#i would suggest reading some real period books

[mechadria]

she's not "giving up love" or anything of the sort btw she'd be giving up polite society and connections to anyone in the ton, possible even her family.

colin talks this big talk of her trying to 'entrap' him because she didn't think to blurt out she was lady whistledown in the minutes between him chasing down her carriage, confessing his feelings, fingerfucking her, deciding they were marrying and going to announce it, but that was literally entrapment, whether he realises it or not (and i rather think he does).

if anyone had seen them get into or out of that carriage alone, penelope would have been RUINED. compromised for society. she would have been forced to marry him (which would only somewhat repair her standing) or retire from polite society for the REST OF HER LIFE (or be constantly slighted, insulted and avoided). it does not matter whether they'd had awkward talk or full on unprotected sex for an hour straight, she would have suffered the same consequences.

and she would have suffered these very same consequences had they called off the marriage. this is not a world where you say who broke up with who. or even a world where you say why. the Entire Ton would have decided that Penelope had tried to entrap and seduce a Bridgerton and he just found a way out. again, she would have been ruined and shunned from London. she would have been stuck leaving the people she knew and loved or staying in her mother's house, being mocked and disregarded ten times worse than ever before, with no prospects except maybe a disgusting old drunk (because that's what women who had rumours about their virginity fucking got).

and then, that's without even considering the fact that they'd had sex, and Colin isn't a fucking moron. he Knows there is a possibility that penelope is pregnant - that's why they hurry the wedding up, both in the book and the series. so when he accuses her of entrapping him - thus threatening her with either a life of misery on his arm or a life shunned by anyone she's ever known - he knows exactly what it would do to her if they broke the engagement and she did get pregnant.

Colin Bridgerton knew exactly the extent and violence of the threat he was making to Penelope when he accused her of entrapping him - in Several fucking Ways - and he did it because his feelings were a bit hurt and he fucking knew that he did, in fact, entrap her. he was lucky that Penelope loved him back, because otherwise exiting that carriage alone with him might have ruined her life, and he did not give her or her safety or her happiness a SINGLE thought when he entered that carriage.

the books are Not well written, lmao, don't get me wrong, but the writing on this show is somehow even more abysmal. colin's behaviour in that second half of the season is violent in a way all threats, suggestions, actions and comments men make in a society so hellbent on harming women, and you're supposed to think he's romantic and in love and just having a hard time? babes, it's the 19th century equivalent of punching the wall next to your face.

#this part almost broke me #penelope was willing to let him go #she couldn’t stand the thought of forcing him to stay married to her only out of honor #the way she says “your” instead of “our” family even though he had already referred to her as now a part of their family #she didn’t want him to feel trapped #she was willing to lose the love of her life so he could be happy #but HIS FACE says everything #he is surprised and a little pained #he almost looks amazed that she would even say it #because he never truly wanted to be without her #but i think her being willing to protect him made him love her even more #don’t look at me

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 2)

Title: Fractalize Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: "You do this sometimes," he continues, tugging a bit harder. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago." Word count: 2100+ Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female) Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating, morbid pondering, morbid imagery, psychological manipulation, intrusive thoughts, non-con touching, non-con kiss. I start thinking that sad is probably my favourite genre to write at this point. Part 1 Part 3 is in question. I have some drafts, but not sure if it'll become anything.

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Your mother always smelled of fresh linen and something powdery, like her face cream which you tried once in secret. The fragrance held you mesmerized, and when the jar accidentally dropped from your hand, shattering into pieces, it lingered everywhere: on the bathroom tiles, in the cracks and narrow space under the sink. Her silent disappointment was so overpowering that you cleaned the mess three times.

That scent clung to her knitting needles too when she sat with yarn on her lap. It made way into your mind place, waiting for the most inappropriate of moments to resurface: she would show you how to knit, loop after loop, and eventually you were able to create your own tiny scarf.

Hideous, that's what it was.

But also the first thing you ever knitted, so you cherished it, not caring for the holes and loose threads. She called it pretty, mothers do lie like that.

"I was thinking," Chrollo begins. Clean plates are stacked next to a dish rack, ready to be dried. You help him sometimes with this mundane chore out of boredom or a faint allusion to the life you had.

"Mm."

When you stand so close, his shoulder occasionally touches yours, and a lump forms in your throat, a very unimportant physical aspect of your being that you've stopped paying attention to long ago. You swallow it away, like every single morning before putting on the same shirt for the eighth day in a row.

Dry and repeat.

"Is there anything specific you'd like to do today?"

You pick up another plate. How odd. A few months ago this question would've made you ecstatic. Not that there was a real chance to sway Chrollo's plans, but it was a gesture, the pretence that your input mattered, and you took everything from it, until it started tasting stale. A shy kind of feeling, misplaced and fragile, would bloom in your chest, and prompt you say something soft, silly and naive: 'maybe we can have a picnic?', 'I'd like a carrot cake', 'yes, I want to watch that period drama for the hundredth time.'

And he would agree sometimes. Or suggest his alternative instead, which turned out more often than not to be less favorable, but you accepted it because what else was there? In-between the walls decorated with expensive paintings, books you already read three times, between Chrollo who listened intently to every word and a faint buzz of some high-end place, you chose to take whatever you could.

It doesn't bother you anymore, going or not going. Doing nothing or doing something. Being with him in a room or being alone, even though the last one is more compelling. The initial excitement that came with having small choices has passed. You think sometimes that if you took a knitting needle and sunk it deep into your chest, the surface around it would start crumbling and bare a hollow cavity with just ribs and dusty spaces.

Chrollo's suggestions are very thought out. Aimed to convince you that this arrangement isn't that bad after all, but also aimed to bring him something from it, be it sitting uncomfortably close to you on a sofa or holding your hand the entire walk. His presence is stifling in more ways than one, and you've been choking, choking, choking on it for so long, that finally all those cracks running across your insides started to feel liberating.

"No," you say. "Not really. Anything you want is fine."

Chrollo's been asking this more often lately. What you want to eat and what you want to do. Even whether you want to go out sometimes (with him, of course, never alone). Perhaps he's trying to figure any new preference you might have. Or a part of him can sense this deterioration that's slow to set in, but once it does - it stays.

"Dear," there's a tone in his voice. It's not worry per se. Chrollo doesn't worry for you, he worries for that little world of his, made of forced interactions, silk bed sheets and fake domesticity, which you're a part of, an intricate cog he can keep closely tucked to his side. Sheltered, protected, cared for - these words don't fit. So you use other instead, like imprisoned, kept, thing. He likes to have them, from trinkets he steals to human beings - you. Maybe it comes from years of owning nothing at all, having nothing at all, and now the allure of having much and more is like second skin.

You've heard stories about children abandoned to their own devices. Those who were left to roam the streets, scavenge through trash and fight other kids for a half-eaten sandwich or a can of beans. You wonder if he was like that, with messy hair, bony limbs and a desperate need to own something that no one could take.

Bit by bit you slip.

That tone means he's sensing it already, that bit by bit you're trying to leave him behind.

Chrollo always catches up with things easily. From the way he grips your arms, you wonder if that's what he did just now, caught up.

"Yes?"

The dishes are all done, clean and sparkling. The sink shines too, almost mocking you with its perfectness - there's nothing to do anymore. Your mind space of fake wooden floors and wide windows is waiting to be occupied, but it would feel wrong to retreat there so soon. Chrollo will ask questions, and if you're not able to keep up, he'll notice too. He slides both palms down your skin, squeezing a tad harder at the elbows; and so you stare into the sink.

His hands aren't soft at all. They're a little dry from soap, callused around fingertips. How effortless it would be for him to break your bones, one by one, starting from the wrist, but that won't happen; no, all that comes from him is words whispered in your ear, caresses and cruelty wrapped in kindness - it sounds poetic when phrased this way.

Your reflection stares back from the stainless metal. She doesn't look bad. Chrollo takes good care of her, makes sure she eats balanced meals and drinks enough water. She looks alright, with shiny hair and healthy nails.

The eyes is what doesn't match this picture of okay-ness. Not empty. Not vacant. Just frozen in time and very, very still.

Chrollo presses closer until his chest is touching her shoulder blades. You wonder if he considers it a victory, this silent compliance. It's not acceptance really, because that should be accompanied by a sense of peace or fulfillment and none of the two are currently present. It's not even resignation - that requires energy to acknowledge defeat.

If neither of those, what is it then?

"You've been awfully quiet today."

A drop of water falls from the tap and slides down the drain.

"The whole week in fact," his thumb strokes her stomach through the fabric. Slow circles, up and down. Chrollo enjoys physical closeness so much that it should be surprising for someone like him - reserved, calm and collected - to thrive on such things, but you suppose when it comes to her there's an exception.

"Not that I mind it, but if something's bothering you, you know that I'm always ready to listen."

There is something bothering you actually. Many things. You want your cat back. You want him gone, away, to see your mother again and bake with her. Eat fresh pastries while listening to old songs on the radio and talk about silly things or whatever she liked to ponder over before you were swept off your feet like in those old fairy tales. You want your phone and accounts unlocked so you could message friends. You miss your grandmother with her apron, the way she laughed at corny jokes and told stories about her youth. You want many things that Chrollo would never agree on - you're well aware of that, that's why you keep them safely tucked away and rotting.

You also want him to stop pressing against your back, and this is far easier to achieve. Slowly you untuck yourself from between his body and the counter, then turn around. He watches your face calmly like always, with this unblinking gaze full of strange fixation; there are small lines in the corners of his eyes, barely noticeable ones. You count them - six in total, three for each eye.

Then you blink.

"I don't think there is anything."

"Really," Chrollo hums, playing with the hem of your shirt, and you wonder if he knows something you're not aware of him knowing. "You've spoken less than ten sentences in two days, yet there's nothing bothering you. I must say I don't believe that."

So this is how it's going to start. This is how the conversation begins, and it'll flow from here until Chrollo finds what he's searching for.

"I've been paying close attention."

You don't doubt it.

"And what did you notice?"

"Nothing pleasant," his finger finds a loose thread and wraps it around. The pull is light, as if testing whether it'll prompt you to move closer into his space. "Quite concerning things actually."

You don't budge an inch.

"You do this sometimes," he continues. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago. Or when you go over the same page until it's clear that I'm looking."

Chrollo's collarbone is a crisp line with a faint old scar; your attention skims over it to the sharp edges of his jaw. No smile today.

"And I wondered where you have been going."

He tugs a bit harder and the thread snaps.

It should've stunned you how fast everything crumbled - the imaginary wooden floors, Miss Whiskerton on your lap and the lizard, the wide windows - but no, it's surprisingly anti-climactic. Nothing breaks dramatically, just splits the middle, leaving you with cold kitchen tiles underneath your bare feet. You thought about this scenario - Chrollo cornering you, many times, and the words you would choose when he did, yet they fail to manifest and nothing fills the silence except a mute sensation of acknowledgement which settles over your head and shoulders. Your knees don't buckle. Your breath doesn't hitch, there is no shivering, and perhaps that's the most terrifying reaction of all.

So what, you think. And it's such a simple thought, plain and ordinary, so what.

Chrollo has his ways, but you have yours; they are slow and small, and squeeze you very tight. You can't comprehend this new expression on his face, haven't seen it before.

"My dear," he says in a quiet voice, so unlike his usual smooth, charming tone. "Broken thoughts and forlorn dreams can't fix what you want them to."

He taps your forehead, as if to engrave those words into the soft tissue of your brain. They slip away though, like running water.

"Wherever you choose to wander, there's not a single spot where I'm not right behind. Delusions don't suit you and it's simply sad to watch."

The kiss comes without warning; Chrollo doesn't bother to say anything else, just cups your face. It's warm and deep, a full-mouthed kiss that tastes faintly of tea you two drank during breakfast.

It's rot, you realize with a ten minute delay; and this slack mouth he's caressing isn't yours. There's a plant behind his shoulder, some small cactus with white needles sitting on a windowsill. The sunlight creates patterns on the glass, soft yellow circles and lines. They shift every passing second.

He's going to do this now, isn't he. Kiss you when you slip too deep as a way to break the pattern and remind that this is where you're supposed to be - with him. In the kitchen wearing a thin shirt above the knee, with cracks that spread across your insides, seeking for every small space they can fill. You'll grow older by his side, he'll bring you material pleasures to compensate for the lack of mental ones - books, clothes, jewelry, a pet if you decide to ask (you won't). Chrollo is going to kiss you often until age creeps onto your faces, and you'll watch each other turn old together.

The plant on the windowsill looks so dry.

"Dear."

He pulls back a few inches. You meet his eyes.

"Mm?"

You will let the rot dig under your nails and wait for it to eat away until his hands eventually become empty; rot is something to grab onto. It's slow to set, but spreads fast once does and never runs out of supply.

[studentbyday]

a september packed with purpose 🏵️ (goals for the 2024-2025 academic year)

an attempt to live a meaningful life even if it's really busy.

🎓 academic goals:

stay on top of my schoolwork. not feeling like i'm running after deadlines but staying organized, calm, and methodical, even if there's a lot.

change up my study strats! turn text into diagrams! shorter focus periods followed by an active break to ease myself into the semester!

study 8h per day or less if at all possible (for official schoolwork)

👩🏻‍🔬 career goals:

finish databases courses to increase my career capital (i sped read so good they can't ignore you this summer and it was both inspiring and practical - grateful for the feeling of having a roadmap...even if it's vague.)

do everything to become so good the lab i'm interested in joining can't ignore me (i have pretty much no current affiliation with them or their university so this is gonna be an uphill climb unless maybe i seem like a perfect fit...)

