#i was doing some research today to see if they had a canon appearance

[cerealmonster15]

Hello!! :D if you’re still taking art reqs for the drawing meme maybe 1A or 2A for Autumn Oak/Linda Stampler please?

THANK YOU!!! :] 

YES this is how i know i've made it as a dndads fanartist - the rite of passage of receiving the autumn/linda request jsklfjdsl MILESTONE ACHIEVED!!!

i had to kinda fumble around my brain a bit to come up w/some designs so maybe theyll change!! who knows!!!

[send a pose prompt!]

[talaok]

Win Again

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x sex worker f!reader

Summary: Marcus has won yet another match, so to reward him, his master has granted him another hour with you.

warning: smut| unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), a whole lot of manhandling, he like uses your body idk how to explain it, multiple orgasms, and once again unnecessary feelings cause im not able to write something where they just fuck for some reason

a/n: i know im two days late but PLEASE read this still. (also) basic things for this guy that i've decided are canon: 1)he has a monster cock, like actually scarily big, 2) he's real fucking strong (hulk typa shit), 3) he's not a big talker (but he is a grunter). I need this man to fuck me more than i need my next breath (real), also i did so much research for this fic and you cant even fucking tell

It wasn't often that you didn't dread going to the barracks.

These were strong, ferocious, and dangerous men, and you were but a meek lamb in comparison.

But today was different, today you were seeing him, him who fit the previous description to a tee, and yet was so different from any man you had ever offered your services to.

And perhaps it was because it never felt like you were ever offering anything, ever since that first night, you had never given anything you hadn't wanted to.

The guards stopped as you arrived at his room and you felt a wave of excitement crawl up your spine the moment they opened the door, waiting for you to enter.

The armored men stepped aside to let you pass, the cobblestones on the ground sounding against your sandals as you made your way inside, looking back at the door just in time to see it being shut close.

It was his breathing you heard first, his heavy breathing coming from where you knew his bed sat on the room's left, and seconds after, the creaks of the wood as he stood up, his feet stalking your way.

You turned to him then, a smile almost making it to your lips as you saw him alive before you once again, granting yourself a second to relish in the fact he still breathed, he was still here.

"You've won again" you spoke softly, your hands slowly finding the string holding your dress together.

He didn't respond. The window behind him caused the moon's soft glow to fall on the stone floor, but not on his beautiful face, that, you had to watch closely to inspect.

A newer cut right above his left eyebrow had appeared, and his right arm was bandaged almost completely, but otherwise, he looked fine.

His eyes remained on yours until you'd undone the dress, until it fell at your feet- then, a low groan rumbled from his chest as he took you in, and took his turn inspecting every inch of your bare figure.

"How do you want m-"

You didn't have time to finish your sentence that he'd picked you up, effortlessly pulling your body up until your legs slung over his shoulders and his face was buried in your cunt.

He hadn't even given you a second to realize what was happening that his tongue was already lapping between your folds, desperately drinking everything your body gave him.

"Oh my g-" you threw your head back, your skull finding the wall behind you being the only reason you realized he'd moved, and you were now caged between him and stone as you forgot how to speak.

The moans you had faked so many times for so many clients were nothing like the ones your mouth was spilling now, these were higher, coarser, feral, and the way you were gripping his hair... there was no way that didn't hurt.

"Y-You only" a whine interrupted your words when you felt his tongue plunge into your hole, when he started fucking you with it just like he would with his cock "You only h-have me for an hour" you breathed, your thighs squeezing tighter around him contradicting the words you were about to speak "d-don't you want me to p-please you?"

His grip on your ass only tightened and his mouth halfheartedly parted from your core to answer you.

"You are"

And just like that, he'd gone back to work. The moment his mouth closed around your clit you knew you were done for, you knew there was no point in fighting what was inevitably going to come, and so you shut your eyes, as he brought you to heaven.

Your moans were getting higher and higher as your back arched to feed more of yourself to him, desperately craving the feel of his touch, of his nouse, of his beard against your thighs, of the lips he so devoutly was using to suck on your most sensitive spot.

"F-fuck- general I-" The fist you had wrapped around his hair tightened as every muscle in your belly did the same "Oh!"

Somehow, through all the chaos, while you were coming all over his face, while your moans reached levels never reached before, the only thing you could feel or hear, besides pure ecstasy of course, were his groans, his groans as he drank up every drop of your juices, as if your orgasm was bringing his as much pleasure as it was to you.

You barely had time to open your eyes that his strong, big hands and even stronger, bigger arms had pulled you down until your legs hugged his waist instead.

You really did weigh nothing for him, and if that wasn't enough to prove it, the next minutes definitely would.

Your heavy breathing was fanning over his mouth as he freed his cock from his pants, but while you were expecting him to kiss you, having been blatantly staring at your mouth since he had any way of seeing it, every thought in your brain turned to dust when with one hard fucking thrust, he drove his cock into you- or the first few inches at least.

You couldn't talk, you could do nothing but throw your head back as your eyes rolled to the back of it, and let him take whatever he wanted to take.

"I'm not a general anymore," he said with another thrust, stretching you out even further, even deeper.

You wanted to laugh at his words. Now? Now he was feeling the need to correct you? When you could barely breathe, let alone think?

But he didn't look interested in hearing a response from you, not when he grabbed your waist, and definitely not when he started moving you up and down on his shaft with just the sheer force of his muscles.

The moans, the lewd moans that crawled up your throat were filthy, even filthier than the sound of how wet, how unbelievably drenched you were as he plunged into you over and over, as he literally used you as a fucktoy, filling you up more and more, until he was finally sat inside you to the very hilt, until his pubic hairs were grazing your skin and the tip of his cock was touching your cervix.

"Oh my god" you whimpered, feeling tears prick your eyes as your toes curled at the feeling.

You could feel him everywhere, everywhere.

But he didn't pause, he wasn't one to take his time, and perhaps that was because he didn't have much; he resumed his movements again, retracting his hips while he pulled you up his cock, and slamming into you while pushing you down on it, leaving you breathless, a simple doll at his mercy.

His groans and growls were deep and filled with lust, just like the way he bent down to take your left tit into his mouth, just like the way he was fucking you, deep and hard, and God- God it was happening again.

"s-shit" you squeaked, your walls squeezing around him as you bit your lip, so fucked out you could barely remember your name or anything at all that wasn't how good he was making you feel.

"O-Oh my fuck-"

The arms you had intertwined behind his neck tightened with every spasm of your hole, with every flutter of your belly, until you'd come once more.

You opened your eyes, letting them trail downwards, to where his lips parted to suck in ragged breaths, begging him for a kiss.

"again" he said instead, and your eyes widened as you felt him starting to move anew

"I-I can't"

He looked at you now, really looked at you, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, and then- then he kissed you. Marcus Acacius kissed you the same way he'd been fucking you for the last hour: like an animal.

It was a mess of teeth and tongues and yet it felt like the best thing on earth, better than wine, better than life, even better than the sex- it was perfect.

"again" he ordered once more, and what could you do, if not comply?

So he started again, he started fucking you again, even more ferociously than the previous time, even if you didn't think it possible.

The way his skin slapped with yours was drowned by both your desperate sounds, your legs started to tremble, beginning to fall from his hips as he moved you up and down his cock like it were nothing, and you- you didn't even know where you were anymore.

"please" you begged, a single tear of pleasure, of overstimulation falling to your cheek as he kissed you again, muting all your cries as he drove himself into you like a madman, like he was possessed.

"Time's up"

Two knocks sounded from the other side of the wall together with the warning, and you thanked Marcus for having rendered you such a mess because otherwise, that would have reminded you of how little time you two ever had, and how miserable everything really was.

His movements sped up at the notice, his dick plunging into you over and over and over until finally, it was happening again.

"give it to me" he said, and you did exactly as he asked- you gave it all to him, screaming and crying you let him have all you had to offer, feeling his eyes on you the whole time.

He came loudly just after you, groaning deeply as he filled you up to the very brim.

Out of all the words you could have said to him then, all the things you wanted to tell him at that moment, you chose none, because none would have said anything he didn't already know from the look in your eyes, from the same exact spark in your irises that ignited his own.

So he helped you to the ground until you stood on shaky legs, walked to where your dress lay on the floor, and dressed yourself again, his eyes never leaving you.

The door opened just as you were done, and you turned to him one last time again, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Win again for me, general"

He looked at you too for one last time again, as he thought about how you didn't know, you didn't know how big of a role you played in his victories, how many times he could only think of the taste of you, smell of you, feel and voice of you as he took his opponent's life, as he fought for another hour with you, another second.

"I will" he promised

[velvet-vox]

The insane, untapped potential of Rebecca from Murder Drones.

Hello Murder Drones Tumblr. My name is Markiplier, and I'm the fastest man alive.

To the outside world, I'm a regular Reddit user hiding in their mother's basement, but secretly, I've done nothing except consume Rebecca content for the past 72 hours, with only one objective in mind: spread the truth about this one, singular character that I didn't give a single damn about to convince you that she could have been someone important in an alternate universe.

To do so, I had to consult the classics. Rewatch the entire series again, hogging the murder drones rebecca tag, checking out her Wikipedia page (which has to be rewritten by the way, cause it sucks), create a new Rebecca centered gallery on Pinterest, and stalk the channels of her main worshippers, all in the name of my research.

Once I had collected enough data and ideas, I was finally ready.

Today, I'm going to shed light on some unknown traits and misconceptions surrounding the character, all the while showcasing all the ideas that I've gathered that would have made Rebecca a more prominent part of Uzi's and maybe even N's development.

This was by far the hardest undertaking I've ever imposed upon myself in the history of this blog. Please, enjoy the following content at your own risk and expense.

Chapter 1: The Origins.

Some context for those of you who are uninitiated in the Becca cult, Rebecca is this girl:

She's a minor side character inside of episode 3 and 4, and a background character inside of episode 2; she's infamous in the community for being a "bully" and trying to steal N from Uzi while already dating and making out with other classmates.

Despite never committing genocide and being the only member of the cheerleader trio to not have been responsible for anybody's death, she's pretty hated by the fanbase at large or plainly forgotten/dismissed, at best people just don't care about her and see her as just too unimportant to be hated, at worst they kill her in the most gruesome of ways or accuse her of racism, homophobia, eccetera (before killing her, of course).

Although pretty unpopular, she still has her own niche of fans who gather up at the table to worship her; furthermore, there are a lot of fanarts from people who don't even like her where she survived the events of Cabin Fever but is now disabled and confined to a wheelchair.

The reason behind such treatment is due to the fact that Rebecca has committed five of the worst cardinal sins a fictional character can make: being an obstacle to the most popular ship in a fandom; being mean to a fan favourite such as the main character without any clear motivation; being annoying by proxy according to other characters reactions without doing anything to disprove it, thus reinforcing the idea in the audience that you are annoying; being unimportant to the overall story without having any obvious redeeming or interesting qualities while being perceived as graving in each and everyone of your few scenes; and, of course, being a woman.

But besides all that, whose mostly common knowledge, what else is there to say about Rebecca? What are some of her less noticeable traits and characteristics that make her worth it of an analysis and a rewrite to better include her inside the plot?

Well, unfortunately, the answers are not as uplifting and as satisfying as Rebecca's stans were hoping they would be. Even in an alternative universe, I doubt she would really be as important as some of the other characters, more so an important character for Uzi's development. Maybe even N's.

But don't let this statement fool you into safety: I genuinely believe canon Rebecca is simultaneously so much better and so much worse than the community believes her to be. Rebecca is as much of a freak as Uzi, but not in her obnoxious, extroverted way, nor in Doll's sociopathic, introverted way: she's their uncommon middle ground who somehow manages to be more messed up than the both of them in certain aspects.

Chapter 2: "The quirks"

Upon commencing my research, I've quickly realised that I might be even more unnerved by Rebecca than I was with Yeva, and it's all due to the fact Rebecca facial expressions and body gestures might be the single most obtuse and undecipherable details that Liam has decided to insert into the background of his story. You probably don't understand what I'm talking about because you haven't been losing sleep at night like I did, but let me show you the pictures:

Noticing anything wrong?

Everyone else upon seeing V is immediately frozen in terror or just surprised by the Disassembly Drone presence, but Rebecca instead just looks mildly.... annoyed? Intrigued? It's hard to tell by the image's shots alone but the only time where Rebecca's facial expressions change to the shocked looks of the Worker Drones on the right is when Lizzie says her infamous line and socially excluses her from the popular kids table.

There could be more to say about Rebecca's following lines "Fine, I forgive her! Settle." and how they don't really mean what you think they mean, because, just like we are going to see in a moment, Becca really doesn't give a damn about murder, in some ways, even more than the other Workers, but I haven't found a single more compelling meaning besides, you know, Rebecca's family, which we are soon going to be talking about.

Other weird facial expressions that she does are the weird look that she has when escaping Prom, her reactions to people dying in Cabin Fevers, and probably every single scene she's in when you think about it hard enough.

She also does this weird thing with her fingers. A sign of anxiety? She looks fairly inexpressive. Yet again, she might have learned to mask her emotions and the hand gesture could be a way to let it all out without putting too much attention upon herself. But why? Is the guy standing right beside her one of her parents? More of that in a minute.

Finally, and this is the biggest point of speculation, there's a high possibility that Rebecca might have sensory issues, a possibility that we are going to treat as fact, thus explaining why she's so afraid of falling out of the boat in this scene: aside from the fact that Worker Drones are probably not waterproof judging by the text in episode 1; Rebecca is literally experiencing sensorial discomfort from the erratic movements of the boat, and even if she was able to survive in water, she wouldn't be able to swim due to her disability. (Other possible evidence of this is the squirm she emits when the door of the abandoned cabin Uzi is in slams shut. Darren also reacts to it, but in a much more normal manner).

But now you might be asking: "If she really had sensory issues making these moments where she lacks balance scarier, why did she pick up cheerleading?" Which nicely segway's us into the next part:

(Side note, I've only specifically searched for sensorial discomfort in relation to sex, and based the rest on preemptive knowledge, thus I might have messed up some parts of this analysis; I'm sorry to anyone who experiences these issues and didn't find their inclusion in this essay accurate.)

Chapter 3: Becca the 13th

In the following segment, the line between canon and fanon, reasonable and made up blurs, but I beg you to stay patient and follow my thought process: the far fetched parts are based on the elements already present in the show to make Rebecca a more interesting characther while tying her to the themes of the show and to the preexisting dynamics.

In my research to answer the question "Why did Rebecca pick up cheerleading" I looked up a site explaining all the reasons why girls decide to get into cheerleading, and I've singled out these answers as the most likely possibilities for Rebecca's interest in the sport.

Passion for the Sport: Many women who become cheerleaders have a genuine passion for cheerleading and enjoy the physical and artistic aspects of the sport. They may see cheerleading as a way to express themselves creatively and be part of a team.

Opportunities for Performance: Cheerleading provides opportunities for women to perform in front of large audiences, which can be a rewarding experience for those who enjoy being in the spotlight and entertaining others.

Team Camaraderie: Cheerleading often involves working closely with a team of other cheerleaders, which can foster a strong sense of camaraderie and friendship. Many women value the sense of community and teamwork that comes with being a cheerleader.

Scholarship Opportunities: In some cases, cheerleading can provide opportunities for women to earn scholarships for college or other educational benefits. This can be a motivating factor for women who are looking to further their education.

