#is unpleasant and uncomfortable to face head on - often for the characters themselves but even more for us

[anghraine]

elizabethwydevilles replied to this post:

'Most "corrections" of Padmé's characterization I've seen essentially want to make her [...] not a tragic figure except by wild mischance or the missteps of other characters.' I honestly think people have a really hard job accepting that the prequels are a tragedy for *everyone* involved (except Palps). You see it in response to characters like Obi-Wan; the refusal to engage with the idea that a character can try their best and still screw up is hard to swallow.

Yes, very much so! In some ways it's even more marked with Obi-Wan, I feel, because ROTJ so clearly set him up as someone who failed tragically in the prequel era and who took away the wrong lessons from his own mistakes. OT/PT Obi-Wan is a kind, self-sacrificing, and well-meaning person who is not motivated by malice, but there is a moral arrogance to him, a hubris, that plays a significant role in the larger tragedy he is part of and that hubris lingers in the OT even after his death (with potential for further tragedy!).

I think there's a temptation to cast all these characters with fundamentally tragic flaws as solely victims or villains, but an important aspect of this kind of tragedy IMO is how these kinds of flaws collide and contribute to something far worse than any of its parts. The kinds of mistakes and flaws that we see in these characters lead to consequences that are both inevitable and unpredictable; no single one of these tragic figures could independently control or foresee what was going to result from all these different dynamics and maneuverings and choices, but at the same time, these choices do inexorably lead towards disaster. So you get the "well [x tragic choice] isn't what really caused the tragedy, because Palpatine" or "we need to fix [x tragic choice] because it makes the character Bad" without really engaging with the complicity (conscious or unconscious) of all these characters and the significance of their complicity to what the PT is doing as a story.

I don't object to "I want to imagine a happy ending for my faves" at all, btw—I do that all the time and it's not what I'm getting at. But when it comes to insisting that something must have been what "really" happened for the story to "make sense" or be "fixed" in the face of all evidence and basics of story structure, I find it tedious.

[msfbgraves]

The CK writers can’t NOT know how the Sauna scene looked! I don’t know what gay culture was like in the 80s for non-Americans, but I do know, as an American, that gay men frequented saunas and gay bathhouses to engage in casual sex with other men. It was considered a “safe” spot away from judgement, and part of the gay cruising culture. And the fact that Terry engages with Daniel in a sauna, apparently without clothes (?) speaks volumes. What with Daniel looking so frightened, all done up to the throat with his white virginal robe…meanwhile Terry towers over him and doms him without laying a finger on him. The scene is LOADED. Especially given how campy and off his rocker Terry was in KK3…and the general weirdness of that movie, and how much gay, grooming, and obsessive subtext there is…the sauna was such an odd and perhaps deliberate choice for Terry and Daniel to have an interaction. I’d sell my soul to get the answer from the CK writers on this!

Nonnie, I really can't help you. All I know is that both Cobra Kai and and of course The Karate Kid III are very mainstream pieces of media and they're writing for the mainstream. Now, I've also seen mainstream writing teams deliberately trying to write queer themes and kink and it often comes out really off putting. If you watch Hugh Grant in "Maurice", with the faintest veil of plausible deniability, you get a beautiful queer romance, but watch "A very English Scandal" and it's completely awkward and unpleasant. As for kink, Paul Giamatti and Maggie Siff in "Billions" are just uncomfortable, they're so not into this dynamic, like the writers, presumably. But in stuff that would never be marketed as "queer" or "kinky" people often end up having to fan themselves, and I think that's because the writers either are completely oblivious or they have to pretend they are but I'm guessing the former, giving the actors more freedom. I really wouldn't put it past them to think of that sauna scene as "just" a callback in CK. Did they mean to cast a female lookalike of Terry as Daniel's wife? They didn't even know they'd get Thomas on the show and they don't know how to write character - there's hardly any overlap between their young versions of Terry and Kreese and what Marty and Thomas are playing, and I don't blame the actors for that! And yet! Daniel's ill fitting suits! The way he still gets sexually harrassed by his "rivals", be it Tom Cole or Johnny Lawrence painting a dick on his face - somewhere the penny dropped for Daniel that all these boys not so much wanted to kill him but they wanted to fuck him and men still want to fuck him and I think it was Terry that opened his eyes. Triple painful that with Terry he was into it and that ended badly. But he's learnt to see it and he doesn't like it, if he does flirt people into buying his cars. Was that the writers or Ralph? Hm, I think the writers didn't want him to look sexy and Ralph has a no nudity clause that some nuns may find a tad restrictive (no way he was unfamiliar with creeping men in Hollywood, the way he stayed away from anything romantic in his films) and yet here we are. It reads as a middle aged man who has been either beat up or prepositioned one too many times. And Terry was the first to use sex against him. And Terry knows he was the first. And he knows that'll fuck with Daniel's head six ways to Sunday because he knows they have chemistry. And it's a brilliant role reversal because Daniel has also used flirting to get what he wanted from people. He would have called it friendliness and it was, but he loves asking for it when he knows people can't do anything to him even in high school, he knows it confuses men and makes girls like him. He does it to Johnny in the first film and Chozen in the second but when he does it with Terry he doesn't get the usual flustered confusion but now Terry is doing it to him and he's never been at the receiving end of that...

...but it's very plausible that in his sales jobs he totally was and it was Amanda who taught him to weaponise it and there's something very hot and very familiar about her anyway...

The only way I can get this to make sense in my head is:

Ralph and Thomas have always known exactly what they're doing. I really applaud how Ralph has played the shadow of Terry before we knew Terry would even be in Cobra Kai. And Thomas' re-entry in the series is seamless. No continuity breaks like with Ralph and Billy. Man is a writer who knows his craft and he made them listen to him or he wasn't coming on the show.

The writers do not consciously know - if they knew they'd try to undo it in the text - but they do pick up on it and it bleeds into their writing.

[tigger8900]

Tell Me I'm Worthless, by Alison Rumfitt

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Three years ago, Alice, Ila, and Hannah entered a haunted house, intending to spend the night. But only two emerged, Hannah remaining trapped within. Scarred from their respective experiences, Alice and Ila sought only to protect themselves from the horrors they'd seen revealed, but eventually it becomes clear that the only way forward is to return to the house and face the truth.

This was a deeply unpleasant read. Not bad, but viscerally uncomfortable, with no semblance of thrill when the suspense breaks, only a sense of relief. The author, a trans woman herself, pulls no punches when it comes to depicting transphobia(and, to a lesser degree, racism and antisemitism), to the point where I felt myself thinking okay, I get it now, you can stop…oh my god please stop. I originally intended to mention this as a negative, but the more I sat with that feeling, the more I think it was Rumfitt's intent to make the reader feel that way. It would have been too easy to throw out something shocking and then stop. But that's not how bigotry works, right? It doesn't slap you in the face and then just stop. It slaps you in the face and then it knees you in the gut, punches your head, now you're on the floor, can't even get your breath back between each strike. It persists long after you're done with it, refusing to let up even if you beg.

So maybe that's why she chose to write that way, with the repetitive stream-of-consciousness rants that stretched on for pages after the point where I wanted so badly for them to stop. Or maybe I'm just making up justifications, because it feels better to say I had a transgressive art experience than to say I read a bunch of horrible thoughts and was uncomfortable the whole time. Regardless, this is a book best encountered when you're mentally secure and able to grapple with the unpleasant truths it brings to light, because at its core this book isn't about a haunted house, or a trans woman, or her Pakistani-Jewish ex-friend. Rather, it's about fascism: how it perpetuates itself and what's necessary to defeat it. As I was reading, I was strongly reminded of some of Contrapoints's darker, bad-trip youtube videos. It had that same juxtaposition of ugly darkness with laugh-so-you-don't-drink-yourself-to-sleep-tonight stabs of humor. It's certainly not going to be to everybody's tastes.

The only thing I would highlight as a true negative is that I had a difficult time following the narration at times. It got better as I got used to the author's style, but in the early chapters I'd often find myself confused when the narration would step outside of Ila's(or Alice's) mind and start narrating omnipresently, or from the point of view of another character. But by the time I got to the middle of the book I'd gotten used to it, and didn't have much of a problem with it anymore.

[bigskydreaming]

I am looking (disrespectfully) at the trope of Bruce and other family members only seeming to respect Dick’s wishes when doing so aligns with what they already wanted to do.

Let’s go to the examples!

1) Bruce not broaching adoption with Dick because he wants to respect Dick’s first parents and feels like he would be taking their place or overstepping or putting himself in between Dick and his memories of his parents. Sometimes its cited that Dick himself expressed this wish early on after his parents died, sometimes its not and this is still just upheld as Bruce’s reasoning for not adopting Dick before he was already well into adulthood.

THE FATAL FLAW (in mine own personal opinion, natch. Personal mileage may vary, check your speedometer to be safe):

This particular plot point or tangle is in my experience ALWAYS paired with Bruce’s own insecurities about his role in Dick’s life, or not wanting to push that or receive an answer he doesn’t want to or is afraid to hear. Sometimes its about his fears of unworthiness to be Dick’s actual parent, etc, etc. But the bottom line is, there is always the presence of SOME element (and not a small one) in which Bruce’s own self-interest or feelings are protected by him NOT broaching the adoption conversation with Dick and having to confront these fears head on.

This is additionally juxtaposed with the problem that although there’s a lot of variance in regards to stories where Bruce fired Dick versus stories where Dick gave up being Robin and moved on to Nightwing voluntarily....there’s NOT a lot of stories where Dick makes Jason Robin himself or is asked by Bruce first. The part where Bruce takes this initiative on his own, without thinking through its repercussions on Dick emotionally.....this is practically always present.

Now, the problem here is that......Dick became or began becoming Robin well into his time with Bruce. Its frequently cited as the thing that began allowing them to truly connect, their time training and acting as Batman and Robin.

Meaning no matter WHAT interpretation you go with as to why specifically Dick chose the name Robin, whether it was a family nickname or an homage to Robin Hood.....the fact remains, NOTHING of Robin, THEMATICALLY, nothing that spoke to Dick in regards to what he wanted Robin to be - specifically in honor of his parents because avenging his parents and making sure what happened to them didn’t happen to others like, this was literally a key part of what bonded Dick and Bruce, the fact that Bruce was TRYING to help Dick specifically BECAUSE they shared this particular overlap of purpose - like the bottom line is, nothing about Robin CAME from Bruce. Or Dick’s feelings about Bruce. That....didn’t really even exist yet, at the time he created Robin. Everything about Robin, other than the physical costume itself, not even the design just the actual creation of it....all of that came from BEFORE he met Bruce. None of it was thoughts or feelings derived from BRUCE. Its the whole reason Dick was never Batkid or Batlad, or any derivative of Batman.

It all, ALL came from what Dick came to the manor WITH. Remnants of his life with his first family.

So the fatal flaw of Bruce’s reasoning that by not broaching the subject of adoption with Dick before well into adulthood, he was actually just respecting Dick’s relationship with his first parents and not trying to come between them and Dick’s memories and feelings about them....

All of this is inherently undermined by Bruce’s own actions.....when by repurposing Robin to ANY degree, even just to give the mantle to Jason.....this meant that he was inherently viewing Robin as being more about being Batman’s partner, HIS partner....then it was about being Dick’s heritage, his last intangible keepsake of his first family and life BEFORE Bruce.

In effect....Bruce making Jason Robin or firing Dick as Robin, either way....both betray Bruce’s OWN alleged intentions for only wanting to respect Dick’s relationship with his parents, and that being why he didn’t want to overstep by trying to impose or even ask for his own official parent/child relationship with Dick. Because that’s exactly what appropriating the Robin mantle was. It was Bruce ignoring the relationship Dick had with his parents and their memory and the fact that Robin was directly born of that....and making Robin entirely about Bruce’s OWN relationship with Dick, heedless of any other factors.

And the second Bruce did that.....his entire justification for not raising the adoption issue....disappears. It goes away. Because you can’t claim inaction being just a result of not wanting to disrespect something you’ve already voided respect for. No matter whether Bruce INTENDED it or not.....by crossing this boundary, Bruce already acted against Dick’s feelings in this regard and well, disregarded them....which makes claims of Bruce not raising the adoption issue pretty much JUST self-serving at that point. Its an alleged viewpoint of Dick’s that Bruce largely just ASSUMES....and only ultimately respects - in direct contrast to how he didn’t respect the associations Dick had with Robin - because it aligns with something Bruce ALREADY wanted to do, rather than what Dick actually wanted. It provided justification for Bruce to just....not have a conversation he was afraid to have. And that’s about Bruce at that point. Its not about Dick. Its just like...not.

2) Another example of this that is not unique to just Bruce, but recurs frequently in both canon and fanfics in Dick’s dynamics with other characters he’s close with.....is characters not apologizing for things they’ve done to Dick or raising the issue of things they did a long time ago but never apologized for....while claiming to do so because they thought DICK didn’t want to talk about it.

THE FATAL FLAW (in my own personal opinion. Nuances and variations may not be identical at all store locations, please see your local branch for details):

The particular problem I have here is that....Dick never ever ever in the history of ever and also the before ever time.....has EVER expressed a desire to avoid confrontation.

Like. That’s what he DOES. That’s his JAM. That’s literally CITED time and time again as one of the reasons he’s viewed as more of a people person and natural team leader than Bruce and other Batfam members....because he’s not afraid to cut straight (or bi) to the heart of the matter and air out a dispute.

In fact, this very character trait is one of the ones most commonly utilized AGAINST Dick in various depictions of him, as he’s often cited as TOO confrontational, TOO eager for a fight or conflict especially when his temper is engaged, such as when he’s well....personally hurt or offended.

So how does it follow, then, that avoiding tough conversations ONLY when its on the OTHER person to INITIATE, because they were the ones who DID the wrong-doing and Dick the subject of that rather than the instigator....how does it work, exactly, that these are the only times in which we DON’T tend to see a direct conversation about the harms done and the fallout that resulted? With it being claimed that this is solely for Dick’s benefit, out of a desire to avoid pulling him into an allegedly unnecessary (but really just unpleasant) confrontation?

When the concurrent reality is that whether stated or acknowledged or not.....avoiding these specific conversations and ONLY these conversations (as there never seems to be a problem finding canon or fanfic stories in which Dick apologizes for harm HE’S caused to others or is clearly expected to).....this avoidance also carries the side benefit of allowing the character who DID something wrong to Dick to....not ever have to have that super uncomfortable conversation in which they actually verbally acknowledge the thing they did to him and the effects it had on him, and apologize for that.....and then render themselves vulnerable to actually hearing whether or not he accepts their apology or is still upset with them regardless.