🌳 lifestyle and adulting goals:

develop a can-do attitude and work on my growth mindset

continue to practice driving at least 3x per week before it snows

become a 6AM girlie (or an 8PM girlie, if you're looking at the sleeping time lol) so i have a few hours of calm, focused silence in the morning which will minimize the amount of time i need to spend studying after dinner (planning to take advantage of the jet lag and the fact that the sun sets earlier in winter, making me sleepy sooner 😠)

re-gain some level of fitness to counter my couch potato summer habits and all the sitting i'll be doing this semester

🤸🏻‍♀️ more fun goals:

apply to volunteer with my local horticultural society and hopefully start volunteering soon (hoping to work on their newsletter as that's something i miss from my high school days! something familiar will also be good for easing into my "reintegration into society" era as a previously "studying hermit". perhaps once i get so comfortable i feel like i'm plateauing, i can branch into being a volunteer gardener! i have absolutely zero successful experience with plants, so it would be really nice to have some guidance from people who've made and maintained such pretty gardens in my community 💗)

make time for piano (ideally at least 1h 3-4 days of the week, but i will be happy if i even get to touch the keys for less than 1h of practice 3-4 days a week. if i can do this, then i can more reasonably justify getting a real acoustic piano at home and maybe even take lessons again when things get less busy...and i don't have to fear not making progress or even getting worse on the digital in the meantime because my fingers and brain get re-accustomed to the acoustic feel and sound options surprisingly, happily quickly even if i only get to play on one for a few days of a year, which is already quite a privilege 🥺🙏🏻 in the meantime, i need to maintain/improve my dexterity, sight-reading skills, and theory knowledge. i don't plan to read the theory book front to back anymore, i'll just read the bits i'm most interested in and maybe eventually that will mean covering the whole book but i won't start with that intention in mind 🤷🏻‍♀️)

sOmEhOw have the energy to comprehend even 1 duolingo lesson in japanese ~daily if only to one day get to a level where i can read more japanese books (and maybe even watch some animé without subs? no pressure tho since i'm very picky about animé 😂)

💭 nice to have but not pressing:

make it a habit to read a nerdy book or academic article that isn't directly for schoolwork to help me find my research interests, learn more about labs in my physical area, and/or re-ignite my passion for/sense of wonder with STEM and STEM-related issues 🔥

each week read something from suggested/recommended course reading lists if there are any

each month read a book completely unrelated to academics, something that distracts me or that feeds my soul or both (or if i can't do that, then just 1 such book each semester, i'm just after something rather than nothing)

🐝 productivity advice from one of my role models that i want to follow religiously this semester:

prioritize rest in order to think and act fast (10 hours of sleep! downtime! meditating! gentle exercise!)

schedule down to the minute but understand that as long as you're doing what you planned to do within the hour you planned to do it, you're good (that is assuming life doesn't happen and derail the entire day's plans but most days thankfully are not like that). give yourself lots of buffer (bigger, not smaller blocks of time in the calendar!).

understand that prioritizing means that you may fall behind in the unprioritized areas from time to time and have to catch up and that's completely expected and completely fine.

be selective about what you're "perfectionistic" with (it's not really about applying perfectionism, more like being picky about where you apply extreme conscientiousness). that is also part of prioritizing.

✏️ post schedule: 1-3x a week depending on time, energy, and what that means for my mental state 😅

[mellowsadistic]

Changing Her Hobbies

Your girlfriend may well have some hobbies and interests that you don't approve of. Perhaps you're worried being into football is making her hang out with the wrong crowd, or maybe you think chess is just too grown-up for a silly little thing like her. Whatever the case, the solution is simple. Just tell her she doesn't like those things anymore, and give her a new list of things she likes to do in their place.

Be firm, as she's likely to get very fussy over this. She might complain that she's the only real authority on herself, or insist that it's impossible for her to start liking something just because you've ordered her to. If that happens, just spank her bare bottom over your knee and remind her that you're her Daddy and you know best. Enforce her new hobbies with a strict discipline program and she'll soon learn to engage in them with a smile.

I promise you the results are worth it. I know a man who used this strategy to radically alter his girlfriend’s personality. He loved her very much, but he was sick and tired of her bad attitude and refusal to accept her place as his inferior. He put it down to the kind of activities she liked to take part in, so with a firm hand and a bit of patience, he changed them to better reflect her immature nature. Here’s a before and after of her hobbies:

Things she used to like:

Playing guitar

Reading classic literature

Trying on stylish clothes

Going clubbing with her friends

Having debates about politics

Playing hockey

Going out for romantic dinners

Things she likes now:

Playing with dolls

Watching Disney channel

Running around naked

Doing the housework

Wetting herself for attention

Practicing ballet

Sucking cock under the table

It was a difficult transition for her. She’d always been a bit of a tomboy, so it wasn’t easy for her to adjust to playing with Barbies and prancing about in a tutu. It wasn’t easy to get used to stripping off all her fashionable clothes and going streaking around the house in the nude periodically either, like a toddler with no concept of modesty. Nor was she keen to spend her time watching TV aimed at tweens when she wasn’t scrubbing the floors, making dinner, or doing the laundry. It was especially hard for her to learn that she liked to give frequent blowjobs (she insisted she hated them for the longest time), and she was in complete denial about her desire to regularly pee her pants for attention. However, with enough corrective punishment, she eventually learned to accept her true self.

These days she pouts at the suggestion of going out partying, but bounces up and down with excitement at the thought of mopping the floor. She has no desire to play guitar, and reading anything more advanced than a picture book would bore her to tears, but she can happily spend the whole afternoon glued to her favourite cartoons or prattling away at her baby doll, rocking it in her arms and changing its nappy (and hoping Daddy doesn’t follow through on his threat to put her in nappies because of all the ‘accidents’ she’s been having). She never talks about politics anymore, partly because she has no idea what’s going on in the world since her Daddy banned her from reading the news, and getting involved in rough and tumble sports like hockey would just be silly for a sweet little pirouetting princess like her. It’s much more fun to put on ballet performances for Daddy and her dollies. Modelling the latest trends is a thing of the past for her too; in fact, it’s a struggle to keep any kind of clothes on her since she’s always wanting to be Daddy’s little nudist - why wear a cute pair of jeans when she could just go bare-bottomed instead? And why would she want to go out to a fancy restaurant for a romantic meal when she could just serve Daddy his dinner herself before crawling under the table to suck his dick while he eats?

Sometimes she slips up. She looks bored while playing with her dolls, or casts a longing look at a guitar in the window display of a music store. She might go too long without wetting herself or forget to smile while she's doing the polishing. When that happens, her boyfriend is always quick to reacquaint her bottom with his hand, or even the paddle. A 'fake it till you make it' policy is important to enforce here. Make your girlfriend pretend to enjoy her new hobbies, and eventually, over time, she'll learn to like them for real. And if not, don't worry, because you won't know the difference!

[risswirly]

Hi hi!! I read your first two works and they are incredible!!! I need some more fics of my pookie warren to fuel my soul. (There isn't nearly enough..) anyways I would like to make a suggestion/request. Could you write one where you're Warren's best friend and you both always make 'jokes' about being in love with each other and being soulmates but you both think the other one is actually joking so they don't confess out of fear but there's so much tension and one day, (you decide who) someone can't take it anymore and do something about the tension and it leads to confessions and wanting to make up for lost time? Thank you for reading and I can't wait to read more of your stuff <3

You Know Me

SYNOPSIS: After constantly joking about being in love, keeping your feelings for your best friend a secret only becomes harder and harder GENRE: fluff and a touch of angst NOTE: I loved writing this request!! Hopefully I was able to do it justice (^_^) WORD COUNT: 2.2k

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The halls bustle with chatter and laughter as students excitedly leave school for the weekend. You exit your last-period classroom and make your way to your locker, a smile creeping onto your face when you spot him scrolling on his phone waiting for you. You stifle your grin as you approach him.

He glances up at you and pockets his cell, "Well, it's about time you showed up" he teases, rolling his eyes jokingly. You open your locker and return your books, sorting through the various sheets and notes stuffed into the pages from earlier classes, "Oh calm down, it hasn't even been 5 minutes,  Mr Taylor was giving us extra homework" You explain grouchily glancing back up at him, amused by his impatience. You shut your locker door and the two of you begin to walk towards the school's exit. "You know if I was anyone else they probably wouldn't have waited for you" he states matter-of-factly. You scoff, "What? Do you want to be rewarded with a kiss or something?" You tease, making kissing faces towards him as he chuckles. "Yeah, maybe I would" he jokes back, mimicking your smooching face.

These kinds of jokes had become the norm for you and Warren, saying you were in love, joking about being in a relationship, it was banter you made on the daily. The two of you had practically been inseparable since becoming friends at the start of high school. It didn't matter how you felt or what you were doing, Warren was just someone you were always happy to be around. You understood each other better than anyone else and felt comfortable discussing any topic or feeling. 

Well, with one exception, of course, the pitiful crush you'd had on him for years. Even after many attempts to move on and convince yourself those feelings didn't exist the ache in your heart always lingered. Every joke was a confession hidden in plain sight. Every lingering gaze was a cry for something more. But, in the end, it was all just a joke to him. No matter how much you wished it was real you remind yourself that he saw you as nothing more than a friend. So because of that, you stayed silent, swallowed your pride, played along and kept your feelings secret, pretending your heart didn't yearn for him every day.

The two of you walk across the campus towards the dorm building, agreeing to do homework in your room today since you'd gone to Warren's yesterday. As you walk, you rant about a bad class you'd had earlier while Warren listens, laughing and occasionally commenting. Eventually, you make it to the girl's dormitories, he has no trouble navigating your door since he spends about as much time in your room as his own. 

He opens the door for you, holding it as he waits for you to enter before him. You raise your eyebrows with a smirk "Wooow, a true gentleman. My family would love you" You comment with a chuckle, you feel a slight pang in your heart as you realise the truth your statement holds. It's true, if he ever made the trip to visit your family your mum would absolutely adore him and you can already picture him and your sibling being good friends. You quickly shake the thought from your head as you enter the room, reminding yourself again that it was never going to happen. 

He closes your door behind him "Speaking of, my grandma wants to know how you are, she was asking me earlier when I was waiting at your locker." He says as he drops his bag to the floor beginning to take out his homework. "No way! Tell her I'm doing great and that I'll come over again soon" Your face lights up at the mention of Warren's grandma who you had met a few times when you'd gone into town to visit his family. "Warn me beforehand, last time you came over she didn't stop asking me why we weren't dating for like, a week." He grumbles and you giggle lightly at his dismay. 

After you both settle down a bit you begin to do some work. As you reluctantly write your English essay, Warren makes a start on a chemistry quiz. Around an hour passes by and the two of you do a decent job at not getting distracted with the exception of some light chatter.

Warren huffs quietly as he struggles on the last question, prompting you to glance up at him without moving your head. You notice his hair hanging slightly in front of his face, your eyes trailing over the curves in his features, even the way he furrowed his brows in confusion seemed effortlessly perfect. You feel a pang in your heart as you fight the urge to reach out to him. You snap out of your trance, quickly averting your eyes away again. God damn it, longing glances and admiring the details of his face was not a part of keeping your feelings secret. Even after gluing your eyes back to your notebook, you feel the burden of desire weigh heavy in your heart.

After a few moments, you hear Warren sound an "ohhhhh" of realisation as he deciphers the equation. You chuckle lightly at his reaction, "What was the solution?" You ask despite your lack of chemistry knowledge. He smiles to himself pleased before answering, "I completely miscounted the number of bonds, which is why the additional electron pair was making no sense!" He continues to rabble on about his prior mistake and how the work should have been done, but that's not what you really cared about. You watch endearingly as his eyes light up with excitement while he explains the chemistry, and the proud smile that grows on his face as he gains confidence in his knowledge. He suddenly stops himself, "You have no clue what I'm saying do you?" He takes his eyes off his work and smirks back at you bashfully. You smile back playfully and shake your head. "Then why did you even ask?" he laughs back confused. You take a quick moment to think about it, "You look cute when you geek out" you reply in all honesty with a shrug. "Just admit you're in love with me" He teases back. "There's no point in admitting it if you already know" you say as he laughs.

He rolls his eyes with a scoff, however as you watch his face you see his playful demeanour dissolve. His smile slowly fades and his eyelids grow heavy as a million thoughts and emotions rush through his head.  He clenches his jaw, "Um, I should probably go actually" he mumbles, hurriedly gathering his things. His change in behaviour catches you off guard "What? I-" You quickly stop what you're doing and look back at him concerned and confused. As he stands to go you follow him, quickly picking yourself up off your carpet. "Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, I only called you a geek as a joke" You explain desperately, worry setting in as you apologise. You grab ahold of the hem of his shirt in a moment of panic before he reaches the door and he stops in his tracks, back still turned to you. He takes a shaky breath, "I just... can't do it anymore" He says quietly, his voice laced with hurt and dejection. 

You let go of his shirt and your arm drops limply to your side. "Can't do what?" You ask slowly, voice barely above a whisper, the air around you drenched in tension. He finally turns to face you, eyes filled with sorrow and desperation. "I can't keep pretending (y/n). All this joking and teasing, saying things like we're in love? I can't keep acting like it isn't real to me." he confesses as you stand frozen wide-eyed in shock. Your breath hitches in your throat as your heart begins to pound in your ears "Warren-" you manage to choke taking a step toward him but he stops you. "(y/n) wait, please. I've waited years to tell you this. I just... I just want to get this off my chest okay?" He smiles at you pleadingly before continuing. " Every time we joke about being together or meeting each other's families or going on dates, every single time, I get this unbearable ache in my heart knowing it isn't real. Knowing it doesn't mean the same thing to you as it does to me." He places a hand on his chest gripping the fabric of his shirt.

He takes a deep breath and runs his finger through his hair, "But I can't keep lying to you.. and I can't keep lying to myself either. I, I'm sorry I ruined it... that's all I had to say" he gives you an apologetic smile, eyes filled with sorrow and regret. 

After a moment of silence, you sigh "Are you done now?" you ask calmly. He pauses and blinks back at you for a second, confused at your reaction "Um.. yeah I guess so?" He stammers bewildered. Your eyes soften and you smile at him warmly. "Good." is all you say as you take a step closer to him, the proximity between you now limited. 

His eyes quickly scan your expression as you softly cup either side of his face. His confusion melts into longing as you gently pull him closer towards you, his hands hover hesitantly over your body unsure of what to do with them. Your breaths tangle with each other as your hearts beat rapidly, uncertain yet so sure at the same time. You let your lips linger close to his, giving him room to back out if this isn't what he wants. But he knows what he wants, and he knows he's never wanted anything more in his life than this, and he takes the plunge.

His eyes flutter shut and he leans in and closes that remaining gap between you, gently pressing his lips into yours. It's light and hesitant but after a moment he pulls back slightly and takes a deep breath. "Fuck" he mutters to himself before diving back in. As your lips collide again you feel a sense of hunger wash over you as you finally act upon the feelings you had hidden for so long. He kisses you more desperately this time, as if he's kissing you with the passion and tension that has built up over the years of yearning and unspoken feelings. His hands find the small of your back, pressing your body to his as you stand on your toes. 

Electricity and warmth shoot through your entire body as his fingers trail up your back, pulling you into his tight embrace, wanting more of you as he gains confidence. Your arms wrap around his neck and your lips move in perfect rhythm and it feels like your heart explodes when you feel him smile softly as you kiss him tenderly. You make your way over to your bed, pulling him on top of you as you lay down. The world around fades away into nothing as your senses become consumed by the passion of the long overdue moment. 

He pulls away breathlessly, your heart practically beating out of your chest. "you have no idea how long I've wanted this" He pants softly still holding you tightly not wanting to let you go now that he has you. You smile back at him, unable to speak but you undoubtedly trust he knows you feel the same. He gently places a kiss on your forehead, "I think I would be happy if I could just kiss you forever" He chuckles, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You look up at him and bite your lip nervously, "Does... this make us like.. official now?" You ask.

He pulls away, breaking your hug prompting you both to sit upright, a horrified look plastered on his face, "Fuck no! There's no way I'm going to let my miserable breakdown be how I finally ask you to be my girlfriend. I am going to give you the romantic, thought-out, grand gesture you deserve."  He says firmly almost looking offended you'd suggest such a thing. He takes ahold of your hands, "Just.. give me some time to plan it, okay?" he admits sheepishly. His pleading face makes you crack a smile "I've waited this long haven't I?" you chuckle. He gazes at you tenderly, his worried expression dissolving away, "What did I do to deserve you?" He asks before showering you with quick pecks all over your face and neck sending you into a fit of laughter as you lay back down. 

he tenderly plants a lingering kiss on your lips again before pulling away slightly. You gently push his hair out of his face taking a deep breath, "We wasted so much time" you whisper, a tinge of sadness in your tone. He caresses your cheek softly with his thumb "We have so much time to make up for it" He whispers back, smiling at you lovingly. 

