she resembles him more as he comes to terms with his involvement in her death. Or, she has taken on a less biased appearance as Louis becomes less unreliable. Or, the memories are so vivid that no amount of self-preservation could alter her, leaving Louis’ guilt to construct her image. Perhaps he sees himself in her, or sees his family in her, sees Paul in her. He couldn’t save her, just like he couldn’t save Paul.

His nurturing nature within his retelling is thrown into question as he experiences neither her birth nor death, yet Lestat witnesses both. Louis is blinded by his pain, the ache left in his heart from his inability to protect, whilst Lestat must watch as the child he loved and detested (not in equal parts, I will die on the hill that Lestat loved Claudia in his own fucked up way, one that he learnt from Magnus’ torture) be birthed without her consent and die without her consent.

He must watch on as his fledgling achieves what he never could - true love. He must watch her sing, still serving a performative function in her last moments. She is nail glue for their dying relationship, then she’s a crowbar from a shitty marriage, she is a weapon to protect Louis from the world and himself, only to be a doll, positioned on stage as the crowd puppeteers her demise.

Claudia was never her true self in Louis’ retelling, nor will she be in Lestat’s. Even in death, Claudia only serves a function for storytelling, unable to give us her side of the story. But how could she?

It was never. about. her.

[indigovigilance]

The Final Fifteen is about Terry Pratchett's Death

read on Ao3

The final fifteen is obviously a major plot point, and serves a role in a story that was written long before Terry Pratchett was ever diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. But the scene itself wasn’t written until just a few years ago, during the writing of Season 2. In fact, the scene came about during a park bench conversation between Neil Gaiman and John Finnemore.

Others have noted that the non-romantic kiss that signals the story moving into the third act is a Neil Gaiman staple. The function of such a kiss, from Gaiman’s perspective, is to communicate.

In 2023 we are seeing a lot of stories written by men, for men, about men who are best friends and discover that their friendship can go deeper than the norms of society would usually allow; that platonic and romantic love are not so far apart, and perhaps the better word for a relationship that can be described this way is intimacy.

Neil Gaiman has made it clear in interviews that his friendship with Terry Pratchett was deeply intimate. They began collaborating on what would become Good Omens in the 1980’s, endured a tumultuous experience together through the first publication, wherein Neil offered to martyr himself on behalf of Terry if the book failed, and then spent the better part of two decades touring the world, meeting the people who loved their work. Neil would even off-handedly remark that Terry’s fans were so cheerful, and Neil’s seemed like they were ready to kill themselves; wouldn’t it be nice if they got married? From the outside, it looks very much as if Terry was Aziraphale-coded, and Neil was Crowley-coded, working together in an unexpected partnership to make the world a little bit more tolerable for the humans inhabiting it. I am not conjecturing that Neil and Terry had romantic inclinations the way their fictional characters do, but I think it is fair to say that their opposites-attract intimacy became an important part of who each of them were.

In 2007 Terry Pratchett was diagnosed with posterior cortical atrophy, a rare form of Alzheimer’s. As the disease progressed, he began to lose himself, and knew that the person he used to be was slipping away. He wanted to end his life on his own terms, and die as himself, but England did not and still does not allow for voluntary euthanasia or assisted suicide. He advocated for the right to die but never achieved it, and ultimately succumbed to the disease in 2015. Neil Gaiman has spoken a lot on the topic of death, and one answer of his that resonated with me reads:

Mostly it feels terrible. It even feels terrible when it’s someone who has been in a lot of pain for a long time or has not really been there for a long time and you know that Death has in some ways been a blessing: suddenly you are mourning the whole person. 

It doesn’t get easier as you age. It gets stranger. The point where you realise how many people you used to know and like who aren’t there any longer, and you cannot talk to them or see them or laugh with them is painful in a way that I had never expected. The first time that someone you had a romantic relationship with dies and you realise that there had been moments both of you shared and now you are the sole custodian of those moments and one day you will be gone and they will be lost forever is peculiarly strange and hard. 

~~~

The entire show is seeded with references to Terry Pratchett, but the most important one is the one that’s missing. Neil Gaiman cameoed as a sleeping moviegoer in S1E4, but a long time ago, he and Terry had discussed cameoing as sushi restaurant-goers, because sushi was weirdly prominent in the book. That cameo would have been in S1E1. But when it came time to do it, Neil couldn’t. Not without Terry. 

Neil: I was gonna say our location is a Chinese restaurant we’d had turned into a sushi restaurant. So Terry and I, Terry Pratchett and I, had a standing… not even a standing joke, just a standing plan, that we were going to have sushi - there was going to be a scene in Good Omens where sushi was eaten and we were gonna be extras, we were gonna sit in the background, eating sushi while it was done. And I was so looking forward to this and, so I wrote this scene with it being sushi, even though Terry was gone, with that in mind and I thought: Oh, I’ll sit and I’ll eat lots of sushi as an extra, this will be my scene as an extra, I’ll just be in the background. And then, on the day, or a couple of days before, I realized that I couldn’t do it.

Douglas: You never told me this before either. I might have pushed you into doing it, had I known. I think you were right not to tell me.

Neil: I was keeping it to me self ‘cause I was always like: Oh, maybe I’ll be… this will be my cameo. And then I couldn’t. I was just so sad, ‘cause Terry wasn’t there. And it was probably the day that I missed Terry the most of all of the filming - it was just this one scene ‘cause it was written for Terry and all of the sushi meals we’d ever had and all of the strange way that sushi ran through Good Omens.