While - as long as they DON’T ever have this conversation, for whatever reason - they can look to the clear and consistent precedent of Dick continuing to work with people who have done things like oh, I don’t know....punched him in the face cuz they’re mad at him (and this isn’t a Bruce critical point, this is a whole damn family critical point as the only one who HASN’T actually done this is Duke. Well, Cass technically just threw him out a window, but I mean, tomato toh-mah-to). Writers and characters both can lean on the fact that actually Dick has a pretty clear track record of ultimately giving up a grudge or at least showing a willingness to look past those grudges enough that it doesn’t prevent him from still maintaining or resuming some kind of relationship with the person who hurt him.

And thus, like Example Numero Uno......this ultimately just lets other characters off the hook while claiming to do Dick a favor, but actually Dick receives no real benefit from it and instead now just has another instance of characters saying “see we respect your wishes” when ultimately their inaction is MORE in service to their own wishes and self-interests.

2b) See also the variation of this in which characters such as Bruce, Jason, Tim and assorted others like....are written specifically determining that they’re not going to apologize to Dick or beg his forgiveness because they feel they don’t DESERVE to be forgiven, and once again....its in HIS best interests that they not even give him the opportunity to say he forgives them....because they know Dick Grayson of course, and they know he’s too forgiving for his own good, so its better to like....not make it ever a possibility in this particular instance.

With the problem here being like.....Dick can’t and shouldn’t be expected to KNOW that’s their logic? So....all he’s going to actually SEE is loved ones just....not expressing remorse for hurting him or acknowledgment it even happened? Which....hurts?

So......hurting your loved one MORE after already hurting them....because you don’t feel you deserve to be forgiven for hurting them in the first place and are actually PROTECTING them from being hurt more when mistakenly forgiving you.....by.....hurting and continuing to hurt them with your silence and lack of evident remorse....

Mmmm.....

Its not the best approach, y’know?

Flaws are detected.

3) Dick’s friends and family manipulating situations in order to get the end result THEY desire, while claiming to do so for his benefit only. Dick being willing to manipulate people to achieve his own ends comes up a LOT actually....but there’s relatively little examination of how often people do this to him, claiming his best interests but really just circumventing his clearly stated desires for independence and the right to make his own choices about what HE needs....or when this is brought up, its usually limited to JUST Bruce doing it, but uh....no that ain’t it.

Specific examples of this are like when Wally joins the 1999 version of the Titans specifically to get Dick to join up, because in his estimation Dick needs more of a social life and is drowning himself with his responsibilities....and then quits not long after Dick is finally officially invested in staying with the team. Another example is when Roy gets Dick to join the Outsiders based entirely on his pitch of NOT treating the team like a family, like they did with the Titans, so that Dick could keep emotional distance and not be as worried about losing them like he suffered from losses like Donna....with his claim again being that he worried about Dick in the aftermath of that loss, etc.

And to be clear! Its not that I think Wally and Roy and others who do similar things have NEGATIVE intentions in mind for Dick. That’s the whole point of this post.....like the other examples, I fully believe THEY believe (or writers believe when writing them this way) that they have Dick’s best interests in mind and not their own. I just....disagree.

THE FATAL FLAW (at least as I see it here):

Is that I view this and Batfam members who do similar stuff as like.....falling into the trap of the savior friend complex. Its that thing when you see a friend hurting, and over time get FRUSTRATED by seeing this when a solution seems obvious to you but think they won’t take it because they’re too stubborn or don’t know what’s best for them....with this specifically recurring a LOT with Dick in particular, due to his core characterization of wanting to be the one to make his own choices. The problem here, same as the problem with the savior friend complex....is that it treats the subject of these views as like....incapable of determining what they need. Its a tacit condemnation that they actually don’t know how to cope with things and are doing it wrong - even though the ones making this assessment will never be the ones actually having to LIVE with the outcome of their meddling. Its the conviction that someone like Dick needs to be HANDLED, for his own good....because he can’t be trusted to KNOW what he needs, not as well as them at least.....and so they jump to manipulation rather than just....ASK him what he needs, or HOW they can best support him, or even just WHY he’s making the choices he is.

For instance, the problem with what Wally did was never that Dick wasn’t struggling. He was. He was drowning in his responsibilities, he had very little to no life outside of them.....Wally is not remotely in the wrong for WANTING to do something to change this situation. The problem is Wally basically defaulted to just...HANDLING his friend by restarting the Titans just to give Dick a social life again, which is pretty much a line straight out of the comics...and basically railroaded right over Dick’s initial ‘no’ when he first heard the proposal. And kept pushing things until Dick eventually joined up in order to get Wally to commit to the team too, because Wally spun it as though Dick was helping Wally by getting Wally to commit to the team for the very same reasons Wally wanted Dick to. And then....right after that, Wally quit to go back to just focusing on the Justice League, which was part of what Dick predicted would happen all along.

The thing was.....at no point along the way did Wally actually ask WHY Dick initially said no....he jumped straight to assuming his own view of the problem, that Dick just COULDN’T be made to ever see the reason to take a break occasionally and put his mental and emotional health as a priority. If he’d done this, Wally could have had dozens of other options to achieve his desired end result....he could’ve like....set up regular hangouts with Dick. 

But Wally jumped to assuming he knew the answer, he knew what was best for Dick, and that Dick’s logic was inherently self-destructive and self-flagellating.....and he felt the solution was to bring back the Titans, as he recalled their earlier times as Titans together as a time when Dick was better able to balance his social life and responsibilities.

But by not ever stopping to LISTEN to why Dick felt the way he did and was initially opposed to rejoining the Titans....Wally overlooked one crucial fact: He isn’t Dick.

And more important, his view of the past wasn’t Dick’s view of the past.

Wally was a lot more capable of viewing the Titans as not just a family, but an inherent social life, a hangout, a kind of club....because that’s what it had always been to him.

But he’d never been the leader.

Throughout all their childhoods, the whole time the Titans WERE all of the above, and relatively light-hearted in comparison to their older selves....Dick STILL had the weight of responsibilities that none of the others had by virtue of just...not being the leader. Ultimately, all of their lives were in HIS hands. He was the one calling the shots. The buck stopped with him.

And this is precisely WHY Dick had gotten to the point he had in adulthood. It wasn’t because he’d changed. It wasn’t because he’d stopped figuring out what he needed and how to take care of himself. Its because the position he’d ALWAYS been in as leader....has WEIGHT. That eventually added up more and more and weighed him down. A huge part of the reason Dick had ended up leaving the Titans in the first place, before they disbanded prior to the 1999 revival....is because of the sheer WEIGHT of all the deaths and misfortunes that had befallen the Titans....and how much he and he alone struggled with it in ways the others didn’t....because they didn’t have to. It hadn’t been their plans, their calls, their RESPONSIBILITY to find a way the others could have all made it out alive or at least less traumatized.

So.....of COURSE Dick said no when Wally first proposed restarting the Titans, before Wally defaulted to using his own membership as a lure to get Dick to agree.....because......nothing about the above paragraph had changed, via Wally’s ‘plan.’ It wasn’t because Dick just didn’t KNOW how to be a fully rounded person....it was because nobody was helping him find actual OPTIONS for doing that....that didn’t just double as MORE responsibilities! Because that’s exactly what ended up happening! Dick wound up the leader of the Titans again, just as responsible and just as invested as always.....just like he always knew he would....and also as he knew would happen...Wally ended up quitting not long into it and persuading Jessie Quick to step in as his replacement....aka just one more person for Dick to worry about when it wasn’t like he was going to be worrying any less about Wally, just now he wasn’t going to have Wally there to even POTENTIALLY be able to support him when tragedy inevitably struck because they’re freaking superheroes....and instead he’d just have another person looking to him for the answers but with no reason or chance of being the support Dick could ACTUALLY use at times like that!

Wally’s manipulations circumvented Dick’s opinion that no, actually he knew what was best for him and it wasn’t what Wally was suggesting....without actually accounting for the fact that hey, Dick might actually know that. And in the end, Wally got the result he was after, he got to feel that he’d HELPED his friend....which again, this isn’t WRONG to WANT to....but Dick didn’t...exactly....benefit from this. It wasn’t actually in his best interests ultimately.

I mean...see Donna’s death for details.

And in the aftermath of THAT....Roy essentially did exactly what Wally did....just in REVERSE! Roy got Dick to agree to lead the Outsiders, to shoulder responsibility once again....by promising that Dick WOULDN’T have to view them as family. And did Dick go too far and end up TOO uncaring about their welfare? Yup! No disagreements there! Problem is though....he only ended UP in that situation because yet again a friend thought they KNEW the solution to what Dick needed.....only for Dick to end up essentially punished and further self-blaming....just for doing exactly what Roy had told him TO do, with this particular team. Again - Roy hadn’t EXPECTED Dick to take it this far. But that’s the whole point! Roy had expectations about what Dick would ACTUALLY end up doing, that didn’t match up to the pitch Roy actually gave Dick to GET his agreement.....because Roy all along was of the assumption that by virtue of being Dick Grayson, he wouldn’t be ABLE to avoid connecting with these new teammates and viewing them as family, and thus he’d end up ‘snapping out of it’ with it being the funk he’d been in since Donna’s death.

Roy’s intentions might have been noble, once again.....but his methods stuck to the same pattern of people around Dick believing they knew what he needed or knew who he was or knew what it meant to BE Dick Grayson....better than Dick actually did...particularly when Dick said no, this isn’t what I need or this isn’t a good idea or just...I don’t want to do this.

And in the end....its Dick who ended up paying the price for it, as well as the people who got hurt because of his INTENTIONAL emotional distance.....because the ‘view all surrounding people as new surrogate family’ aspect of the Dick Grayson Experience hadn’t kicked in as Roy thought inevitably would....but the ‘view all this as directly my fault and suffer guilt for it forevermore’ aspect of the Dick Grayson Experience most certainly did! Not at all actually helped along by the fact that like....Roy also expressed frustration with Dick that like.....Dick hadn’t actually responded to Roy’s intended manipulation of his emotions the way Roy had expected him to when he EXPRESSLY TOLD DICK TO BEHAVE THE WAY THAT DICK ULTIMATELY BEHAVED. (Just, he didn’t tell Dick to dial that all the way up to Extra, but given that’s the only setting Dick does ANYTHING at, I feel its a possible outcome Roy should have at least considered. I mean, wasn’t the whole point that you know Dick Grayson better than he knows himself?)

But lo, I am salty.

LMAO, but I mean, you get it right? Obviously, I LIKE Wally and Roy. I LIKE Jason, etc. I’m not saying all of this to be like ugh how dare these characters do all this to Dick....I’m saying it because like.....they all keep falling into the same patterns of making a big fuss and acknowledgment of how much Dick prioritizes being able and free to make his own choices and decide what’s best for him and what HE wants.....

But without ever like....actively asking him AT THE RELEVANT TIME....what he thinks and feels about all this. What he thinks and feels he needs. What he ACTUALLY wants from them, or why he’s ACTUALLY saying no to something and maybe it being for reasons that aren’t just him inherently being stubborn and self-destructive.

And instead just defaulting to falling back on whatever he might have said or expressed in an entirely different context at an entirely different time.....and saying okay, by doing so, we are abiding by his wishes and thus doing what he wants and respecting his right to make his own choices.....

But ONLY when doing all of the above just so happens to align with these other characters then getting to do the thing or take the approach they’re already predisposed towards wanting to take because of their OWN self-interests at the same time.

With this never actually coming into play when respecting Dick’s wishes aligns with them taking actions they DON’T personally want to undertake, because it makes them uncomfy or they think its a bad call, even if it is something that should be his call to make.

Like....the pattern. It very much exists. And abounds. Like I could cite examples allllllllllll the way up to Ric Grayson, where Bruce respected RIC’S wishes to be left alone and not interfere in his life no matter what.....in ways Bruce almost never respects Dick’s actual expressed wish for Bruce to butt out of matters when Bruce is actually quite keen on meddling and would very much like to....

But notice how the other thing about the Ric Grayson storyline is that Ric’s expressed desire to stay the fuck out of vigilantism and superhero work, like.....just so happens to align with Bruce’s longstanding desire for Dick to like...get out of the vigilantism and superhero work? With butting out of Ric’s life and respecting his privacy in ways Dick has to FIGHT him for, like......absolutely the optimal action to take in order to allow this expressed desire of Ric’s to flourish in the ways Bruce always wished would kick in for Dick?

.....just saying. 

The pattern. It abounds.

And the key to breaking any pattern, of course, is to first recognize....and acknowledge....that it exists.

Otherwise you tend to fall into the trap of repeating and perpetuating it over and over without even realizing it, simply because its what’s familiar.

This has been A Post by Me. Thank you and have a nice day. Or don’t. Idk. I’m not the boss of you. Whatever.

[renaroo]

Other History? More Like Other MYSTERY

as in it’s a MYSTERY how the hell this got past an editor the week before Pride Month are you fucking kidding me?

I was kind of hoping for more than like... a week of being back on tumblr before I breathed fire and ripped a comic book to shreds. But we all know why I’m here.

There are so many preemptive things to get out of the way before I rip into this thing...

John Ridley as a writer in other forms of media has been incredibly accomplished and an important additional voice to entertainment industries. I do not wish to take away from that or to minimize the impact of voices like his.

But, you know, he’s a voice in media. Not the end-all, be-all to all marginalized people worldwide who can substitute his perspective for any nonwhite straight male voice. And I don’t think that has ever been more apparent than the continued spiral down the drain that has been every issue of The Other History of the DC Universe since the first. 

DC’s “new” approach to everything being canon and everything mattering is dumb and filled to the brim with ways it’s going to backfire and reveal itself to be the eye sore of publications that it’s aiming for, but I was curious to see how they would try to incorporate these characters’ long and contentious histories in the comics with the real world issues they often were billed to tackle, and try to fit it into the current pop culture landscape. That was the whole reason I had my eye on this comic to begin with.

By the second issue we were getting some stark warning signs because as much as I appreciated hearing an authentic perspective on how the Teen Titans brand carried on while neglecting its landmark Black teen heroes (Mal Duncan and Karen Beecher), there was a note of cruelty added to the issue that felt otherwise misplaced and uncharacteristic of the tone being set. 

There was no reason to have a significant portion of that issue dedicated to Mal and Karen’s monologues taking some aggressive words out on Roy Harper specifically for being an addict. 

Perhaps it was a quirk of writing from a flawed perspective or a show of how righteous upset and anger could be turned outward to other people suffering in a vy for your own empowerment. 

I’m now pretty sure that wasn’t it at all. I’m pretty sure because it kept getting worse every issue and it’s culminated in today’s issue where the retelling of Renee Montoya’s story managed to be petty, cruel, shockingly pro-police brutality int its adulation of Jim Gordon and especially Harvey Bullock, and managed to make a well-rounded and very beloved Latina lesbian and just retrofit every stereotype she never had before to her without regard for what it did to her story or to the stories of people around her. 