You smile too knowing he's right, because looking into his eyes you see a world of opportunity and everything you've ever wanted. 

Looking into yours, he sees the world.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

[bluecatwriter]

There's a long history of Dracula adaptations clearly made by people who have never read the book.

I think in this fine tradition you specifically should adapt the Beetle without reading it

You are SO right, anon. I am going to direct the movie version of The Beetle upon which all other adaptations will be based! It will full of iconic quotes that are not in the book and I will butcher all the themes and characters!

Initial thoughts:

-Robert Holt will be played by some no-name actor who is putting his entire heart, soul and mind into the performance. The Brick Guy is also played by this guy. The first part of the movie is filmed in a very straightforward period-drama style, with the exception of a Carpet Scene, which is filmed in soft focus like a "flashback to dead wife" scene.

-Robert will also of course be referred to as "Bobert" and wear jorts. Alas, he does not get a GAP sweatshirt or a slushie in this version because there are no Ordinary Solicitors to save him.

-The Beetle will be portrayed as just a beetle of varying sizes, and they will be CGI. Specifically the really low-budget bad CGI of the early 2000s. This is very important for my artistic vision.

-Paul Lessingham will also be CGI.

-The cat will be a real cat, and will be voiced by the guy who voiced Garfield from the 1990s Garfield and Friends cartoon.

-I am open to casting suggestions for Sydney Atherton, although again, I suspect that it would be best to forgo celebrities and cast a guy who has played the comic-relief guy in Oklahoma at community theater one too many times. I will change nothing about Sydney Atherton's atrocities, and will in fact probably add a few more, but all the other characters will say how manly and wonderful he is while he's like beating someone to death with a cricket bat in the background. The movie critics will read a lot into this directing choice.

-I will make Marjorie and Dora both girlbosses™ by giving each of them a sword and a multi-level marketing business. They will contribute nothing to the plot and I will be offended if people think they are bland characters.

-I don't really know the other characters, so they will be played by a gender-inclusive rotating cast, and everyone will keep mixing up their names. The goal is for it to be impossible to keep track of who's doing what at all times.

-The cat still dies but goes to Cat Heaven and there's a whole musical dream sequence (inspired by 1930s cartoons and musical numbers from Gene Kelly movies) about the cat having a really great time in Cat Heaven.

-During some mundane scene with this rotating cast of characters and CGI Paul Lessingham, Bobert will dramatically die of starvation in the background. Nobody notices.

-The train crash will be on-screen instead of off, and there will be a very long monologue from the train themself as they dramatically fall off a broken bridge (this will be a practical effect with a full-sized train). This monologue will be delivered by the same guy who plays the cat, and if the actor isn't crying real tears by the end, we will redo the take until we get it. There will be a lot of montaging and soft focus. We will give the train a tragic backstory, but the train is also kind of accepting of their fate, you know? The book of Ecclesiastes will probably be mentioned somewhere in here.

-I will be diverging from canon by having Sydney Atherton die in the train crash. Not from the train, though, he chokes on a shrimp cocktail moments before the train hits the ground.

-Credits roll

-Epilogue scene: Sydney Atherton ends up in Cat Heaven and all the cats jump on him like the hyenas at the end of Lion King and there's just a giant wriggling ball of cats. Bobert is there too, drinking a slushie in the background. Hard cut to black.

[gogandmagog]

As to advising beginners—why, I love to do it. Advice is so cheap and easy. First, I always tell them what an old lady used to say to me: "Don't marry as long as you can help it, for when the right man comes along you can't help it." So—don't write if you can help it; because if you ought to write and have it in you to make a real success of writing you can't help it. If you are sure you can't help it, then go ahead.

— L.M. Montgomery, 1923, from Fiction Writers on Writing Fiction

Below the cut, I’ve included L.M. Montgomery’s submissions to ‘Fiction Writers on Writing Fiction,’ which may be (obviously) best summed up as… Maud’s writing advise for beginners. Mind, it is still a thoroughly enjoyable read, even if you don’t write, and would really simply just like to hear more about her process!

QUESTION; What is the genesis of a story with you—does it grow from an incident, a character, a trait of character, a situation, setting, a title, or what? That is, what do you mean by an idea for a story? L. M. Montgomery: The genesis of my stories is very varied. Sometimes the character suggests the story. For instance, in my first book, Anne of Green Gables, the whole story was modeled around the character of "Anne" and arranged to suit her. Most of my books are similar in origin. The characters seem to grow in my mind, much after the oft-quoted "Topsy" manner, and when they are fully incubated I arrange a setting for them, choosing incidents and surroundings which will harmonize with and develop them.

With short stories it is different. There I generally start with an idea—some incident which I elaborate and invent characters to suit, thus reversing the process I employ in book-writing. A very small germ will sometimes blossom out quite amazingly. One of my most successful short stories owed its origin to the fact that one day I heard a lady—a refined person usually of irreproachable language—use a point-blank "cuss-word" in a moment of great provocation. Again, the fact that I heard of a man forbidding his son to play the violin because he thought it was wicked furnished the idea for the best short story I ever wrote. QUESTION; Do you map it out in advance, or do you start with, say, a character or situation, and let the story tell itself as you write? Do you write it in pieces to be joined together, or straightaway as a whole? Is the ending clearly in mind when you begin? To what extent do you revise? L. M. Montgomery: I map everything out in advance. When I have developed plot, characters and incidents in my mind I write out a "skeleton" of the story or book. In the case of a book, I divide it into so many "sections"—usually eight or nine—representing the outstanding periods in the story. In each section I write down what characters are necessary, what they do, what their setting is, and quite a bit of what they say. When the skeleton is complete I begin the actual writing, and so thoroughly have I become saturated with the story during the making of the skeleton that I feel as if I were merely describing and setting down something that I have actually seen happening, and the clothing of the dry bones with flesh goes on rapidly and easily. This does not, however, prevent changes taking place as I write. Sometimes an incident I had thought was going to be very minor assumes major proportions or vice versa. Sometimes, too, characters grow or dwindle contrary to my first intentions. But on the whole I follow my plan pretty closely and the ending is very often written out quite fully in the last "section" before a single word of the first chapter is written. I revise very extensively and the "notes" with which my completed manuscript is peppered are surely and swiftly bringing down my typist's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. But these revisions deal only with descriptions and conversation. Characters, plot and incidents are never changed.

QUESTION; 1. When you read a story to what extent does your imagination reproduce the story-world of the author—do you actually see in your imagination all the characters, action and setting just as if you were looking at an actual scene? Do you actually hear all sounds described, mentioned and inferred, just as if they were real sounds? Do you taste the flavors in a story, so really that your mouth literally waters to a pleasant one? How real does your imagination make the smells in a story you read? Does your imagination reproduce the sense of touch—of rough or smooth contact, hard or gentle impact or pressure, etc.? Does your imagination make you feel actual physical pain corresponding, though in a slighter degree, to pain presented in a story? Of course you get an intelligent idea from any such mention, but in which of the above cases does your imagination produce the same results on your senses as do the actual stimuli themselves?

2. If you can really "see things with your eyes shut," what limitations? Are the pictures you see colored or more in black and white? Are details distinct or blurred?

3. If you studied solid geometry, did it give you more trouble than other mathematics?

4. Is your response limited to the exact degree to which the author describes and makes vivid, or will the mere concept set you to reproducing just as vividly?

5. Do you have stock pictures for, say, a village church or a cowboy, or does each case produce its individual vision?

6. Is there any difference in behavior of your imagination when you are reading stories and when writing them?

7. Have you ever considered these matters as "tools of your trade"? If so, to what extent and how do you use them? L. M. Montgomery: Yes, when I read a story I see everything, exactly as if I were looking at an actual scene. I hear the sounds and smell the odors. When I read Pickwick Papers I have to make many an extra sneak to the pantry, so hungry do I become through reading of the bacon and eggs and milk punch in which the characters so frequently revel. I never feel physical pain when I read a story, no matter how intense the suffering described may be. But I feel mental pain so keenly that sometimes I can hardly bear to continue reading. Yet I do not dislike this sensation. On the contrary I like it. If I can have a jolly good howl several times in a book I am its friend for life. Yet, in every-day existence, I am the reverse of a tearful or sentimental person. No book do I love as I love David Copperfield. Yet during my many re-readings I must have wept literal quarts over David's boyish tribulations. And ghost stories that make me grow actually cold with fear are such as my soul loveth.

I can "see things," with eyes shut or open, colors and all. Sometimes I see them mentally—that is, I realize that they are produced subjectively and are under the control of my will. But very often, when imagination has been specially stimulated, I seem really to see them objectively. In this case, however, I never see landscapes or anything but faces—and generally grotesque or comical faces. I never see a beautiful face. They crowd on my sight in a mob, flashing up for a second, then instantly filled by others. I always enjoy this "seeing things" immensely, but I can not do it at will.

The very name of geometry was a nightmare to me. I decline to discuss the horrible subject at all. Yet I loved algebra and had a mild affection for arithmetic. These things are predestinated.

I have no "stock pictures" as a reader. I generally see things pretty much as the writer describes them—though certainly not as the "movie" people seem to see them! This is especially true of places and things. But very few writers have the power to make me visualize their characters, even where they describe them minutely. Illustrations generally make matters worse. I detest illustrations in a story. It is only when there is some peculiarly striking and restrained bit of description attached to a character that I can see it. For example: when R. L. Stevenson in Dr. Jekyll says that there was something incredibly evil about "Hyde"—I am not quoting his exact words—I can see "Hyde" as clearly as I ever saw anything in my life. As a rule, I think the ability to describe characters so that readers may see them as clearly as they see their settings is a very rare gift among writers.

Yes, as a reader I do resent having too many images formed for me. I don't want too much description of anything or too many details in any description.

When I read a story, I see people doing things in a certain setting; when I write a story I am the people myself and live their experiences.

QUESTION; When you write do you center your mind on the story itself or do you constantly have your readers in mind? In revising? L. M. Montgomery: In writing a story I do not think of all these things—at least consciously. I never think of my readers at all. I think of myself. Does this story I am writing interest me as I write it—does it satisfy me? If so, there are enough people in the world who like what I like to find it interesting and satisfying too. As for the others, I couldn't please them anyhow, so it is of no use to try. I revise to satisfy myself also—not any imaginary literary critic. QUESTION; Have you had a classroom or correspondence course on writing fiction? Books on it? To what extent did this help in the elementary stages? Beyond the elementary stages? L. M. Montgomery: I never took any kind of a course in writing fiction. Such things may be helpful if the real root of the matter is in you, but I had to get along without them. I was born and brought up in a remote country settlement, twenty-four miles from a town and ten from a railway. There I wrote my first stories and my first four books. So no beginner need feel discouraged because of remote location or lack of literary “atmosphere.” QUESTION; How much of your craft have you learned from reading current authors? The classics? L. M. Montgomery: I think I owe considerable to my greedy reading and rereading of standard fiction—the old masters—Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, Hawthorne. Occasionally, too, a well-written modern magazine story has been helpful and illuminating. But, as a rule, I think aspiring authors will not reap much benefit from current fiction—except perhaps from a purely commercial point of view in finding out what kind of stories certain magazines take! Most writers, except those of absolute genius, are prone to unconscious imitation of what they read and that is a bad thing. QUESTION; What is your general feeling on the value of technique? L. M. Montgomery: I feel that its value is great up to a certain point. But when you become conscious of a writer's technique that writer has reached the point of danger. When you find yourself getting more pleasure from the way a writer says a thing than from the thing itself, that writer has committed a grave error and one that lessens greatly the value of his story. Carried too far, technique becomes as annoying as mannerisms.

QUESTION; What is most interesting and important to you in your writing—plot, structure, style, material, setting, character, color, etc.? L. M. Montgomery: In my own writing character is by far the most interesting thing to me—then setting. In the development of the one and the arrangement of the other I find my greatest pleasure and from their letters it is evident that my readers do, too. This, of course, is because my flair is for these things. In another writer something else—plot, structure or color would be the vital thing. Only the very great authors combine all these things. For the rank and file of the craft, I think a writer should find out where his strength lies and write his stories along these lines. In my own case I would never attempt to handle complicated plot or large masses of material. I know I should make a dismal failure of them. QUESTION; What are two or three of the most valuable suggestions you could give to a beginner? To a practised writer? L. M. Montgomery: As to advising beginners—why, I love to do it. Advice is so cheap and easy. First, I always tell them what an old lady used to say to me: "Don't marry as long as you can help it, for when the right man comes along you can't help it." So—don't write if you can help it; because if you ought to write and have it in you to make a real success of writing you can't help it. If you are sure you can't help it, then go ahead. Write—write—write. Revise—revise—revise. Prune—prune—prune. Study stories that are classed as masterpieces and find out why they are so classed. Leave your stories alone after they are written long enough to come to them as a stranger. Then read them over as a stranger; you'll see a score of faults and lacks you never noticed when they came hot from your pen. Rewrite them, cutting out the faults and supplying the lacks.

I would advise beginners to cultivate the note-book habit. Jot down every idea that comes to you as you go on living—ideas for plots, characters, descriptions, dialogue, etc. It is amazing how well these bits will fit into a story that wasn't born or thought of when you set them down. And they generally have a poignancy that is lacking in deliberate invention. For example, I was once washing the dinner dishes when a friend happened to quote to me the old saying: "Blessed are they who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed." I retorted, "I think it would be worse to expect nothing than to be disappointed." Then I dropped my dish cloth and rushed to "jot it down." It lay in my note-book unused for ten years and then it motivated one of the best chapters in my first book. This illustrates what I mean by the note-book habit.

Practised writers should try to avoid mannerisms and stereotyped style. They won't succeed, of course, but they should try. Also, they shouldn't presume on their success and think that anything goes because they write it. QUESTION; Do you prefer writing in the first person or the third? Why? L. M. Montgomery: Personally I prefer writing in the first person, because it then seems easier to live my story as I write it. Since editors seem to have a prejudice against this, I often write a story in the first person and then rewrite it, shifting it to the third. As a reader, I enjoy a story written in the first person far more than any other kind. It gives me more of a sense of reality—of actually knowing the people in it. The author does not seem to come between me and the characters as much as in the third-person stories. W. Collins's Woman in White is a fine example of the use of the first person. It could not have been half so effective had he told it in the third. And Jane Eyre simply couldn't have been written in any but the first.

QUESTION; Do you lose ideas because your imagination travels faster than your means of recording? Which affords least check—pencil, typewriter or stenographer? L. M. Montgomery: I don't think many ideas ever get away from me by reason of slowness of recording. My aforesaid note-book habit has been of tremendous value here. I write with a pen and couldn't write with anything else—at least, as far as prose is concerned. When I write verse I always write on an ordinary school slate, because of the facilities for easy erasure. But for prose I want a Waverly pen—this is not an advertisement—I just can't write with any other! a smooth unlined paper and a portfolio I can hold on my knee. Then I can sail straight ahead and keep up with any ideas that present themselves. But these are only personal idiosyncrasies and have nothing to do with a writer's success or non-success. So no aspiring beginner need despair because his or her stationer is not stocked up with Waverly pens!