~~~

In the Final Fifteen, it is clear that Crowley and Aziraphale want to stay together. They love each other. They each know that the other loves them. There’s nothing that needs to be said, no convincing that their bond is true and real and precious.

But Aziraphale has to go to Heaven, and Crowley cannot follow him there.

I cannot speculate what it must have been like for Neil to endure losing a friend who, though I’m sure he desperately wanted to still be in his life, he also knew that life had become a burden to him, and grieved that Terry was not able to choose the time and manner of his departure from this Earth. This sort of complex grief, we fan-ficcers know, is the kind that is often best processed through story-telling. 

I think that what we see Crowley going through in the Final Fifteen, alongside its importance to the story arc of Good Omens overall, is Neil processing his grief at losing his friend Terry Pratchett, and even the kiss, that violent, terrible, awful kiss, was the symbolic representation of Neil saying goodbye.

[amberarmedheart]

In Defense of John Watson and the Importance of the Besotted Narrator

Every couple of years, the world as a collective likes to ruminate and come up with a new adaptation of the stories of Sherlock Holmes, every single new one promising to be either "The Ultimate Adaptation" or "Holmes for the New Era", there is no in-between. And it is understandable, this amazement and awe we hold for the beloved mysteries, they are classics for a reason.

And despite that, time and again I see creators of tv shows, pastiches, and movies, neglect the most important aspect in every single Sherlock Holmes' story: the immovable presence of John Watson. Some even going as far as turning Watson into a villain, a caricature of himself, or even erasing him completely from the narrative. "After all, the important one is Holmes, isn't he? He is the genius, and Watson is there just his biographer."

That is the capital omission to me when it comes to any of the adaptations, because it ignores the vital part that Watson plays in Holmes' life. Watson is the companion, he is the bridge between the "normal" world and the genius that is Holmes' deductive brain. He is, for a lack of a better descriptor, the translator between what jumps in judgement and reasoning Holmes' brilliant mind comes up with, and the layman's language.

There is a reason why we as readers come up with the idea that Holmes is smart beyond his quirks and his drug addiction, beyond his ignorance of anything and everything that in his opinion doesn't help him solve the cases that distract him from the boredom of normal life... and that reason is that John Watson is the person narrating the whole thing. We are not introduced to Holmes through an omnipresent, anonymous narrator which is the case with other books. We are thrown in the middle of a mystery from the start the same way that Watson is unexpectedly thrown in 221b.

What we think of Holmes, what we feel for him, it is all because Watson wishes us to experience. The stories themselves carry with them one of the best storytelling devices graciously blended into the narrative, which is the fact that Watson is an incredibly good writer, so much that the public gazes into the spotlight where Holmes is and in most cases ignores that the one shining it down is Watson himself.

Creators who like to ignore Watson and his function in the narrative tend to see Holmes as their own self-insert: a super smart man whose genius cannot compare with the mediocre world population and who can barely tolerate their stupidity, basically a gift to men from god and who has to be worshipped for it... When the reality is that every single thing we perceive from Holmes is because of how Watson sees him.

Watson is our unreliable narrator, his descriptions and impressions of Holmes are the ones that are weaved into the story; even goes as far as giving us a glimpse of Holmes' opinion about it through the way the consultant detective sometimes accuses Watson of adding too many embellishments to his narrations. If we see Holmes as an incredible genius, as someone whose intelligence is above the rest of the world, it is because Watson says so. With every passing story, we come across different characters that every once in a while whose first impression of Holmes has been influenced by what they themselves read in Watson's stories... All in all, the in-universe characters falling under the same influence we, as readers, are.

John Watson's love for Holmes is one of the main plot points in the story, we see its evolution the same way as one normally goes through different stages of falling in love. We see Watson's first infatuation, his interest in what makes Holmes what he is, first in a superficial way and later on with every new story. We see them have misunderstandings, which most of the time end up in a deeper appreciation of Holmes as a person.

All culminating in the incredible rendition of The Final Problem, which could easily be seen, without little effort, as Holmes' planning his own death. By what means we are never completely sure, to be honest, since we can only see it through Watson's deep grief. It is true that Arthur Conan Doyle's plans were to end Holmes' adventures with the short story, but even with the author's motivations being the main recourse behind its inception, there is no doubt when reading the story that the focus of the narrative is Holmes' spending his last moments with Watson.

The subsequent creation of The Empty House and further adventures after that, diluted partially the importance of the whole ordeal, but gave us a different insight of Holmes and Watson's relationship. Through that lens, we as readers witness the evolution of it, the toll that Holmes' fake death had in both his biographer and his own author, adding depth through the strain put by the facade.

E. W. Hornung made one of my favorite homages to Holmes and Watson through his stories of The Gentleman Thief, and put a greater emphasis on the strained relationship between the two characters after the fake death. He gave his besotted narrator another source of turmoil: the fact that while Raffles (our stand-in Holmes) was away living life and even having a romantic interest, Bunny (his Watson) ends up falling in disgrace after being sent to jail.

A.J. Raffles' stories lean on the importance of the unreliable, uselessly enamored narrator, to the point that Hornung didn't shy away from having Bunny refer to Raffles as handsome and attractive in many different instances. He understood how there is no Holmes without a Watson to appreciate him, how their dynamic is the fuel behind the success of the whole series.

And ultimately, that it is impossible to have a good story without a good storyteller.