Honestly, lapsed faith and a poke at the damage that Catholic guilt can have on especially queer believers is kind of my jam, so it’s not that I wouldn’t be down for a story with that perspective. I could even understand exploring that with Renee. But not at the expense of her established history.

Which is a question all of its own. Here we have the skeletal structure of Renee’s life events that we have read before (in much better stories), but they are surprisingly out of order and also shockingly twisted in a way to make EVERYONE as unpleasant as possible. 

And in a way that has convinced me that either John Ridley has never read comics featuring Renee, or that he was mandated to change things that had no business being changed.

According to this issue Renee hated Batman and other superheroes? Which, ah, I don’t even know where that could come from. Ever since the animated series where she got started, Renee’s whole bag has been “the acolyte of Jim Gordon, only other cop who supports Batman”. Like I don’t even know how you get around that.

But according to Ridley she’s hated them all along as an extension of her internalized homophobia and self-loathing. Great.

What follows out of that is that apparently? Renee and Batman specifically butted heads over wanting to rehabilitate Harvey Dent? As in Renee wanted to help him and BATMAN was the one flipping out and saying Harvey was a sociopath and couldn’t be helped.

Like. I’m starting to question if Ridley has read Batman comics before. I don’t know where that interpretation could possibly come from? Bruce and Harvey were friends? Bruce has always held out hope for saving Harvey from his psychosis? It’s like. THE storyline for Two-Face.

The cop stuff... I don’t really know how to talk about the cop stuff to be completely honest. If you mention the LA Riots on one page and a few pages later try to frame it so that over policing and methods of brutality weren’t a thing until 9/11... I don’t know what to say to you. 

I’d say maybe I was being ungenerous here except there were two characters who got entire full page spreads about what good cops they were. And one of them was goddamn Harvey Bullock with the explicit commentary that Renee USED to be uncomfortable with his torture methods and general brutality but figured it was “okay” because he knew how “innocent people screamed different” and that he “never collared someone and it didn’t stick” because. Y’know. Police violence and falsifying evidence never go hand in hand. what the actual fuck ever right?

The timeline for Renee and Kate’s relationship is also completely changed which means that we get to add a trope I just LOVE as a lesbian personally, which is that lesbians can’t keep relationships and can’t keep from cheating on their loving partners. Especially when they are butch. 

And I’m not talking about Renee cheating on Kate. Oh, no. Ridley decided Kate was the Other Woman during Renee’s relationship with Daria. 

And just.. the cruel commentary that Renee had about both Kate and Daria throughout. It made my skin crawl. The way she talked about other women in general made my skin crawl. “Uncomplicated women” “Broken souls” “Can’t be with someone better than yourself”

So I actually planned to go into a full rage post about just the queer content because 1. my lane and 2. it honestly affected me so bad I was shaking and tearing up in anger a bit. Every single friend I know who loves Kate and Renee, see themselves in Kate and Renee, have been the same kind of mess I am after this.

The NASTINESS of the internal monologue. I don’t know how to explain it more than this is how poorly men think of flf and to have one use a character so meaningful to the community to spout this hatefulness has revolted me in a way I... haven’t had happen to me for a while.

I was going to talk about the weirdness of just... randomly deciding to retcon Renee’s parents into being undocumented when that’s never been a thing before and just doing NOTHING with it the whole while after. Or how it’s pretty questionable how Renee suddenly became so adherently Catholic when it’s never been portrayed like that before (that’s Hel B’s bag, JPV if you squint) but it’s entwined with any of her commentary on her ethnicity p sus too but I don’t have the nuance for that discussion right now.

Rena Rants are back and what a fucking JOKE this comic was. 

I didn’t pay for it and neither should you.

P.S. bringing back Tim Fox and calling him “Jace” is dumb as fuck too

[bthump]

I know this is very nitpicky, but what do you think is the level of awareness Griffith has during the stairwell scene? For a very calculated and rational guy like him, it's hard to imagine that he hasn't even tried to decipher where these strong reckless reactions come from. I mean... even king of denial Guts has reflected a bit on it. Enough to ask Griffith about it. I know yoy mentioned in a recent answer to an ask, that you don't headcanon Griffith as pining, so would you say that you (cont)

Would you say that you imagine that he compartimentalizes his thougts and represses to the point that he doesn't aknowledge at least to a certain extent, that his feeling for Guts are more passionate, than what he feels for other comerades. The fact that he fully realises the depth of those feelings once Guts leaves is clear. But Idk the stairwell scene makes me think that he is at least aware, that he has a bit of a crush, but choses to not give it much importance. Curious about your thoughts 

hmmm. okay first off I just want to say that I can see multiple possibilities, from full on repression and denial, to recognizing his attraction but not acting on it, to knowing he cares for Guts and wants him as a True Friend(TM) but often downplaying that because he believes Guts sees him mainly as a superior officer. But yeah I do prefer the denial and compartmentalization explanation and I want to go into why, because I think it’s fun to talk about lol.

So the big reason I read Griffith as refusing to acknowledge his feelings to himself is because that’s how he deals with all his other inconvenient feelings, like his guilt and fear and the fact that he cares about the Hawks. Like eg when he tells Gennon that he doesn’t feel a single emotion about him whatsoever, or when he tells Casca that he doesn’t feel guilty over the deaths of the Hawks, I don’t think he’s just lying to them, I think he’s convincing himself too, to the point where he really believes it.

It’s sort of hard to explain how I see this working in Griffith’s head bc it feels v intuitive to me but I know that’s not the case for everyone. So yk it’s not that I think he like, eg makes himself forget that he nearly had a breakdown in a river, but I think he doesn’t ask himself why he nearly had a breakdown beyond maybe a shallow ‘sex with gennon was unpleasant and made me uncomfortable for a couple hours but i’m completely fine now’ and doesn’t think about it afterwards if he can help it.

And when he tells Charlotte he doesn’t have any friends and tells Guts he belongs to him during the second duel, I think he’s telling himself lies/rationalizations he genuinely believes there too. In fact, I think his denial of his own feelings is straight up meant to be his tragic flaw, which is why he’s only able to finally acknowledge them in the torture chamber, after it’s caused his downfall.

In the torture chamber we see him remember the face-off with Zodd and acknowledge that it was an irrational thing to do and wonder why Guts is so important to him, and I think part of the reason the monologue works so well is because it’s the first time we see that kind of self-reflection sans lofty rationalization from him, because before he ended up trapped in his own brain for a year with nothing to distract himself in between bouts of torture he didn’t really ask himself these kinds of questions. If he had, things probably would’ve gone better for everyone.

And like, I don’t think this makes Griffith less intelligent, or negates his rationality in other areas of life. I don’t see a contradiction in someone being able to analyze a battlefield or read other people well but avoiding genuine soul searching whenever possible and lying to himself a lot. I think it’s actually pretty realistic - I don’t think very many people fully understand themselves or their feelings, even really self-reflective people, and it’s very easy to rationalize away inconvenient cognitive dissonance. and I include myself in that lol.

Griffith’s life is kind of a contradiction that would really fuck him up to untangle (he sends people to their deaths to achieve a dream for the sake of assuaging his guilt for sending people to their deaths to achieve a dream), so he doesn’t try to untangle it, he avoids the question and hides behind a philosophical ideal. And his feelings for Guts add to that cognitive dissonance because if he values Guts over the dream, that kind of proves his entire defensive life philosophy is bullshit and his whole life plan is built on a precarious house of cards, so it makes sense to me that he’d avoid examining those feelings closely too.

And you can look at Guts too, who does navelgaze a lot and tries to analyze his own feelings and motivations - when he’s faced with a contradiction (I want to become independent of Griffith and do my own thing solely to gain Griffith’s approval) he actually notices it and briefly questions himself... and then he still puts it out of his mind and continues pursuing his contradictory goal anyway, and manages to stay in denial for 3 days even after learning that Griffith ended up in a torture chamber because he left.

Along those same lines, Guts eg realizes that he kills things because it makes him feel better but he doesn’t make the connection between his irrational urge to fight powerful enemies and his childhood trauma the way the readers can, the King didn’t acknowledge his incesty feelings til Griffith shoved them in his face, Count Slug kept denying having human feelings til Puck went on a tirade against him and he couldn’t sacrifice his daughter, Casca lies to herself about her feelings for Griffith for a long time before finally acknowledging she’s in love and then doubles down on her Griffith feelings when her newer feelings for Guts threaten them until she has a breakdown and admits some things to herself (I mean I find that last one disappointing lol, but it’s also a really straightforward example of someone living in denial of romantic feelings and therefore a good comparison point to show that Miura does this on purpose), etc. So I think this interpretation of Griffith is also consistent with how Miura just like, tends to write people.

Like imo Griffith has moments where he comes close to self awareness and could’ve started potentially reflecting on his feelings and coming to better, more accurate conclusions, and those moments definitely include the Zodd conversation (as well as the river scene with Casca, and “do you think I’m cruel?”) but none of those scenes lead to useful self-reflection because they all go wrong. Casca tries but fails to reassure him bc she’s out of her depth, Guts reminds him of his dream, the King interrupts their conversation and Charlotte reorients Griffith towards his goal so he can move on from that moment of irrationality and refrain from thinking about it further for a while. Even after the duel Griffith tries to avoid self-reflection by fucking Charlotte imo (”take all the sad and frightening things and cast them into the fire” ie hey girl wanna repress some shit w/ me?), and imo his previous ability to do that makes it all the more impactful when it doesn’t work this time and he breaks down.

BUT YEAH all that said I don’t think this is the only reasonable reading of Griffith’s awareness of his feelings lol, it’s just the one I like best and consider the most satisfying and interesting and fun to think about. And honestly that’s partly because I love dramatic irony and have a real thing for characters who lie to themselves, so I’m biased in favour of it too. Nothing about Griffith being good at denial contradicts the idea that he could still be aware of an attraction to Guts (in that case he’d probably just write it off as irrelevant and deny the associated internalized-homophobia-related self-loathing lol until it all pours out while he’s projecting at the King), and he could eg be aware that he irrationally cares about Guts above and beyond anyone else and just doesn’t even try to reconcile that with his dream, ie compartmentalization in another way.

But I think the idea that he only fully admits it to himself in the torture chamber is just very narratively satisfying.

[mrslittletall]

Title: Memory Lane Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Micolash Host of the Nightmare, Laurence the first Vicar Word Count: 4.384 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31841335

Summary: Micolash travels home from Byrgenwerth for summer vacation, but during the trip, he thinks about why he doesn't want to go back...

(Author's note: That actually is part of a trade for @popskipandajump @sketchygabz on tumblr. She wanted a story of Micolash's past of my version, which isn't a happy one...

Warnings for child abuse and child neglect. Also, Laurence is tagged there, but he isn't in this fic much, sorry Laurence!)

“Aren't you travelling home for the vacation, Laurence?”, Micolash asked his friend, a bit confused about why he wasn't entering one of the carriages that carted off students to the various places around Byrgenwerth since summer vacation had started this morning.

“My parents are dead, remember.”, Laurence replied, crossing his arms. “And I don't have any other relatives. Master Willem took me in, so I have to stay at the school. Don't you worry though, Gehrman promised to me that we would explore the woods together and play in the lake on hot days. Don't forget to write though, I will make sure to reply once I have your home address.”

Micolash smiled at Laurence as he entered the carriage. “I won't.”, he promised. Micolash waved to Laurence and sat down in the carriage, waiting for the other passengers to enter so that it could take off. Looking out of the window, he could still see Laurence standing there, waving to him. Micolash waved back, sighing as he thought that he would prefer to stay with Laurence and Gehrman for the summer. In truth, Micolash didn't want to go home.

It was something that Micolash hadn't told his now two close friends. Both Laurence and Gehrman always spoke so fondly about their parents, so he never had brought the subject of his own parents up... and he planned to keep it that way, this was something they didn't need to know.

Micolash stopped looking out of the window when Laurence decided to leave to make room for a few more passengers wanting to enter and looked at them instead. A small family entered last, a typical family, a mother, a father and a small child, maybe five or six years old.

The child happily sat themselves on their mother's lap once the family had settled in and Micolash could see how she carefully stroked over the hair of her child. As the carriage started to move, for they were the last passengers, Micolash asked himself if that was how Laurence' mother had treated him. Laurence always spoke with such great fondness of her...

Micolash's own mother on the other hand...

Micolash barely remembered his mother. He was aware that at some point during his life, a mother had been present. He remembered faint things, feelings, impressions. Like soft hands picking him up and gently rocking him, a voice singing to him, being hugged and comforted when he was upset.

What he couldn't remember was a face to the woman who must have been his mother. There was only one thing he remembered very clearly. The last words she ever spoke to him before vanishing forever.

“I can't take this anymore... Mico... I am so sorry... Please forgive me...”

The next thing that Micolash remembered was the shutting of a door and him having waddled over, confused about what just happened. He must have been only three or four back then, far too young to connect the dots, even younger than the child opposite of him, currently sitting on their mother's lap, not having a worry in the world. He did need a long time to understand what had happened. His mother had abandoned him, had left him alone, to never come back, and, Micolash had to admit this to himself, he didn't feel like forgiving her for it.

His gaze went from the child to the man who must be the father of the small family. He looked gentle and his gaze was full of fondness for his wife and child. It reminded Micolash of Gehrman's father, who, while a strict man who made sure that Gehrman didn't slack on his duties, always was there when his son needed him.

Micolash's own father on the other hand? Micolash couldn't remember a single day in his life where his father hadn't been drunk. Being drunk was pretty much his normal state. He always had some kind of bottle with him and would drink out of it, swaying from side to side, reeking of wine. He often ignored Micolash in his drunken state, though the days in which Micolash remained ignored could be considered the good days.

The days in which his father was hyper aware of Micolash's presence... were the worst ones...

On those days, Micolash couldn't even make a single peep without upsetting his father. Even when he just shifted around or went to fetch something and the gods forbid that Micolash dropped something or forgot to avoid the creaky floorboards on his way outside.

His father would be in front of him with such a speed that it frightened Micolash. When Micolash was lucky, he would simply get screamed at. That he shouldn't make such noise, that he should be lucky that he had a roof over his head and that he was allowed to go to school instead of dying outside in some ditch. Micolash was used to this kind of words. Sure, they stung, but it was nothing that he couldn't endure.

It hurt a lot more when his father decided to put his mother into the mix and told him that she didn't ever bother to take him with her and that meant how much she hated him and that he never had been loved by her, only having been bothered by his very existence and that it was him and his constant screaming and being fuzzy when he still had been a baby that drove her out. Micolash always had to suppress his tears when his father started with it... he even almost started to believe that he was at fault for his mother leaving.