[perfinn]

the heat that drives the light

aemond targaryen x tyrell!oc - part ii

wc: 4.4k

summary: aemond confronts his mother about his betrothed, but the wedding goes ahead, leaving the prince to grapple with his complicated feelings toward the tyrell girl

cw: NSFW, blind character, period typical ableism, ableism in general, for prosperity dubcon (because aemond is (allegedly) not into cecily but he still feels like he has to do his duty. but both parties consent), period typical misogyny, aegon being a creep, allusions to aemond's 13th name day

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

Cecily Tyrell had not yet reached her seventh name day when she fell ill. A visit to the Arbour struck the young Lady down with an illness that not even the finest of the citadel’s archmaesters could name. It was believed she contracted it from a passing sailor on the docks of the Arbour, explaining away the mysterious nature of the sickness. Some maesters, younger and full of ideas, suggested it had come from Qarth, the work of some warlock testing the potential of pestilence as a form of warfare in enemy lands. Others, more experienced and grounded, were sure it was only some disease that the Essosi had grown strong against, that had gone from Essos so long ago no one had thought to mention it to Westerosi sailors on their shores. It had only struck Cecily because she was so young, they had supposed. 

But, regardless of anyone’s theories, there was no real answer. It was a mystery to all but the gods, Cecily’s mother had once said. Despite that no one had any real knowledge of the illness Lady Cecily’s father, Lord Martyn Tyrell, did not rest in having her treated. Cecily was his only child, and her birth had near killed his wife. He had no other heir, yes, but his determination was born from far more than the issue of succession. To lose his Cecily would be to lose half his heart. 

Cecily survived, of course, and thankfully did not infect another. However, despite all the treatment her little body could handle, her vision had been taken from her. She could not see a thing but for a blur of colours, and even then only in the bright sunlight. 

“I’ve come to see my mother.”

Criston Cole looks the young prince over with a carefully neutral gaze. Aemond is certain Cole knows how to read him, certain he sees the tension lacing his shoulders almost up to his ears. He does not care, though, what the knight sees. 

“Cole.”

Cole appears to contemplate another moment before he nods and opens the door to the queen’s solar, announcing Aemond’s arrival. 

Alicent stands to greet him, eyes following him as he stalks into the room, standing across from her. Her face, which had been a smile to greet her son, falls to a confused frown. 

“Something is the matter,” she says, tone lowered inquisitively. She broaches the topic with a statement, not a question. She knows Aemond better than she knows her other children, can read him like a book at the worst of times. They’re alike, perhaps too alike. 

“I’ve seen the Tyrell girl.”

Alicent closes her mouth, exhaling deeply through her nose and lowering herself to sit again. She pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a moment before looking back at her son. “You weren’t supposed to see her until the wedding.”

“I’m aware,” says Aemond, voice clipped. “And I can see why. I won’t wed her.”

“This is not up for negotiation, Aemond.”

“I’m not going to suffer this humiliation just for political gain,” he says sharply. “Just because I’ve lost half my sight-”

“I did not pick her for you because of her blindness,” Alicent says, standing back up and approaching the tense prince. “How could I do that to you? When have you known me to have anything but your best interests at heart? I chose her for you because I believe she is a fine match. She is as shrewd as she is pretty, she has a sense of humour, she has a political mind, and someday she will be the Wardeness of the South. A fine one, at that. If I had wanted an easy political alliance, I would have offered her Daeron’s hand. It would have been a lot quicker. They could have wed in Highgarden and it could be done by now. But I want for my children to be happy, Aemond.”

Aemond hums and bites back a remark about Helaena and Aegon, but he’s just rational enough to hear his mother out. It will do little good to hear her reasoning, though. Her good intentions cannot dull the blow of his embarrassment. 

“I believe that the two of you can build something wonderful together,” Alicent says, taking Aemond’s arms. Her touch is gentle, a comfort, but not one Aemond wants to be given now. 

Aemond can hardly unclench his jaw enough to speak in clear sentences. “Then why was she to be kept from me?” 

“The decision was not mine. Lord Martyn wished for her to be kept separate from you until you meet her at the ceremony.”

Aemond shifts, an odd swell of defensiveness building in his chest. Not for her, he tells himself. For me. “He is ashamed of her?”

“Quite the opposite. He loves that girl more than anything, he is just worried. He fears there is an issue of succession, he is paranoid Cecily’s claim will be threatened.”

Sounds like someone else I know, thinks Aemond bitterly. 

“He doesn't want anything to jeopardise this union, including you.”

“He was right to worry, mother,” he snaps, pulling away from her. “I will not be forced into this union. I am owed more than an invalid!”

“Aemond,” hisses Alicent. “You can hate this until the day you die, but it is happening, and you will try to be a good husband to her. We must make sacrifices for the sake of our family.”

She thinks he is being irrational, and perhaps she’s right. But he has earned the right to irrationality, has he not? He was robbed of his eye, he received no retribution, and now it is all anyone ever sees. His mother can speak all she wishes of Cecily’s attributes, it is all overshadowed by her weakness. A weakness he does not share, no matter what anyone would whisper. How much more must he sacrifice for the sake of this family?

He clenches his jaw, turning away from his mother and moving to leave the room. “You do not know me as well as you thought you did. You should have saved everyone the time and married her to Daeron.”

Despite Aemond’s week of staunch refusal and threats to fly off on dragonback and never return, the wedding goes ahead. Somehow, he’s wrestled into the Red Keep’s sept and made to await his bride. 

Instead of his preferred dark green clothing, he’s been forced into a black doublet with a dark red undershirt. It makes him uncomfortable not for the feel of it – the fabric is luscious and comfortable and it fits him perfectly – but for what the colours represent. That he is a prince of House Targaryen. This he knows, of course, but it feels nothing more than a name to him. He feels that Hightower blood flows far stronger through him than any other, though he would never dare admit it aloud. 

No one would understand him. No one ever has. 

He fiddles with the dark red silk poking out of his sleeve, expression turned down in the scowl that’s made itself quite at home on his face, loathing the thing. He does not make a habit of fidgeting with his clothes, but his hatred for the fabric overpowers his usual composure. 

(Why do you bother, Aemond? he thinks. She will not even see it.)

If his father had any say in it Aemond would surely have the Three Headed Dragon emblazoned across his damned eyepatch, just to drive the message home. Maybe his betrothed’s blindness has spared him of that, for she’d never be able to appreciate it anyway. He’s certain that this tiny mercy is all her disability will ever do for him. 

When the murmuring sept falls quiet, Aemond clenches his fists by his side. He remains facing the statues of the Mother and the Father, watching the way the sun filters through stained glass and lights up the visage of the gods as his betrothed approaches him. He only turns when she is behind him, prepared to take her hand from her father.

Aemond expects to see what he’s come to expect of House Tyrell; opulence and shining silk inlaid with gems, disgusting shows of wealth for the sake of maintaining their status. He hates it, most ardently, but he finds he does not see it reflected in Cecily. 

Cecily’s face is hidden by a gauzy ivory veil, embroidered with pale pink roses. Her dress is creamy white, similarly embroidered with all manner of flowers the names of which Aemond could not hope to recall. It is well made and no doubt expensive, but it is not so far into the realm of ostentation that he wishes to turn away in disgust, he would go so far as to call it… pretty. 

She looks pretty, in ivory lace and the fern green maiden’s cloak that lays over her shoulders. He almost dreads to lift her veil and be so harshly reminded of the cloud over her eyes. He takes her hand, gently guiding her up the steps. 

“Last one,” he murmurs, instantly cursing himself for his kindness to her when she murmurs her thanks. He does not understand himself. He understands himself even less when he hesitates before he reaches for her veil. “Your veil. May I?”

(He does not like her but he will not be a cruel husband. He will not delight in frightening her, he will take whatever care he must to be better than the husbands in his family. She is a rose most delicate, more so than any other. No matter his resentment, she will be his wife and hence shall be handled with care.)

He sees that shrewd smile behind her veil, and sees her nod. “Of course.”

Gods, her voice is sweeter than he remembers. The memories of it which have echoed in his head each night since they met do it no justice. 

He takes her veil between his gloved fingers, lifting it up over her face and settling it over the crown of flowers that secure it to her hair. Her eyes are turned up to him, even if she does not see. He sees the greyish film over them and the gentle feelings are frozen, replaced once more with resentment. 

If he were to turn and run now, would anyone dare to stop him?

Alas, he stays where he is and goes through the proceedings of the union as he’s expected to. Despite his ample protests, there is still a large part of him that longs to be his mother’s dutiful son. 

He reaches to remove the green cloak from her shoulders, running his thumb gently over the embroidered gold trim, and replaces it with one of red and black. Black dragons dance across the fabric, and a smile dances across Cecily’s face. 

With the septon’s blessing and declaration of their union, Aemond takes both her hands. He hesitates a moment as he sees Cecily close her eyes, wondering what’s going on in her head. Is she afraid? Excited? He finds her impossible to read, and he finds it’s driving him mad. Still, he leans down and presses his lips gently to hers. They’re petal soft against his but he does not let it linger. 

He fears if he does he will get lost in it, in the smell of flowers on her skin and the softness of her pink lips. He will not fall to the weak man’s game of lust, no matter if she is his wife under the Seven’s eye. The sept erupts into cheers for the new couple, and Aemond does not miss the way Cecily flinches at the sudden barrage of noise. 

He finds himself cursing their guests for frightening his wife, and he does not know why. 

Aemond is not granted a moment to speak with Cecily until the two of them are sitting beside one another at their wedding banquet, his new wife placed on the side of his good eye. 

The food is placed before them, and the first words his bride speaks to him in near-privacy are, “What have they prepared?”

Aemond taps his finger against the arm of his chair, looking between Cecily and the meal before him. “You seemed to have a keen sense of smell when last we met.”

Cecily chuckles, nodding slowly as she feels across the table for her fork. “As far as anyone but you, Flora, and myself is concerned, that meeting did not happen. But yes, I can smell things better than most, though it may only take me so far. I can smell, hm… fowl, and vegetables, and I can smell spiced honey, and of course the wine that flows from our cups.”

Aemond looks down at his plate, scowling at the sheer aptitude of her nose’s instinct. “It is honey glazed duck with stewed vegetables.”

“Ah!” Cecily delights, brightening with a smile. “It has been some time since my nose has served me this well. The Gods must smile on us today.”

Aemond scoffs. “The Gods have more important matters to tend to than what a blind girl smells for her dinner.”

“The Seven looks upon us always, lord husband, always,” she says as she begins to eat her food. Aemond scowls. She seems pious, even if she does not act as demure as a woman should. He supposes that very few women he knows do, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Cecily does not bother him while they eat, but he watches her and sees she has not switched off. She is listening to the conversations around her, brow turned down in focus. Aemond looks away from her and to the wine in his cup, finding himself trying to do the same. He does not tune into much except half a hushed conversation between his mother and his older brother. 

He hears the words “abhorrent” and “heretical” hissed from his mother, and decides the conversation is not one worth hearing. It does not surprise him to hear that said to Aegon.

When dinner is finished and their empty plates carried away, Cecily leans toward Aemond again. 

“I am sorry we cannot share a dance,” she says. 

Aemond looks over at her, seeing her hands are tracing once more over the embroidery of her dress. She had been doing the same when he barged into her chambers last week. Perhaps it’s a comfort for her. “I hate dancing.”

Cecily smiles at him. “I see. Lucky for us both then. Dancing with a partner is an impossibility with no vision, I can imagine halved vision only makes it an ordeal.”

“Mmm,” hums Aemond, feeling that he should be upset by her words. He hates for it to be brought up, but she’s correct. The lack of vision on one side makes dancing a near impossible task. Maybe he was wrong about her blindness offering him only one mercy. But he cannot imagine any more. “Quite.” 

Her smile stays on her face, radiant despite Aemond’s cold and dismissive tone. There is a hidden, traitorous part of him that wishes to get to know her. She’s his wife, after all. Maybe it would be beneficial to them both if he made some effort to know the woman he’s supposed to love under the Gods’ doctrine. The woman he’s meant to bed. But he strikes that traitorous urge down and shoves it back into the recesses of his mind. He does not need to know a woman to perform his duty. If nothing else, Aegon is evidence of that fact. 

After another moment of stubborn silence Cecily leans away, calling for her cousin Flora. “I shall go speak to our guests, lord husband. Would you like to join me?”

“No,” he says, waving his hand before remembering she can’t see it and hurriedly lowering it, as though embarrassed. “Go.”

He finally sees a hint of her enthusiasm leeched by his dismissive words, and cannot help but be satisfied by it as she stands and offers him a curtsey before turning to Flora and making her way toward where his mother and father – barely conscious of his surroundings – sit. He scowls, thinking of how strongly Cecily will smell Viserys’ rotting body. 

He stiffens when another stench places itself beside him, the familiar scent of Arbour red that always seems to hang off his brother. He does not acknowledge him at first, keeping his eye on his own cup – Arbour gold, as is his own preference on the rare days he sullies himself with drink – in the hope that Aegon will see he is not interested in speaking to him. 

He has, as ever, no such luck.

“Brother,” says Aegon, words slightly slurred. “You will be most happy with me today.”

“Will I?” says Aemond, setting his cup down but still not looking at him.

“Indeed. I have convinced our mother to forgo the bedding ceremony.”

This gives Aemond pause, and finally convinces him to turn his gaze to Aegon. Aegon grins. 

“I knew you’d like that. You’ll still need to consummate, but I’ve done the kindness of letting you do it in private.”

“How did you manage that?”

He shrugs. “A few well placed words about the Seven and decency. Appealing to mother’s faith will get you far, you know. Do not say I’ve never done anything for you. But listen–” Aemond should have known he would want something out of this. “– I can see you do not like her. You will not wish to lay with her, and I understand. But I do not give a fuck if she’s blind, in fact–”

“Do not dare suggest what you have in mind, brother–”

“Come now! I am just being the caring big brother I have always been, Aemond. If you cannot complete the act and you wish to call me in, she’ll be none the wiser. Even if you can, I would still appreciate a turn.”

“Hold your tongue,” Aemond hisses, reaching out and grabbing Aegon by the front of his wine-stained shirt. “You dishonour my wife and your own. Does your debauchery never cease?”

“Gods, brother!” Aegon huffs, clumsily trying to smack Aemond’s hand away. “Twas only a suggestion!”

“Cecily is my wife, and if I hear you’ve touched her you will no longer have a cock to shove in whichever serving girl next takes your fancy.” His voice is low, dangerous. Aegon, though, only seems amused as he holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Forgive me, I only hoped to save you from a girl you’re so clearly repulsed by,” he says, as though his intentions had been purely selfless and full of care for his brother. He is so drunk he does not realise that Aemond has never been more serious. “By all means, have the girl. But do tell me if her cunt really smells of roses.”