Personal Development: Cheerleading can help women develop valuable skills such as teamwork, communication, leadership, and time management. These skills can be beneficial in both personal and professional settings.

Love for Dance and Performance: Cheerleading often involves elements of dance and performance, which can appeal to women who have a passion for these art forms. For some women, cheerleading offers a creative outlet to express themselves through movement and choreography.

Which one of them is the most likely?

If your answer is all/some of them, then you are probably right, as there could always be more than one reason driving an individual to commit the actions that they do.

If your answer is none of them, then you must be pretty bold to make such an assumption, but you can't be blamed as it's finally time to bring up the two big elephants in the room:

These two.

Rebecca's relationship with the other cheerleaders can't be anything but toxic, it just makes sense to me: Lizzie's not afraid to throw people under the bus if it means that she gets to stay on top of the social hierarchy, with Doll being the clear exception at this point of the story due to their closeness and intimacy, making Rebecca the most direct victim of Liz and Doll the main target of Becca's jealousy; she can't act too much on her jealousy though, cause Lizzy can just cut out her wings whenever she feels like, so most likely all of the bullying that she does on Doll is subtle and only at most convenient of times. Doll probably doesn't react to Rebecca's bullying seeing as she is Lizzy's second best friend and killing her would inconvenience the cheer's squad, but if her reaction to Rebecca's speech in The Promening is anything to go by then she has at least built up a certain resentment for her throughout their time spent together.

Rebecca is kind of like Heather Duke with the personality of Heather McNamara and Veronica's shaky presence inside of the trio. No, I'm not going to diagnose Doll and Lizzy as Heathers, do that yourself.

But we're going to bring back up the DLR trio back in a moment, as the time has come to fire up the Chekhov's gun:

Remember when I said that we were going to bring up Rebecca's family later on? It's finally time.

In the same boat scene that we talked about earlier, Rebecca asks N this question: "So, my friend wants to know if you've killed her family... and are single."

In case you didn't pick up on it, this is a common tactic used to taste the waters in a relationship, when someone uses the excuse of having another friend who has a crush on you to see if you are up for dating. Naturally, the underlying message of this tactic is "I'm the one friend who I was talking to you about, I'm interested in you. Are you interested in me?" but that's not where Rebecca's sentence stops, no, before doing that Rebecca specifically asked N if he might have killed her friend's family, with the implication that she's talking about her own family.

So... Rebecca is without parents, just like Doll and she was probably left with just her dad much like Uzi. Where the differences between Rebecca and the rest of the cast starts to shine is in her reaction to the death of her parents. Where Uzi's and Doll's mood worsened after the death of one or both of their parents, Rebecca seems to be happier for it.

We can take this a step even further and assume that the possibility that N might have killed her family could be the big reason as to why she's so attracted to him, even more than the other classmates (keyword "family". It means that she could have had a brother or sister too, though I doubt it): she hated her parents, is happy with their deaths, and views N as her saviour and white knight in the dark for killing them.

If we look back at the shot from episode 2, we can come up with a couple of theories: she's probably alone at the parents teachers conference, or, and this is the most interesting alternative, the guy who stands right beside her is her dad, the weird hand gesture that she's doing with her fingers could be genuine anxiety about her dad finding out that her teacher has some bad things to say about her school performance and punishing her for it, which could also further explain why she does anything that Lizzie says if the theory that Lizzie's father is the Teacher is true.

Due to her sensory issues, it's possible that Rebecca's hatred for her family stems from a streak of physical abuse received at home and exacerbated by her already frail physique. She probably has been living alone with her dad for a while, like the girl from the 2017 It movie; so for her to hate her mom too, unless she was still alive and didn't show up to the parents/teachers conference, there are a couple of possible explanations: A, her mother died when she was too young for her to give a s##t about her; B, her mother was also just as abusive as her dad; or C, the most compelling explanation, as it parallels Khan's and Uzi's relationship: Rebecca's father uses the death of her mother as an excuse to wallop into self pity and be abusive, similarly to Khan but ten times worse, thus leading Rebecca to hate her mom even if she never knew her just by virtue of constantly hearing her name being used as justification for her dad's awfulness.

Rebecca could have, in just a couple of minutes, grown attached to N in the same way Uzi's grown attached to him throughout the course of the series: by viewing him as a sort of comfort net for the horrible things that have happened to her and as the one who saved her from her awful home life (by killing her parents).

Her dad probably did the interview right after Khan and thus implying a small space of time where he left her alone for god knows whatever reason, died to Eldritch J right before Uzi and N came in to stop her and Khan finally arrived to the crime scene, thus leading Rebecca to assume that N killed him in episode 4 and, through a connection made up by her wild immagination, her mom aswell.

So, for Rebecca, unlike Uzi and Doll, the day her parents died must have been the best day of her life; knowing how Doll lost her parents and looked pretty happy on the outside, Rebecca took this as a positive that her life could only improve; leading to the time spent between the ending of episode 2 and her death in episode 4 to be happiest period of her life, especially after episode 3 where Doll was revealed as a serial killer and went into hiding, making Rebecca the only friend Lizzie had left and solidifying her place in the social hierarchy.

When you think about it, we never see Rebecca being "happy" before episode 3, and while it could just be because we don't see enough of her, it could also really be that she was unhappy with her home life; Lizzie and Doll clearly weren't helping as despite Doll being at the bottom of the abuse trio of Lizzie and Rebecca, it's pretty clear by the framing of the show that Rebecca was always the most replaceable member of the trio, Lizzie was the master manipulator holding all of the cards of the social hierarchy thanks in part to her dad's influence, and Doll was Lizzie's irreplaceable (until V) main enforcer who at any moment could have just snapped and physically threatened Lizzie with her powers; leading Rebecca to feel constantly anxious of her every move. Plus, it must have been fairly obvious to the entire school that Doll and Lizzie had an affair going on and Rebecca wasn't part of it, therefore other students could have definitely picked up on her anxiety and started a gossip behind her back, leading her to feel even worse about herself than she already was. Which also, in turn, parallels Uzi and her feelings of being socially ostracized, making them even more of a foil to each other, with the main difference being that Uzi tried to fit in by becoming a hero to the colony and failing, while Rebecca carved her own unstable niche into society that she has to constantly struggle to maintain (Doll being at the positive end of the spectrum in this case, by being popular without struggling and willingly giving up said popularity for her revenge fantasies).

Her fear of losing the social stability and bullying immunity provided by Lizzie and Doll eventually turned into paranoia, forcing her to make up lies about dating people, like the guy "Brad" who she supposedly went to Prom with despite that apparently never being the case. To maintain the lies as truthful, she eventually benefitted from the ripple effect that those lies had created for her thanks in part to her good looks: now having the reputation of a nymph, she could get people to have sex with her, probably using it as an excuse for never actually being in a relationship with anyone (Darren is one of those people, she wasn't dating him, she was just making out with him).

There's also much to be said about the way Rebecca views sex and relationships as a whole; I'm not too sure about this talking point due to the aforementioned sensory issues that she has, but she could view sex as a sort of escapism fantasy, which also carries over in her love fantasy of N, and her relationship with the other cheerleaders as a semi functional support system, yet again other similarities with Uzi who, at the start of the series latched onto her fantasy of becoming a hero as escapism from her unfortunate school and home life, and, with a little stretching, we could say that Lizzy and Doll were to Rebecca what N and V are to Uzi, though not quite as healthy.

To ensure that Rebecca's views and actions on sex don't jive with her possibly having sensory issues, I've looked up information regarding the way people with these types of problems engage in sexual activity, and luckily for me, none of what I've found seemed to contradict any of the points I've brought up.

Here I have isolated all of the results of my research that fit Rebecca the most. Note: all of these apply to "some" individuals, not "every" individual. You don't have to check out all of these to have sensory issues regarding sex and other similar activities. I'm not a medic, so don't take any of these as gospel.

Perhaps the most obvious way that disordered sensory processing can affect sexuality is through physical touch. Some individuals may dislike hugs and embraces. Others may seek out a lot of touch or intense touch experiences.

Bright lights may agitate individuals with disordered sensory processing during intimacy. Play around to find the best lighting for you and your partner. Try using candles, soft bedside lighting, or turn off the lights completely! Avoid engaging in intimacy directly in front of a window or another uncontrollable light source.

An environment with a surplus of visual stimulation can be overwhelming and distracting. A cluttered environment can limit your partner’s ability to engage in intimacy because they are using energy to process visual inputs. For this reason, seek out clean, neutral, and minimalist spaces! In turn, assure your partner that it is okay to close their eyes during intimacy. This can help to calm their senses and allow them to focus on you, rather than the environment.

Background noises such as music, television, or roommates speaking next door may be distracting to individuals with disordered sensory processing. Find a quiet, private place to engage in intimacy. Avoid integrating music into the environment unless your partner suggests it!

Some individuals with disordered sensory processing have difficulty understanding where their head is in space; they may become disoriented or sensitive to different head positions. On the other hand, they may seek out intense vestibular sensations by engaging in extreme movements and positions. While some individuals may feel more comfortable being stable and stationary, others crave motion.

Sex is also most likely viewed as a coping mechanism for Rebecca, even if the main reason why she probably does it is to remain upon the popular girls in the school.

All of this added context makes Rebecca's death in episode 4 far more tragic, yet less random than some of the other campers. It comes as a result of one, yet fatal flaw: Her need to stay at the top of the food chain.

At this point in the story, Rebecca was getting closer to N, she could have just simply kept nurturing this relationship until it would have developed into something more genuine and mutual. It could have come to the point where eventually, once N would have chosen Uzi over her (because of course he would), she could have come to accept it and move on with her life instead of keep chasing her escapism fantasies and fawning over her parents possible murderer, maybe she would have even befriended Uzi in the process. But no. Her ego was her downfall: once N went away and could no longer satisfy her current needs, she decided to keep improving her social position, an easier thing to do now that Doll was out of the hierarchy, and proceeded to reinforce her reputation by making out with Darren, which got her accidentally killed by Uzi.

Accidentally, just like the death of her parents probably was.

Her death is almost perfect, even better than some of the others in the show: while Doll's death was brutal and heart wrenching but not really satisfying, Tessa's death mostly happened in the background and the show spent very little time on it, Alice's, Beau's, Yeva's and her husband's death depend on how you view their characters and if you think it fits, and V's death is the closest to perfect but wonky in certain aspects of its execution (just like V's arc in general), Rebecca's death is the perfect conclusion to her character.

She dies segmented, broken in pieces, part of her still lives for a couple of minutes, while the other gets eaten by what is essentially the character's foil of the one girl she was jealous of, and whose disappearance greatly benefited Rebecca. While crawling to the other campers, she must have suffered the whole time, just like she suffered her whole life before episode 2, the split of her torso represents her inability to pick up just one road, and in a meta context represents the fact that she is the middle ground between various character's situations.

It also represents the split in her life's trajectory: she was unhappy with her parents and was happy when they died, then became happy with her life and is now unhappy as she's slowly dying of a pain comparable to the one provided by her dad. All of this because of her ego.

And then lastly, as the final nail in the coffin, once she finally reaches the other students, her insides spilling out (reference to Melissa-titanium Doll's death post), everybody immediately forgets about her, just like they did with Uzi. She spent so much time climbing the social ladder, afraid and paranoid that she might tumble down and her parents would punish her for it, only for her to be immediately forgotten about once her systems shut down, still considered meaningless, tying her death also to Doll's and possibly Uzi's one, as the middle ground exploration of the theme of failure: Uzi fails but manages to achieve everything she had ever wanted, Doll fails but manages to achieve nothing, Rebecca fails but manages to achieve half.

It also ties back to Tessa as an alternate version who got freed from her parents abuse and had a chance to live a better life but still died soon afterwards because of a mistake she made.

Chapter 4: The Results

As you can see, just by using all the stuff present in the show if you squirm hard enough for it, with some added details we get a lot of utility out of Rebecca as a character:

- She develops Uzi, develops N, and develops and challenges Nuzi even more than she does in canon, but in a much more meaningful way.

- She works simultaneously as a foil to Uzi and Doll due to her benefiting from the death of her parents, and as well as a foil to Uzi and Tessa, who both had pretty bad parents but never wanted them to die.

- Her relationship with her dad also serves as a foil to Uzi's and Khan's father/daughter relationship, possibly helping to strengthen Khan's arc by showcasing a worse version of himself to the audience, rendering the reconciliation between father and daughter all the more sweeter.

- She deepens Uzi's and Doll's relationship in a different way than the Nori/Yeva parallels, by showcasing us a middle ground between the two characters that is simultaneously so much better and so much worse than the both of them.

- She also deepens the parallels between Uzi and Tessa, by showing us what could have happened if Tessa had the same sadistic tendencies of Uzi and left her parents to die intentionally (side note: Rebecca leaving her parents to die intentionally is also what could have happened in this made up canon. I doubt Rebecca finds joy in other people's suffering, but I can't help but think that she might have finally felt relief when the source of abuse in her life was finally gone), basically doubling as the middle ground between Uzi and Tessa but without their engineering skills, yet again, being so much better and so much worse than both characters.

- She serves to make Uzi more interesting by virtue of being foils but not in the obvious, narrative way of Doll, rather, in a more subtle, social way: if played right, her death could have hunted Uzi in ways the deaths of her other classmates didn't, by finally making Uzi question if she was ever in the right or if she isn't as much of a monster as Doll is.

- Further explores the themes of abuse present in the show and better ties said themes to Lizzy and Doll, who are currently lacking.

- She could have been used as a "tease" for Cyn, something that I haven't talked about until now (Uzi's and Cyn's middle ground). From what we know about Cyn, it seems like she was coded with some sort of robo neuro divergence, similar to the one that Rebecca possibly possesses; the details of Bec's story could have been reworked to parallel some of Cyn's story details, giving Uzi (and the audience) a taste of what Cyn's story or personality is like before meeting the real deal.

- She also, canonically, served to develop me.

Before I started working on this project, I never gave too much of a care about Rebecca. I didn't hate her like many people did, I actually liked her even if that liked soon turned into contempt once the serious writing for this essay actually started, but now I can confidently say that I'm a Rebecca enjoyer, the ideas that I've come up with for her are just too interesting for me to view her in the same way ever again, and I hope that this lecture might have also slightly changed your opinion of Rebecca as well.

[limarieb]

wanda maximoff headcanons [01]

Warnings: brief mention of loss (it is canon compliant…), brief mention of internalized homophobia

A/N: these headcanons are canon-compliant and are independent of my one-shots and such. please let me know if you want more of my headcanons (compliant or non-compliant) thru this link — i have so many lol.

Main Masterlist | ao3 | Wattpad

…

when you first meet her, it was after coming home from the fallout in Sokovia. the two of you never crossed paths on the ground, but you knew she was powerful from the burst of energy you felt when Pietro had fallen (you did not know this until later, though).

you hesitated on introducing yourself and trying to get to know her at first. part of you wanted to give her space, given the course of recent events, but the other part of you could not help but be utterly fascinated by her.

therefore, the first time the two of you spoke was two days after returning to the compound. Wanda had limited herself to her bedroom and brief appearances in the kitchen and the training room. in a moment of bravery, you decided you were finally going to formally introduce yourself and put your best foot forward.

you spent that morning researching Sokovian cuisine. you were not the best cook, but you were not the worst either. thus, you settled on a relatively simply dish and decided to make two servings: one for you, the other of your new teammate.

it is shocking that you do not drop the two dishes on your way to her bedroom. shaking from anxiety, your knuckles barely tap the door. you wonder if she could even hear you knocking. before you can knock again, though, the door is cracked open.