However, simply being screamed at, even though it hurt a lot inside of him, was still better as when his father decided that he had enough of him making so much noise and silenced him with his fist.

The first time it had happened, Micolash had barely registered it. He just stared with wide eyes at his father, raising a hand to notice that his nose bled and then starting to sob uncontrollably, not understanding why it had happened or what he did wrong to get such a reaction, which had made... everything worse...

For when Micolash didn't want to calm down, his father dealt with him by shutting him into the closet. It was dark in there, narrow, far too warm and it smelled horrible, mostly of alcohol and vomit, and Micolash was sure he would have been able to see stains of dried up puke on the clothes if it wouldn't have been so dark.. and if he wouldn't have been so terrified of being locked in there.

Locking Micolash into the closet was his father's usual method when Micolash annoyed him, which was far more often than Micolash liked, and Micolash started to dread the closet so much. He was left in there for hours, sometimes his father even left their home without releasing him and Micolash had to sit in there, waiting, panicking, hoping that he would come back, hoping that he would get out before he would starve, trying his best to avoid making a mess when he was left in their for hours, only to be punished when it happened regardless, making the situation into nothing more but a vicious cycle for Micolash.

“Oh dear, are you feeling alright? You are awfully pale.”

Micolash got snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a hand on his arm and when he looked to his right, aware of how laboured his breathing had become, he spotted the face of an elderly woman, a kind smile, with her greyish hair being put into a bun on heir head, wearing a checkered dress. He didn't reply right away, because the sight in front of him stirred another memory and for a second he felt like had seen a ghost.

“Are you about to get sick maybe? Do you need for the carriage to stop?”

Micolash slowly shook his head, trying to force his face into a smile, which felt extremely difficult. He hoped he looked at least half convincing, though he knew his face wasn't exactly pretty (Laurence even called him a gremlin sometimes and Micolash couldn't deny it), though he hoped that he didn't look anymore like he was about to throw up.

“No, I am fine.”, he finally answered. “Just thought about... something unpleasant.”

“Well then, but don't hesitate to say something should you feel unwell.”, the old woman said and Micolash was aware that the rest of the passengers stared at him as well, he must have looked a lot more uncomfortable than he thought.

“I will. Sorry for worrying you.”, he said and felt how the old woman let go of his arm, but he still felt his gaze on her. Micolash decided to stop looking at the passengers from which a few still were staring at him and out of the window again.

The elderly woman sitting next to him... at first glance, she looked like the striking image of Micolash's neighbour. Micolash and his father lived in a small shack at the border of Hemwick Chapel Lane and this elderly woman had lived there too. Apparently, she was alone, either she never had married or her husband had died and her children and grandchildren were out of the house. It wasn't something Micolash bothered a lot with.

This woman had been a big reason why Micolash had survived after his mother had left.

“Mooom, I am hungry!”, the small child of the family suddenly complained, breaking Micolash briefly out of his thoughts when he saw their mother soothe them and find something for them to eat, which they eagerly took.

Food was something that wasn't a constant in Micolash's life and the reason why his elderly neighbour had been so important for him plus the fact that he could escape his father when he stayed at her place.

Micolash's father didn't have a steady job. No wonder, the drunkard he was. He worked wherever he would be needed and whoever found enough pity in themselves to employ him. Micolash's father probably thought that his son didn't know about this, but Micolash always listened when he walked through the village, he heard the rumours, the facts, he knew how disliked his father was in the village. He also heard the rumours about himself. That a child with such a father couldn't get right, that it was no wonder that his mother had left and that they feared the day when Micolash would grow up into a copy of his father. It didn't surprise him that the other children avoided him, sometimes even thought about bullying him. Micolash didn't bother, they got bored when he ignored them and his father did far more worse things than their words could do to him and their mean spirited pranks didn't hurt as much as being shut in the closet or being beaten until he bled.

But Micolash loathed it when he was compared to his father. He even loathed himself then. He never would become like his father, he swore to himself, though deep down inside of him, he very much feared that it would still happen...

Because of his many odd jobs, Micolash's father generally didn't bring a lot of coins home, and the coins he brought home, he normally used to buy more alcohol. It was rare that his father brought food home and if, then it often was just some old bread or leftovers, probably from a meal he had bought for himself and then brought back home some scraps when he remembered that Micolash existed and people probably would start to ask questions if they boy wouldn't be seen in the village or at school anymore.

During this time, the elderly neighbour took care of Micolash once she realized that he got thinner and thinner from malnourishment. Even though she didn't have much, she gladly shared the bit she had with him, pretty much saving Micolash from starvation. It had been shortly after his mother had left, when Micolash was still far too small to take care of himself. He couldn't remember too much, but he remembered how much more drunk his father had gotten after his mother left, and Micolash went largely ignored during that time... but in the bad way, in the way that he was basically non-existent for his father...

If not for his elderly neighbour having invited him into her shack and giving him food, Micolash probably would have died there sooner or later, for the bit of food that his father sometimes remembered to bring along, barely did anything to quell his hunger...

Micolash liked being at her house. She gave him food, she didn't get mad at him when he was a bit noisier while playing and he didn't have to fear getting punished when he messed up. He only could stay there though when his father was absent, because his father was very much against him staying at some random stranger's house and always would get him and get into a fight with his neighbour when Micolash wouldn't be back on time.

When Micolash was around six years old, his neighbour decided to teach him to prepare his own food. She started with raw food first, showing Micolash how to prepare a sandwich or a fruit bowl or a salad. However, Micolash was clever enough to figure out how the stove worked, so she switched over to teach him how to cook. They were all rather simple recipes, but it meant that Micolash didn't have to rely so much on his neighbour anymore and could prepare food in his own home... and sometimes it even put him into the favour of his father, when he came home and Micolash had prepared some food he enjoyed. Those were good days, where nothing bad happened to him... should Micolash fail the food however... He shuddered at the memory.

However, for a child of six years it was awfully difficult to chop firewood, so Micolash couldn't prepare cooked food too often. He was forbidden from taking any of the firewood his father might have chopped, probably because it was needed for the winter and his father would just chop enough that they would not freeze. Micolash was pretty sure that his father never had used the stove himself, in fact, he needed to clean the whole thing out when he started to use it. Without proper firewood, he couldn't use it very well though, so Micolash was often collecting branches and dry leaves to at least have something to burn and cook a warm meal once in a while.

While he heard of a fancy thing called a gas stove which they had in cities like Yharnam, Micolash was sure that they never would get it, especially because they never would have enough coins to pay for that gas that they needed for such a stove to function. He still was interested in how such a stove would function and secretly wished that one day he could try out a stove that didn't need to be fuelled with wood.

The coins they had, or more, the coins his father gave him once he realized that Micolash would cook for him, were barely enough to even organize the food. His father still put most of his coins into buying more wine and while the coins would be enough for food for one person, Micolash had to cook for himself too. He would have preferred not having to share the little bit of food he had at all, but he knew he had to give his father the bigger serving or he would get punished, and Micolash didn't want to get locked into the closet again...

That is why the elderly neighbour started to show Micolash how to scavenge for food as well as grow his own food. She had a little garden and showed him how to plow the ground, sow the seeds and raise vegetables on his own. There wasn't that much growing in Hemwick, but Micolash managed to grow a few vegetables, like carrots, cabbage and turnips.

Micolash also got shown how to gather wild herbs and mushrooms. He had to learn a lot, because a lot of these wild plants weren't edible, downright poisonous. Micolash documented them all on the blank pages of his school books, not having enough coins to buy a notebook for his own. His teacher once wanted to scold him for scribbling in his books, but didn't say anything when she saw what Micolash had written down.

He also got taught how to fish and how to set traps to catch small animals. Fishing often wasn't successful, for Micolash didn't have a good fishing rod and always had to craft one himself. At least looking for earthworms to use as bait was kind of entertaining, he kind of liked digging in the mud, even though it left him dirty and when he would make the shack dirty... Micolash often had to clean himself in the river before getting home.

Traps were a bit more effective, but it was hard for Micolash when he had his first catch and then had to realize that meat meant having to kill a small little animal. He pretty much refused to do it the first time and only slowly took to it... up until to a point where it became so natural for him that he didn't even think about it anymore. Everything he caught meant that he didn't have to go to bed without a full belly and also that he could get his father into a somewhat good mood.

During this time, his life managed to get almost pleasant... until his elderly neighbour died when he was eight years old.

From one day to the other, Micolash had lost his safe place. Now he had to spend all his time at home or wandering the village, which wasn't possible when it rained or snowed, and because the elderly neighbour had taught Micolash how to do household chores, and Micolash had started to clean around the shack, his father now had extraordinary high expectations of him.

If the shack wasn't clean enough, he would get mad. If a dish wasn't to his liking, he would get mad. If he didn't have any clean laundry, he would get mad. Micolash actually asked himself why he was allowed to go to school when all his free time was spent with household chores anyway. Because of that, Micolash would often stay up beyond bedtime and learn for school, for he vowed to himself that he would never end up like his father and learn something good. Luckily, learning came easily to him, very easily. He didn't need long to understand how something worked and managed to pass all his tests with flying colours.

One day Micolash figured that his father would always have something to criticize, so he stopped giving a damn. He would end up in the closet or with a black eye one way or another, so he decided to use his extra time for learning for school and food scavenging, for he hoped he could save a bit of coins to one day leave this place, when he grew up.

Unfortunately, his father found out that Micolash mostly scavenged for food and stopped giving him coins, leaving Micolash with his very small savings that were nowhere enough to get him anywhere. Micolash used his little stash to buy something that he never had dared to try before, for how expensive it was. It was a sweet, something called a chocolate bar and he had never tried something so exquisite and tasty. When he sat at the river, enjoying it, tears ran down his face when he thought that other children could enjoy this treat every single day.

Micolash's life pretty much continued like this and he almost came to terms with that he would either be forever stuck in Hemwick until his father died or had to run away with no coins whatsoever, when his teacher one day talked to him. His grades were so good, she wanted to recommend him to a school named Byrgenwerth, a school in which children and young adults with his skills could study. The best thing about it... the school was a bit off the road, in the middle of a forest, so that the students would stay there for the duration of the school year.

Micolash's face only fell when he heard about the sum he would have to pay to enter. That was impossible for him, especially because he barely got any coins anymore. He knew Father would never pay the tuition, for all their coins were used up for the wine he drank everyday.

That was when Micolash's teacher told him about a stipend. He would have to pass a certain test and then someone else would cover the tuition for him. Micolash, more than eager to get away from this place, as well as wanting to learn even more, accepted and managed to pass the test.

On the day he left, he didn't even tell his father about it. He wrote a letter and slipped it under the door when he went to sleep, then he quietly packed the few things he possessed and left for the carriage. Back then, he hadn't thought about ever going back. He hadn't taken into account that he would get sent home for vacation.

And now he was sitting in the carriage. The carriage that was getting him home. Where he had to face his father and explain to him where he went. Where he probably would get locked into the closet for three days if he was lucky. Micolash hadn't even noticed how he had started shuddering. He didn't, no, he couldn't get back to this place. He had worked so hard to get out of it, it wasn't fair that he had to go back, to this man that never loved him, to that shack that never had been a home, to a place where the only person helping him was long dead.

“Hemwick Chapel Lane. Everyone who wants to get off, please exit.” Micolash jerked up when he heard the name of his stop and got up in an instant, walking to the exit as if he was in a trance. He could feel the gazes of all the passengers on him, only now realizing how much he was shaking. If he would get out there... then his father would have control over him again, and Micolash didn't know if he had the strength to leave another time.

“What's the matter? Is this your station or not?”, the carriage driver asked as Micolash still didn't move.

“No, it isn't.”, Micolash finally said and sat back down. “I am sorry, I want to leave at Byrgenwerth Forest station.”

The carriage driver just gave him a deep look, for that was the station where Micolash had entered, but then shrugged. Micolash took a deep breath when he noticed all the other passengers staring at him, even the small child that had been the start of his trip down memory lane.

“Are you feeling alright?”, the mother of the family asked. “Aren't you a student of Byrgenwerth? Is there a place where you can... stay?”

Micolash didn't reply right away. He would even sleep in the woods if he had to, but... he would go back to Byrgenwerth and ask if he could stay there for the vacation. Laurence and Gehrman were also there, he wouldn't count much, and he could offer to cook. He just hoped that Master Willem didn't have a reason to send him away...

“I'll figure something out.”, he instead replied and the parents shared a look before getting their attention demanded by their offspring. Next to him, the old woman that reminded him so much of his elderly neighbour gave him a pat and said.

“There's no reason to stay at a place you feel unhappy in. Walking away was the best thing that ever happened to me... and I hope you find your place to stay as well.”

Micolash gave her a smile and then looked out of the window.

“Never again.”, he decided as the carriage started moving and left Hemwick Chapel Lane behind him. Never again would Micolash return to this place, from now on, he would build his own life. One day, he might have friends and even subordinates that would research with him and should he make enemies.. well, he would make sure to show them that they couldn't mess with him.

On the way back, Micolash relaxed gradually. The sun was already starting to set when the carriage was back at Byrgenwerth Forest, but Micolash didn't mind, crossing the forest to the school before it set completely and setting foot in the common room, where a pretty confused Laurence got up from the couch, abandoning the book he had read and came over to him.

“Micolash? Didn't you want to go home for the vacations?”, he asked.

“Laurence...”, Micolash said. “There's something I have to tell you...”

Micolash then confessed the whole deal about his upbringing to Laurence and once he was done, breathing heavily and tears staining his eyes, Laurence never once having left his side, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder, his friend said: “Let's go speak to Master Willem.”

Micolash was allowed to stay in the school during the vacations from now on, only sometimes having to leave to take a new test for his stipend, which Master Willem organized in Yharnam though, Laurence' hometown, so that Micolash didn't had to get back to Hemwick Chapel Lane anymore.

Micolash never went back to this place, instead, he started his own life, and his own school. And even though he broke ties with his old friends eventually, he never regretted his decision.

For in the Nightmare of Mensis was all the knowledge of the Great Ones and why should he ever want to leave the home he made for himself?

(Author's note: Not gonna lie, this feels a bit clunky to me. I practically rewrote the entire thing also from the first draft and only left like the last few paragraphs. I didn't give any names to the characters outside of Micolash and Laurence, because I didn't want to flesh them out too much.

I hope you enjoyed it and tell me what you thought in the comments.)

[spideyxmee]

The Moon's Dark Side Loves Better

A/N: Hi everybody! Thank you for giving time for this short oneshot of a (messed up) scenario I had.