Aemond releases him roughly, sending the man tumbling off his chair, and stands with the intent to find his wife. He’s thankful to see her still standing before the queen and king with Flora.

He makes his way over, making his presence known to Cecily with a clearing of his throat. 

“Your husband,” Flora murmurs to Cecily, and the two of them offer curtsies to the prince. 

Aemond watches them for a moment before turning to his mother. “Aegon tells me you have decided there will be no bedding ceremony.”

Alicent offers her son a smile and nods. “Yes, we both agreed it was an affront to the Seven. And I am certain there will be proof enough of your consummation come the morning, won’t there?”

“With any luck, your grace,” says Cecily. 

“Good,” says Aemond, not acknowledging Cecily. “Then I wish to retire with my lady wife now. It will serve as a good excuse for father to go rest as well.”

“Right,” says Alicent, moving to stand with the intent to announce their departure, no doubt. 

“No need for an announcement,” he says, gesturing for her to sit back down. “We will go quietly. Lady Cecily, come.”

He holds out his arm and Flora carefully guides Cecily to take it, bidding her cousin good night and good luck.

Aemond leads Cecily up to his chambers, hesitating at the door. She has not said a word the whole way. Is she afraid, as he is? Nervous? It would be only logical. Even without the worry of lords of the realm witnessing their coupling, it is daunting for Aemond. He cannot imagine the fear it would cause in someone who has not done it before. 

He opens the door, gently leading her inside by a hand on the small of her back. “I will help you find your way around until you learn it,” he tells her. 

“Thank you, my lord,” she says, fiddling again with her dress. “Do you know why we’ve been allowed to do this without spectators?”

“A kindness brokered by my brother,” says Aemond, closing the door and looking to her as she stands in the middle of the room, aimless. A sting of repulsion twists in his chest. It feels all too similar to self-loathing, though he cannot know why. “I’m sure it is all we will get in lieu of a wedding gift.”

“Ah, then I must make certain to thank him,” she says, reaching back to begin undoing the lacing of her gown.

“You should not trouble yourself with Aegon’s company,” he says firmly, looking away from her as though trying not to dishonour her in a state of undress. 

“Oh,” she murmurs, slipping off the dress so it pools around her ankles. She stands there in only her smallclothes. He glances up, catching sight of her as she slips her chemise from her shoulders and his breath catches in his throat. Her body, svelte but soft with a life of good food and comfort, is near bare before him. She smiles, evidently hoping he’s looking as she plays with her hands. “I hope I am pleasing to you. Will you help me to the bed?”

He watches her in silence for a moment, as though stunned by the sight of his wife almost naked. In a sense, he is. He had not expected Cecily to act quite so boldly. She is a confident woman and not demure as he is aware, but somehow he thought her nerves would get the better of her. Perhaps not being able to see his reactions helps.

Could she see, she would see a man stunned and frightened, and he finds himself thankful yet again for her blindness. He does not answer her but begins to slowly undress, first removing his gloves, then his boots, then he undoes the lacing of his doublet. As he does, he moves toward her. She perks, then stiffens, as though realising what those footsteps mean. 

He shrugs the doublet off, and reaches to take her hand. The touch of her bare skin against his, for the first time, burns hotter than dragonfire. 

He forces himself to lead her to the bed and watches as she sits down, shimmying up to lean against the pillows, hands settled in her lap as Aemond moves to sit down beside her. It feels wrong to be in a state of undress around a woman, even one who cannot see him. He hasn't allowed himself to be intimate with a woman since…

He pushes that thought from his mind. Hate Cecily as he does, she seems kind enough. Innocent, as he had once been. She will not laugh at him as those women did. 

(Gods, he hopes she is truly as kind as she makes out to be.)

Cecily shifts closer to him, gently feeling across the soft sheets for Aemond’s hand. She turns to face him, offering him a timid smile. “I am a maiden,” she tells him. “But I will try not to be boring for you.”

“You do not have to,” Aemond mumbles, watching her hand slide over his arm and onto his chest, then down. He feels his pulse quicken, but does not stop her. 

“I wish to,” she promises in a whisper. Her hand trails further down, to the waist of his trousers. 

Aemond clenches his jaw and reaches for her wrist as gently as he can manage, though he’s certain she feels the slight tremble in his grip. He moves her hand away, not meeting her eyes to avoid the look on her face– she must be mocking him. She must think him a fool, a boy, an invalid, just like she is. “Let us not make this more complicated than it ought to be.”

“But, I-”

“Lay back. I will do my best to be gentle.”

He finally looks up at her and what he sees is not a mocking sneer, but only confusion. Still, she obliges him and shifts to lay down on the bed, hands folded over her stomach. Aemond’s heart pangs with something he cannot hope to understand, but he ignores it. He undoes his pants, crawling over her and not wasting any further time. 

He goes as slow as he can manage to ease her into the feeling, but once he has broken her maidenhead he forces himself away from all sentimentality and care, moving instead with cold, hard duty. He does not let himself think about how she feels wrapped around his cock, soft and wet and warm and tight. He especially does not dare let himself look at her, does not dare see the expression of disappointment and upset that no doubt takes residence on her face. He cannot. 

After some time he comes with a grunt, taking a few steadying breaths to keep himself under control. To lose any part of his inhibitions now would be weakness. 

I am not weak, he thinks, not doing well to convince himself. Aemond Targaryen is not weak. 

He pulls out after a moment and rolls over to lay beside her. Cecily says nothing, but he sees her press her palms to her eyes and take a deep inhale. She’s trying not to cry. A better husband might comfort her, but Aemond cannot bring himself to do so when he cannot even comfort himself. So Aemond rolls over and listens to his wife try to keep her breathing even, feeling weaker than he has in many years.

part iii

[marunene]

This is kind of a random headcanon but—later seasons Cas becomes a total bookworm. He's been through so much that sometimes he just wants to sit and read some books.

Sam is the one that introduced him to reading btw.

So here's where the funny part comes in- Dean always suggests he reads shitty books because of how confused Cas gets.

"I don't understand this plot line..."

"How can the air taste like memories?"

"Human men are physically unable to do that task for that allotted period of time."

"This author's use of angel physiology is blatantly false."

"Why do these book people keep smirking at each other?"

OMG YEEESSSS!!! He would probably love the old books, I can TOTALLY imagine him reading a book from the 1500s in a completely crazy language and understanding everything

While Sam is showing him old books (which are readable) and talking to him about them, Dean is making him read 50 Shades of Grey

And also– I'm very unsure whether he would like books that talk about more real stories (not actually real, just stories that are more likely to happen) or fantasy.

I imagine he also likes true crimes book (I have the same hc for Sam) — Because, remember the ep Hunteri heroici? Where he wanted to become a hunter? After the incident of him smelling the body and talking about a man's urinary problem and the REAL story having nothing to do with it. He would start listening to/reading true crime podcasts/books to get an idea of what they might end up dealing with in the future. He would probably make references to these crimes (some of them absurd) while Sam and Dean look at him confused.

[anghraine]

I got a comment a few days ago (which I'm too lazy to dig up, sorry, esp since its argument is made so frequently) about how Faramir's rejection of the Ring vs Boromir's fall is basically insignificant because he(Faramir) was around it for a brief time while Boromir had to resist it for a protracted period. I've seen that point made a lot, but I'm not convinced tbh.

For one, even if you only consider in-story details, it typically ignores the increasing strength of the Ring over time as it approaches Mount Doom. Faramir didn't have to face a protracted temptation, but he did have to face a more powerful one than Boromir ever did. How the length of time vs intensity compares is pretty debatable, but it's a factor.

But the dismissal of the contrast also just seems a plain resistant reading that ignores (or denies) the treatment of the two incidents by the overall narrative. You can do that (and probably should at certain points), but I think it's important to be upfront about it. The narrative of LOTR pretty blatantly treats Boromir's and Faramir's differing responses as indicative of their underlying characters and not simply a difference in length of exposure etc.

I don't think this is an indictment of Boromir's overall character; he's definitely a heroic person in general (much as Isildur was—the Ring's warping of heroic characters is a major aspect of its function and tragedy). But to argue that Boromir's fall has nothing to do with real flaws the Ring was able to exploit or that Faramir's rejection says nothing significant seems such a rejection of the narrative treatment that I'm just—nah.

And I am a Faramir stan, so my opinion might be suspect, but I do like Boromir a lot. And his fall to the Ring and reclamation of himself after make him much more interesting to me, personally and thematically, than he would otherwise be. Denying its significance to the function of his character and what the book is saying about attitudes to war etc is just ... blah.

Also, this is more headcanon, but I think it's important that in terms of the writing process, Tolkien came up with Faramir after Boromir's fall. Boromir's account at the Council revealing that the vision/riddle came first to Faramir and more often, with the clear suggestion that Faramir was the primary intended recipient and Boromir an acceptable replacement in the long run, was very deliberate. If there's no meaningful difference in the Ring's effect on them, then the reason for the preference for Faramir and active incorporation of him into the dream account becomes a bit baffling.

But the thing is, not just considering Faramir's rejection of the Ring but his overall character, I do think he would have been more suited to the stealth and grinding strain of the Ring than Boromir.

(Yeah, there are some plot complications w/ the alternate scenario, but I think those are pretty easy to overcome and far from an "all would be DOOMED, the dream-sender must have really intended for Boromir to be the one in the Fellowship" scenario.)

Basically, they are very different people, and in the canon scenario, the Ring reveals these differences in ways that are actually important to their characterizations and the concerns of the novel.

[shaylogic]

DBDA Fanfic Research Refs

Hey, all. I'm looking for some research reference material to help me with writing some Dead Boy Detectives fanfiction. I want to get a better idea of the settings/backgrounds that Edwin and Charles would be coming from in their living pasts.

[I'm coming from a pretty ignorant American perspective, so please forgive me. This is why I'm requesting help with good research materials.]

If anyone could help offer up some more recommendations, or point out bad ones on my current to-read list, I'd really appreciate the help. This could become a collaborative reference post for others in the fandom looking for the same thing.

I'm particularly looking at:

British/English/UK/London?? Slang in different time periods

Edwin's Edwardian period

[Re: Edwin: I'll probably be checking out more of Wilde and Lord Byron's works, or people along those lines. . .?]

Charles' 1980's period, and the punk scene?

Partition of India > England immigration [??? I am white, so I don't really wanna tread into that foolishly, but fandom is a good opportunity to learn real life history]

LGBT (esp. gay) history in London and the greater area in their time periods

[Example pics of what resources I'm thinking about looking at under the cut, because it got long.]

Here are some books I've been looking at so far:

Here's a movie I did a history class report on a while ago, and I've been thinking of it again:

~~~~~

This is some of what I've been considering so far. Anyone have suggestions?

[longitudinalwaveme]

I Diagnose Basically Every Flash Villain

For the sake of simplicity, I'm going to organize the Flash villains by symptom type.

Dissociative Identity Disorder (commonly referred to as Multiple Personality Disorder)

Rose and Thorn: Rose Canton, has two alters, the mild-mannered Rose and the villainous Thorn. Since she is a Golden Age character, we know relatively little about her life experiences prior to becoming Rose and Thorn, so it's impossible to say if her Dissociative Identity Disorder stems from childhood trauma (as it often does in real life). The fact that most of her appearances are in Golden Age comics that I haven't personally read means that I'm also not certain how her alters presented themselves, though from what little I know of the character, it doesn't appear that either of her alters was unaware of the other. Nor did either of her personalities appear to experience amnesia during the period when the other was in control (though this is not a diagnostic trait of the disorder). It seems likely that the Rose personality was the original one, and that the Thorn personality developed later, and it is also clear that Rose was very distressed by the actions of her alter---so much so that she would ultimately commit suicide in order to prevent Thorn form harming her children, Jade and Obsidian. I am also not sure if her alters are able to "talk" to one another like Harvey Dent and Two-Face can, although what little I have read of her seems to suggest that they are not able to do this.

Mr. Element/Dr. Alchemy: Albert Desmond has three alters: Albert Desmond, Mr. Element, and Dr. Alchemy. According to Flash vol. 1 #216 ("The Curse of the Dragon's Eye!"), neither Dr. Alchemy nor Mr. Element manifested until Albert turned twenty, meaning that Albert is undoubtedly the original personality. The two malevolent alters emerged as a response to what I can only assume were chemical alterations in Albert's brain, produced by his body's sensitivity to the fluctuations of a distant, pulsating star. This is ridiculous, of course, but if we accept the rules of comic book physics, I suppose it's not too unreasonable to assume that the pulsating star could have affected his brain in such a way that it produced the symptoms of DID.

Albert's situation is also further complicated by the second Dr. Alchemy, Alvin Desmond, who was initially stated to be Albert's astral twin, but was later revealed to be Albert's darker impulses, given life and independence by the Philosopher's Stone. This obviously has no real-world parallel, but, again accepting the bizarre physics of the DC universe, it wouldn't be totally illogical to surmise that Alvin is one of Albert's alters (given their relative behavior, probably Mr. Element) given physical form.

In addition to not having its roots in childhood trauma, it is apparent that Albert does not have dissociative amnesia when his alters come to the fore; instead, he is usually presented as essentially watching in conscious horror as his alters run amuck. It is less clear to me what Dr. Alchemy and Mr. Element remember of the periods during which Albert is in control. Mr. Element treats Rita Desmond, Albert's wife, like his wife (he reacts angrily when he sees Barry Allen alone with her in Flash vol. 1 #216), but Dr. Alchemy either does not view himself as sharing this relationship to Rita or is so evil that he doesn't care if he hurts his wife, since he abandons her to die in Flash vol. 2 #230 ("The Fury of the Fire Demon!"---Barry saved her life).

Whichever alter was given physical form as Alvin clearly displayed signs of dissociative amnesia once he was given his own body, because, while Alvin is aware that he shares some sort of relationship with Albert, he believes himself to be an entirely separate person (which, at this point, he actually is!), rather than as Albert's alter.

Except when Alvin was literally an entirely separate individual, Albert's alters did not display the ability to "talk" to one another. This is something that some individuals with DID report experiencing in real life, and it is also found in Harvey Dent/Two-Face, but this was not a symptom that Albert displayed. Unlike Two-Face, in other words, the alters are never fronting at the same time.

That being said, Dr. Alchemy has displayed very few signs of Dissociative Identity Disorder in the past few years. Rather than two (or more) personalities fighting for control, there seems to be only one personality; one who could be classified as having Antisocial Personality Disorder. I suppose that it isn't outside the realm of possibility that the Dr. Alchemy we've seen from Geoff Johns' run onward is the Dr. Alchemy alter having taken full control over the shared body, and that the Albert alter is locked somewhere inside his mind, but since there's no indication of a struggle between personalities, it seems more likely to me that Geoff Johns was simply intending to retcon the character into a man with Antisocial Personality Disorder, but without DID.

Magenta: This is another case of two alters. The original personality, Frances Kane, suffered serious trauma when her brother and father were killed in a car crash, one that was the result of her powers kicking in for the very first time; trauma that was only compounded when her mother decided that she was possessed by the devil and disowned her. Wally West, who started dating her not long after the Teen Titans helped get her wild magnetic powers under control, further complicated things for Frances. Both Wally and Frances were suffering from both mental illness and the pressures of being a hero, and, as a result of this, their relationship was tumultuous and ended badly not long after Wally became the Flash.

While Frances' initial symptomology wasn't explored in great detail, it seemed that she subsequently struggled with PTSD-like symptoms as the result of the aforementioned trauma, and, as such, her teammates suggested that she get therapy. This sounds like a good idea, but unfortunately, the therapist that she ended up going to was evil, and used Frances' pre-existing symptoms to induce an alternate personality. The therapist then manipulated this new, more aggressive personality to commit crimes for her until Frances was rescued from this disgrace to the psychiatric profession by her fellow Teen Titans.

Unfortunately, the induced secondary personality didn't go away, and would continue to plague Frances and Wally for a long time---though as of 2016, Frances does seem to be in reasonably good mental health.

Frances is unique amongst the three villains with DID in that, while she had pre-existing trauma, her alter was iatrogenic rather than naturally-occurring. Dissociative Identity Disorder often comes under fire in real life for being a condition that it is easy for psychologists to intentionally or, more commonly, unintentionally induce in patients, so it actually is realistic for Magneta's DID to have been induced by a psychologist.

Neither Magenta nor Frances appears to suffer from dissociative amnesia when the other personality is fronting. They seem to share all of the same memories (especially where Wally is concerned); they simply interpret and react to those memories differently.

Magenta and Frances also do not appear to "talk" to one another; they do not co-front.

With all that being said, it is important to note that while basically all cases of Dissociative Identity Disorder in comics involve a "good" personality and an "evil" personality, this is not what one typically sees in real life. This makes it very difficult to figure out if the "good" alters would be found not guilty by reason of insanity in real life. In comic book terms, I have no doubt that all three of them would be sent to Arkham if they lived in Gotham, since comic book insanity has a very loose relationship with real insanity, but I'm actually not sure how cases like these would work in real life, since I'm not even sure if cases like these would be psychologically possible in real life. I will, however, say that they would probably be more likely to be found not guilty by reason of insanity than most versions of Two-Face, due to the fact that Harvey Dent and Two-Face sometimes co-front and argue with one another. This indicates that Harvey Dent could, theoretically, stop Two-Face's actions, and is therefore legally responsible for not doing so. In contrast, Albert, Frances, and Rose do not co-front with their malicious alter egos, and, in the cases of Albert and Frances at least, they immediately put a stop to any criminal activity the second they regain control of the shared body. Because the "good" alters are either fully in control or fully submerged, there's less sense that they share culpability for the actions of the evil alter(s)-especially since there are currently no drugs that exist to treat the main symptom of Dissociative Identity Disorder (namely, the existence of alters), and we know Frances at least seeks out therapy pretty regularly in spite of her very bad initial experience with psychiatry.

Psychotic Symptoms

Murmur (Dr. Michael Christian Amar): Murmur's exact diagnosis is never specified, but given what we're told of his symptoms (auditory hallucinations which instructed him to murder people and cut out their tongues in order to make them quiet; killing at least twelve and possibly up to fifty people; cutting out his own tongue after a nervous tic caused him to incriminate himself on the stand) strongly implies that he's supposed to have Schizophrenia (since most writers aren't aware of the fact that Schizophrenia is not the only mental illness that can include psychotic symptoms). The nervous tic could be another psychotic symptom, but it could also be evidence of a tic disorder, like Tourette's; it's quite common for a person with one mental illness to have more than one. (For example, I have both Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder and Social Anxiety Disorder.) And, of course, given the sheer number of people Murmur killed, it's very likely that he would also be diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder, especially since he displays no remorse over any of the deaths.

If Murmur was in Gotham, he would definitely be sent to Arkham Asylum, since the only prerequisite to being declared insane in Gotham appears to be displaying a flagrant symptom of a mental illness, but in Central City, he was not declared insane---and that's actually almost assuredly what would happen in real life, as well. While it is possible that he could be declared not guilty under the "irresistible impulse" definition of insanity, most court systems in the United States currently use a variation of the "M'Naghten rule", which defines insanity as a person who is so impaired by their mental illness that they were unaware that what they were doing would constitute a crime. For example, a person with schizophrenia hallucinated that their next-door neighbor was about to stab them with a knife, and then killed that person in what they honestly believed to be self-defense, would probably be found not guilty by reason of insanity under this definition, but someone like Murmur, who murdered people because hallucinatory voices told him to shut them up, would probably not be considered legally insane. In effect, the law treats a person who kills someone because hallucinatory voices told them to in the same way it would treat a person who killed someone because their drinking buddy told them to: in both cases, they knew that they were breaking the law by murdering the person, and they did it anyway.

Depending on how psychotic Murmur was while committing his crimes, he might also be declared guilty but mentally ill, which would basically mean that he would be sent to a mental institution until such time as he was no longer psychotic, and would then be transferred to a regular penal institution to serve out the rest of his sentence. Either way, though, as Barry Allen said in The Flash: Iron Heights (2001), "A "nervous tic" [or a hallucinatory voice, for that matter] doesn't force someone to cut people's tongues out, Mr. Cossi. It doesn't make them insane---or absolve them of their actions." So uh....yeah. Congratulations to Central City's justice system for knowing the actual definition of insanity.

Pied Piper (Hartley Rathaway): Towards the end of Barry Allen's run, the Pied Piper ran a fairly extensive campaign to ruin his foe's life----but, as his scheme went on, it became increasingly apparent that he wasn't emotionally stable. He was very agitated and on edge, and, when his plans ultimately failed, he had a full-on mental breakdown. He openly hallucinated, engaged in behavior that was very unusual for him, and seemed to display some degree of avolition and disorganized speech as well. In other words, he experienced a psychotic episode, and, unsurprisingly, the comic itself stated that he was suffering from "a classic case of borderline schizophrenia" (Flash vol. 1 #339, "Warday!"). This is a term that was once used to describe the combination of borderline personality disorder and schizophrenia, and, since the comic in question was published in the 1980s, it isn't surprising that it would use outdated terminology.

In effect, then, the comic is telling us that Pied Piper suffers from schizophrenia and borderline personality disorder.

According to the DSM-5, the diagnostic criteria for borderline personality disorder include at least five of the following symptoms:

Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment; this does not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in criterion 5

A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation

Markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (eg, spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating) [5] ; this does not include suicidal or self-mutilating behavior covered in criterion 5

Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior

Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (eg, intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

Chronic feelings of emptiness

Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger (eg, frequent displays of temper, constant anger, or recurrent physical fights)

Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

And...yeah, that actually does sound a lot like the Pied Piper, especially prior to his reform. And, since the treatment Piper received for his nervous breakdown was, ultimately, successful in curing him of his psychotic episode, maybe it helped him to deal with some of his broader symptoms of borderline personality disorder as well, and that's part of why he became nicer and chose to reform around the time Wally became the Flash.

However, I don't think the schizophrenia diagnosis is applicable in this case. While schizophrenia is the most well-known psychotic disorder, it isn't the only one that can induce psychotic symptoms, and it's rare for a person with schizophrenia to experience only one psychotic episode. Since the Pied Piper's breakdown was brief and appeared to be the result of stress, and he didn't seem to display any residual symptoms after he recovered (at least after the initial Kadabra-impersonating-Reverse-Flash-induced relapse), I think it's more likely that Pied Piper was suffering from a different psychotic disorder---perhaps Brief Psychotic Disorder---or from a mood disorder accompanied by psychotic symptoms.

That being said, after Pied Piper went through the trauma conga line of having his parents murdered, being hypnotized into believing he was responsible, being sent to prison, getting abused by the warden, going on the run, joining the FBI, having the Top mess with his mind, going undercover on a mission that went disastrously wrong and resulted in the death of Bart Allen, being chased all over the DCU by everyone, watching the Trickster get shot in front of him, and then having to drag the Trickster's corpse around a desert, he understandably had another psychotic episode and started to hallucinate that the Trickster's dead body was talking to him. But once again, the psychotic episode seemed to be pretty brief, and he was somehow able to recover without many noticeable residual symptoms---which, again, seems to point away from Schizophrenia. Again, I do think he has either some kind of psychotic disorder or a mood disorder with psychotic symptoms in addition to the BPD, but I don't think it's Schizophrenia.

So, would the Pied Piper have been sent to Arkham before he reformed? It's hard to say. Just wearing a costume isn't sufficient to get you sent to Arkham (Catwoman and Black Mask aren't sent there), but I can't rule it out as a possibility even before his initial psychotic episode, especially given how emotionally unstable he was as a villain---and, since Gotham either has a completely different set of standards for insanity or is just so corrupt that all the costumed criminals can bribe the courts to get them declared insane, that emotional instability might have been enough.

In the story from the 1980s, it appears that Pied Piper was probably deemed incompetent to stand trial, since he was sent to a psychiatric hospital immediately upon his arrest. Presumably, he was tried for the crimes he had committed in the period leading up to his mental breakdown after he had recovered, though this was never directly stated anywhere due to the chaos surrounding Crisis on Infinite Earths. This is all reasonably consistent with what we might expect in real life. His second mental breakdown came after he had reformed, and as such there wouldn't really be a need for a trial in that case (since presumably the FBI had him legally cleared for breaking prison when they hired him).

The Top (Roscoe Dillon): Roscoe Dillon suffered from a very long period of psychosis, one which lasted from Flash vol. 2 #121 to Flash vol. 2 #216. The psychotic break was heavily suggested to be the result of trauma, but, thanks to retcons, there are two contradictory explanations for what the initial trauma was. When Roscoe's psychotic break initially happened, it was clearly implied that he had gone insane as the result of being attacked by the soulless bodies of the Rogues who had died in Underworld Unleashed, but, in Flash vol. 2 #215, Geoff Johns retconned things so that Dillon had been psychotic since before Barry Allen died in Crisis on Infinite Earths, and that he his psychotic break had occurred as a direct result of Zatanna brainwashing him into being good. Notably, when Wally has Zatanna "fix" the brainwashing, Roscoe is immediately presented as being sane again.

In terms of symptomology, Roscoe displayed signs of hallucinations, delusions, strange behavior (in spite of usually being rather fastidious, he seemed unable to maintain basic hygiene during the course of his long psychotic episode) and disorganized speech. There's no doubt that he was suffering from psychosis, but, as underlined previously, that doesn't automatically equate to schizophrenia, which means we need to look at the context clues in order to determine what the most likely diagnosis would be.

Schizophrenia is, of course, a possibility. Unlike the Pied Piper, whose psychotic episodes were both relatively brief, the Top's psychosis lasted for what seemed to be at least a few in-universe years. That being said, the rather rapid onset of his psychosis and his seemingly immediate and complete recovery upon being un-brainwashed would both be somewhat unusual in schizophrenia, and, while his psychotic episode was very long, there isn't really any evidence of him having had any previous---or subsequent--- psychotic episodes. Of course, it's quite likely that Geoff Johns was intending for the Top to have schizophrenia (since that's the only psychotic disorder most writers know about) and just didn't realize that the symptoms he was having the character present weren't especially consistent with it, but in the spirit of the initial post, I will take the symptoms as signs that might indicate a disorder other than schizophrenia (other than the ubiquitous diagnosis of "comic book crazy", which is probably the true diagnosis of most comic book characters with a mental illness).