Wanda is surprised to see you on the other side. it is not that she is inherently opposed to your presence; it's just that she does not know you very well. to say she does not like strangers, especially within the confines of her bedroom, was an understatement.

however, her eyes drift downwards from your face, and she notes the dishes in your hands. the familiar smell is comforting. two days ago, it would have probably made her sob; today, though, she is able to provide a soft smile with her tears contained. so, she widens the door and allows you to enter.

you take the chance to walk into her room cautiously (not because you are afraid of her but because you are afraid of scaring her in some way). Wanda watches your actions closely, almost quizzically, as you set the dishes on a nearby desk, finally turning to face her.

the two of you bonded on some level that night. you told her some stories from your past, from growing up in the States to your journey with joining SHIELD. Wanda did not share as much in return (and you understand why); but when she did mention some part of her past, you listened attentively.

as weeks pass, the two of you only grow closer and closer. you watched her favorite sitcoms together, and she made dinner for the two of you each week. most times, she would choose a Sokovian dish, and you loved each one.

(when you moan from the delicious meal and tell her as such, she smiles, and a soft blush floods her cheeks. you were too engrossed in the food to notice.)

your favorite thing that you introduced her to was spotify. from a young age, you loved music. there was something about certain songs that made you feel something like nothing else could. so, you made sure to download it for her and show her how to use it.

(you made her a playlist titled "for my little witch," inspired by the nickname you recently branded her with. each morning, Wanda would listen to each song you added throughout the previous day.)

her current favorite artists include taylor swift, phoebe bridgers, lorde, and fiona apple.

Wanda starts to develop feelings — romantic feelings — for you about two months after you had come to her door with dinner. at first, she wonders if it is simply codependency — perhaps she was merely attached to you due to the fact you made an effort to get close to her earlier than others on the team?

however, she knows it is more than friendship (at least, on her end) when she watched you lay out the food items out on the blanket. the sun was in the process of going down, creating this hazy orange appearance in the sky. you had decided that day to take her out for a picnic, except this time, you were preparing all of the foods — more specifically, you were preparing all of the foods you grew up with as a child. there was something about the glint in your eye when placing the ham and cheese sandwiches on the blanket that made Wanda's heart skip a beat.

(that does not mean she was keen to accept her feelings at first. given her upbringing in eastern europe during the 90s, she was always taught a woman should only feel this way with a man. moreover, it is not like she had much experience in the romance department due to her years with HYDRA. she gets over this issue somehow, having this odd, albeit vivid, dream one night of her talking to Pietro about you, about her feelings for you. 'i did not see that coming,' he had said. 'you falling for an avenger? wow. she sounds nice, though.' he noticed her apprehension. 'it is okay to let yourself be happy, Wanda, even if it is with her. that is all i could ever want for you.')

(it is safe to say she cried the following morning.)

she begins to wonder if you feel the same once you add a few new songs to the playlist one day: 'sparks fly,' 'we fell in love in october,' '400 lux,' 'crush culture,' and 'you are in love.'

(she definitely does not lay in her bed that next morning with butterflies floating throughout her entire body about what this could possibly mean.)

you were a coward. you knew you could not confess your ever-growing feelings for Wanda verbally, afraid you would spill your guts out if you even tried. so, you opted to do it the only way you knew how: hint at your feelings through the songs you added. retrospectively, it was so stupid.

thankfully, Wanda was not, and she got the hint. though she was often relatively quiet, she could be unusually confident around you. maybe it was your constant awkwardness around her (which she found endearing and, sometimes, entertaining). she decided she would bring it up later went the two of you had your weekly dinner in her room.

"so, i listened to the songs you added yesterday."

"oh? what um- what did you think?"

"i liked them..."

(you stayed silent, continuing to eat the food she made, still shocked that she was bringing it up right now.)

"... i couldn't help but notice they all had a common theme, though."

"hmm."

"if i didn't know better, i would think this was your way of saying something... to me."

you began rambling, apologizing if you made her uncomfortable and promising to not do anything like that again. before you can get very far, however, she stops you by grabbing your hand, weaving her fingers between yours, and squeezing it.

(your mind is screaming at how soft her hands are. then, it is screaming at the fact that she is holding your hand.)

Wanda does not say anything, looking directly into your eyes.

she takes this as her chance to lean closer toward you, noses lightly brushing. knowing you would not be the one to officially break the distance (not only were you a coward, but you were a 'self-proclaimed believer in chivalry'), Wanda finally leans forward enough that your lips graze hers, softly but surely.

it only lasts for a few seconds before she pulls away with a smile on her face, but those were the best few seconds of your life thus far.

(she had vowed to never read your mind without permission, but your mind is practically screaming past its mental walls and into hers: 'oh my god. oh my god. she kissed me. she actually kissed me.')

she chuckles at your internal response and leans forward to place a peck on your lips before grabbing the (now) empty and dirty dishes from dinner and taking them back to the kitchen. in her exit, she leaves you in her room, dumbfounded but ecstatic at what had just occurred.

End.

[sephirthoughts]

Father: Verb

Summary:

11 year-old WMD Sephiroth is assigned a new handler/bodyguard, named Vincent Valentine.

I am sure this has been done 10000 times but I can't stop thinking about it, so here's my version.

Rating: teen and up

tags: vincent & sephiroth centric, canon typical violence, autistic sephiroth, canon fix-it

Chapter 1: Spaghetti

He never cried.

He never dared. Not after that day, when a fit of exhausted frustration, during a rigorous testing session, resulted in the violent destruction of half a research facility, which killed nine people, and left fifty-two injured. The Shinra first responders found him huddled amid the flaming rubble, in tears.

He was seven years old.

Sephiroth is dangerous. His emotions are destructive. When he fails to control himself, people die.

But he was a hero. A hero doesn’t let people die. A hero doesn’t lose control. His over-educated but emotionally immature mind surmised that a hero must have no emotions. So from then on, Sephiroth had no emotions. At least, not the dangerous kind, that made people have long meetings about him, behind closed doors, and whisper about him in the halls.

It was shortly thereafter that he began to have a recurring dream, about a pair of eyes, watching him, in the dark. He was used to being watched constantly, by people, but these eyes were different. They were cold and inhuman, and their gaze was filled with killing intent.

“Who is the man with the glowing red eyes?” he asked one of his handlers, who was delivering breakfast, one morning.

She looked confused. “I’m not sure. Was this someone you saw, in the house?”

“No. I’ve only dreamed of him,” the boy said, matter-of-factly, as he scooped up a spoonful of dense, grey, nutrient-rich paste. “He watches me, and never says anything. He wants to kill me, but…he doesn’t, for some reason.”

“If you’re having nightmares, I can request that they prescribe you a sedative, to help you sleep,” she frowned.

“They’re not nightmares. It’s only that he seems so sad.”

“What does he look like? Can you describe him?”

The boy shook his head. “I can’t see his face, only his eyes. But I think I’ll meet him, soon. I’ll tell you, when I do.”

Four years passed, however, before he met the man with the red eyes. Though, by then, that handler had long been moved to another division, so he never had a chance to tell her about it.

He was walking down the hall, headed for the training yard, as he did every morning, when he noticed something was different, today. The atmosphere was tense, and the energy of the place was all wrong. People were whispering in excited tones.

“…aware that no one here can handle him. If something goes wrong we’ll all die…”

“…sending in a Turk. You know, just in case….”

“…hear that guy’s not normal…”

“…supposed to be a real badass, though…”

“…say they woke him up, just for this assignment…”

They always thought Sephiroth couldn’t hear them, if they lowered their voices, as if he was a normal person, with normal hearing. He never bothered to disabuse them of the notion. They didn’t like being reminded that the eleven-year-old biological weapon they were working in close proximity to every day was, indeed, a literal superhuman.

He pretended to ignore their chatter and reported to the training yard, as usual. If the fuss was related to what he suspected, they would come to him, soon enough. He was calmly practicing his sword forms, when his chief handler appeared and asked him to take a break. Following him, was the man with the red eyes.

Sephiroth had never seen anyone like this person, and was instantly enthralled by him. He was very tall and thin, and he wore strange, black-leather body armor, from head to toe, with one brass gauntlet, brass boots, and a floor-length, crimson cloak.

His long, shaggy, black hair hung over most of his face, and the rest of it was hidden behind the high collar of the cloak, but the eyes were the same. They were blood red, and one had flecks of gold around the pupil. Keen and cold, and filled with killing intent. The exact eyes from his dreams.

“This is Special Security Agent Vincent Valentine,” the handler was saying. “He’ll be looking after you, from now on. He’s your direct superior, so you must address him as ‘Agent Valentine’ or ‘sir’ and treat him with all due—”

“Just Vincent,” the red-eyed man interrupted gruffly. “Don’t call me sir, either.”

“Pleased to meet you, Vincent,” Sephiroth said, bowing dutifully. “I’m Sephiroth. I don’t have a surname, so everyone calls me by my forename.”

“Unless you need anything else, I will leave you two to get acquainted,” the handler put in, with a bow. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“Turks are assassins and spies,” Sephiroth asserted, once he’d gone. “Why would they assign you to look after me?”

“Not a Turk, anymore,” the man named Vincent replied, without looking at him.

“Have you been in the labs upstairs? I’m not allowed to go up there.” Sephiroth got out his locket and held up the picture, for the man to see. “This is my mother. Have you ever seen her?”

The scarlet eyes flickered over the locket and away. “No.”

The boy wasn’t excessively surprised or disappointed by the answer. He’d asked every person he’d met if they’d seen her, and no one ever had. He tucked the locket away again. “Why do people say they woke you up for this assignment? Were you in stasis?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re not afraid of me,” Sephiroth said, stepping closer.

Vincent gave a derisive snort. “No.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it. It’s not to protect me, it’s because they think you’re strong enough to kill me, if you need to.”

The scarlet eyes glanced down at him, but the man said nothing.

“Would you really kill me?” Sephiroth persisted. “Do you think you could?”

Vincent’s arms were crossed tightly on his chest, under his cloak, and he hadn’t moved, since they began talking. Now, suddenly, too quickly for even Sephiroth’s superhuman eyes to see, he seemed to vanish and reappear in front of him, his blood-red cloak billowing and whirling in the windless air, with a life of its own, and the massive triple-barrel of his heavy handgun pressed to the child’s forehead.

“You’re not the only freak in this sideshow,” Vincent growled, as the hammer clicked back.

Sephiroth switched instantly into combat mode, and his blade flashed out, like lightning. His first slash would’ve taken anyone else’s arm off, but Vincent was already behind him, somehow. Sephiroth dodged the grapple and flipped forward, throwing out a barrage of slashes, which missed the cloaked man as he vanished again, in a whirl of crimson.

The boy gave a cry, as his knee was kicked out from under him, then quick as a whip, he was hoisted up by the back of his jacket and thrown bodily across the training yard. He careened into a concrete barrier, through which his body smashed like a meteor, before he pushed off the ground with his feet, and went darting back through the air, toward Vincent, only to be swatted away like a fly, and wind up rolling to a stop, halfway across the training yard.

They went on like this for quite some time, without pausing, the red and black-clad man tossing the armed child around the training yard, neither of them showing any signs of fatigue or loss of focus. Sephiroth would’ve kept going all day, if he’d been allowed, but eventually Vincent called halt, and said he was expected to escort the boy to his quarters, for his noon meal. They’d been at it for almost three hours.

Thrilled and elated, to find someone who could actually fight with him, Sephiroth followed Vincent eagerly, big, green eyes fixed admiringly on the back of his head, as they walked down the halls, together.

He had never felt so energized, in all his time here—which was his entire life. This strange man with the red eyes, from his dreams, was the first opponent with whom he’d genuinely let loose and used all his strength.

And he’d been beaten so soundly, he felt it in his bones. It was an exhilarating feeling, to no longer be the strongest person around, and not to have to carefully restrain himself, when sparring with a partner.

“Vincent, will you stay and have lunch with me?” the boy asked hopefully, when they arrived back at his quarters.

Vincent hesitated at the door, then stepped reluctantly inside, looking about the suite of rooms like it was a wild animal exhibit, and the denizens might leap out from behind the furniture and attack, at any moment.

“It’s only me who lives here,” Sephiroth assured him. “I don’t know why they gave me all these rooms. I only use the bedroom and the main room. And the bathroom. Do you live in the manor, too? What are your rooms like?”

“I live…downstairs,” Vincent said vaguely, behind his high collar.

“There’s nothing below this floor but the basement storage levels. You don’t mean you live down there, do you?”

A handler arrived to deliver his meal, just then, so the conversation was forestalled, for the moment. Vincent stood against the wall, watching silently, as the man set a tray in front of the boy. It was divided into six sections, each filled with a different colored paste.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the handler said to Vincent. “We weren’t told you’d be joining the asset for lunch. I will bring whatever you’d like from the kitchen, right away.”

Vincent was silent for so long, the man began to get visibly uneasy.

“Spaghetti,” he said suddenly, his deep voice giving the handler a start. “Spaghetti with meatballs. And…apple juice. And ice cream. Strawberry ice cream.”

The handler blinked, bewildered, then bowed and hurried away, saying he’d bring the things as soon as possible. When he’d gone, Vincent walked over to the table, took Sephiroth’s spoon from his hand and his tray from in front of him, and strode down the hall.

Sephiroth sat, speechless, for a moment, then jumped up and hurried after him. Vincent was in the bathroom, using the spoon to scrape the the contents of the tray into the toilet.

“Vincent, what are you doing?” he asked curiously.

“Putting this shit where it belongs,” Vincent replied flatly. “Don’t eat this anymore, understood?”

“Th—that’s the food they give me. What do you mean, don’t eat it anymore?”

“This is not food,” Vincent said, brandishing the tray and then tossing it into the bathtub. “Is this really what you’ve been living on?”

The boy looked perplexed. “What else is there?”

Vincent stood there, looking down at him, for a beat, then he dropped to one knee, in front of him, and pulled his collar down, exposing the rest of his face.

Sephiroth’s heart lurched and began to run raggedly in his little chest. Vincent was…beautiful. He was the most beautiful person the boy had ever seen, aside from the picture of his mother. He wanted to touch his perfect face, but he would never dare do something so outrageous.

To his immediate astonishment, however, the beautiful man touched him. Cautiously, as if Sephiroth were a baby bird that might be crushed in his hands, he reached out his black-gloved hand, and laid it almost weightlessly on the boy’s shoulder.

“Sephiroth, I…I’m sorry,” he said, inexplicably. “I’m so sorry.”

Sephiroth had no idea what was happening, except that the man was touching him, in a non-hostile way, that didn’t appear to have an immediate purpose, and it was making his head feel hot and fuzzy, the way it did when the old professor gave him medicine, sometimes.

Aside from the lingering trace of killing intent in his scarlet eyes, Vincent’s face wore an expression Sephiroth didn’t recognize. It wasn’t on any of the emotion flash-cards the Shinra PR people made him study, in order to ‘seem more human.’

Was he a lunatic? He didn’t dress like anyone else Sephiroth had ever seen, and he was acting rather bizarrely. When the handler asked what he’d like to eat, he said a lot of strange words, that Sephiroth had never heard, and then he’d dumped Sephiroth’s lunch into the toilet.