On a serious note, please read in caution. This mildly contains serious topics which I won't specify in case I spoil everything. If you have any trauma or anything in regards to serious and disturbing topics, please proceed with caution or just don't read this at all and move on to the next fic.

Lastly, it is not my intention to hate/bash any canon characters.

I hope you would enjoy it!

socials | ao3 | intro

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Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Specific traumas I won't specify (please go to the next fic if you don't want to see any), some swear words

Pairing: Lily/Male OC, Jily

Genre: Dark

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Elio Gebber was a normal Ravenclaw with a pure heart. He was always kind-hearted and sweet to everyone he came across. The teachers adored his witty attitude in class and his clean reputation. It attracted a lot of people, even the ones older than him. He had attractive features that could charm anyone, long dirty blond hair, and grey-blue eyes. You could see his confidence in the way he walks and talks.

The students know nothing about Elio's hobbies and personal life. He would let others talk about themselves rather than tell something about him. Others describe him as reticent, while others call him mysterious, but this didn't stop students drool all over him.

It all changed when he showed interest in Lily Evans suddenly at the start of his 5th year. Though he was a year younger than her, he didn't care at all what others say. The news spread like wildfire and eventually alerted Lily's other courter James Potter, who was the complete opposite of Elio. But he was as popular among students.

"He's no match for me, right, Sirius?" James asks his best friend for reassurance that his long-time crush would eventually pick him rather than that "nerd." His best friend, Sirius, offered to bully and threaten Elio until he wouldn't even mention Lily's name. James was mature enough to turn down his offer and be a better man for his love.

"Hi, Evans!" Wearing a charming smile, the sanguine Ravenclaw leaned into a pillar to talk to the redhead in front of him at the Gryffindor table.

"You look wonderful today. Would you mind having some Butterbeer with me this Saturday? I would like to get to know you better."

Lily was staring at Elio, astonished. The whole table chattered, and the event eventually reached the far Slytherin table.

"Damn, that was smooth,"

"Maybe I should take him out, huh, Prongs." Sirius's gay heart leaped, while his group of friends shushed him and comforted the down James while he can only watch as the girl he liked for many years gets taken by a boy below his year. He refused to do his old tactics of aggression and respect Lily's decision.

From all the peer pressure, she agreed to give Elio a chance at dating. From what she knew, he was decent boyfriend material, but she would also like to know other things about him. They met up in the Three Broomsticks and had a successful date. He was nice enough to pay for everything they would buy.

On their second date, they enjoyed playing with the fallen leaves and buying candy at Honeydukes. He had great humor. He asked if she would like a kiss, both knew it was too quick for that, but he presented a muggle chocolate Lily adored called Kisses.

For their third date, a month later, they announced that they were officially dating. Elio knew everything about her. Now it's his turn to share things about himself. He told her that he had a hard childhood and didn't like sharing it with anyone. She understood him and promise to avoid mentioning it in the future.

"Hey, Lily! How are you doing?"

An old friend of hers, Frank Longbottom, approached them while sitting at a table in the Three Broomsticks. He was visiting Hogsmeade for a break from his Auror training. She tried to hug him, but Elio was being overprotective and pushed Frank hard away from her. It was the first time anyone saw him being physical.

"Elio! That is so unnecessary," she pulled the boy back and stared at him in shock while asking herself why he was out of character.

"This is my friend, Frank. Frank, this is my Boyfriend, Elio." She blushed while she helps her friend stand up from the fall. The boy that wore a dark expression didn't even apologize and sat down again. He wanted the other two to sit down and ask questions that sound too protective for other people but seem normal to him.

Frank had to go and was only passing by to say hello. The boys both looked at each other intensely. That wasn't a good first impression with Lily's close friend.

As they walk back to Hogwarts after their date, Lily asks Elio if he was ok and grabbed his hand. It was cold and clenched tight.

A few dates came and go, but it got worse and worse. Elio became more aggressive over Lily's simple mistakes like misplacing borrowed things. He turned into a two-faced idiot that seems nice when people were looking. But when alone with his girlfriend, Elio sounded manipulative and self-centered. He wanted the love of his life to be perfect just for him.

After no time at all, she broke up with him. He threatened her that he would die if she broke up with him, but this didn't work on the bright woman at all. She was over his idiotic tactics and two-faced ass.

She told the whole school about him, but none of the students believe her. Elio became depressed and suicidal, and Lily was the one he blames. The entire school despised her, and rumor spread that she only dated Elio for his popularity and looks. The teachers could only do little for the broken-hearted's well-being. Their respective House heads talked to them he looked in a better state. Lily has no proof of abuse to accuse him.

"Lily, can we talk?" James patiently waited for her to come out of their House Head's chamber. Now is the time to at least comfort her.

"Since when do you call me by my first name, Potter?"

It was hard for her to hold back tears from her talk with Professor McGonagall. The teacher offered to look more into her ex for her. But that's all she can do for now.

"I-" Before he could get to say anything, she attempted to walk away. James went in front of her to stop her and gave her a concerned look. Lily stood straight and raised an eyebrow.

"I am here to say that I trust you and know that you would never lie about what Elio has done to you. You can always come to me if you want to talk."

She doesn't have any reason to trust the toe rag back after what he's done to her ex-best friend in their previous school years. But from what he's done this year and the Shrieking Shack incident, she feels that James is a better person and less of a toe rag.

Weeks went by, and the two talked more and more each day. Elio thought this was preposterous and made a scene breaking down and crying every time he sees them together in public. People around felt sorry for him and criticize the two friends that were soon to be a couple.

The school soon didn't care about the drama anymore and focused on other things, which Elio didn't fathom would happen. He hid and kept a low profile for years.

On his 17th birthday, Elio obliviated his mother to erase every memory of him. His mother, Sharon Gebber, didn't care about her own child. Ever since his mother and father divorced in the summer before his 5th year, his mother abused him. She would often use him as a slave and never notice the achievements that he did so that his own mother would pay attention. This lead to his thirst for recognition in public.

Elio successfully erased her mother's memory so she could fuck off his life. He learned about the power of the spell for a specific plan of his. But clearing his mother's memory was just a practice run.

After he graduated, Elio took a job at the daily prophet to earn some money. People there think he's mental. He credits every team achievement to himself and seeks attention every chance he gets.

And even after five years, he was still not over his "love" for Lily. Elio wanted her to love him since he believes that he deserves her.

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While Lily was shopping for baby Harry's stuff at Diagon Alley, she came across an old friend of hers. Elio was sitting at Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, writing on a notepad about news from Gringotts. She winced as she recalled all the unpleasant memories of him shouting and making her feel bad about herself. Though it was a long time ago, it still left a faint scar on Lily.

When Lily was about to turn away, he looked up, and they met eye-to-eye. He ran up to her and was about to hug her until she stood back.

"Oh Merlin, Lily! How are you?"

She thought of getting mad at him and ignore him for the things he did. But she thought, what if he's changed? He's matured physically, maybe emotionally and mentally too.

"I'm ok. How about you?" She talked slowly, and her voice was softer than usual.

They sat down and chatted for a bit. Lily was clearly uncomfortable, while Elio was very talkative and talked about himself a lot.

"He didn't seem to change a bit." She thought as she prepared an excuse to leave.

"Elio, I think it's time for me to go."

"Oh, you're already about to leave? Why so soon?" he smiled and talked at the same time, looking like a maniac planning. Which he indeed was.

"I have to really take care of my son, excuse me." she grasped her bag hard, trying to hold back the tears as she watched the same smile Elio wore when they dated fade. She left sniffling and wishing that her spouse, James Potter, to be on her side. But he was protecting their 2-month-old son from the dangers ahead.

"Son?" Elio realized that his first love has had a family with another guy. He gave out a psychotic laugh and cried his heart out. People around stared as the adult threw a child-like tantrum.

Lily heard this from far away, but she learned to never look back.

While crying, Elio thought of something. He then chased Lily and decided that it was time for his plan.

He cornered her in a dark alleyway between shops. He covered Lily's mouth with his hand and chanted a spell to stop her from making any noise. He then snatched her wand, tied her feet, and tied her arms behind her with rope from his wand.

"I have wanted to do this ever since I heard rumors of you and that Potter guy's marriage. Now you and he have a child! I can't stand it, Lily. I thought you loved me!" He stopped and scanned around the environment. "Bystanders will notice all my shouting."

"How about we talk at my humble flat here in London. How does that sound?" Elio wrapped his arms around his sweet childhood sweetheart. Lily tried to scream in hopes that someone or anyone would help her. No sound came out of her mouth as she shed tears silently. She fought her best against the stronger, more muscular man armed with a wand she wished she had.

After not long, they apparated together to his flat. To no surprise at all, his place was eerily clean, and the walls painted white. It pretty much looked like a well-furnished white torture room.

"Sit, my love." Elio dragged Lily, holding her arm with his nails sink into her skin. He locked all the doors to keep Lily in his living room as he'll get some water.

When he left, Lily tried to remove her arms and legs from the rope, but she had no luck. She tried to wriggle her limbs out and cut the ropes using sharp objects around. Alas, none of her tactics worked.

Elio returned, seeing Lily with her face wet with tears.

"Oh, love. Don't cry. I'm here. Drink some water." He wore his demented grin again. He was talking to her like nothing happened between them. It was like they were dating again.

She shook her head and bit her lip, making her facial expressions more emotional and angry.

"Wouldn't hydrate, ey? Not drinking water and keeping hydrated is bad for you, baby."

He raised her chin and looked at her face with awe. Lily tried to bite his finger off, but he pulled it away immediately.

"Ah, a little feistier than I remembered." Elio came closer to her lips as he prepared to kiss her. She gave him a painful headbutt, giving both a throbbing headache.

"Ok, Lily. I have had enough. We will come to my room and have some fun playing, won't we?" He sprung to his feet while rubbing his head to relieve the ache. His voice and face were a mix of angriness and excitement.

Knowing what he means, she got to her knees and attempted to talk, "Why, Elio. Please, I have done nothing but be nice to you."

He stopped from pulling her into the bedroom. He sat to her level to meet her eyes.

"That's the point. You did nothing to make me happy." Elio continued to pull her. The chains he used to attach Lily to the bed were ready. The whole room was filled with candles and rose petals, all ready for their steamy night.

"Don't resist me, my Lily! I deserve your love. I need your love." He clenched his teeth, making his words sound hard and scary.

It was the last thing she heard before all of her trauma.

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The morning sun arose. Elio prepared eggs and toast for breakfast without releasing Lily.

"Your bed in breakfast is here, love!" He places the small table on her lap. Elio was covered in bruises which he calls hickeys. The sleeping Lily was the most bruised, not just physically.

Elio obliviated her, confident that he replaced all of her memories with false memories of both of them together, being a happy and normal couple. He didn't know that he messed up.

"If you ever tell anyone about all this, I will kill you and your whole family."

He was removing her chains and undoing the silencing spell when he heard a knock on the door. Aurors arrived at his house for the interview he needed for an article. It was scheduled for 8 pm, but they misunderstood it for 8 am.

While Elio was away attending the Aurors, Lily woke up remembering everything except Elio's face and identity. She did, in fact, hear the mysterious man's threat involving her family. Lily wanted to get out immediately. She found all her stuff and clothes in the room. Luckily with the help of magic, she left out of the window and gently fell to the ground without scraping her already damaged body.

Elio returned to the room after chatting with his guests. He found no one there. He thinks this was mind-boggling and impossible. He prepared all this thoroughly, and he saw no one to blame but himself. The thought of it made him ask his guests to leave his home and throw things around the house.

Lily healed her scars that left unnoticeable traces at first glance and then apparated back to her home. She told the worried Order of the Phoenix members and her panicked husband that she went to her muggle friend's house that had no telephone. She also assured them that she was unable to contact anyone since it was an emergency.

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"James, I'm pregnant."

Her husband celebrated while carrying and dancing with baby Harry in his hands. While he was happy, Lily worried if it was actually her husband's baby she's bearing.

The whole Order of the Phoenix knew. Others say to be careful of this new baby because they know that the he who must not be named is coming for their first child.

While doing an interview at the Leaky Cauldron, Elio looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, and he reeked the smell of alcohol. The good-looking young man was nowhere to be found. He worked day and night, punishing himself for losing "his whole world."

He was a workaholic without any motivation for any other things, even the news of Lily's second child he overheard from a random person at the bar.

"I deserve this miserable life. I don't deserve happiness, and most importantly, Lily." he thought after wrapping up the interview and ordering alcohol.

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After a long day of work, Elio didn't stop find stories for work. His workaholic ass made him travel far. He reached West England just for the story about the undiscovered magical creatures around the area.

While searching around a village called Godric's Hollow, he heard a familiar scream. In a house, he saw a silhouette of a woman fall to the floor through a window. Elio wanted to see what happened, but he didn't want to be a suspect. So he covered any trace of him like wearing removing his shoes, wore gloves, and summoned a hairnet. It looked ridiculous but at least he won't be seen by the Aurors as a suspect.

He rushed inside to see James Potter, lifeless. He then realized. Lily must be the woman. He hurried up the stairs thinking about multiple things. "What happened? Will I report this? Who did this? This might make a good story. Is her child dead too? Is Lily dead?"

The first thing Elio saw was a swaddled, blonde infant cooing. Despite the cries of the toddler and her inert mother, she remained calm and silent. The sight of the infant made Elio's heart warm. She looked a lot like him.

His sharp and quick mind made it seem that this little bundle of light that reflected his past beautiful self's features is his own child. The thought pushed his panic buttons. He told himself, "I have made enough mistakes. I let Lily down and abandoned her. I will fix all of them."

Elio left the house with the child, and still, she didn't cry.

He did everything he can for his child. He quitted his job, changed his identity, and started a new life just for his child. He met a woman and he planned to obliviate her into thinking they have a family, and the girl is their child.

Without knowing it, Elio's wand was broken when he chanted the spell. He forgot all his memories that involved Lily, which was a lucky coincidence. The bad things he did to her? Kidnapping Lily's child? All forgotten.

He also forgot his act of acting to be nice and friendly to his "family." Elio's personality changed to match the kind of person he pretended to be.

He's successfully released a magazine of his own. He raised his girl to be better than his old self, even after his spouse died when their daughter was nine. The smart, little Ravenclaw girl loved everyone better than the person she reflected. And after all the bad things Gebber has done before, he helped some hero complete his mission.

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This was the life of Xenophilius Lovegood.

[entityjon]

The idea that Helen is playing some manipulative long game makes no sense, because if she was, you’d think it would be, idk, written differently? With other characters trusting her a little more so that the betrayal actually has an impact? So that there’s a point to it?