And if I had to diagnosis The Top with a specific mental illness (other than Antisocial Personality Disorder, which wouldn't explain his psychotic episode), it would probably be Bipolar 1 Disorder, and my reasoning for this is primarily based on his very first appearance, in Flash vol. 1 #122 ("Beware the Atomic Grenade!"). In order to be diagnosed with Bipolar 1 disorder, a person must experience at least one manic episode---and, while it was absolutely not the author's intent, the behavior the Top displays in that issue is surprisingly consistent with the behavior one might expect in a manic episode. He displays an unusually elevated mood (he's much more giggly and unrelentingly cheerful in his first issue than he is in all his subsequent appearances, and he doesn't even seem upset when the Flash carts him off to jail), he displays mood-congruent delusions of grandeur (deciding that succeeding in a few robberies means that he'll definitely be able to take over the world, and also apparently believing that he can blow up half the world and be safe on the other side), he seems to display at least some flight of ideas, he seems unusually driven even by supervillain standards ("One coup after another! Can't slow down while I'm at the top of my form!"), he's extremely talkative (admittedly, the Top does like the sound of his own voice, but talking to himself for like a full page is a bit much even for him), and his attempt to take over the world is much riskier than any crime he commits after this initial appearance, suggesting a degree of impaired judgement.

Again, this was not intentional on the part of the writer, but if we take his first appearance as as The Top having a manic episode, then Roscoe's subsequent psychotic break could in turn be attributed to another mood episode, this one with psychotic features. More specifically, since his psychotic break was the result of trauma of some sort, I would hypothesize that it was either a depressive or mixed-mood episode with psychotic features.

Would the Top be sent to Arkham if he were in Gotham? Absolutely. He's clearly mentally ill, and that's all you need to be declared insane in Gotham. In the real world, he would almost assuredly not be declared insane, since his mental illness doesn't impair his judgement to the extent that he doesn't realize he's committing crimes---and, indeed, since we saw him in the state prison, and then in Iron Heights, it's clear that he wasn't declared insane in Central City either.

That being said, I am somewhat surprised that he was found competent to stand trial after Flash vol. 1 #121, since he was very obviously both psychotic and incoherent when he was arrested, and didn't seem to be any more put together when we next saw him in Iron Heights.

Zoom (Hunter Zolomon): Hunter Zolomon has had a ton of trauma in his life. He grew up with parents who barely ever spoke to him, on the day he was going to leave home for college, his father murdered his mother and was then killed by the police (and he also learned that his father was a serial killer), and, as the result of making a bad call while on a case for the FBI, he was shot in the knee and his father-in-law was killed in front of him. And then, to top it all off, his wife divorced him and he was fired from the FBI. In short, while it wasn't explicitly shown before he became Zoom, I'm pretty sure that Hunter was at least dealing with some PTSD-like symptoms before he even moved to the Twin Cities; and, while I'm not sure he was clinically depressed, he definitely seemed to have some depressive symptoms.

Then, as if all that wasn't enough, he was eventually attacked by Gorilla Grodd, who broke his back and left him paralyzed from the waist down, and when he asked his friend Wally West to go back in time and fix things for him, Wally refused (understandably, but it was still clearly a blow to Hunter) . And if that STILL wasn't enough, when he broke into the Flash Museum to try to use the Cosmic Treadmill himself, it blew up in his face and he ended up in the hospital again.

In addition to the never-ending trauma, Flash vol. 2 #197 also seem to indicate that the time powers Hunter gained as a result of the Cosmic Treadmill exploding in his face negatively affected his mind.

As such, it isn't especially surprising that Hunter started displaying symptoms of psychosis, including delusions and hallucinations (which seemed to draw on PTSD-like flashbacks). Again, there are a number of diagnoses that could be responsible for this psychotic episode, but I would say that the most likely is Major Depressive Disorder with psychotic features. In addition to the depressive symptoms he displayed both throughout his life and more prominently after Grodd broke his back, there's also a distinct suicidal undertone to his attacks on Wally, since his idea of making Wally a "better hero" pretty explicitly includes getting Wally to kill him.

If Zoom was in Gotham, he would be sentenced to Arkham Asylum. Once again, he's clearly mentally ill, and in Gotham, that's all you need to be declared insane. On the other hand, I'm genuinely not sure if he would be able to successfully plead insanity in the real world. While he seems to be aware of the fact that he's committing crimes on some level, his delusional belief that he is "helping" Wally is so strong that it really does seem like there might be a genuine question as to whether he recognizes that his acts are objectionable---though him being found guilty but mentally ill might still be more likely. Although given how openly psychotic he is---and appears to remain---I think that he might be found incompetent to stand trial altogether.

Pyromania (and Cryophobia)

Heat Wave (Mick Rory): The classic version of Heat Wave would be diagnosed with a simple phobia---specifically, cryophobia, a fear of the cold that's so overwhelming it negatively impacts your day-to-day life. As with many phobias, Mick's fear of the cold stems from a traumatic childhood experience; specifically, when he was nine years old, he accidentally closed himself inside of a meat locker and nearly froze to death before he managed to get out. This, obviously, would not get him declared insane, even in Gotham. Probably.

However, when Geoff Johns elaborated on Heat Wave's backstory in Flash vol. 2 #218, he established/retconned in that Heat Wave also suffers from pyromania, a much more severe mental illness.

According to the DSM-5, the criteria for being diagnosed with pyromania are as follows:

The person deliberately and purposefully sets fires on more than one occasion.

He or she experiences tension or affective arousal before the act.

The individual has a fascination with or attraction to fire.

He or she feels pleasure, gratification, or relief when setting fires, witnessing fires, or participating in their aftermath.

The fire setting is not done for monetary gain, as an expression of sociopolitical ideology or anger, to conceal criminal activity, to improve one’s living circumstances, in response to a delusion or hallucination, or as a result of impaired judgment.

The fire setting is not better or reasonably explained by a manic episode or other disorder.

Johns' Mick displays every single one of these symptoms; he is, in fact, a textbook pyromaniac. This would, naturally, be sufficient to send him to Arkham (Firefly is one of the patients there, after all), but it would probably not be enough to get him declared insane in real life, unless he was tried in a jurisdiction that used the "irresistible impulse" definition of insanity. He might be declared guilty but mentally ill, though.

Substance Abuse

A lot of the Rogues have been shown drinking alcohol or smoking, but there's really only three villains where I think there's sufficient evidence to suggest that they actually have a substance abuse disorder.

Captain Boomerang: According to the DSM-5, in order for an individual to qualify for a diagnosis of alcohol abuse disorder, at least two of the following symptoms must be met:

Drinking more alcohol or over a longer period than originally intended.

Unsuccessfully trying to cut down or control alcohol use.

Craving, or a strong desire or urge to use alcohol. (Wanting a drink so much it’s difficult to think of anything else)

Drinking that interferes with responsibilities at home, at work, or at school.

Continuing to use alcohol even when it causes problems with family and friends.

Giving up important social, occupational, or recreational activities because of alcohol use.

Repeatedly using alcohol in physically hazardous situations.

Developing a tolerance to alcohol (needing more alcohol to get the same effect).

Experiencing withdrawal symptoms such as shakiness, restlessness, nausea, or sweating after stopping or reducing drinking.

Given how often Digger is shown drinking or getting drunk, I think it's fair to say that he qualified for the diagnosis.

During Ostrander's Suicide Squad run, Digger was also identified as having Antisocial Personality Disorder; specifically, he was described as a low-functioning sociopath. Given the behavior Digger regularly displays, I think that diagnosis is quite accurate.

Obviously, though, antisocial personality disorder and alcohol abuse disorder are not enough to get someone declared not guilty by reason of insanity, not even in Gotham. Even if he decided to move to Gotham, Digger wouldn't have to worry about Arkham Asylum.

Mirror Master I (Samuel Scudder): In order to be diagnosed with Tobacco Use Disorder, an individual must display at least two of the following 12 symptoms within a 12-month period:

Tobacco is often taken in larger amounts or over a longer period than was intended.

There is a persistent desire or unsuccessful efforts to cut down or control tobacco use.

A great deal of time is spent in activities necessary to obtain or use tobacco.

Craving, or a strong desire or urge to use tobacco.

Recurrent tobacco use resulting in a failure to fulfill major role obligations at work, school, or home (e.g. - interference with work).

Continued tobacco use despite having persistent or recurrent social or interpersonal problems caused or exacerbated by the effects of tobacco (e.g. - arguments with others about tobacco use).

Important social, occupational, or recreational activities are given up or reduced because of tobacco use.

Recurrent tobacco use in situations in which it is physically hazardous (e.g. - smoking in bed).

Tobacco use is continued despite knowledge of having a persistent or recurrent physical or psychological problem that is likely to have been caused or exacerbated by tobacco.

Tolerance, as defined by either of the following:

A. A need for markedly increased amounts of tobacco to achieve the desired effect.

B. A markedly diminished effect with continued use of the same amount of tobacco.

Withdrawal, as manifested by either of the following:

A. The characteristic withdrawal syndrome for tobacco (refer to Criteria A and B of the criteria set for tobacco withdrawal).

B. Tobacco (or a closely related substance, such as nicotine) is taken to relieve or avoid withdrawal symptoms.

Given that Flash vol. 1 #146 establishes that Sam smokes four cigarettes an hour, and the fact that he was shown smoking more than any other Flash villain, I think that it's safe to say he qualifies for this diagnosis.

There's also a good case to be made that Scudder has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. In order to be diagnosed with NPD, an individual must display at least 5 of the 9 following symptoms:

a grandiose sense of self-importance

a preoccupation with fantasies of success, power, beauty, or perfect love

a belief that they are "special" and can only be understood by other special people

a need for excessive admiration

a sense of entitlement, which may include an unreasonable expectation to be treated favorably or for others to comply with their demands and expectations

behavior that is exploitative and takes advantage of others to achieve their own ends

a lack of empathy or an unwillingness to identify with the needs of others

a tendency to be envious of others or a belief that others are envious of them

arrogance, haughty behaviors, and attitudes.

Scudder's pretty much 9 for 9 here. Who would have guessed that a guy who named himself "Mirror Master" would be a narcissist?

Neither NPD nor a cigarette addiction would be sufficient to have someone declared insane in the real world, but, given the precedent set by the Riddler....NPD might be enough in Gotham. Granted, Riddler is sometimes also portrayed as having OCD, and thus an irresistible impulse to leave clues, but still.....

Mirror Master II (Evan McCulloch): Famously, Evan McCulloch is addicted to cocaine. Since cocaine is a stimulant, that would mean that he would be diagnosed with stimulant use disorder.

That being said, McCulloch's issues extend far beyond the cocaine addiction, and, in many ways, the addiction seems to be just another symptom of a larger problem.

As established in Flash vol. 2 #212, Evan has lived through a lot of traumatic experiences, including accidentally killing his father, finding his mother dead from suicide, and being sexually assaulted by an older boy in the orphanage where he grew up (before killing that kid in self-defense). That, naturally, raises the possibility of a diagnosis of PTSD, the criteria for which are as follows:

Criterion A (1 required): The person was exposed to: death, threatened death, actual or threatened serious injury, or actual or threatened sexual violence, in the following way(s):

Direct exposure

Witnessing the trauma

Learning that the trauma happened to a close relative or close friend

Indirect exposure to aversive details of the trauma, usually in the course of professional duties (e.g., first responders, medics)

Criterion B (1 required): The traumatic event is persistently re-experienced, in the following way(s):

Unwanted upsetting memories

Nightmares

Flashbacks

Emotional distress after exposure to traumatic reminders

Physical reactivity after exposure to traumatic reminders

Criterion C (1 required): Avoidance of trauma-related stimuli after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Trauma-related thoughts or feelings

Trauma-related reminders

Criterion D (2 required): Negative thoughts or feelings that began or worsened after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Inability to recall key features of the trauma

Overly negative thoughts and assumptions about oneself or the world

Exaggerated blame of self or others for causing the trauma

Negative affect

Decreased interest in activities

Feeling isolated

Difficulty experiencing positive affect

Criterion E (2 required): Trauma-related arousal and reactivity that began or worsened after the trauma, in the following way(s):

Irritability or aggression

Risky or destructive behavior

Hypervigilance

Heightened startle reaction

Difficulty concentrating

Difficulty sleeping

Criterion F (required): Symptoms last for more than 1 month.

Criterion G (required): Symptoms create distress or functional impairment (e.g., social, occupational).

Criterion H (required): Symptoms are not due to medication, substance use or other illness.

More specifically, Evan's PTSD appears to be of the dissociative variety, since he does seem to display signs of what's known as derealization (persistent or recurrent experiences of unreality of surroundings, e.g., the world around the individual is experienced as unreal, dreamlike, distant, or distorted) even when he's not actively using cocaine.

In addition to the cocaine use and PTSD, there's also an argument to be made for McCulloch having Antisocial Personality Disorder.

I'm pretty sure McCulloch would be sent to Arkham Asylum if he lived in Gotham, more due to the PTSD and associated dissociation than the cocaine use, but I don't think he'd be declared insane in real life. Maybe he might be declared guilty but mentally ill if he was in one of his particularly weird phases, but he's way too cognizant of his actions to be considered legally insane.

Dissociative Disorder

Professor Zoom the Reverse-Flash (Eobard Thawne): In addition to the really, very, extremely obvious Antisocial Personality Disorder, I think that Eobard Thawne has experienced at least two dissociative episodes in his life. Specifically, during the Return of Barry Allen storyline, when a young Eobard Thawne traveled through time to visit Barry Allen, the stresses of time travel, combined with the shock that learning that he was the Reverse-Flash and that his idol would one day kill him, Eobard entered a state of dissociative fugue, losing his memories of his past life and then taking on the name and identity of Barry Allen. His memories eventually returned when Wally West confronted him with his Reverse-Flash costume, but when he subsequently returned back to his native time after being soundly thrashed by Wally, the stress of time travel induced partial dissociative amnesia; he completely forgot about his first trip to the past and would never remember it.

Eobard is also a creepy, obsessive stalker to both Barry and Iris Allen, but to a large extent that's probably attributable to his ASPD.

In the real world, dissociative amnesia of the sort Eobard displayed, where he still clearly has the memories of all of his most heinous crimes, would not be at all sufficient to get someone declared legally insane, and, of course, neither would ASPD. That being said, given the way that Gotham treats the Joker, and the similarities between Eobard and the Joker, I have this horrible feeling that Gotham would totally send Eobard to Arkham.

Personality Disorders

Personality Disorders alone are not sufficient to get someone declared legally insane in real life, but since Gotham's legal system seems to operate under its own totally unrelated definition of insanity, I unfortunately have to go through all the characters with personality disorders anyway.

Blacksmith (Amunet Black): Blacksmith has Antisocial Personality Disorder, but Gotham wouldn't send her to Arkham. She's a lot like the Penguin, and he never gets sent to Arkham.

Gorilla Grodd: Grodd also has Antisocial Personality Disorder, and if he was in Gotham and for some reason couldn't be extradited back to Gorilla City, he'd probably end up getting sent to Arkham under the "Clayface/Mr. Freeze" rule, which states that Arkham is apparently the only penal facility in Gotham capable of housing the more physically abnormal inmates.

Abra Kadabra: Abra Kadabra definitely has Narcissistic Personality Disorder; he's even more of a showboat than Sam Scudder. I get the feeling that he'd probably end up in Arkham because of his flamboyance and obsessive need for applause.

Girder: ASPD. He'd end up in Arkham under the "Clayface/Mr. Freeze" rule.

Golden Glider: I think a case can be made for Golden Glider having Paranoid Personality Disorder. In order to be a diagnosed with PPD, an individual must display at least four of the following symptoms:

Suspects, without sufficient basis, that others are exploiting, harming, or deceiving them.

Is preoccupied with unjustified doubts about the loyalty or trustworthiness of friends or associates.

Is reluctant to confide in others because of unwarranted fear that the information will be used maliciously against them.

Reads hidden demeaning or threatening meanings into benign remarks or events.

Bears grudges persistently, being unforgiving of insults, injuries, or slights. 

Perceives attacks on their character or reputation that are not apparent to others and quickly reacts angrily or counterattacks. 

Has recurrent suspicions, without justification, regarding fidelity of spouse or sexual partner.

Does not occur exclusively during the course of schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depressive disorder with psychotic features, or another psychotic disorder, and is not attributable to the physiological effects of another medical condition. 

Golden Glider became a supervillain specifically to get revenge on Barry Allen for the death of the Top, so she certainly meets the "bearing grudges" criteria. In Flash vol. 1 #261-264, she reacts angrily to being administered a psychological evaluation and treats it as a personal attack, which would seem to meet a few of the diagnostic criteria, and she certainly reacts violently to any perceived threats. Furthermore, in Flash vol. 2 Annual #1, Golden Glider accuses Captain Boomerang, Weather Wizard, and Trickster of having blown the whistle on her without any apparent evidence, and in her debut issues, Flash vol. 1 #250-251, we also saw that she was willing to pre-emptively knock out her brother and leave him to the police in order to ensure that he wouldn't try to interfere with her revenge plans. This, combined with her experiences as a child with an abusive father, a frequently-absent mother, and a brother who ultimately left her alone with her father, makes for a pretty good argument for at least some level of paranoia.

Would Golden Glider be sent to Arkham? I'm inclined to say yes, if only because the sheer intensity of her rage. Which, given her reaction to the proposed psychological tests, would probably just make her even angrier.