“It’s alright, it was just a little food. I can get more,” Sephiroth said gingerly. “Vincent, are you…unwell?”

“No—well, yes.” His black brow furrowed. “But I’m not insane, which is what you’re asking, correct? If I’m reacting strongly to some things, that’s because it is difficult, for me, to see you living this way, like an animal in captivity.”

“Why should you be distressed by the way I live? We only met today.”

The scarlet and gold eyes gazed intently into his, for another beat, then Vincent looked away, shaking his head. “Because you’re an innocent child. They have no right to treat you this way.”

“I’m an asset, not a child,” Sephiroth pointed out. “That’s what the old professor says. They don’t treat me that badly, so don’t worry about me. I like the food.”

“Do you?”

“Well…no, but I don’t hate it. It’s just…normal.”

“That’s because you’ve never eaten anything else. We’ll fix that, today.”

When the handler returned, Vincent took the tray from him and growled, “Get out,” before the man could say another word. He hastily retreated, more than happy to leave the two terrifying superhumans to whatever they were doing.

Meanwhile, the tangy-salty-herby aroma coming from the things on the tray struck Sephiroth’s enhanced senses like a slap. He wrinkled his nose, as he eyed them doubtfully.

There was a large plate of some pale, yarn-like substance, doused in a thick, red slurry, with dark brown lumps in it, a glass of what appeared to be urine, at first glance, and a bowl with a creamy, pale-pink paste in it. That seemed the most familiar, only there were red chunks in it, that Sephiroth was revolted by. They looked a bit like human flesh, when it had been torn up by explosives.

He watched warily, as Vincent used the fork to wind the yarny bits from the plate into a wad, then stuck the tines through a brown lump.

“Eat,” he said, holding it out to him.

Sephiroth balked. “Vincent, I don’t—mph!”

His protest was muffled by the forkful of food Vincent simply shoved into his mouth, when he opened it to argue.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Vincent warned, seeing the boy about to spit it out. “Chew. Swallow. Now.”

Suppressing a gag, Sephiroth did as he was told. Then his big, green eyes went wide. His slit pupils dilated. A tart, salty, sweet, oily, aromatic, nearly indescribable chaos of flavors was exploding on his tongue.

A little shudder passed through his body, and suddenly his eyes were stinging, like they’d had a bright light shone in them. He stared, stupefied, into the middle distance, and opened his mouth, for the next bite, which Vincent was already hovering with.

“What…what is this?” he asked, after he’d chewed and swallowed again.

“Spaghetti. You like it?”

“I never tasted anything like it in my life! I want to eat spaghetti every day! For all three meals! Only spaghetti!”

“You’ll get tired of it, if you do that. There are other things just as delicious. Let me show you how to wrap the noodles up on the fork, come here.”

Sephiroth took the fork in his hand, and guided by Vincent, went to work learning this new skill. The noodles kept slipping off, but at last, he managed to wind up a somewhat lopsided spaghetti wad, complete with meatball on the end.

He stuffed the large bite into his mouth, beaming triumphantly as he chewed.

Vincent gave an approving dip of his chin.

Within a very few minutes, Sephiroth had cleaned the plate spotless. Vincent picked up a napkin and dabbed the orange sauce stains from then corners of the boy’s mouth, as he gazed mournfully down at the empty dish.

“Don’t look so tragic,” he said, holding out the spoon. “Try this, now. It’s called strawberry ice cream.”

CH2:

[scifrey]

Cling Fast

By Losyark

Read below, or read the updated/edited version over on AO3.

The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Complete Mature Unbeta’d

Hob Gadling is a clingy bastard, and he’s not ashamed to admit it. He clings to life. He clings to hope. He clings to his love of humanity. He clings to his Stranger. He also, unfortunately, has a habit of clinging to his name.

Which means, when the BBC is looking for a new pet history expert to appear in their educational docudrama series “Elizabethan Manor,” they’re overjoyed to find a professor of domestic history who, according to their meticulous research, is actually descended from the Master of the National Trust building they’re filming in - Gadlen House.

Only Hob knows how right they are.

Picks up a few hours after the end of Episode 6.

*

Author’s Note: I don’t know what I’m doing. New to this fandom, new to this ship, and this is the first fanfic I’ve written in over a year. I am just coming back from a creative burnout so bad that I ended up leaving my literary agent.

I haven’t written anything that isn’t loosely connected drabbles in literally years. So, I don’t know what’s going to happen with this fic. It may get written, it may fizzle. I have the idea plotted out, but I’m trying to approach it cautiously, with my eyes averted, in case it spooks and bolts.

That’s why I’m posting this here instead of AO3, I guess. I want to see if it’s something that resonates with people, and me, before I commit to posting it there.

*

Prologue

"One hundred years, then?" Hob's Stranger asks, hours later, when Hob's talked himself hoarse and his business partner is flipping chairs onto tables to mop. Hob's marking has been jammed unceremoniously into his briefcase and completely forgotten, and there are three empty pint glasses at his elbow. The wine glass in front of his Stranger is still full.

"2089 or 2122?" Hob asks, through disappointment like broken glass on his tongue.

Chapter One

The problem with Hob Gadling is that–and he will admit to this–he really is a bit clingy. Always has been. And sometimes it bites him straight in the arse.

Chapter Two

“Remarkable,” Doctor Harriet Butler says, freezing mid-handshake when she meets Hob’s eyes. “Just remarkable, the resemblance–”

“I’ve heard that a lot today,” Hob tries to interrupt, embarrassed by how much two separate BBC Historics production assistants have already gushed over him in the short walk from the Broadcast House lobby to this back office. 

Chapter Three

It's a diary. It's Eleanor's diary. Hob hadn't even known El had kept a diary.

“It’s her handwriting,” is the first shaky thing he says, flipping open the cover. “I… I never thought I’d see it again, I never…” the rest of the sentence is lost in an ugly, phlegmy hiccough.

Chapter Four

Hob spends the next month finalizing deal memos outlining compensation and percentages, which Lucienne helps him parse, and then quibbling with the legal department of the BBC on the actual phrasing of the longform contract to ensure he’s not accidentally signing away his soul. He’s already done one deal with an all-powerful, unknowable entity without being aware of what he was agreeing to. He’s not keen on doing it again.

Chapter Five

Either out of pity for his exhaustion or because he had duties of his own to prioritize, Morpheus doesn’t appear to Hob during his sleeping hours in this week. Hob only manages to concentrate enough to relocate himself to the castle only the one night. He finds himself alone in the throne room, and enjoys the opportunity to spend some time with his own company, after so many hours being crowded by the rest of the Historics team.

Chapter Six

Hob's house used to smell of—of flowers from the garden, and good clean horse sweat from his rides, and El's sweet perfumes, and the waft of fresh bread or sugar-and-rosewater from the kitchens, and the fatty funk of tallow candles burning, and whatever Robyn was into lately, mudpies or oil paints, and the polishing oils the servants used on the wood and boots, and the gentle fragrance of whiskey and porto after dinner, and… And now it just smells like aggressively, astringently nothing. Like a museum.

Chapter Seven

Hob wakes up with a splitting headache, but otherwise no other effects from his hangover. Except for the sinking feeling that comes with remembering that he screwed up his 1589 feast again. Would it be pathetic to try a third time? Especially knowing now that Morpheus rarely eats, and when he can be persuaded to, it's never British fare. Yeah, it would be pathetic.

Chapter Eight

For the first time in six hundred and seventy-two years, Hob is genuinely angry at Morpheus.

Chapter Nine

Hob throws the door of the flower shop open hard enough that it rattles in its frame. “Sorry!” he shouts. “And sorry, I know you’re about to close, I was stuck at work for hours and I just–” He looks around the shop, realizing that he is utterly, utterly out of his depth. “I need help.”

Chapter Ten

Today is the day that Hob drowns, and on the whole he's feeling pretty sanguine about it.

Chapter Eleven

Somehow, the summer and Hob's brush with the glitz and glam (more like the sleep deprivation and hurry-up-and-wait) of The Biz comes to an end. The first week of classes start up, and as he promised Morpheus, Hob eschews sleep in order to review the texts, and write the syllabuses and prepare the lectures that he didn't have time to over the summer. Morpheus only throws sand in his face and drags him down into the Dreaming twice, when Hob hadn't caught so much as a cat-nap on his junky office sofa in over forty-eight hours.

[cousticks]

Hi cou <3 I wanted to ask if you had any thoughts on the Transcendents and/or any brainstorms on what we may see from them if they ever do appear cause there's some interesting names there

Hi Sol!! This ramble really got away from me. I end up going on about the Great War, different European organizations , talk about 55 minutes a little bit, brief stints on the real-life authors, this is really rambly as all hell.

Honestly? I don't know what to expect from them at all, and I'm quite excited about it.

Realistically, I don't expect them to appear directly. It seems like the Transcendents mostly exist in background and worldbuilding outside of the main series. Our favorite sad frenchmen Verlaine and Rimbaud were mostly for Chuuya's backstory (though Verlaine is still technically relevant, as an executive. I expect him to come back... eventually. The Chekhov's Gun of "waiting for a storm" wouldn't have been left if he wasn't mean to come back eventually in a plot relevant way, I hope. We know what happened to Rimbaud, too.

As for the big names we haven't seen any of yet, I feel like they were mostly involved in the circumstances of the War, and some background for 55 Minutes. (I had to go reread the passage where they're mentioned.) We... don't really know anything about them at all, other than they were European ability users who were deployed during the war with devastating outcomes.

Read more cut because I got real rambly <3

If we did see any more from them, though? I expect big things.

I study English literature, so I'm not too versed on other European works, unfortunately, so I did a little light research. (I encourage anyone better with German literature particularly to hop in.)

Goethe's Faust was wildly influential in German literature during a time where there was a push to form a unique literary identity separate from that of England and France, if I'm understanding correctly. It was and is a great work of literature that helped form the literary identity of a country. Foundational. That's not something to be taken lightly and I'd expect a powerful user to come out of it.

Similar with Victor Hugo. Plays, massive literary works, all riddled with social commentary that was key to his time. Big things. I'm more familiar with Hugo and kind of making the assumption anyone seeing this is, too. Or at least knows Les Mis. You don't write Les Mis to get anime twinkified in a way that is weak or uninteresting.

And of course, Shakespeare. Who had such a wild contribution on English literature and the language itself that we still use today plenty of words he invented, and follow the pattern of his plays to no end. I had a horrible Shakespeare phase I never grew out of, and have favorite sonnets (sonnets 131-134 my beloved). He was foundational to the language as we know it. I'm sure he'll be a powerful user.

But... sure, whatever. All the characters we know are powerful skill users in their own right. That's not new, that's just me going "look! this major author was important! wahoo!" I haven't said anything yet.

The Transcendent characters are... kind of strange, when you look at their real life counterparts. Most if not all of the characters are based off of authors within ~100 years of each other (with lifespans ranging from early 1800s to early-mid 1900s, generally.) With considerable overlap.

The Transendents, though? Are kind of outside of this. Victor Hugo is a little earlier than average, but he's got some decent overlap with the other authors. Rimbaud and Verlaine are in there, too. But Goathe? He was born in 1749, and died in 1832. The end of his life overlaps with some of the older authors generally present in the main series, but he really is significantly earlier, generally, to the point its kind of weird. And Shakespeare? Man is from the 1500s. He is so far removed from the other general eras that I was honestly surprised he was mentioned anywhere within relevant BSD canon. As such, I'm expecting to see some crazy shit with him, even in more background lore than actual main plot. Shakespeare is so far removed from any of the other authors featured and so foundational to his language that I can't imagine him not having crazy amounts of impact.

As far as the 'organization' itself, the Transcendents seem to be more of a class of ability users from the war more than any kind of group on their own, which I'll always find interesting. I'd love to learn more of what exactly they did in the war--its only mentioned that Goethe, Shakespeare, and Hugo 'clashed' during the war in 55 minutes. Each from one of the three countries who's peace treaty resulted in Standard Island. So likely they were all enemies. We don't really know who was on what sides, or what the "sides" were at all. Its interesting, because if we expand the scope to Rimbaud and Verlaine as well, that leads to three French Transcendents known, and only one English and one German. (I have my own running theory that Agatha Christie, or perhaps some other member in the Order is also a Transcendent, though.)

Which... I like to believe Shakespeare was allied with the Order, since they seem to call the shots for English ability users and foreign conflicts relating to such, and 55 Minutes says the Transcendents were deployed. As for the other two? Who knows.

We do know a decent bit about goings on in the French side of the war. We know they were running spies, with Rimbaud and Verlaine, and that there were internal conflicts at the time, as Verlaine killed his creator/was acquired by Rimbaud in what they called the May Uprising, iirc. France was also responsible for Mimic becoming what it was. Where Hugo fell into this, I don't know, but he was most likely working under whatever same government umbrella Rimbaud and Verlaine were. But with, theoretically, an even more combative ability, or just more blanket-powerful. Which... Rimbaud's Illuminations is pretty damn powerful, but Hugo was the one deployed as a direct offensive in the war, so we can at least assume his is either more combat-oriented or more generally powerful than Rimbaud's. That's about all I can assume about him.

Wells was an engineer for English skill-weapon development, which we can assume is a project that continued on in England after the war, considering how quickly the Order was able to deploy a weaponized skill user to wipe out Yokohama in Dead Apple. We really don't know much about the Clock Tower, other than the fact the Guild may also have ties to it, and that they're powerful. I'm sitting on the idea that Shakespeare was also involved in the order. We don't know what Agatha's ability is, but again we can make the assumption that whatever hers is, it is less combat oriented than Shakespeare's. Which... doesn't say much of anything, but we could theorize that Agatha's ability leans more manipulative or psychological than physical if it isn't combat optimized, which is an interesting insight to her, but kind of fitting to what we have seen of her, I think.

We... don't really know much of anything about the German side of things. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe Goethe is the first German author mentioned in BSD canon at all? So I don't really have a reference for him. We can assume his ability is combat oriented and insanely powerful as well, but I've got nothing beyond that. Hopefully we'll get more content surrounding that eventually, that would be really cool. But... assume combative or otherwise offensive, that's all I've got.

I... don't really know what else to say on them, honestly. There's so little known and so many pieces missing that I can hold high expectations for the Transcendents we haven't seen, but I don't know enough about anything surrounding them to really have more than vague speculation.

Its a silly one, but I personally would love to see some kind of weird obscured identity surrounding Shakespeare at some point. If you've never gotten into the Shakespeare Authorship Question conspiracy theory rabbithole, I recommend it. Some kind of weird identity obscurity in canon would be a really fun nod to it that would personally make me happy and will probably be a headcanon I hold, but beyond that I've got nothing.

This was a very long answer to tell you I have no clue, but I had fun with this ask anyway!! I hope something from it gives you some food for thought.

[coffeeheartaddict2]

Everybody hurts sometimes (2/?)

Whatever it takes

Book: Open Heart (AU)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Casey Valentine

Warnings: sexual content

****Trigger warning- this series deals with addiction and abandonment***

Word count: 1897

Category:Angst

Rating: Mature

Summary: Casey is atop of her game, despite juggling some secrets and some one hell bent on sabotage. A discussion leads to a research session with the gang to help a long time patient.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry

Authors note: This maybe an AU but there are some things that will run close to canon. Most of the pain pertaining to the trigger warning will occur later in this series.