That interpretation seems to come from taking things at face value and trusting the perceptions of people who are historically bad judges of things. Like Jon -- I love him, but that man doesn’t know shit about anything. That’s always been his thing, and near-omniscience doesn’t change that. And the fact that Basira didn’t want to trust Helen cemented it for me, because Basira is typically an awful judge of character when under pressure. 177 specifically highlighted how bad she is at it and then had her decide not to trust Helen (and note how she also questioned Martin’s trust in Jon).

Martin’s is the only judgment worth listening to, for the most part, because he’s typically more clear-headed than the rest about many things, and what does he say? That Helen seems to be getting worse. Why? It’s not because of the end of the world, like Jon says (as Jon is so often wrong), at least not directly. It’s because of what Basira says, about the difference between having a shoulder to lean on vs. not having that.

It helps to look at how things are being written and what’s being said indirectly, via structure and parallels. Helen has a lot of parallels with both halves of Jon/Martin, and her relationship with Jon mirrors Martin’s relationship with him, without the further development. (The relief of having a statement listened to, the initial suspicion/dislike - which doesn’t go away in this case, the fact that they’re foils, the fact that Helen continues to like Jon very much even when he’s difficult and rude.)

The sheer degree of similarity between Helen and Jon/Martin as a whole should be enough to dispel the idea that she’s ultimately malicious. (Rude and often cruel and bad at interacting with people, yes, and maybe subject to some of the Spiral’s more nefarious whims, but not an outright villain.)

177 and the facility itself are called “Wonderland,” which is a reference to how Helen described the apocalypse earlier in S5, and the statement opens with an echo of things that Jon has said to Helen, and continues to echo things that have happened to her (“There are no windows to escape through”) and things she has said about herself and to Jon. (Because as much as Jon is projecting his extreme discomfort with his transformation onto her, Helen is doing the same to him.) (The statement, for the record, also echoes things said to/about Martin and Jon in general.)

I would argue that the intent here is that Helen calls the apocalypse a wonderland, but when we actually do get to a place called Wonderland that is associated with her, we see turmoil.

So no: Helen isn’t executing some grand master plan or manipulation, a thing that she’s already expressed distaste for anyway. She’s doing what she’s always done since her first appearance as the Distortion: offering to help, because the only people that Helen actually seems to like are the Archives crew, and that’s because they’re like her. Irrevocably affected and drawn in by monstrous things and yet not totally consumed by it. (Notice Helen’s pattern of eating/inconveniencing avatars + cheering their deaths, but extending favors to the Archives crew.)

(Helen just wants Jon to be consumed by it, because to her, that would then justify her decision to supposedly not care. She’s another example of someone whose words you shouldn’t always take at face value, because that is most likely a front, too, and incongruous with how she acts. Like Michael, the whole idea of delusion and lies surrounding the Distortion is something that they mostly direct at themselves.)

But no one really trusts Helen or likes her (“No, you’re just a horribly unpleasant person to be around. You make people uncomfortable.”), and she doesn’t have anyone who really understands what she is (see: the statement being in part about the refusal to extend that understanding and how destructive a lack of help is), so of course that’s affecting her and making her worse. The self-concept she’s used to cope with her transformation (that she’s fine with it and embraced it) is and always has been wavering (see: getting mad that Jon still doesn’t want to recklessly embrace his more monstrous tendencies, “There are mirrors in those corridors of yours. What do you see?” “I don’t”).

(See also, in subtext: getting mad that Jon repeatedly extends compassion and understanding to people who don’t deserve it and who are awful to him, and yet not extending any compassion or understanding to her.)

It’s not about manipulation, it’s about that pattern of not extending help, and bad feelings and trauma getting in the way of genuine connection. (Helen saves Jon and then he doesn’t help her, so she doesn’t help him, now the apocalypse has come, and she should be happy but she isn’t, and so she keeps trying to reach out, but she keeps getting rejected, and Jon has what she lacks, and Helen is bitter about it, etc.)

Helen is alone. And I keep thinking about how the very first live statement had “turn left” as a definitive phrase that saved Naomi from the Lonely, and how Helen’s statement talked about how there were no left turns.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Tremor III

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen (may wibble upwards into AO3′s Mature later) Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Scott Tracy, The Hood

Here we go again!  This week our sense is Hear from @gumnut-logic‘s SensorySunday challenge.  Part 1 | Part 2

I think it’s time to wake Scott up, although he might disagree with me on that one.  While there’s nothing overly graphic, there are depictions of torture in this part.

There was the hum of machinery all around him and passing through him.  Some sort of engine, a monster of a beast from the low rumble. It wasn’t the rumble of a Thunderbird; not even Thunderbird Two’s acoustics reached quite as low as this.  Certainly, it was nothing like the comforting cry of his own ‘bird.

He shifted, his back resting on something solidly uncomfortable, and there was a heavy clink, like metal hitting metal.  Attempts to pull his arms to his sides – why were they above his head, he never slept like that – resulted in a louder clank and he was forced to stop moving by pressure on his wrists.  That didn’t bode well.

Where was he?  This could be one of Gordon’s pranks, but Gordon knew better than to mess around on a mission, and the last he could recall, he’d been on a rescue.  A collapsed mine, a distressed woman, and then- he’d been attacked?

He stilled, running through everything he knew again.  He was lying on something hard and unforgiving, with only a thin layer of what felt like rough cotton between his back and the surface.  His uniform was gone, as well as anything else he’d been wearing from what he could tell, and there were chains holding his wrists in place.  A heavy weight on his ankles suggested that his feet were similarly restrained, legs splayed just past the edge of what would be comfortable.  All in all, not a favourable position to be in.

There were other little noises, barely audible over the thrum of engines.  A shuffle, the almost silent passage of air in and out of someone’s mouth.  Wherever he was, he wasn’t alone.

“I trust your sleep was pleasant?”

Scott considered feigning further unconsciousness.  If he didn’t respond, they might just leave him alone and he could work out how best to get himself out of the predicament he’d ended up in.  Even if he was no longer wearing his uniform, it should be nearby, and if nothing else John would be tracking it.

“Come, now, Scott,” the voice continued.  It was male, silky, coaxing.  The sort of thing he heard from the businessmen he trusted the least.  It was also bordering on familiar.  “You and I both know you’re awake.”  He was sure he’d heard that voice before, somewhere.  If he could just remember where…  “If you wish,” the man continued, “I’ll let you know where you are.  You’re currently in one of the sections of my ship; I must apologise for the accommodation – I don’t often entertain guests.”

That told him nothing new, which he suspected was the purpose.  Offering useless information to bait him in was a common tactic, and one he’d pulled on younger brothers when required.

His companion sighed.

“A conversation ideally requires more than one participant,” he said neutrally.  “Of course, we could get down to business without preliminary small talk, but that would be so impolite.  What would your father think?”

A rush of rage flowed through Scott.  Who was this man to talk about Dad so casually, so familiarly?  How dare he-

All of a sudden, he realised where he knew the voice from, and something unpleasant coiled in his gut. Reluctantly, he pried his eyes open, squinting against the bright light directly above him, and looked over to his side.

The Hood was not someone he’d ever met in person, but he’d watched the Zero-X footage a thousand times, with the same, slimy bald head and drawn cheeks etching themselves into his mind over and over again until he invaded his dreams.  This was the man that killed Dad, and – Scott’s stomach lurched – now he was at his mercy.  He didn’t think the Hood had much of that.

“Ah, much better,” the Hood said lightly, a patronising smirk twisting his features.  There was nothing remotely pleasing to the eye about the entire visage.  “We have much to discuss, after all.”

“We have nothing to discuss,” Scott snapped back, his voice still laden with the rasp of groggy awakening.  Hazel eyes, a sickly green-yellow rather than Kayo’s much warmer, kinder, gaze, took on a glint of amusement.

“Oh, I assure you we do,” the Hood responded, inspecting his hands lightly.  “I think we should begin with the exact nature of your so-called ‘Eye in the Sky’.”

Thunderbird Five.  John.

“A space station of some sort?” the man continued, as though he was discussing the weather and not threatening his younger brother.  “Presumably one with a Thunderbird callsign, like the rest of your admittedly impressive fleet.  Let’s see… a Thunderbird Five?”

Scott glared at him, hoping he couldn’t hear his heart thumping.  It was all conjecture, understandable leaps of logic.  He didn’t actually know anything, he was just trying to get a reaction from him, to see how close his theories were to the truth.  Scott refused to let him know how accurate his guess was.

“You killed Dad,” he accused.  “Why would I tell you anything?”

The Hood gave a long, drawn-out sigh.

“Misunderstandings and defamation of character,” he said with an exaggerated patience.  “I did not kill Jeff.  He was not invited to join the show, nor did I force him to remain on the ship instead of bailing like a sensible individual.  Your father’s tragic demise was entirely of his own creation, I’m afraid.  Oh, don’t give me that look.  Glaring doesn’t change the truth.  He could have saved his own skin at any time, and you know it, Scott.”

His name falling as slick as oil from those thin, bloodless lips did nothing to improve Scott’s mood, and not for the first time, he wished glaring daggers was a more literal description. Anything to get this man away from him, saying half-truths as though they were gospel with a honeyed tongue.

“But we’re not here to discuss the tragedy that was the Zero-X,” the Hood continued, “although I would be willing to commiserate Jeff’s life with you after we get the business out of the way.  After all, he was my friend.”

“Liar!” Scott spat, without thinking.  “Dad would never be friends with, with-”

“With me?” the Hood finished, leaning forwards and delicately taking hold of his chin.  His fingers were spindly and just warm enough to be living, but slimy and raised goosebumps where they touched his skin.  “Oh, Scott, don’t you remember me?  Captain Taylor might have been awarded with the title of godfather, but I held you back when you were an infant before he ever met you. I dare say the man’s still never got his own godson’s name right.”

It was phrased as an observation, but there was a questioning tilt at the end of the sentence.  Scott set his jaw and didn’t answer.  That couldn’t be right.  He was lying – he was a crook, lying was what he did best.

“Oh, Lucille was never my biggest fan,” the Hood continued when it became apparent he had no intention of confirming or denying.  “But you adored me, always crawling to my feet whenever I walked in the house. Never in anything more than a nappy – oh, I’m speaking to an American, diaper.  You weren’t the biggest fan of clothing, as I recall.”

Scott felt sick, although he kept his glare up, jaw set against saying anything and waiting for the spidery fingers to release their feather-light touch on his face.  His parents and grandparents alike had commented more than once on infant-Scott’s protests against clothes, reminding him as a child whenever he despaired over Gordon’s similar dislike over wearing anything.  How the Hood knew that – if it wasn’t a lucky guess – he didn’t want to know.

Those weren’t the sort of details available to the public.

“But we can reminisce later,” the Hood said, finally taking his fingers away.  “Business before pleasure, of course.  So, International Rescue’s Eye in the Sky?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” he spat, and the Hood sighed.

“Such melodramatics.” He shook his head.  “I must say it gives me no pleasure to do this.”  There was a glint in his eye that told Scott he was lying, but before he could begin to determine what this was, his wrists burned like a wildfire, shocks streaking down his arms and contracting the muscles involuntarily.

It lasted no time at all, but to Scott’s dismay he was panting, forcing his muscles to relax again.

That gleam was still there when the Hood gripped hold of his chin again, fingers pressing in to the delicate flesh under his jaw, and forced him to face him again.  He didn’t remember looking away.

“I’m afraid I can’t accept no for an answer,” he said, voice still in the smooth businessman tones.  “If you won’t tell me willingly, I have no choice but to resort to somewhat harsher methods.  I will ask you again: tell me all about your Eye in the Sky.”

“Go to hell!” Scott spat, tensing up in anticipation of another shock.  None came, and the Hood gave a grin that would have looked more at home on a tiger as he retracted his hand again.

“Now why would I want to do that?”  He checked his watch, a flash of gold, and hummed.  “I’m afraid I will have to bring our conversation to an end for the moment. My attention is required elsewhere.” Scott watched him stand, brushing invisible lint from his suit.  “We shall resume later.”

The door was out of Scott’s line of sight, but he heard it lock and relaxed.  Time to find-

Pain lanced through him, electricity dancing through his muscles and once again forcibly contracting them.  He clenched his teeth through the pain, his back arching away from the table and his limbs coming up short against the clinking of chains.  Unlike the first dose, it didn’t cease after a split second, instead wracking his body into spasms.  He couldn’t breathe, it hurt, it burned, he couldn’t breathe.

Black spots danced in his vision and somewhere there was a keening sound, like a distant scream.  He couldn’t breathe, his nerves were on fire, his body wouldn’t listen to him-

As suddenly as it had started, it stopped again, leaving him heaving for breath and blinking away the black spots.  His back cautiously lowered to the probably-table he was chained to, and oh so slowly, he got his trembling limbs back under control.  He had to escape; while he had every faith that John and Kayo would find him, he couldn’t just lay back and wait.  Not with taser-infused chains that needed no clear provocation to activate.

Given their resistance to his pain-induced thrashing, it was unlikely that the chains would break easily, but with nothing else to go on, Scott forced his aching arm to extend until his hand to wrap around the chain linked to him and tugged.  There was a rattle, but no give.

Clenching his teeth, Scott tried again.  And again. And again.

There was the hiss of an opening door and he dropped the chain as though it burned.  Hurried footsteps, unlike the calm and measured ones of the Hood, approached him until a person with a ridiculous mask over their head was stood next to him.  He couldn’t see where they were looking exactly, but the helmet moved in a slow turn, giving off the appearance of taking in his entire restrained – and, oh, undressed – self, before settling on his face.

“Water,” a heavily disguised voice said, holding up a clear plastic bottle in front of his face. Scott opened his mouth to point out that he was hardly in a position to drink, but before he could say anything, the cap was popped off and the water upended over his mouth.

Unprepared, and in what was quite possibly the worst position, there was nothing Scott could do except splutter and choke as some of the miniature deluge found its way down his throat.  There was no way to breathe, no way to escape – attempts to turn his head sideways, out of the path of the water were thwarted by a large hand gripping his chin with none of the Hood’s faux finesse and forcing his mouth open.

Then the water was gone, and he was coughing and choking in an effort to keep it out from his lungs. Water erupted onto his face, running off his cheeks like tears, and he turned his head to the side, vomiting up what he could.  The masked person was gone by the time he got control of himself again, now uncomfortably aware of the rough cotton below him absorbing the moisture and turning damp.

The chains on his wrist flared up again, and he had a split second to panic about the water dripping off of him and into the material below him before his awareness sharply narrowed to agony, can’t breathe, muscles wound tighter than a spring and his vision alternating black and white as that background keening started again.

Him, he realised dimly when the pain came to an abrupt end, leaving him gasping and heaving.

“I trust you’ve had some time to reconsider.”  The Hood’s silky tones draped over him as the man himself stepped back into view.  How much time had passed?  Scott didn’t think it had been that long, but he had no way to tell the time.  Any attempts at keeping track mentally had been well and truly thrown off.  “I would rather dispense with this uncouth method and discuss this civilly.”