The Character With No Clear Mental Illness Who Would be Sent to Iron Heights Purely on the Basis of the "Clayface/Mr. Freeze Rule"

Tarpit (Joey Monteleone): Joey doesn't seem to have any mental illnesses as such, but the fact that he's a giant flaming tar monster means that he'd probably get sent to Arkham by default if he lived in Gotham.

Characters I'm Pretty Sure Wouldn't Be Sent to Arkham

Captain Cold (Leonard Snart): Len doesn't have any clear mental illnesses at all (maaaybe you could make an argument for PTSD or alcohol abuse, but that seems like a stretch), and he's so pragmatic that even Gotham would send him to Blackgate with no questions asked.

Weather Wizard (Mark Mardon): He's moody, and does seem to have occasional flashbacks to his brother's death, but there's nothing in particular that I can pinpoint for him. He doesn't really get as much focus as you would expect. And he's not quite weird or flamboyant enough to get sent to Arkham.

Trickster I (James Jesse): Unlike his television adaptations, James is neither psychotic (as in the DCAU) or psychopathic (as in the 90s show and the CW show). Weirdly, he might still get sent to Arkham anyway, if only because of how much he plays up the wacky screwball angle and how bad Gotham is at understanding mental health.

Trickster II (Axel Walker): There's a definite argument to be made for Conduct Disorder, but Axel's effectively just a teenaged punk. Even Gotham wouldn't send him to Arkham. Probably. I hope.

Gotham seems convinced that anyone with a clown theme is insane, though, so who knows.

Peek-a-Boo (Lashawn Baez): Arguably some trauma and depressive symptoms, especially after she was abused at Iron Heights and her father died, but nothing that would get her sent to Arkham.

Fallout (Neil Borman): Again, I can't rule out PTSD or depressive symptoms, given the horrible way his family died and the equally horrible way Warden Wolfe used him to power Iron Heights, but he doesn't do anything sufficiently weird or violent for him to get sent to Arkham.

[depizan]

I'm also not sure why I periodically watch YouTube about fiction (other than OSP. OSP is great). I generally go away with the impression that either I am very weird or other people are very weird.

It is a good reminder of why I write fanfic and will never return to the world of trying to get published. What I like and what You Are Supposed To Write are so far removed that they're frequently opposites.

In this case, the dude I was watching was talking about creating tension in a scene and audience engagement and absolutely everything he suggested was something that would turn me off/make me less engaged/make me put down the book.

I'm trying to figure out how to even describe it without giving away the YouTube video.... Eh, I guess it doesn't matter. If someone's seen it and recognizes it from my description there's no real harm.

So the guy talks about how there's this equation he's been working on for conflict and audience engagement--which isn't a bad idea, nor are the parts he includes like "character connection" and "chance of success" and such.

But then he applies it to a hypothetical scenes and everything that's supposed to be making this better is just eugh. He suggests a scene in a prison where there are people going to be executed, but the character the scene is about is, instead of being afraid, is all snarky and bantering with the guards.

Ah, I think, a generic protagonist. Oh joy.

And, he continues, then we find out that this character is there to free another prisoner and was captured on purpose in order to get to the prisoner.

Good thing we haven't seen that fifty zillion times.

Finally, he suggests that the prison being on a boat and guarded by monsters who can fly and swim far faster than humans.

Yeah, I'm putting this theoretical book back on the shelf.

NONE OF THAT IS ENGAGING.

It is the opposite of engaging. It is like fifty million books I've read the first couple pages of and put back on the library shelf. Could it be good. Could an author do something with it that wouldn't make me roll my eyes and drop the book? Yes. Of course that's possible.

But engagement isn't that simple. You can't write something that will engage everyone. And there isn't one audience for every book/movie/TV show out there.

Here's my version of the guy's theoretical scene. You have a character in a prison. Drop the execution thing, that's already making the stakes too high to have value. Instead, we let the audience know right away that the character is there for a reason. They weren't just arrested for a crime, they committed a crime to be tossed in there.

We have a hook for engagement. Something is afoot. Will that draw everyone in? No, nothing will do that. Do I think it will draw in more people than Generic Protagonist will? I'd like to say yes, but judging from what gets published, possibly not.

For my engagement, the character doubting their plan now that they're in it is going to work better. Is that just a different kind of Generic Protagonist. Perhaps. But at least it's not one that makes me sprain my eyeballs because I rolled them so hard.

Forget making the prison ridiculous. Stick to character stuff. They make contact with the person they're in to rescue. And the person doesn't want to escape. They have a different plan. Or too much faith in the system. Or some other reason to remain in the prison.

Now we have an actually interesting conflict and a situation that could end either with the character having to break out alone and do something else to help the character in prison or with them talking the person their trying to rescue into going along with the plan.

And that is a book I would continue reading.

Even if that's also been done fifty zillion times. But at least it could have personality! And character interactions!

But I'm not a published fantasy author with writing workshops, so what do I know.

Edit: I should've finished the video. Apparently his (boring) hypothetical is actually how he starts one of his published books. Oops, sorry, dude. I guess I won't be reading anything you write.

[minty-the-witch]

Mental and Spiritual: Different Sides of the Same Coin

Howdy everyone! 

I’ve been MIA for a while because my life has just been absolutely crazy lately. I’ve bounced around from Airbnb and hotel with my family while our house is being repaired (from a house fire). I also changed jobs during this period. All this to say, my mental health has just been in the gutter as of late. 

I did some reflection, and I realized that part of my problem was that I was neglecting my spiritual side during all this chaos. I began by getting a new tarot deck from the local Barnes and Noble. Once I began doing readings again I immediately felt better, but I was still rusty when it came to the readings themselves. I was doing okay, not great nor terrible. 

Something I have always struggled with is balance. Balancing all aspects of my life has been a challenge. Sometimes I would go all in with my writing, and neglect other areas like my spiritual work. Other times I would hyperfocus on spiritual things and my “real life” would suffer. I still don’t know a very good solution, other than to keep trying. I started journaling, but it was hard for me to keep up with that too. I take my meds every day but sometimes it feels like that doesn’t help.

Obligatory I am not a professional, seek help if you feel you really need it. 

Spirituality has helped me so much, it’s hard for me to even explain. It makes me feel whole. Whenever I read a spiritual book, or meditate, or do tarot I find myself closer to peace. I believe that humans were never designed (or not evolved) to sit at a desk job all day or on your feet for 8+ hours at a tedious job. Whenever I’m at my fast food job, I don’t even feel like a person. My good friend has a job in her field (biotech) and even she is miserable working 9-5 every day. 

I feel like people have grown to cut out that spiritual side of themselves, for various reasons but for the purpose of this post I am going to blame late stage capitalism HAH! Our society does not put much stock into spiritual growth or health, or mental health for that matter. I think that both are absolutely vital. In my own experience, I think they go hand in hand. Two sides of the same coin. When my mental health is shit, my spiritual growth suffers. And visa versa. 

That is why I am making it a personal goal of mine to read more books and try to do one blog post a week. No idea what I will talk about, I don’t know that I have much to say - I’m definitely not an expert in the occult by any means. But I will give it a shot. 

What are some things to help rekindle the spiritual fire?

For me, my love is always tarot. I love helping people with readings as well as doing some for myself. It feels so magical to do. To feel that connection with the cards and the universe. I am not a tarot expert yet, but I feel the vibe of the cards to the best of my ability. By that extension, I would suggest doing something that helps someone else!

Another thing that helps me is a spiritual cleanse in the shower. I wash up with very strong intentions of washing away the dirty negative thoughts and energy. Then I will spend 5-10 minutes just standing or sitting under the water, meditating. I connect most with water (despite being an earth sign), this may not work for everyone. 

When I lived in a different neighborhood, there was a cute little forest park nearby. Whenever I was feeling negative I would go for a walk through the woods and just vibe out to the playlist of the day. I took in the energy of the forest around me. I grounded myself almost every time with this one specific tree that felt especially magical. (I even found little spirits there!) 

Something you can do almost anywhere is classic meditation. Although it's hard to do when you have company. My favorite meditative tool is the app Calm (I’ve also used Meditopia in the past). But there are free ones available too, like the app Moonly, and also if you have Spotify you can find good meditative tracks! It’s hard for me to clear my head, as I am an anxious person, but once I get in the groove of things it certainly helps. 

Speaking of groove, doing something you love that gets you in that flow state is always helpful for your mental and spiritual health! For me it's writing. Writing is a kind of magic itself, at least that is what my guides have always told me. The ancient Egyptians certainly believed so. 

The key with any of these things, is to have the intentions of rekindling your spiritual fire. If you just do these things without the aim of that connection, well it's just good for your mental health and there’s nothing wrong with that. Like I said before, I believe they go hand in hand. Having the proper intentions and confidence is half the battle in magic. 

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Hello, can I ask what do you mean "in canon it's impossible for Sherlock to settle down with a woman"? Like, as a fan of Holmes and always read the books since middle school, I'm kinda confuse here, I don't mean anything negative. Sorry, do you think Poirot (from Agatha Christie) is also queer?

Maybe because I grew up with very religious mother and lived in anti-LGBTQ country, I'm kinda slow in picking up subtext. Like until now I'm still kinda confuse with my friend who have ships from any fandoms (but I still love to hear and read her headcanons or fics about those characters)....

I really agree with you, I've seen many Holmes' adaptations (cartoon, tv series, manga) but Yuumori is clearly the closest to Doyle's works. Do you think the mangaka also love to read Holmes' books?

Story time! (Welcome to "Hyper answers asks like an old lady going on an hour long barely-on-topic tangent at the slightest prompting.)

I totally get where you're coming from, I was raised in like...knockoff Southern Baptist churches. Growing up, homosexuality was presented to me as a sexual perversion incapable of involving real love. It's kind of silly, but it's true: a ship was a big part of changing that for me. I read Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle as a teenager, and Kurogane and Fai had something that was inescapably romantic and beautiful but never strictly sexual (tho the potential is certainly there). Between that and an online community of LGBTQ+ adults who were incredibly patient and kind towards me even when I was suuuuper ignorant, I started to open up towards queer relationships as...well, just relationships. Relationships that can encompass sex and also encompass love and friendship and communication and partnership and all those other things I'd been taught were exclusive to monogamous straight people. And then, even as terrified as I was, I was eventually able to face the fact that I'd always had crushes on girls just as often as crushes on guys. So yeah, there's a reason Kurofai is my ship of all ships, the actual One True Pairing for me. Because it cracked open a door just enough that I could slowly lever it open the rest of the way. There seem to be quite a lot of anecdotes like this: women enjoying BL/mlm ships is often seen as fetishy (which can certainly be part of it) but for some reason I can't fully articulate it also seems to sometimes be a means for girls and women to explore their own not-straightness.

ANYWAY. SHERLOCK HOLMES. Tbh I'm not gonna go too in-depth because I would bet good money that there are a bunch of scholarly articles on Holmes' queerness. People have probably done their doctorate theses on this! Much smarter and more well-read folks than I have already covered the topic. For me, it really boils down to: he never outright expresses sexual or romantic interest in anyone (we must resist the urge to assume his respect for Irene Adler is romantic just because he is a man and she is a woman). He's almost certainly on the asexual spectrum. But when he does exhibit symptoms one might associate with romantic and/or sexual interest (particularly romantic, imo), it's always towards men (usually Watson, of course). For example, notable flirt John Watson saying that Holmes blushes at his compliments the way a girl does is...suggestive.

The whole thing is complicated by Watson being (in my opinion at least) an unreliable and sometimes downright petty narrator. He keeps going on spiels about Holmes being cold and heartless, only to turn around and describe him greeting his friends warmly and being emotionally moved by music and baby-talking puppies and charming old ladies. It makes Watson sometimes come across as one of those allo people who are so unable to conceive of a life without romantic and/or sexual desire that they start dehumanizing those who don't experience it. Alternatively and maybe more charitably, he just has a big ol' crush on Holmes, is understandably alarmed by it given the time period, and gets bitchy and defensive when he feels it might not be reciprocated.

But ultimately...do I think Arthur Conan Doyle sat down at a desk in the late 19th century/early 20th century and was like "I am going to write some ace queer representation for the tumblr girlies (gn)"? Obviously not. 😅 I do think he might have set out to create a character who very deliberately did not need to have the otherwise almost obligatory straight romantic side-plot. Holmes is never in any way set up as having a life headed towards marriage and children, in spite of how typical that was for the time. The companionship he does express a need and desire for comes in the form of another man. He's "lost without [his] Boswell." He sneakily buys Watson's practice out from under him so he'll be free to move back in and go on more adventures with him. He threatens violence when Watson is hurt. Etc etc. I think it's very fair to interpret it all through a queer lens, the quibble would be more in whether that queerness ever manifests sexually.

I definitely think the Yuumori creators have not only read ACD but also other fiction based on the stories, possibly even including some very old pastiches like this one. I love how seemingly nerdy they are about it haha! The series is full of easter eggs and callouts to other Holmesian works.

As for Poirot, I know very little about the character beyond a few episodes of the show I watched as a young'un, but that is not the mustache of a straight man (I'm joking I'm joking I have absolutely no opinion on that one! 🤣)

Thanks for the ask, and for actually reading this ramble if you got this far! 😅

[bookishfeylin]

I was looking through your recent reblogs, and I wanted to ask specifically about the issue of framing. You’ve written extensively on how Rhys and Tamlin fail as foils (and I agree), but I’ve repeatedly seen the argument that because the author *meant* only Tamlin to be an abuser, Rhys canonically *can’t* be abusive. As well as the fact that Feyre is happy/forgave Rhys. Therefore: Tamlin’s red flags form a pattern, while Rhys’ “bad acts” cannot by definition be abusive, and are unrelated incidents of a good person making mistakes. Is there any credence to this? What do you think of the idea of there being only one way to read a text? Of having to imagine the author on your shoulder telling you how to appropriately feel about what is written, and that any alternative interpretation is wrong because that wasn’t what was “meant,” that the reader has to therefore be dumb and/or simply wants the story to be different than it is, and so interprets it that way? Is there a “correct” way to enjoy a story?

I spent a while on this ask because I think it’s a complex question with no easy answer, so I’m sorry for the wait 😅

An author can have whatever intentions they want when they write a piece of media, but once it's no longer confined to their, uh, imagination, and is actually out in the world, they can’t necessarily dictate how other people to engage with the text. The context of their society's culture and time period and the individual experiences of the audience are always going to impact how a work is interpreted, understood, and the impact it has on the culture at large. An author may not mean to incorporate certain stereotypes or write harmful tropes, for example, but if they make all the Black people villains to an all white cast of heroes and they kill off all the gay people while all the straight couples get to live happily ever after, their intentions are kind of irrelevant—they objectively wrote and perpetuated harmful ideas. And furthermore, media doesn’t stop being engaged with or enjoyed when the creator dies, and not all media engagement is meant to agree with the intended message. Sometimes we read and analyze books to argue that the author's worldview was wrong or to argue that their messaging is flawed. (One example that comes to mind is an article I recently read about Lord of the Flies and how the author was wrong because humanity is NOT inherently violent based on discoveries of a real life shipwreck of some teenage boys who, left alone on an island, actually cared for each other and survived together until being rescued, unlike the insanity of Lord of the Flies. I wish I could remember the name of the article I read that discussed this, but I suggest looking into it!)

So no, there is no one correct way to engage with media, and an author's intentions, while certainly meaningful, and definitely eye opening into their thought process, are not necessarily the sole truth.

Now as for ACOTAR specifically: if the sole metric for abuse is not the actual behavior itself, but rather whether the author thinks the character is abusive, the story fails as a discussion of abuse and red flags. If something is abusive only because the author has decided, in their subjective opinion, that it is abusive, and something is not abusive because the author has decided it is not, then no analysis of abuse or red flags can be made because the author is not trying to actually comment on domestic violence but rather is using domestic violence as a convenient plot device to demonize the characters they don’t like. I’ve mentioned before many a time that the same standards that are used to render Tamlin and/or Nesta abusive also would render Rhysand and Co abusive as well were these standards applied uniformly to every character. But the author and stans alike refuse to. And if they want to do that, then fine! But don’t declare this work as a feminist one discussing domestic violence and abuse, and don’t proclaim that all people who like certain characters and ships support abusive behavior if there is no clear standard for abusive behavior outlined in the books. And that’s the problem a lot of fans fall into.