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

Ethan and Casey had been together for a couple of weeks now. Both were surprised that there appeared to be little speculation or gossip, they both suspected that Naveen knew something but he was keeping his thoughts to himself.

The big litmus test for Casey was her housemates, she was rarely home, opting to stay at Ethan’s whenever she could but no one openly suspected she was seeing someone, they just assumed she was staying at the hospital.

Frustratingly though, they were still no closer to solving what was wrong with Naveen. Now he had started to cough up blood. Ethan was concerned. They go and run some tests. Casey was shown the importance of doing whatever it took for our patients, Casey had wondered how Ethan was getting away with this. They share a brief but heated kiss before being interrupted by Casey’s pager. Casey attended the page. Casey paged to emergency to help out. There she met Rowan and Willow. They had been to Kenmore and were prescribed antibiotics for the flu. Casey ran some tests and came to the conclusion it was Hepatitis C diagnosis. Casey felt bad. It was an expensive medication, even if you had insurance. This was the worst part of her job. She managed to convince them to stay for a day to help them find out which strain.

Later that night she was talking to Elijah who told her about studies. Casey changed her research tact and found a study that would treat them for free. Casey compiled the paperwork and got it signed off. Casey was relieved she was able help. Ethan congratulated her, she raised an eyebrow at the arm squeeze but put it out of her mind, especially when she saw Harper out of the corner of her eye. Despite this win though, Casey had another looming concern. The concern of missing charts, pager not working and Nurses under the impression that she was bad mouthing their work. She would get it if they knew what her and Ethan were doing behind closed doors but they did not. She thought from the outset that this competition would get toxic. She knew Aurora had a target on her back when she was on top and now it appeared she did too.

Later that day she was at Ethan’s. Both were antsy and Ethan went first.

“Harper saw the arm squeeze today. I was accused of favouritism. I obviously denied it but I do not think she is convinced. I will be assigning you some harder cases through your residents.”Casey nodded her head. “We have done well I think regardless, I mean the nursing staff hate me for something I did not do but there have been no rumours, I mean I think Naveen suspects something but it’s Naveen, what gossip can he do since we are the only people he sees.”

“What do you mean nursing staff not liking you for something you did not do?”

Casey gulped. She had hoped to keep the sabotage away from Ethan but there was no hiding now.

“Someone has been sabotaging me since Miami. When I came back my pager was not working, apparently it was switched off in the system. That was rectified but since then I have had charts go missing, medication dosages changed without my authorisation, test requests gone missing and now the nurses believe I have been bad mouthing them behind their back which I have not.” Casey tries to hold back some tears. Ethan walks over and gives her a hug and kisses the top of her head.

“Why did you not tell me, charts and medication changes could have dire effects.”

“I know that Ethan, but if I told you, I know you would rightfully pursue but I wanted to protect this, I could not be sure that speculation would not start.”

As much as Ethan hated it, Casey was right. He made note to ask Ines and Zaid to see if they knew anything. Ethan could tell that Casey was tense so after dinner they had a bubble bath together and a night just being Ethan and Casey, not Dr’s Ramsey and Valentine.

The next day came and Casey was spotted by Mrs Martinez near the construction zone. She wanted to join her but Casey said it was unsafe. Mrs Martinez stated that she liked adventure. Whilst walking back to her room she was told of her desire to travel but now she was trapped. She was on one level thankful to be alive but there was a cost. Not being able to leave the hospital, trapped by her treatment. Casey looked at the bag and saw an all to familiar logo. She wished there was something she could do and she decided that she needed the help of her friends.

The roomies including Bryce came. Landry was apprehensive stating that she is alive and well but Casey said surely we can do better. Jackie was also apprehensive too but she conceded that because of this that Casey was rightfully at the top.

They researched hard until it was Casey and Bryce, he had come across a forum where a treatment for another disease had great results in treating Rhodes but had to bury the information. This gave Casey another reason to dislike Panacea. This was blatant profiteering at the mental cost of the patients. She thanked Bryce and got to the request for the drug.

The next day Casey spoke to Mrs Martinez. She told her of the treatment and the risks. She was more than willing to take the chance. Casey submitted the request and went about her day.

She went to check on Naveen and came across a stressed Ethan. He had not been able to find a way to get the hospital out of the deal with Panacea. Casey felt for Ethan, he was doing whatever it took but surely letting Declan having her way with her for one night would have been easier than the mess he was in now. They both met with Naveen and went through the results and how he was doing with Dialysis. Ethan and Casey left and Ethan asked her to come deeper into the construction zone. There was an unused room that he took her too. He shut the door and kissed her hungrily. They had not partaken in their relationship at work but right now Ethan did not give a damn. He hoisted Casey around his hips and pushed her up against a wall. His hand trailing up her leg to her centre. Casey could feel how hard he was and she knew how wet she was for him. She unzipped his pants and let his hardened cock free. She stroked it and guided it to her centre and rubbed the tip against her folds. Ethan hissed and thrusted into her, setting an arduous pace from the get go. He kisses her, swallowing her moans. She starts to clench and he thrusts deeper until his climax triggers Casey’s. After he has emptied himself he kneels down and proceeds to eat her out. Casey is still sensitive from the first orgasm and it does not take her long to reach her climax again. He kisses her before he left, “That has made my day infinitely better, thank you Rookie” before leaving. Casey is thankful for the few minutes to get herself back together after that. She straightens her clothes and coat and leaves.

A few days later she receives a reply for her request. It is denied. She is frustrated but then realized it was leeches like Nash who are responsible for this. She messages the gang and meets them at Donahue’s that night. She tells them about the meeting that is coming up with Declan and the hospital. Declan would have samples on him we need to get the case off him, get the drug and swap it back. These are the options. Landry is not on board. Elijah reminds him he does not need to do this but Mrs M wants to do it. Everyone but Landry agreed to be apart of the plan.

It is heist day. Casey did not tell Ethan about it. She knew he had enough on his plate and if it went south he could claim plausible deniability.

Declan walked into the atrium, looking even more smug than what he did in Miami. Casey could tell that Harper was not happy. Elijah did his part of the plan, it went seamlessly, then phase two that was to be done on an upper level. Jackie came by with a bed which had Sienna underneath, she did the swap and Casey found the medication she was looking for, took a dose and replaced the vial. Then the last part to swap the case back. It was done but Ethan saw it happen. Casey stated she was doing whatever it takes. Ethan could not argue, it would have been hypocritical to call her out on it, especially with what he was doing. Ethan goes to his meeting, the deal with the devil was now done, he hoped that he could cure Naveen as him being cured was worth it.

Casey administers the drug to Mrs Martinez, hoping that it would work and that she could no longer be trapped by her treatment.

The week went on and Mrs Martinez’s Rhodes disease was getting cured. She was taken off her medication to see if her levels regressed and it did not. Everyone was surprised at what happened as there was no cure to Rhodes. Ethan suspected it had something to do with what he witnessed that day but he dared not mention it. Despite their secret relationship going well Ethan was starting to get that all too familiar fear rearing its head. The fear of abandonment. He resigned himself to seeing her being flirted with, he knew that she wanted him and only him but he still had that nagging doubt. What was not helping was he was not able to find an alternative to reporting arrangements if she won the spot on the team. As far as he was concerned his relationship did not impact work, however he wanted to keep things above board and it was going to be difficult. He kept assigning Casey more difficult cases, he knew Aurora was being assigned just as difficult cases and both were handling them with aplomb. He did not want to end things but he could rule it out.

Mrs Martinez’s last day at Edenbrook arrives. It was a day filled with much joy mixed with sadness. She was a favourite of much of the staff. Casey was sad to see her go but she was off to Paris, and despite what Landry said, anything was better than being cooped up in the hospital.

That night Casey was at Ethan’s, researching some more in relation to Naveen. She could sense that Ethan was preoccupied. She asked him what was up. He said nothing, instead deciding to kiss her. He laid down with his head on her lap and continued to read. Casey assumed it was Naveen that was troubling him so she said nothing further. Both did not foresee what was soon going to happen and the potential it had to blow open their secret relationship bubble.

——

Authors note 2: cue dramatic music. Not sorry for leaving it there

Tagging: @jerzwriter @jamespotterthefirst @genevievemd @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @youlookappropriate @cariantha @peonierose @bex-la-get @a-crepusculo @crazy-loca-blog @ofmischiefandmedicine @trappedinfanfiction @tessa-liam @binny1985 @schnitzelbutterfingers

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[contreparry]

Happy Friday Contre Parry! I would love to see what you are thinking for "A conversation you wish had happened in canon" this week!

I'm really on a Vivienne kick today, so here's a conversation I wish could have been expanded upon in the canon for Vivienne and a mage!Trevelyan for @dadrunkwriting!

The resemblance was uncanny.

Not in physical appearance. Senior Enchanter Lydia was, as Vivienne recalled from the one time she met the woman in person, as similar to Enchanter Evelyn Trevelyan as the sun was to the moon. And they were different in demeanor as well, Lydia all sunshine and smiles to Trevelyan's measured cool calm. But here and there she spotted traces of her old friend in the young woman who stood before her. There it was in the critical examination of every paper that passed her desk. It was in the way she flipped through the dusty pages of old tomes, gentle, so gentle, caressing each page as though it were as precious as gold. And Vivienne saw it now as Trevelyan eagerly expounded on a minor detail of her herbal research.

Shared enthusiasm was not uncommon upon mentors and disciples, but the light in Evelyn Trevelyan's dark brown eyes was eerily similar to the brightness of Lydia's spring green whenever she spoke of thaumaturgy. It was remarkable.

It was frightening.

"I was well acquainted with Senior Enchanter Lydia, you know," Vivenne said when Trevelyan paused for a moment in her impromptu lecture. The letters they exchanged over the years would have filled volumes, but who knew how many of those letters survived the fall of Ostwick Tower? Who knew what happened to Lydia's things when she died. Was murdered. And as for the murderer... Vivienne carefully examined the woman sitting across the table from her.

It was not a question of capability but of motive. Lydia had many pupils, but few could have ended such a skilled Mage. Even fewer could have found the opportunity to do so. But Trevelyan... Vivienne watched the woman pour a cup of tea. Her hands did not shake.

"I know," Trevelyan finally said, her voice soft and even. "Lydia spoke of you often, Madame."

"Oh?" Trevelyan was giving her an opening, which was rare for a woman as guarded as her.

"She enjoyed the gossip you shared, of course. Nothing happens at Ostwick. Happened. But she discussed your research the most. She always said you were the most inventive alchemist she had the pleasure to meet," Trevelyan confided, her expression wistful. Masterful actor or innocent party? Vivienne watched Trevelyan stir a dollop of honey into her tea, watched her eyes go misty with memory- or was it guilt?

"Ever the scholar, Lydia was," Vivienne said.

"That is the Ostwick way," Trevelyan replied distantly. "She... I cleaned out her study. After she died."

"After she was murdered by her pupil," Vivienne corrected. Trevelyan didn't wince. Her expression was as stone, but her eyes- there was a tempest stirring in those eyes, and wasn’t that interesting? Lydia was like that as well, Vivienne recalled. She could lie and flatter and blather on like any other skilled player in The Game, but if you knew where to look- if you looked at her eyes- her true feelings were easily discerned.

Trevelyan was angry. Clumsy to let her feelings be known, but Vivienne wouldn't complain about a gift falling into her lap. Anger was something she could work with, though it also brought some interesting questions to light. Was that anger at the death of a beloved teacher or anger at being accused of murder? Or perhaps it was anger at being found out. It was not the murder itself that was scandalous, for The Game could not be played without a few pieces falling under the sword. But this was personal. Lydia was a friend, and if Vivienne could unravel this mystery- well, her heart would rest a little easier if she knew why Lydia died.

"Mages are not in the habit of carrying poisoned misericordes. But you know that,” Trevelyan replied coldly, her tea dangerously sloshing around in the teacup when she set it down. Didn't even take a sip. How very interesting- but Vivienne hadn't known about the misericorde. A distinctive weapon. Flashy. If Trevelyan was being truthful, then Lydia's murder was not exactly what it first appeared.

Of course it wasn't. When had Lydia ever done anything expected? Even her death would be a layered mystery.

"A Bard in Ostwick Circle sounds absurd,” Vivienne finally said, “but as it was Lydia, I will allow for the possibility that one might pay her a visit.” It made a twisted sort of sense: Ostwick Circle was neutral, which Lydia gracefully maintained for a long time- too long, clearly, for someone removed her from the picture and flung the sleepy Circle into chaos. Anyone could have done it, and Trevelyan wasn't quite in the clear yet, but somehow... Vivienne looked over the young woman again. Shemet her gaze, unflinching, and Vivienne smiled. Enchanter Evelyn Trevelyan, no matter if she was guilty or innocent of the crime of murder, was going to be interesting.

"We have many matters that need our attention," Vivienne declared, and she broke part of an overly sweet tea cake over her plate. "But rest assured, I will investigate Lydia's murder. Thoroughly."

[black-occamy]

So, an introduction. Or (as SOMEONE, who has been snickering over my head for two days now, put it) a SERIOUS POST.

TL;DR:

I write fanfic and stuff (ao3 links under cut)

I do arts and crafts (and a lot more different shit than these) see the archives.

I have too much fun with customising legos (that's because when I hyperfixate I REALLY DO)

Read more under the cut 🖤

This blog is dedicated solely to my HP hyperfixation. Since tumblr is favouring main blog and I have this tendency to create one for each fandom I'm currently obsessing about, you may see likes and follows by @sorceress-nadira.

I've read HP in my teens, stopped after OOTP ending, cried and made a promise to one Sirius Black that I will NOT read further. Kept it until today (and it's been almost 20 years) and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Fictional character or not, I made a promise and no one can stop me from being in full denial.

Still, I know about the canon, because I believe in research. Even if I do research to conclude "that's bullshit" and write something completely different.

So far there are following stories on AO3:

The Black Occamy - which is still being written and I currently estimate it to contain around 35 chapters when it's done. Since I'm doing extensive worldbuilding, I may on occasion refer to my headcanon as #occamy verse. It contains a self-insert OC, to which there is no denying, and I have long forgiven myself for creating characters in worlds I love. While it's a self-insert, it's also a really well-crafted character, so you should give her a chance. She's badass. Really badass. The fic also contains Marauders, mostly Sirius, but other well-known characters will be appearing (and staying) along the way.

That's My Spot which is also posted on the blog. Just a short Sirius x non-gender reader I wrote to overcome writers' block. I may add more and if I like a request, I may write it as well in spare time.

The Enchanted Cafe: Season of Pumpkin Spice also posted on the blog. I had a sudden craving for some coffee shop AU with the boys.

Series of Remadora microfics written for October 2023 prompts. Not too many and not for every day. They are set in Occamy-verse as well.

Beside that I have headcanons for a lot of things and even more opinions that I'm more than willing to share.

I try to add images and videos to my ideas.

I am a huge beliver in Pinterest boards - this one is dedicated to Occamyverse.

Beside that I encourage you to talk to me about stuff. I like talking - which should be obvious by now by the sheer length of this post.

[tsuki-sennin]

Japan's current greatest soap opera, Avataro Sentai Donbrothers! It's not just a Tsubasa episode, but a Sononi episode, more importantly! What shall come of this incredibly turgid passion play of a dog and a condor that I just simply cannot stop watching? What's Murasame-kun's deal? And most importantly, will Haruka attain her driver's license?! Only one way to find out~!

Spoilers, I guess...