Scott spat some leftover water at him as he carefully persuaded his muscles to unclench, one group at a time, and took some glee in the fact it landed on his face.  Aside from the twitch of a brow, there was no response.

“We were discussing your Eye in the Sky?” the Hood prompted instead, just as he managed to release the tension from his left calf.  Scott turned his head away and a sharp burst of electricity shot up from his left ankle, jerking his leg taut again and travelling up to his hips before fading away. “It’s polite to look at someone when they’re talking to you, Scott.  I’m sure your father taught you that.  Your mother certainly would have.”

Scott reluctantly rolled his head over to glare at him, once again trying to unwind his leg muscles.

“You don’t get to talk about my parents,” he rasped, throat unpleasantly raw.  He tried not to think about that.

“I would prefer to address International Rescue,” the Hood reminded him.  Scott shut his mouth and glowered at him.  “Really, Scott?  I was hoping to have a mature conversation with an adult; who knew the commander of International Rescue was such a child?  I imagine you’ll be sticking your tongue out at me next?”

Scott refused to rise to the bait, and the Hood sighed.

“No matter,” he said. “We have time.”  Scott inwardly scoffed.  His family would arrive soon, even if he couldn’t get himself free any time soon.  He only had to hold out until then.

He had military training. He could do that.

The Hood headed for the door again, calm and measured footsteps that stopped just out of his sight.

“Oh, and Scott? Everything you had on you was left by the mine.”  Scott suddenly felt very cold.  His tech, his trackers…  “I do hope you weren’t expecting a rescue.”  Without those, they couldn’t track him.  The Hood’s ship had constantly evaded everything they had for eight years now – it had been a point of contention for John and Kayo alike.

The Hood made a noise that was clearly amused.

“You were?  Oh, dear, Scott.  It’s a good thing I told you – we wouldn’t want you clinging to some false hope, would we?”  Scott barely listened to him, dread pooling in his gut.

He had to get out of there.

The door hissed shut, locking with a thud, and for the first time, he felt truly trapped.

Part IV

[allisondraste]

Temperance 40/42

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary:   Nathaniel returns from his brooding in the rain to find Liss in his room.  They talk. Finally. 

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Vigil’s Keep 9:31 Dragon

Nathaniel brushed a stray strand of damp hair back from where it clung to his face, grumbling and shaking his head as he crossed the Keep’s main hall and headed up the flight of stairs that led to the corridor where the living quarters were located.  It had seemed fitting at the time, to sit in the pouring rain as he pondered his own bull-headed foolishness. Now, he regretted the decision as he walked down the corridor and to his room, wet and uncomfortable. He had come inside with the hope of visiting Liss immediately, of seeing if Velanna’s potion had aided in her recovery.  However, he figured it would be in everyone’s best interest if he changed into something dry first. He was in no mood to be mocked by Anders about his choice to brood in the rain, and knowing the mage, the mockery was inevitable.

As he neared his quarters, he noticed that the door hung open slightly, torchlight trickling out into the hall.  He slowed his pace and approached more cautiously. He did not recall leaving his door open, but then again, he had also not been thinking clearly when he’d left his room just hours before.  Closing and locking the door had not been high on his priority list at the time. He took a breath in an attempt to relax and continued toward the door with less concern. It was unlikely that anyone would have invaded his privacy, after all.  None of the Wardens present, with the exception of Liss, would have dared. Considering that Liss was incapacitated, he had nothing to be worried about.  

Or so he thought.

Of course it came as a shock when he pushed open the door to see Liss sitting on the edge of the bed, and he halted mid-step, frozen in the doorway.  Her eyes were red and swollen, face damp with tears, and his heart ached for her. He wondered why she was there in the first place, what had caused her tears.  Was it his doing? The Joining? He was in no place to make any assumptions. Relieved as he was to see her alive and awake, a tear-stained woman sitting at the end of one’s bed was typically an ill omen.  

Nathaniel’s eyes flicked from Liss’ face to the piece of parchment in her hand, wrinkled as if it had been wadded up and then straightened back out.  With a glance to his dresser, to the spot where the letter he’d written in Denerim once lay, he knew exactly what she was holding. She must have come to his quarters looking for him and found the damned thing instead.  Had it upset her? Of course it had. Andraste’s arse, had leaving personal items lying about on dressers not already caused him enough misery?

“Liss,” he asked hesitantly, voice ragged and quivering despite an effortful attempt to maintain his composure.  She looked up at him instantly, unfazed by his sudden appearance, and stood up from the bed. She dabbed at the tears on her face with one of her sleeves.  

“Hey, Nate,” she said with a smile so bright he thought he might melt.  Perhaps things were not so dire as they seemed. Liss wiped at her face again and sniffed her nose before holding up the parchment in her other hand.  “I finally got your letter.”

For a moment, he  was at a loss for how to respond, standing like an awkward statue at the threshold to his own room.  Flashes of his last conversation with Liss replayed themselves in his mind, and he realized he had not prepared for her to be anything other than angry with him when she recovered.  She had no reason to be. His last minute realization and rush to her side was not exactly redemption. Her somber smile had managed to catch him off guard in more ways than one, and his stomach twisted itself into knots.  Not knowing what else to do, he sighed, exhaling equal parts anxiety and relief, and entered the room completely, pushing the door closed behind him. It was far past time that they talked.

Liss watched him in a way that was completely out of character for her.  Quiet. Patient. Had it not been such a serious moment, he might have asked if the Joining had given her some impulse control.  However, it was a serious moment, and her warm, brown eyes remained fixed on him intently. It seemed she was leaving the moment in his hands and the next move was his.   All he wanted to do was to close the distance between them, to hold her so tightly that the rest of the world might slip away, and for the first time in far too many years he realized that he could.

Without a word, and with disregard to the carefulness that so often paralyzed him, Nathaniel rushed forward, closing the distance between them and pulling her into an embrace.  Liss didn’t even stiffen at the sudden, unexpected display of affection, and instead fell immediately into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist and squeezing so tightly that she trembled. Her breath warmed his chest as she buried her face into the fabric of his shirt and he wondered if she could hear the forceful drumming of his heartbeat.

The moment reminded him of their reunion in Denerim, only without the years of walls between them.  Unpleasant as they may have been, their arguments over the past few days knocked down every last defense and  stripped them bare to the point of being raw. They were healing, but tender and vulnerable. It would have been so easy for them to hurt one another again, he thought, to rub salt into gaping wounds.  That was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I am glad you’re all right,” Nathaniel spoke finally, a whisper into her hair before leaning back to look at her.  “How are you feeling?”

Liss looked up at him, tearful but smiling regardless. “Awful,” she mumbled, “It feels like I swallowed a dozen hot coals.” “Just a dozen?” he teased, reasonably assured that it would be well-received.

She laughed, rolled her eyes, and leaned forward so that her head was against his chest again. “At least a dozen.  It was not a pleasant experience.”

“I know,” he said, no longer joking, “All too well.”

“It feels like I have not slept or eaten in days, “ Liss continued, with a humorless, exasperated laugh at the end of her sentence. “Yet, I’m not certain I could do either at the moment.”

There was a brief pause, and then Liss spoke again. “Shut up, Nate.”

Startled, he replied. “I...I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, but I know you were thinking it,” she mumbled, face still pressed to his chest.

“Thinking what, exactly?”  He had no idea what in Thedas she was talking about.

“You should have eaten all of the cookies, Liss,” she said, lowering her voice in a hilarious attempt to imitate him.

Nathaniel didn’t respond, but a smile twitched on his lips, and he brought one of his hands up to stroke her hair.  She was still so lovely and gentle despite the chaos spiraling around her, the calm eye of a devastating storm. No one would have blamed her if she lost herself, if she became bitter and angry at the world that hurt her.  Yet she didn’t. She had chosen to remain soft, to open herself back up to the very things that hurt her, himself included. He was unworthy of her trust, but grateful she still offered it to him.  

Several moments of comfortable, yet heavy silence passed between them, and then Liss began to stir.  Nathaniel looked down to see her furrowing her brows and examining his shirt, pinching bits of it between her fingers curiously, and then looking up at him with a tilt to her head.

“You’re wet,” she observed, lips spreading into a smile as she reached up to touch his still damp hair.

“It was raining,” he explained, breathlessly, chest swelling at her affectionate gesture.  He found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her.

 “Right,” Liss answered, face just inches away from his, eyes flicking down briefly and then back up.

They lingered that way for a breath, air between them heady, but neither daring to close the distance.  Nathaniel swallowed hard and gathered up the strength to pull his eyes away from her, and to release her from the embrace.  He took a slight step backward, and she frowned almost imperceptibly, shifting her gaze toward the floor.

“Listen, Liss.  About earlier…” he began, relieved when she brought her gaze back up to him, at  least interested in what he had to say, “I meant every word I said to you, and I do not regret that I did.  Still, I realize that I chose an awful time and the worst way to do so. The first time I told you I loved you should not have been out of desperation.  It was unfair, and you deserve better than that.”

“It was unfair.  Entirely,” Liss remarked, serious, but then looked down to the parchment in her hand and laughed. “But it looks like you might have had every intention to tell me sooner.”

“I wanted to,” Nathaniel sighed, “Desperately.  Things kept getting in the way, and before I knew it you were joining the Grey Wardens and I was faced with the potential of losing you again.  I was scared and I acted rashly because of it. I apologize.”

“I forgive you, “  she assured him, “And not just for the ill-timed confession.  I forgive you for everything. We were children the last time we saw one another, frightened children who were being separated and were at a loss for what to do.  Of course we handled it poorly.”

Nathaniel opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it when he saw her eyes sweeping across the letter.  She shook her head and looked back up at him. “This letter… Nate. I wish I had tried harder to put myself in your shoes, but I couldn’t.  All I could feel was my own broken heart. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology,” he said, tears burning in his eyes.

“Yes,” she asserted, holding his gaze, “I do.”

They fell silent for a moment as she looked at him, earnest tears welling in her eyes.  He finally nodded in acceptance. Whether or not he believed she needed to apologize or not, it made him feel better to hear it.

“This has been such a mess, hasn’t it,” he asked, laughing humorlessly.

“Quite.”

Nathaniel inhaled deeply, preparing himself to speak again, to say more difficult words.  “I would like to try again. To show you how I feel for you, that is.”

Liss bit her lip and smiled.  “Quite frankly, I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

“Good,” he replied, chuckling as he took both of her hands in his, looking down at them as he attempted to speak, all too aware of her gaze burning straight through him.  “Although, I am not quite certain where to start. I have had so many years to mull this over, everything I’d ever thought to say seems so ridiculous and unnecessary now.”  

“You know, ‘ridiculous and unnecessary’ just sounds like your way of saying ‘romantic, but embarrassing to say out loud,’”  she teased, freeing one of her hands to tap under his chin. He brought his eyes up to meet hers, reflexively, and she winked.

Nathaniel snorted out a laugh in response, neither admitting to nor denying her accusation. She knew him well, it seemed.  Just the thought of vocalizing any of the flowery things he’d written made him cringe. That’s why it had been so easy to just let it all tumble out of his mouth recklessly when he was angry, and why he stood speechless now.

“Well?” Liss crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows at him, clearly disapproving of his omission.  “Am I wrong?”

He met her gaze and blinked a few times, his amusement at her annoyance fading away as he looked at her, those brown eyes waiting for him to respond, the perfect line of her nose, the gentle curve of her lips pursed into a playful frown. How many years had he spent pretending not to notice each and every detail that currently drove him to distraction? How had he managed to temper his desire for her for so long? He brought a hand up to Liss’ face, brushing a strand of hair away and allowing his fingertips to ghost over her skin before settling on her cheek. Perhaps he would not need to use his words at all.  

“What are you...,” she began, voice halting and breathless, “Are you going to kiss me?”

Before Nathaniel had the chance to overthink his intentions, to second guess himself, he leaned forward and answered, pressing his lips to hers as gently as he could, as if he might shatter the moment with anything more.  Liss’ breath hitched audibly, but she did not pull away from him, bringing her hand up to cover his that still cupped her face instead.

“Yes,” he whispered against her lips before kissing them again, more certain than before.  Warmth radiated from the contact and overwhelmed him. Tears brewed in his eyes, burning hot until they escaped down his cheeks.  Liss cried too, droplets falling from dark lashes, as she tightened her grip on his hand. She took a long, shaky breath and opened her eyes.

“I love you,” he confessed with reverence, composure torn at the seams, everything he’d held back for as long as he could remember threatening to burst forward as he let his forehead rest against hers, “I never stopped.”

A relieved laugh escaped Liss’ throat, punctuated by sniffs of her nose, and she brought her free hand up to his face, dabbing away the tears that lingered. “I love you, too, Nate.”

When Liss returned the kiss, it was in her own way—sudden, with all the confidence and unfiltered affection she always had, crashing into him with the immense force of every emotion she carried.  It knocked the wind from his lungs and he could no longer worry that the moment was fragile, that she was fragile. He had no reason to tell himself that the depths of his feelings would drown her.  She could handle all of it.

Nathaniel let go of his already threadbare restraint, wrapping his arms around her, fingers in her hair and clinging to her as if she might slip away at any moment.  Their lips met again and again, tears mingling on cheeks and burning on tongues. It reminded him so much of the night they’d kissed in her room before he left for Starkhaven, only less hurried, and without the bitterness of the goodbye that followed.  There would be no tearing himself away from her arms, no trembling and aching as he left her sobbing behind him. Never again. He was hers, now and always.

It was Liss who broke away first, breathing heavily.  Her eyes fixed on him, worried and searching his face for something he could not place.  He loosened their embrace, but kept his arms around her, mirroring the worried expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Liss shook her head. “It’s just… I am worried that this isn’t real, that I will wake up at any moment and realize it was all some ridiculously elaborate dream.”

“Liss,” Nathaniel laughed, relieved that it was not something worse, “This isn’t a dream.”

“That sounds exactly like something dream Nathaniel would say to me,” she quipped, tilting her head back.  She flashed an embarrassed smile, recognizing the absurdity of her own words.

“He sounds like an arse,” Nathaniel observed.

“He isn’t so bad,” she explained as she leaned into him, eyes fluttering closed as she lay her head against his chest. “He just has this frustrating habit of not still being there when I wake up.”

“And that is something you want,” he asked, attempting to ignore the desire that pooled in every nerve.

She glanced up at him once again, unabashed despite the flush that formed at the implication of her own words. “That is one of the many benefits of sleeping with someone, is it not?”

“Is that— “

“It’s an invitation, Nathaniel,” she interrupted, matter-of-factly, eyes sparkling with something akin to mischief. “If you want it.”