-Ah,

-"How do love work???" I've been asking myself that for years, Miss.

-Ohhhhhhhhhh... I forgot about... the penguin.

-You'd better be holding out, Jirou.

-Here we see Sonoza, evolving into a master swordsman just like a manga.

-...or, I suppose Murasame just needs some time to himself, that's wonderful of him.

-"Mother, I crave violence."

-I've actually been doing the dance in my off time, it's really difficult but fun to try and get right.

-Oh that's cute, Haruka's helmet has an oni on it :)

-Oniga Mirai!

-Is the town we're in called "Oniga"? Mirai, Mirai, Mirai... Timeranger?

-Ohhhhh, Haruka's got Mad Racer Baron drivin', don't she?

-...I mean, Naoto's actor is in Geats so I'm not exactly surprised...

-Oh yeah, Haruka's an adult now. Trust me, it ain't getting any easier.

-Ohhhhh, I feel that Haruka. I'm 21 and I still don't wanna get my license. My permit is gonna expire soon too...

-OH MY GOD, HARUKA YOU KILLED THE LADY IN THE TOMORROW RESEARCH JACKET

-Oh, she's alive

-Oh hey Tsubasa! I forgot, you were the reason I was so excited for this episode.

-"Murasame! Kill him!"

-Nooooo, my blorbos are fighting!

-SAN SHARK!

-Ohhhh, he down

-Hello, Sononi.

-"The blorbo from my show is dying. If I cannot see his progress climax in a happy ending, then I shall write his death with my own feather quill instead of Sir Inoue's!"

-Can't do it, huh?

-Even when doomed to die, he still thinks so hard about her.

-Wait, you can't see?

-Sononi, no, don't do that.

-SONONI WHAT THE FUCK

-INOUE

-Oh hey, that's Hiroyuki Matsumoto! He played Nephrite in the live action Sailor Moon show and Gamel in OOO!

-Both shows by Yasuko Kobayashi and appearing in an episode that's a tribute to a Sentai also by Kobayashi, funny that.

-Braceless.

-Haruka, did you learn how to drive from Spongebob?

-Very professional, sensei!

-If only we had walkable cities all over the world, smh

-She's a bird, Tsubasa.

-You don't know, huh?

-Blind Doggy

-Murasame-kun doesn't stand for catfishing.

-"Mother, why has my friend betrayed me? :("

-Don't think! Feel!

-Sounds like absolutely horrendous advice for driving, but

-YOU WEREN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO BE GOING BACKWARDS OMFG

-Tsubasa was starstruck, huh?

-How kind of him.

-I really have to wonder how Murasame-kun's viewing all this.

-Shark attack-!

-Pachelbel's Canon?

-STAB

-OH SHIT HERE COMES SEYAMA

-You can't call the cops! He IS the cops!

-Okay Sononi, you're kinda making up for all that.

-OH HI TSUYOSHI

-Your wife has an umbrella and a car, doesn't she? ...on second thought, it looks pretty terrible out there, I'd wanna stay home too.

-Hello Crane Lady! That other bird (literal, and metaphorical by "woman" slang definition) from Ideon Tsubasa's entangled with got stabbed and clawed!

-Tsubasa's so desperate to be with Natsumi again, he just "hugs" her without a second thought...

-Yeah, you feel bad, huh Sononi?

-OH THE DOG CAN SEE NOW

-Ooooooh, he's mad!

-Yeah, that's totally reasonable

-And so the dog and bird run off into the storm.

-AND HARUKA'S STILL FUCKING DRIVING

-HARUKA I WAS KIDDING WHEN I SAID "MAD RACER BARON" ARE YOU ON FUCKING CRACK

-Y'know, there were probably like a bajillion other ways you could've gotten that info out of him.

-YOU FUCKING RAN HIM OVER YOU MONSTER

-ONI SISTER!

-"She slammed that car into you. Kill her harder."

-Drive-by! Hit the deck!

-This is fantastic.

-"Mother. I must recharge my batteries. It is nap time."

-Ohhhhh, that's not good. Seyama got the sword.

-Hello, Miraiki!

-Oh, everybody's here!

-Hello, Tarou! Your show has not had you in it yet today!

-Shinichi, Jirou!

-Yeah nice headbutt InuBrother. Totally knocked somebody out.

-LET'S GO, SONONI!

-Daaaaamn, you got him!

-Okay, okay, okay!

-Okay! Okay!

-Taken out of a dramatic moment by time

-Oh shit, time warp.

-Oh, never mind!

-We're just...

-Doing this now!

-That was fruitless!

-Okay!

-"I'll serve you this time instead!"

-Ninja Dog now has Ninja Shark!

-"Kill Crane Lady, and your one true love will return."

-Ohhhh, her eyes be glowin'

-Good on you this episode Sononi, you were great even if you didn't get to really fight today.

-Haruka can now drive!

-Legally.

-"RUN MY COMPANIONS!"

-Christmaaaaas~!

-Wait

-OH MY GOD, THE NOTO ARE SANTA

-Like

-Collectively.

-That's very nice of them :)

-Hahaha! Christmas Festival is coming soooooon~!

[ihave-thehighgrounds]

Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Forensics

I'm taking a forensics class, and my friends are also in this class, we all sit in the same area and I have no idea why we haven't been separated since we're a class disturbance. Today was an especially disturbing day bc I started a war, I asked my friends and professor, "who would win in a fight: Darth Vader or Lord Voldemort?" And the entire class is now divided... but honestly who really thinks Voldemort would win? He only knows like 3 spells, he's probably been getting eaten alive by multiple diseases since he doesn't wear shoes, if you take his wand away he's basically powerless, and he doesn't do close combat. However, Darth Vader can force choke Voldemort to the point of death by asphyxiation, force choke him so much his neck falls off, or just trash compact him into a cube, he could also pull Voldemort closer to him via the force and slice him in pieces using his lightsaber, and he's skilled in close combat so even if he didn't have his lightsaber, he still has the upper hand. Voldemort needs at least 5 seconds to finish speaking an incantation at best, and in that time Darth Vader could force choke him before Voldemort can finish his incantation.

But on the other hand, Darth Vader takes a little to respond to attacks and that could lead to his demise. It's difficult to say who would win because they're from entirely different galaxies and fandoms, aside from fighting they're equally as powerful, but 1v1 Darth Vader has most of the upper hand. Now I do understand that deflecting spells wouldn't be as easy, seeing as Darth Vader has never had to do that, and most spells don't canonically have a physical appearance, but some give off a plasma-like substance that's easy to see and can be delfected.

More about the magic and the force, Voldemort has only been known to use the killing curse, cruciatus, and fiendfyre(his snake of flames if you're unfamiliar). That being said, fiendfyre is easily deflectable by, as we've seen in the Room of Requirements, getting a barrier of any sort between you and it. Cruciatus is one of those that doesn't have a physical form to deflect, but we know that Avada Kedavra has a physical-ish plasma form and can be deflected by a lightsaber, as well as if aimed the right way, Darth Vader could reflect the curse back to Voldemort and in turn kill Voldemort.

As far as the force goes, it's not too clear how the Wizarding World would react to a natural cause such as the force. But it would put a state of panic into any and all wizards/witches of both good and evil. No one of the Wizarding World has dealt with the force and wouldn't know how to fight it(same can be said for force users about the Wizarding World). As far as my research has proven, it's not clear how one is a wizard(please repost this and tell me if you know, or message me), but as I understand it, it takes EXTRA training to be able to do magic without a wand, a magic only 2 wizards have been known to do; Lily Potter, and Rubeus Hagrid. With that being said, Voldemort relies on his wand to be able to perform magic, but Darth Vader and all force users have more than enough midiclorians that connect them to the force, where they get their abilities. They don't need to waste time speaking an incantation to perform something, which gives force users the upper hand.

Close combat is not taught at Hogwarts, but it is at the Jedi Temple and among Sith. Force users who aren't apart of the Grey Line are Generals of the Clone Army, and armies are combatant, so they need to know how to fight when they're without their lightsabers. This, yet again, is the reason why Darth Vader or any force user for that matter, would win against Voldemort or any witch/wizard.

If anyone has any comments, add ons, contradictions to my statements, more knowledge on either fandom than I do, or literally anything; I would love to hear what anyone has to say in contrast or agreance to me.

[ellalalala]

I always find myself agreeing with everything you say about Dottore so this was a delight!

You're right: Dottore loses all of his charm and intrigue when canon gets pushed under the rug. What we know about him - through the Sumeru archon quests, the "Zandik's Legacy" notes, the Pale Flame artifact, the webtoon - all of it elevates Dottore's character. If he wasn't important to the game's story in any way, we never would have gotten these little clues about him sprinkled throughout the map.

Take for instance the secret notes hidden in Dar al-Shifa; hoyoverse could have gone without adding them, but they did anyway because they had to tell us something. Yes, they are just medical records, sure, but they include Dottore's own personal thoughts regarding humanity and godhood. They show us his complete lack of empathy for his patients (whom he refers to as "subjects"). Every little speck of lore we are offered about him is so important and it's such a shame to see it all forgotten in favor of painting Dottore as the shallow "mad scientist" character!

Then there's the huge issue this fandom has with hoyoverse giving the antagonists "sad backstories". As much as it infuriates me, I think that this issue ties into the frankly depressing mischaracterization of Dottore. So many times I've seen people say "they better keep him irredeemable" and "Dottore was born evil" and it's just- no! All well written characters should be three dimensional and complex, regardless of whether they're a villain or not. This is what makes the Fatui Harbingers so interesting: hoyoverse gives them rich stories and explains their motivations in depth, instead of focusing on making them appear as evil as possible. If there was nothing else beneath their villainous exteriors, what use would these characters have? What purpose would they serve to the overarching story of the game?

My girlfriend likes to joke that I love humanizing Dottore. While she means it in a light-hearted manner, it's still important to note that what I enjoy doing isn't giving him more credit than he deserves or making him out to be better and more human than he is - I only focus on the aspects of his character that get drowned out by the parts that the fandom deems acceptable. A character as wonderful as Dottore has been watered down into some cool, dom daddy scientist who tortures people for the sake of it. The mere idea of Dottore having something more than an extreme passion for research to him is considered preposterous by most of the fandom and it's... Well. As depressing as it is laughable, to be honest.

A large part of this fandom (like many other fandoms) lacks critical thinking skills. I really don't know how else to explain it. Forget about Dottore - the way the fandom completely misunderstood and mischaracterized Scaramouche actually physically pains me. Lord forbid a Harbinger has a deep story and complex reasons for why they are the way they are.

Anyway, enough of my rambling. I could really go on about Dottore forever. He's just lovely.

Thank you for your answer! I always love hearing what you have to say. Also... I had never seen that Reddit post until today, somehow. Such a good read. Thank you again!

It never occurred to me how misunderstood Dottore is until I started analyzing him myself. Discovering that people hate Dottore because of some severe misunderstandings was actually just sad. Though it's even worse because the Sumeru archon quests told us pretty much everything we need to know about him and yet people can't look past the "he experimented on people!!" part.

[writingformyblorbos]

It's cloudy above (Part 1) [next chapter >]

Steven Grant × gn!Reader (possible Marc × Reader and Jake × Reader in the future) Summary: You spot the cute man from the bus while buying groceries and try talking to him. A strange encounters takes place later on. Word count: 2.2k Warnings: Mugging, canon-typical violence (death, guns, you know the drill), swearing in Spanish, not proof read (taking risks is my speciality not really). a/n: This is my first fic in a loong while, but I wanted desperately to write something for Steven and make a shameless self-insert. I just love him so much. Also, I don't think I'll want to see the word mushroom in a long while. Lastly, I want to apologize in advance if i got the intricacies of London's public transport wrong, I tried to do my best as a foreigner with the most research I could. I hope you enjoy:)!!

It was late in the afternoon on Sunday, and you had gone to your nearest Tesco to stock up on groceries. You were on the vegetable isle, looking for some items from the shopping list on your phone. As you were reading what the next item on your list was, you couldn’t help but notice a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye. When you looked up, you saw the back of a man with curly hair you swore you could almost recognize. When he turned around, you couldn’t believe your eyes. ‘Could it be? There’s no way,’ you told yourself. But it was. It was him; the cute guy from the bus you had a crush on.

You would see him often on your way to work, always having dark bags under his eyes, adorned by the messy curls in his head. He seemed like the shy type, and the poor man always looked totaled, like he hadn’t had a good night’s rest in a long while, often falling asleep on the bus; there was even one time he screamed and looked frightened, which was weird, but you figured was because he'd had a nightmare. Who doesn't dream a clown is chasing them every now and again? You didn’t know that much about him, only that he would get off on Trafalgar Square and that he was a person keen on history and other intellectual stuff, judging by the hieroglyphs on his phone case and the kinds of books he would occasionally read on the bus to keep himself awake, poetry and history books of the sort —always wearing his reading glasses, of course— yet your little knowledge of him and his generally disheveled appearance didn't stop his sharp jaw, his curly hair, his beautiful brown eyes, and his intriguing interests from drawing your attention, leading you to develop a crush on him. He was the whole package, after all (smart and handsome).

But one day, he stopped boarding the bus. You figured he'd gotten a day off or he was sick, but days turned into weeks, and eventually, it had been a while since you'd last seen him. Maybe he'd switched jobs or had moved. Either way, he wasn't a part of your life anymore.

Or so you thought, up until today, seeing him going about his errands. You stared at him in disbelief. He still looked as tired as ever, you could even say he looked more tired, like he'd been working out an entire week non-stop. You wanted to ask him so many things, but there was no way you could ask him why he no longer took Bus 24 without sounding like an absolute creep. You contemplated on whether it was better to leave him alone or if you should try talking to him, but this feeling in your gut told you this might be your chance: what if you never saw him again and just lost the opportunity of a lifetime? So, you started brainstorming any kind of small talk you could spark up in the supermarket without it being awkward. Then bingo! He was holding two packets of mushrooms: one was a packet of normal mushrooms, and the other was a packet of sliced mushrooms, and he was looking at them indecisively. You could help him and go from there?

You felt absolutely ridiculous, but you had to. Your conscience would never leave you alone if you didn't. So, you mustered up all the courage you could and made you way towards him. You took a deep breath, trying to stop your hands and legs from shaking, and said:

"If I were you, I'd get the sliced ones."

"Sorry?" he asked, a bit startled by the sudden comment.

"Oh! I just, I would get the sliced mushrooms. They really help you save up time. Unless you have skewers, then you can just..." —you gestured your hands as if you were pricking an imaginary mushroom with your imaginary skewer— "stick it in the mushes and slice them".

He looked at you a bit confused, but you could also see a glimpse of surprise in his eyes.

"That's quite impressive, seems like you know your mushrooms," He chuckled, leaving the normal mushrooms in the bin they were. "I don’t happen to have skewers back at home, so I guess I'll just take the sliced ones, more practical. Thank you"

"No problem," you smiled.

Great, what now? That wasn't the most captivating conversation starter you could bring up. Perhaps it was a stupid idea to try talking to him, 'he probably thinks I'm a weirdo for talking about mushrooms' you told yourself, so you decided to turn around and get back to your business.

"Wait!" You heard from the dark-haired man, "do you happen to take Bus 24 in the mornings?"

No way. There's no way he actually recognized you. Now that you thought about it, what if he thought you were stalking him? I mean, you weren't, but anxiety often leads you to the most extreme trains of thought.

"Uhh, yeah! Yeah, I do," you answered, nervously waiting for him to get angry.

"That's mental! I remember you. You watch videos of cute animals, yeah?" He immediately looked flustered, like he regretted what he'd said, "I mean, not that I eavesdropped on what you were doing on your phone. I only saw it once."

You were relieved he wasn't angry, but also a bit amazed he'd remembered that small detail. He said he didn’t eavesdrop, but that was clearly a lie. Watching cute animals was a must in your daily commute to work though. You could see he was a bit embarrassed by his comment, so you tried to reassure him.

"Oh no, no worries. I once saw you reading a book on Ancient Egypt, right?" he affirmed with his head and seemed to be a little less afflicted, so you tried breaking the ice a bit more. "My name is (y/n). (y/n) (l/n)" you said as you offered your hand for a handshake.

He shook your hand back, with his big, calloused hands, "Steven Grant. The Steven is with a 'v'"

Steven. ‘A pretty name and very fitting,’ you thought. He indeed looked like a Steven.

"It's nice to finally know your name, Steven with a 'v'".

“Likewise, (y/n),” he nodded back, and you both stayed silent for a while, smiling and blushing.

"Well, I'll see you around then. Cheers!" he waved off. There he was, again, slipping through your fingers, like sand on the desert. Come on, had you really gone through embarrassing yourself by talking about mushrooms to just see him walk off? Steven was such a mystery, but one you wanted to know oh so desperately. It was now or never, you had to try to ask him out, or at the very least get his phone number.

"Hey! Uhm..." You called out. Steven turned his head and looked at you with those gorgeous eyes of his that made you feel all jittery inside.

"I was wondering if, I know we just formally met, but..." you started fidgeting with the keys in your pocket, trying to get the words to come out of your mouth, "Could we exchange numbers? I would really like to see you again, and I know this place that makes amazing pastries, so maybe... we could go out?"

That was it. You shot your shot. The ball was in his court now. There's nothing else you could've possibly done. It was only up to fate if—

"Yes, I'd love too."

Your eyes probably shot out of your face, similar to a cartoon, because of the way he looked at you, with a tiny bit sweet grin on his face. You were absolutely over the moon. He said yes! You swore you would’ve danced in the middle of the veggie aisle if it wasn’t considered something weird to do.

Still, you managed to stay calm on the outside and exchanged numbers with Steven. Finally, each one went on about their shopping. But on your way home, you couldn't help but feel butterflies in your stomach thinking about the next time you would see handsome Steven Grant again. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long.

By the time you’d finished placing the groceries in their place, the sun had gone down, adorning your windows with London’s city lights.

You were sitting on your couch, scrolling through your social media. One of the hottest topics of the moment was the latest hero-related incident: some people started dropping dead for no reason in Cairo, which would be shocking news if the world didn’t seem like it was on the verge of ending every couple months. Apparently, a cult had been behind the attack, and there were two heroes involved. One was a woman with curly hair and her suit had golden wings, people started calling her the Scarlet Scarab, and there was this other man with moon motifs who seemed to be able to go from a full-on costume with cape to a fancy suit; people hadn’t come up for a name for him, yet. If it was up to you though, you’d call him the Moon Shifter, or something along those lines. You were glad you weren’t in charge of naming superheroes.

Tired of reading about this latest tragedy, you stood up and opened the nearest window to admire the nocturnal landscape, a cold breeze hitting your face; it felt oddly comforting. You glanced around the street. Nothing was out of the ordinary, just the usual noise of cars passing by. You felt as though the city was luring you out of your flat to go on some moonlit adventure around its streets.

You figured you wouldn’t be going on an adventure, but you sure as hell were starving and didn’t feel in the mood to cook, but there was a Chinese restaurant not far from your place you could get some takeout from. Determined to get your dinner, you grabbed your coat, a pair of shoes, your tote bag, and headed out into the windy streets.

As you were walking to the Chinese restaurant, you felt someone was staring at you from a distance. When you were about to turn around, someone on a moped snatched your tote bag from your shoulder and drove off.

“Hey!” You tried chasing the person with your belongings to no avail, they were long gone. Your first thought was to call the police, but your phone was inside your tote, along with your wallet. You scooped your faced and whined in desperation, feeling this empty hole in your chest. You figured your best course of action was continuing your trip to the restaurant and ask if you could borrow the phone to call the police, so you continued making your way to the restaurant in resignation.

CRASH!

There was a loud noise not so far from where you were. Weary of your surroundings due to what had just happened, you cautiously made your way to the noise. You poked your head towards the alley where it came from and, to your surprise, saw the same moped that had just mugged you crashed into a garbage container. The guy was in the floor, pleading for his life, and in front of him was a figure with a white cape who remained silent.

The caped person only took a step forward, retrieved a gun from his waist, directed it to the man, and said in a raspy voice:

“Mejor ruégale al diablo, pedazo de mierda”.

You covered your mouth to stifle the tiny yelp that escaped your mouth when the shot was fired. You felt the urge to throw up as you saw the man lay lifeless on the pavement.

“Ahí está, Jonsu. ¿Necesitas que me ocupe de alguien más hoy?” The man said nonchalantly to the air, as if he hadn’t just killed a man. Silence followed. Was he expecting someone to talk back to him? Then, he growled in desperation, “¿Qué? ¡Pero Harrow está muerto, tú mismo viste que lo maté!”

It seemed he’d gotten a response, but he wasn’t too happy about it. After a few moments of the wind talking to him, he turned around, looking directly at you.

Shit! You hid from him on the outer corner of the alley. You could hear his steps drawing nearer, but you stayed frozen in fear. He was probably going to kill you for what you’d just seen. Then, the footsteps stopped. You slowly opened your eyes and got a full view of the man. It was the superhero from Cairo, only his costume looked slicker, less mummy-like.

“This yours?” he asked with his thick accent, reaching your tote bag towards you. You nodded.

“Be more careful,” he warned as you grabbed your tote bag from his hands.

As soon as you had a hold of your bag, you made a run for it. After all, you’d just gotten mugged and had seen a man get shot, so you definitely weren’t going to stick around to chit-chat with the superhero in front of you. After running for a bit, you made it to the Chinese restaurant. You opened the door and slammed it shut, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Are you alright?” the person at the register asked. You made your way towards them and slumped down in the counter, head burried in your arms.

“Can I get the large combo?”

Another a/n: Tysm for reading! I am going to be working on a follow up to this fic, so look foward to that. I am planning on making this a Marc × Reader and Jake × Reader series , and maybe even add Layla into the mix because, lke I said at the beggining, I live vicariously through the fanfics I write and I am a bisexual disaster who would really like to be in a poly relationship with all of them.

[tarobytez]

disability in the Six Of Crows Duology; an analysis of Kaz Brekker, Wylan Van Eck, and the fandom’s treatment of them.

****Note: I originally wrote this for a tiktok series, which im still going to do, but i wanted to post here as well bc tumblr is major contributor to what im going to talk about

CW: ableism, filicide, abuse

In the Six of Crows duology, Leigh Bardugo delicately subverts and melds harmful disability tropes into her narrative, unpacking them in a way that I, as a disabled person, found immensely refreshing and…. just brilliant. 

But what did you all do with that? Well, you fucked it up. Instead of critically looking at the characters, y’all just chose to be ableist. 

For the next few videos paragraphs im going to unpack disability theory (largely the stuff surrounding media, for obvious reasons) and how it relates to Six Of Crows and the characterization of Kaz Brekker and Wylan Van Eck, then how, despite their brilliant writing, y’all completely overlooked the actual text and continuously revert them to ableist cariactures.

Disclaimer: 1. Shocker - i am disabled. I have also extensively researched disability theory and am very active in the disabled community. Basically, I know my shit. 2. im going to be mad in these videos this analysis. Because the way y’all have been acting has been going on for a long ass time and im fuckin sick of it. I don’t give a shit about non-disabled feelings, die mad

Firstly, I’m going to discuss Kaz, his play on the stereotypical “mean cripple” trope and how Bardugo subverts it, his cane, and disabled rage. Then, I am going to discuss Wylan, the “inspiration porn” stereotype, caregivers / parents, and the social model of disability. Finally, I will then explain the problems in the fandom from my perspective as a disabled person, largely when it comes to wylan, bc yall cant leave that boy tf alone.

Kaz Brekker

Think of a character who uses a cane (obviously not Kaz). Now, are they evil, dubiously moral, or just an asshole in general? Because nearly example I can think of is: whether it be Lots’O from Toy Story, Lucius Malfoy, or even Scrooge and Mr.Gold from Once Upon A Time all have canes (the last two even having their canes appear less and less as they become better people)

The mean/evil cripple trope is far more common than you would think. Villains with different bodies are confined to the role of “evil”. To quote TV Tropes, who I think did a brilliant job on explaining it “The first is rooted in eugenics-based ideas linking disability or other physical deformities with a "natural" predisposition towards madness, criminality, vice, etc. The Rule of Symbolism is often at work here, since a "crippled" body can be used to represent a "crippled" soul — and indeed, a disabled villain is usually put in contrast to a morally upright and physically "perfect" hero. Whether consciously on the part of the writer or not, this can reinforce cultural ideas of disability making a person inherently inferior or negative, much in the same way the Sissy Villain or Depraved Homosexual trope associate sexual and gender nonconformity with evil. ”

Our introduction to Kaz affirms this notion of him being bad or morally bankrupt, with “Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason”, etc. This mythologized version of himself, the “bastard of the barrel” actively fed into this misconception. But, as we the audience are privy to his inner thoughts, know that he is just a teenager like every other Crow. He is complex, his disability isn’t this tragic backstory, he just fell off a roof. It’s not his main motivation, nor does he curse revenge for making him a cripple - it is just another part of who he is. 

His cane (though the shows version fills me with rage but-) is an extension of Kaz - he fights with it, but it has a purpose. Another common thing in media is for canes to be simply accessories, but while Kaz’ cane is fashionable, it has purpose.

The quote “There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.” is so fucking powerful. Kaz does not want nor need a cure - its said in Crooked Kingdom that his leg could most likely be healed, but he chooses not to. Abled-bodied people tend to dismiss this thought as Kaz being stubborn but it shows a reality of acceptance of his disability that is just, so refreshing.

In chapter 22 of SOC, we see disabled rage done right - when he is called a cripple by the Fjerdan inmate, Kaz is pissed - the important detail being that he is pissed at the Fjerdan, at society for ableism, not blaming it on being disabled or wishing he could be normal. He takes action, dislocating the asshole’s shoulder and proving to him, and to a lesser extent, himself, that he is just as capable as anyone else, not in spite of, but because he is disabled. And that is the point of Kaz, harking back to the line that “there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken”. 

I cried on numerous occasions while reading the SOC duology, but the parts I highlighted in this section especially so. I, as many other disabled people do, have had a long and tumultuous relationship with our disability/es, and for many still struggle. But Kaz Brekker gave me an empowered disabled character who accepts themselves, and that means the world to me. 

Keeping that in mind, I hope you can understand why it hurts so much to disabled people when you either erase Kaz’s disability (whether through cosplay or fanfiction), or portray him as a “broken boy uwu”, especially implying that he would want a cure. That flies in the face of canon and is inherently fucking ableist. (if u think im mad wait until the next section)

Next, we have Wylan.  

Oh fucking boy. 

I love Wylan so fucking much, and y’all just do not seem to understand his character? Like at all? Since this is disability-centric, I’m not going to discuss how the intersection of his queerness also contributes to these issues, but trust me when I say it’s a contributing factor to what i'm going to say.

Wylan, motherfucking Van Eck. If you ableist pricks don’t take ur fucking hands off him right now im going to fight you. I see Wylan as a subversion another, and in my opinion more insidious stereotype pf disabled people - inspiration porn.

Cara Liebowitz in a 2015 article on the blog The Body Is Not An Apology explains in greater detail how inspiration porn is impactful in real life, but media is a major contributing factor to this reality. The technical definition is “the portrayal of people with disabilities as inspirational solely or in part on the basis of their disability” - but that does not cover it fully. 

Inspiration porn does lasting damage on the disabled community as it implies that disability is a negative that you need to “overcome” or “triumph” instead of something one can feel proud of. It exploits disabled people for the development of non-disabled people, and in media often the white male protagonist. Framing disability as inherently negative perpetuates ideals of eugenics and cures - see Autism $peaks’ “I Am Autism” ad. Inspiration porn is also incredibly patronizing as it implies that we cannot take care of ourselves, or do things like non-disabled people do. Because i stg some of you tend to think that we just sit around all day wishing we weren’t disabled. 

Another important theory ideal that is necessary when thinking about Wylan is the experience of feeling like a burden simply for needing help or accommodations. This is especially true when it comes to familial relationships, and internalized ableism.

The rhetoric that Wylan’s father drilled into his head, that he is “defective”, “a mistake”, and “needs to be corrected”, that he (Jan) was “cursed with a moron for a child” is a long held belief that disabled people hear relentlessly. And while many see Van Eck’s attempted murder of Wylan as “preposturous” and overall something that you would never think happens today - filicide (a parent murdering their child) is more common than you would like to believe. Without even mentioning the countless and often unreported deaths of disabled people due to lack of / insufficient / neglectful medical care, in a study on children who died from the result of household abuse, 40 of 42 of them (95%) were diagnosed with disabilities. Van Eck is not some caricature of ableist ideals - he is a real reflection on how many people and family members view disability. 

Circling back to how Wylan unpacks the inspiration porn trope - he is 3 dimensional, he is not only used to develop the other characters, he is just *chefs kiss* Leigh, imo, put so much love and care into the creation of Wylan and his story and character growth that is representative of a larger feeling in the disabled community. 

That being said, what you non-disabled motherfuckers have done to him.

The “haha Wylan can’t read” jokes aren’t and were not funny. Y’all literally boiled down everything Wylan is to him being dyslexic. And it’s like,,,, the only thing you can say about him. You ignore every other part of him other than his disability, and then mock him for it. There’s so much you can say about Wylan - simping for Jesper, being band kid and playing the fuckin flute, literally anything else. But no, you just chose to mock his disability, excellent fucking job!

Next up on “ableds stfu” - infantilization! y’all are so fucking condescending to Wylan, and treat him like a fucking toddler. And while partly it is due to his sexuality i think a larger portion is him being disabled. Its in the same vein of people who think that Wylan and Jesper are romantically one sided, and that Jesper only kind of liked Wylan, despite the canon evidence of him loving Wylan just as much. You all view him as a “smol bean”, who needs protecting, and care, when Wylan is the opposite of that. He is a fucking demolitions expert who suggested waking up sleeping men to kill them - what about that says “uwu”. You are treating Wylan as a burden to Jesper and the other Crows when he is an immensely valuable, fully autonomous disabled person - you all just view him as damaged. 

And before I get a comment saying that “uhhh Wylan isn’t real why do you care” while Wylan may not be real, how you all view him and treat him has real fucking impacts and informs how you treat people like me. If someone called me an “uwu baby boy” they’d get a fist square in the fucking jaw. Fiction informs how we perceive the world and y’all are making it super fucking clear how you see disabled people. 

Finally, I wanted to talk about how the social model of disability is portrayed through Wylan. For those who are unaware, the social model of disability contrasts the medical model, that views the disability itself as the problem, that needs to be cured, whereas the social model essentially boils down to creating an accommodating society, where disability acceptance and pride is the goal. And we see this with Wylan - he is able to manage his father’s estate, with Jesper’s assistance to help him read documents. And this is not out of pity or charity, but an act of love. It is not portrayed as this almighty act for Jesper to play saviour, just a given, which is incredibly important to show, especially for someone who has been abused by family for his disability like Wylan, that he is accepted. 

Yet, I still see people hold up Jesper on a pedestal for “putting up with” Wylan, as if loving a disabled person deserves a fucking pat on the back. It’s genuinely exhausting trying to engage with a work I love so much with a fandom that thinks so little of me and my community. It fucking shows. 

Overall, Leigh Bardugo as a disabled person wrote two incredibly meticulous and empowered disabled characters, and due to either lack of reading comprehension, ableism, or a quirky mix of both, the fandom has ignored canon and the experiences of disabled people for…. shits and giggles i guess. And yes, there are issues with the Grishaverse and disability representation - while I haven’t finished them yet so I do not have an opinion on it, people have been discussing issues in the KOS duology with ableist ideals. This mini series was no way indicative of the entire disabled experience, nor does it represent my entire view on the representation as a whole. These things need to be met critically in our community, and talked about with disabled voices at the forefront. For example, the limited perspective we get of Wylan and Kaz being both white men, does not account for a large portion of the disabled community and the intersection of multiple identities.

All-in-all, Critique media, but do not forget to also critique fandom spaces. Alternatively, just shut the fuck up :)

happy fucking disability pride month, ig

[bao3bei4]

fan language: the victorian imaginary and cnovel fandom

there’s this pinterest image i’ve seen circulating a lot in the past year i’ve been on fandom social media. it’s a drawn infographic of a, i guess, asian-looking woman holding a fan in different places relative to her face to show what the graphic helpfully calls “the language of the fan.”

people like sharing it. they like thinking about what nefarious ancient chinese hanky code shenanigans their favorite fan-toting character might get up to⁠—accidentally or on purpose. and what’s the problem with that?

the problem is that fan language isn’t chinese. it’s victorian. and even then, it’s not really quite victorian at all. 

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fans served a primarily utilitarian purpose throughout chinese history. of course, most of the surviving fans we see⁠—and the types of fans we tend to care about⁠—are closer to art pieces. but realistically speaking, the majority of fans were made of cheaper material for more mundane purposes. in china, just like all around the world, people fanned themselves. it got hot!

so here’s a big tipoff. it would be very difficult to use a fan if you had an elaborate language centered around fanning yourself.

you might argue that fine, everyday working people didn’t have a fan language. but wealthy people might have had one. the problem we encounter here is that fans weren’t really gendered. (caveat here that certain types of fans were more popular with women. however, those tended to be the round silk fans, ones that bear no resemblance to the folding fans in the graphic). no disrespect to the gnc old man fuckers in the crowd, but this language isn’t quite masc enough for a tool that someone’s dad might regularly use.

folding fans, we know, reached europe in the 17th century and gained immense popularity in the 18th. it was there that fans began to take on a gendered quality. ariel beaujot describes in their 2012 victorian fashion accessories how middle class women, in the midst of a top shortage, found themselves clutching fans in hopes of securing a husband.

she quotes an article from the illustrated london news, suggesting “women ‘not only’ used fans to ‘move the air and cool themselves but also to express their sentiments.’” general wisdom was that the movement of the fan was sufficiently expressive that it augmented a woman’s displays of emotion. and of course, the more english audiences became aware that it might do so, the more they might use their fans purposefully in that way.

notice, however, that this is no more codified than body language in general is. it turns out that “the language of the fan” was actually created by fan manufacturers at the turn of the 20th century⁠—hundreds of years after their arrival⁠ in europe—to sell more fans. i’m not even kidding right now. the story goes that it was louis duvelleroy of the maison duvelleroy who decided to include pamphlets on the language with each fan sold.

interestingly enough, beaujot suggests that it didn’t really matter what each particular fan sign meant. gentlemen could tell when they were being flirted with. as it happens, meaningful eye contact and a light flutter near the face may be a lingua franca.

so it seems then, the language of the fan is merely part of this victorian imaginary we collectively have today, which in turn itself was itself captivated by china.

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victorian references come up perhaps unexpectedly often in cnovel fandom, most often with regards to modesty.

it’s a bit of an awkward reference considering that chinese traditional fashion⁠—and the ambiguous time periods in which these novels are set⁠—far predate victorian england. it is even more awkward considering that victoria and her covered ankles did um. imperialize china.

but nonetheless, it is common. and to make a point about how ubiquitous it is, here is a link to the twitter search for “sqq victorian.” sqq is the fandom abbreviation for shen qingqiu, the main character of the scum villain’s self-saving system, by the way.

this is an awful lot of results for a search involving a chinese man who spends the entire novel in either real modern-day china or fantasy ancient china. that’s all i’m going to say on the matter, without referencing any specific tweet.

i think people are aware of the anachronism. and i think they don’t mind. even the most cursory research reveals that fan language is european and a revisionist fantasy. wikipedia can tell us this⁠—i checked!

but it doesn’t matter to me whether people are trying to make an internally consistent canon compliant claim, or whether they’re just free associating between fan facts they know. it is, instead, more interesting to me that people consistently refer to this particular bit of history. and that’s what i want to talk about today⁠—the relationship of fandom today to this two hundred odd year span of time in england (roughly stuart to victorian times) and england in that time period to its contemporaneous china.

things will slip a little here. victorian has expanded in timeframe, if only because random guys posting online do not care overly much for respect for the intricacies of british history. china has expanded in geographic location, if only because the english of the time themselves conflated china with all of asia.

in addition, note that i am critiquing a certain perspective on the topic. this is why i write about fan as white here⁠—not because all fans are white⁠—but because the tendencies i’m examining have a clear historical antecedent in whiteness that shapes how white fans encounter these novels.

i’m sure some fans of color participate in these practices. however i don’t really care about that. they are not its main perpetrators nor its main beneficiaries. so personally i am minding my own business on that front.

it’s instead important to me to illuminate the linkage between white as subject and chinese as object in history and in the present that i do argue that fannish products today are built upon.

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it’s not radical, or even new at all, for white audiences to consume⁠—or create their own versions of⁠—chinese art en masse. in many ways the white creators who appear to owe their whole style and aesthetic to their asian peers in turn are just the new chinoiserie.

this is not to say that white people can’t create asian-inspired art. but rather, i am asking you to sit with the discomfort that you may not like the artistic company you keep in the broader view of history, and to consider together what is to be done about that.

now, when i say the new chinoiserie, i first want to establish what the original one is. chinoiserie was a european artistic movement that appeared coincident with the rise in popularity of folding fans that i described above. this is not by coincidence; the european demand for asian imports and the eventual production of lookalikes is the movement itself. so: when we talk about fans, when we talk about china (porcelain), when we talk about tea in england⁠—we are talking about the legacy of chinoiserie.

there are a couple things i want to note here. while english people as a whole had a very tenuous knowledge of what china might be, their appetites for chinoiserie were roughly coincident with national relations with china. as the relationship between england and china moved from trade to out-and-out wars, chinoiserie declined in popularity until china had been safely subjugated once more by the end of the 19th century.

the second thing i want to note on the subject that contrary to what one might think at first, the appeal of chinoiserie was not that it was foreign. eugenia zuroski’s 2013 taste for china examines 18th century english literature and its descriptions of the according material culture with the lens that chinese imports might be formative to english identity, rather than antithetical to it.

beyond that bare thesis, i think it’s also worthwhile to extend her insight that material objects become animated by the literary viewpoints on them. this is true, both in a limited general sense as well as in the sense that english thinkers of the time self-consciously articulated this viewpoint. consider the quote from the illustrated london news above⁠—your fan, that object, says something about you. and not only that, but the objects you surround yourself with ought to.

it’s a bit circular, the idea that written material says that you should allow written material to shape your understanding of physical objects. but it’s both 1) what happened, and 2) integral, i think, to integrating a fannish perspective into the topic.

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japanning is the name for the popular imitative lacquering that english craftspeople developed in domestic response to the demand for lacquerware imports. in the eighteenth century, japanning became an artform especially suited for young women. manuals were published on the subject, urging young women to learn how to paint furniture and other surfaces, encouraging them to rework the designs provided in the text.

it was considered a beneficial activity for them; zuroski describes how it was “associated with commerce and connoisseurship, practical skill and aesthetic judgment.” a skillful japanner, rather than simply obscuring what lay underneath the lacquer, displayed their superior judgment in how they chose to arrange these new canonical figures and effects in a tasteful way to bring out the best qualities of them.

zuroski quotes the first english-language manual on the subject, written in 1688, which explains how japanning allows one to:

alter and correct, take out a piece from one, add a fragment to the next, and make an entire garment compleat in all its parts, though tis wrought out of never so many disagreeing patterns.

this language evokes a very different, very modern practice. it is this english reworking of an asian artform that i think the parallels are most obvious.

white people, through their artistic investment in chinese material objects and aesthetics, integrated them into their own subjectivity. these practices came to say something about the people who participated in them, in a way that had little to do with the country itself. their relationship changed from being a “consumer” of chinese objects to becoming the proprietor of these new aesthetic signifiers.

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i want to talk about this through a few pairs of tensions on the subject that i think characterize common attitudes then and now.

first, consider the relationship between the self and the other: the chinese object as something that is very familiar to you, speaking to something about your own self vs. the chinese object as something that is fundamentally different from you and unknowable to you. 

consider: [insert character name] is just like me. he would no doubt like the same things i like, consume the same cultural products. we are the same in some meaningful way vs. the fast standard fic disclaimer that “i tried my best when writing this fic, but i’m a english-speaking westerner, and i’m just writing this for fun so...... [excuses and alterations the person has chosen to make in this light],” going hand-in-hand with a preoccupation with authenticity or even overreliance on the unpaid labor of chinese friends and acquaintances. 

consider: hugh honour when he quotes a man from the 1640s claiming “chinoiserie of this even more hybrid kind had become so far removed from genuine Chinese tradition that it was exported from India to China as a novelty to the Chinese themselves” 

these tensions coexist, and look how they have been resolved.

second, consider what we vest in objects themselves: beaujot explains how the fan became a sexualized, coquettish object in the hands of a british woman, but was used to great effect in gilbert and sullivan’s 1885 mikado to demonstrate the docility of asian women. 

consider: these characters became expressions of your sexual desires and fetishes, even as their 5’10 actors themselves are emasculated.

what is liberating for one necessitates the subjugation and fetishization of the other. 

third, consider reactions to the practice: enjoyment of chinese objects as a sign of your cosmopolitan palate vs “so what’s the hype about those ancient chinese gays” pop culture explainers that addressed the unconvinced mainstream.

consider: zuroski describes how both english consumers purchased china in droves, and contemporary publications reported on them. how: 

It was in the pages of these papers that the growing popularity of Chinese things in the early eighteenth century acquired the reputation of a “craze”; they portrayed china fanatics as flawed, fragile, and unreliable characters, and frequently cast chinoiserie itself in the same light.

referenda on fannish behavior serve as referenda on the objects of their devotion, and vice versa. as the difference between identity and fetish collapses, they come to be treated as one and the same by not just participants but their observers. 

at what point does mxtx fic cease to be chinese? 

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finally, it seems readily apparent that attitudes towards chinese objects may in fact have something to do with attitudes about china as a country. i do not want to suggest that these literary concerns are primarily motivated and begot by forces entirely divorced from the real mechanics of power. 

here, i want to bring in edward said, and his 1993 culture and imperialism. there, he explains how power and legitimacy go hand in hand. one is direct, and one is purely cultural. he originally wrote this in response to the outsize impact that british novelists have had in the maintenance of empire and throughout decolonization. literature, he argues, gives rise to powerful narratives that constrain our ability to think outside of them.

there’s a little bit of an inversion at play here. these are chinese novels, actually. but they’re being transformed by white narratives and artists. and just as i think the form of the novel is important to said’s critique, i think there’s something to be said about the form that fic takes and how it legitimates itself.

bound up in fandom is the idea that you have a right to create and transform as you please. it is a nice idea, but it is one that is directed towards a certain kind of asymmetry. that is, one where the author has all the power. this is the narrative we hear a lot in the history of fandom⁠—litigious authors and plucky fans, fanspaces always under attack from corporate sanitization.

meanwhile, said builds upon raymond schwab’s narrative of cultural exchange between european writers and cultural products outside the imperial core. said explains that fundamental to these two great borrowings (from greek classics and, in the so-called “oriental renaissance” of the late 18th, early 19th centuries from “india, china, japan, persia, and islam”) is asymmetry. 

he had argued prior, in orientalism, that any “cultural exchange” between “partners conscious of inequality” always results in the suffering of the people. and here, he describes how “texts by dead people were read, appreciated, and appropriated” without the presence of any actual living people in that tradition. 

i will not understate that there is a certain economic dynamic complicating this particular fannish asymmetry. mxtx has profited materially from the success of her works, most fans will not. also secondly, mxtx is um. not dead. LMAO.

but first, the international dynamic of extraction that said described is still present. i do not want to get overly into white attitudes towards china in this post, because i am already thoroughly derailed, but i do believe that they structure how white cnovel fandom encounters this texts.

at any rate, any profit she receives is overwhelmingly due to her domestic popularity, not her international popularity. (i say this because many of her international fans have never given her a cent. in fact, most of them have no real way to.) and moreover, as we talk about the structure of english-language fandom, what does it mean to create chinese cultural products without chinese people? 

as white people take ownership over their versions of stories, do we lose something? what narratives about engagement with cnovels might exist outside of the form of classic fandom?

i think a lot of people get the relationship between ideas (the superstructure) and production (the base) confused. oftentimes they will lob in response to criticism, that look! this fic, this fandom, these people are so niche, and so underrepresented in mainstream culture, that their effects are marginal. i am not arguing that anyone’s cql fic causes imperialism. (unless you’re really annoying. then it’s anyone’s game) 

i’m instead arguing something a little bit different. i think, given similar inputs, you tend to get similar outputs. i think we live in the world that imperialism built, and we have clear historical predecessors in terms of white appetites for creating, consuming, and transforming chinese objects. 

we have already seen, in the case of the fan language meme that began this post, that sometimes we even prefer this white chinoiserie. after all, isn’t it beautiful, too? 

i want to bring discomfort to this topic. i want to reject the paradigm of white subject and chinese object; in fact, here in this essay, i have tried to reverse it.

if you are taken aback by the comparisons i make here, how can you make meaningful changes to your fannish practice to address it? 

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some concluding thoughts on the matter, because i don’t like being misunderstood! 

i am not claiming white fans cannot create fanworks of cnovels or be inspired by asian art or artists. this essay is meant to elaborate on the historical connection between victorian england and cnovel characters and fandom that others have already popularized.

i don’t think people who make victorian jokes are inherently bad or racist. i am encouraging people to think about why we might make them and/or share them

the connections here are meant to be more provocative than strictly literal. (e.g. i don’t literally think writing fanfic is a 1-1 descendant of japanning). these connections are instead meant to 1) make visible the baggage that fans of color often approach fandom with and 2) recontextualize and defamiliarize fannish practice for the purposes of honest critique

please don’t turn this post into being about other different kinds of discourse, or into something that only one “kind” of fan does. please take my words at face value and consider them in good faith. i would really appreciate that.

please feel free to ask me to clarify any statements or supply more in-depth sources :)