He flinched and was suddenly clambering for words despite being so sure of himself just moments before, his ability to think with any degree of clarity drained in an instant. “You’re not worried it’s too soon?”

“Not if you aren’t,” came her reply, eyebrows raised.  “We could always wait another nine years, if you prefer.”

“Maker, no,” Nathaniel protested, taking her face in his hands. “I accept your invitation, my lady.”

“Thank goodness,” she said, laughing and capturing his lips again, “For a moment there I thought I had made things awkward.”

“I will be sorely disappointed if this isn’t at least a little awkward,” he joked and kissed her forehead.

They quickly fell back into one another, a tangle of lips and limbs, and Nathaniel wondered, briefly,  if he was the one dreaming. Just hours before, he had not known if he and Liss had a future, and now he held her in his arms, warm and alive, breathing against his neck as her hands explored his skin just under the hem of his shirt.  His breath caught in his throat and he stiffened reflexively.  

“I’m sorry,” Liss blurted urgently, pulling away, “I didn’t mean to— Did I—“

“Relax,” Nathaniel reassured her and chuckled, reaching for the hands that she had retracted so quickly. “Your hands are just cold.  Like ice, actually.”

“Oh,” she muttered wincing apologetically.  “Sorry. They’re like that when I’m nervous, sometimes.”

He smirked as he held her hands securely between his and brought them up to his mouth, rubbing and blowing hot air until they felt suitably warm. “Are you nervous,” he asked, pressing a kiss on the knuckles of each hand and holding them to his lips as he waited for her to answer.

“A bit. Yes,” she admitted, smiling brightly as the blush on her cheeks deepened.  She pulled her hands gently away from him, only to reach for them again, lacing her fingers through his and tugging at his arms, leading him to the bed. “I’ll get over it.”

The next hour or so was filled not with the passionate cries of lovers grasping torridly at one another after too long apart, but with the warmth and laughter of friends holding on to one another as they shared their most vulnerable pieces for the first time.  It was filled with tender touches and whispers of names, with jokes and apologies. It was awkward, and it was perfect, exactly as it should have been.  

For a long time afterward, they lay tangled up in one another, awake.  Liss, with a leg and arm thrown over him, traced patterns across his chest with her fingertips as they shared tales from their years apart and laughed over memories of their time together.  He had nearly forgotten how much he loved hearing the excitement in her voice when she told stories, how he missed her laughter, the glimmer in her eyes when she teased him. She had symbolized home for him for as long as he could remember, an important part of him he could not replace no matter how hard he tried.  As their talking finally quieted to a hush, as Liss’ breathing slowed and she drifted off into sleep, her arms around his waist and her face pressed soundly against the middle of his back, he felt whole again. He was home.

[saltlordofold]

Tumblr ate the ask  because of course it did but a good while ago @ma-suranas prompted me with number 50 from this great list of cliché tropes and prompts by @bucky-plums-barnes : “ I’m scared but won’t admit it so you take my hand,” for Alistair and Aedan.

I went a bit all over the place with this but it’s been so long since I posted any writing, i thought this was a good time to get it out at last XD Thank you for the prompt!!! 

Characters: mainly Alistair and Aedan Cousland (oc), rest of party briefly featured (Wynne, Zevran, Leliana, Morrigan, Shale, Sten, Oghren)

Pairing: (Unresolved pining) Alistair/Aedan

Raiting: G

Warnings: Pining, Unresolved emotional tension, claustrophobia, scotophobia

Words: 2007

>Read on Ao3

Alistair had no clue what it was that caused the carved vault to collapse. It could have been anything, really: a shift of the terrain, a sudden whim the many miles of rock and dirt above their heads, a trap laid by the Spawn, or even simply, for all he knew, the sound of their footsteps, heavy with armour and supplies, echoing too loudly against the stone corridors of a dwarven thaig left so silent and still for so long. Not that the why mattered much: all that Alistair had needed to know was how, with just a dusting of warning pebbles and a long, worrisome groan of stone, a whole section of the ceiling had come down in one swift, murderous go, and it was all Aedan and him could do but to pull each other out of the way of the deadly weight plummeting down.

Gravel drummed and trickled down the back of Alistair's armour. The air was full of a fine-grained dust that left a trail of fire down his throat at every inhale, forcing him into a painful coughing fit. Under him, Aedan seemed to be in no better condition, because his voice sounded more a rasp when he grabbed Alistair's shoulder and asked, between two hacks of his own:

“Are you hurt?”

Alistair wanted to say something like “what do you think?” and “you're asking me?”but after counting, he was pretty sure he could feel all his limbs, which was enough to warrant a mumbled “'think so” instead. Alarm rung loud in his ears, a dangerous buzz, and in an effort to not give in to it, Alistair forced himself to push up, which he managed more than precariously. Still, Aedan didn't turn down his offered hand to help him do the same, and as soon as he was standing, the Warden was already stumbling to the wall of rock that now closed off the corridor they'd just been walking.

“Zevran?” Aedan called, with as much breath as he could manage, “Wynne?”

The second that followed felt as frozen to Alistair as the sweat pooled down his back. In the trembling flame of their weakened torch, half-buried under rocks on the ground, he could see the worry on Aedan's dirt-plastered face, and there was no doubt in his mind that he wore the exact same expression on his own.

But the crease between Aedan's brows soothed down at once when friendly voices mercifully started answering from behind the wall of rubble.  

“We're all fine, here,” Wynne's voice carried first, “Are you boys?”

Aedan dipped his head in relief, hand resting against one of the largest rocks. Somewhere behind it, Dog was barking, distant and muffled.

“Yes!” Aedan replied, while Alistair closed his eyes for a second, letting relief wash over him too,  “Yes, we're alright, both of us. Maker be thanked.”

The corner of Aedan's mouth tugged upwards at the sound of Zevran's voice.

“So much for fine dwarven stonework,” the elf jabbed, from behind what felt like meters of rock.

Oghren's answer soon followed, short of both breath and patience, to deliver the curt yet eloquent response of:

“Sod off, elf.”

Ever the good sport, Zevran did not seem to take too badly to the blunt answer.

“Would that I could, my friend,” he simply said, “but sadly it seems my way to do so has become quite impracticable, has it not?”

“Would you both shut it?” Morrigan sneered, “Just for once? My head is hurting enough as it is without you jabbering in my ear.”

“Maker,” Leliana said, very purposefully cutting the bickering off before it could spread, “What a mess. It'll take a while to move all this rubble...”

Sten's voice sounded as stern and level as always, as if pounds over pounds of deadly rock hadn't just come close to sealing them all into an unmarked tomb.

“Not if the Golem puts her back to it.”

“The Golem has a name,” Shale drily reminded, “not that it cares much for it.”

Oh, they were all alive and well alright. Alistair would have managed in a quip of his own, but Aedan urgently cut him off.

“Don't!” he shouted, “Don't try to dig through. We don't know how sound the tunnel is, displacing the rubble could bring it all down again.”

A sullen silence followed that realization, and Aedan wiped a hand down his face, grimacing and blinking away the dust best he could.

“Walk back to the crossroads and wait for us there,” he instructed, “We'll find a way around.”

“Are you sure?” Wynne asked, “You might get lost.”

Aedan glanced Alistair's way, who returned an uncertain wince. He remembered the way, sort of? They were leaving a Thaig, and he was pretty certain there had been more than one tunnel connecting it to the main Deep Road. If they managed to find one such way, they could meet with the rest of their party there. Granted they found it too, of course. And made it there safely. Given where they were, and in what sort of company, that was everything but guaranteed.

Overall, not much of a sound bet, but the only bet they had, nonetheless.

“We'll be fine.” Aedan said, managing to sound sure of it, somehow, “Hurry back, now, and stick together. It's dangerous to linger here.”

“Very well,” Zevran said, “But don't be too long.”

He had to keep his voice raised to be heard through the collapse, but Alistair still heard it soften as he added:

“Or I'll have to come look for you.”

The light was growing too dim for Alistair to discern the exact expression on Aedan's face from where he stood, but the hint of a smile was easy to hear in his reply.

“Understood.”

Slowly, the rustle of footsteps and Dog's worried barks subdued, leaving behind only silence, and Alistair knelt down to recover their torch. Ever so carefully, he picked it up, making sure to hold it angled just so it would keep burning best it could. Which wasn't well, but still a lot better than not at all.

“I don't like them alone,” Aedan said, quieter now that they were the only two left, and without a mount of rock to shout over, “They can't sense them coming.”

Aedan often confessed things to him as such, Alistair had noticed. Low, when it was just the two of them, out of reach of the others' ears. Granted, it was rarely under such extreme circumstances, but it had happened more than once. Worries. Questions. Doubts he wouldn't share with the others.  

For the life of him, Alistair couldn't understand why Aedan would want to do that with him, who so rarely had a smart answer to supply.

“Even if they don't, there's more than enough of them to hold against Spawn, should any show,” Alistair still tried, doing his best to sound reassuring, “They'll be fine. They can handle themselves.”

After a moment, Aedan sighed.

“You're right,” he said, a sentence that Alistair only wished he could say as well about himself, and with as much conviction, at least once in his life.

The torch finally recovered some health, making it safer for Alistair to hold it straight. Without the flame of the others' beacons, though, and the eerie glow of Shale's crystals and Morrigan's and Wynne's staves, the light didn't reach to much more than a few arms around them.

After it, there was pitch black, total darkness. Alistair tore his gaze from it to focus it on Aedan instead, who had come closer. Much closer, actually. The bubble of light was faint and tight enough around them that if they wanted to see clearly, they had no choice but to practically brush shoulders under it. Alistair could count the specks of dust caught in Aedan's lashes, as the man rustled beside him, still blinking out dirt as he tightened a loosened fastenings on his belt.

“Bloody Void,” Aedan muttered under-breath, “I hate this place.”

Despite the circumstances, and having to refrain the urge to brush away the small rocks he could see stuck in Aedan's curls, Alistair couldn't help but scoff.

“You steal the words right out of my mouth,” he said.

Mouth which was still full of dust, he realised, and grimaced at the unpleasant taste and crunch of dirt under his teeth. Luckily they had some water with them, and Alistair reached for it. They would be wise to save it, just in case, but a sip to wash the taste away couldn't hurt.

“Good thinking,” Aedan said, grateful for the offered flask.

They sipped in silence. Slowly but steadily, the weight of the situation was starting to fall on Alistair's mind, an uncomfortable blanket, clinging to his shoulder like a wet cloak: Maker, but this could have been it. They could have died, right there and then, crushed by the mountain in less then the blink of an eye. It was a miracle they hadn't, really.

“It could have ended like that,” Aedan said, as if reading his mind.

His look was to the distance, his voice quiet.

“The lot of us, under rubble.”

Alistair swallowed hard. His ears still rang from the noise of the collapse, he realized. In the silence, the high-pitched whistle felt painfully loud. Despite the torch, the darkness around them seemed to inch closer.

That would have been the last thing they saw, wouldn't it? Darkness, and then nothing but more of it. And then nothing at all, eventually.

“Yes,” was all he found in him to say, “It could have.”

Shaking himself, Aedan breathed in deep, and landed a hard pat on Alistair's back. He even managed to throw him a hint of his usual grin, which gleamed fleetingly in the flickering light of the torch.

“But it hasn't,” he said firmly, “So let's keep at it.”

Adjusting the shield on his back and the sword to his side, he started in the direction they had come from.

“Come on, let's hurry around,” he said, walking off at his brisk pace, “We're not much safer here ourselves.”

Walking off. Into darkness. Just a few steps away from Alistair, and the wall of shadow had already started to swallow Aedan away, licking past his shoulder like the surface of deep, dangerous waters.

“Don't!”

Alistair had moved before even realizing it, and his voice had rung far too loud in the enclosed space of the corridor. He winced, embarrassed.

“Stay close,” he said, quieter.

His hand had grabbed Aedan's forearm, without him meaning for it to do so, but rather than letting go like he should have, Alistair tightened his hold instead.

“I can barely feel you on most days,” he whispered, “so with this all Corruption around us...If you wander off, or if this torch goes out, I might not be able to find you anymore.”

And that terrifies me, he thought, but did not say aloud. All at once the idea of that dense, cold shadow engulfing Aedan and leaving the both of them wandering, alone and lost, in those cursed tunnels, had sent shivers down Alistair's back that even shame wouldn't let him hold back.

“Right,” Aedan said, “Of course.”

Alistair fully expected him to step back, but instead, he raised his armored hand, and firmly landed it on Alistair's.

“Let's stick together,” he agreed, “It's safer this way.”

Alistair could only nod back.

Soon the small, dark tunnel would give in to a larger corridor. The faint gleam of deep mushrooms, exposed lyrium veins, as well as a a few surface rays, expertly-guided to the Thaig's hall by the Dwarves' engineering, would allow them to see clear enough to let go of each other and walk normally side by side.

But as they did, and even, much later on, as they finally joined back with the rest of their party, Alistair could not shake from his head - just like he couldn't shake the ringing from his ears - the firm touch of Aedan's hand holding his back.

[friday-ocean]

Summary: Happy Birthday Captain America! 101 years is a very special number. How better to celebrate than with a wonderful old tradition?

Pairing: Steve Rogers & Female! Reader

Warnings: alcohol, smut (handjob), some strange tradition

Words: 3722

A/N: More details about this tradition can be found at the end of this text.

I'm glad about every comment! Wish you all a lovely day!

 ~~~*~~~

Steve Rogers 101 - Birthday party should take place only in very small, private circle. Only the closest friends, good drinks and plenty of food.

To Steve's surprise Tony even followed his wish. Or more likely, Pepper had simply stopped any major organization. After all, Big Boss always had the last word.

With a whiskey in his hand, Steve lets his gaze glide over the small group. The mood is relaxed, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves and enjoying the company of the others. Natasha, Maria and Wanda get excited about the last escapade of Tony, who stands in between annoyed and tries to clarify his point of view. Obviously only Peter seems to be interested in his views... Pepper, Sam, Vision and Clint discussed the last "accident" in the training room, while Bruce and Bucky keep the birthday boy company at the bar.

 Thoughtfully Steve pulls his eyebrown together. Did he miss you? At the beginning of the celebration you congratulated him like the others. For a hug you had to stand on your toes despite high heels to wrap your tender arms around his neck.

Steve couldn't tell if he had pressed you closer to his body or if you had snuggled up to him yourself. One thing, however, Steve had become aware of at that moment: under the red summer dress with the cheeky white dots, you definitely didn't have a bra on. Your curves pressed themselves warmly and softly against his firm upper body and your very own, distinctive scent of honey and sandalwood drew him directly into your spell.

Steve clears his throat and tries to concentrate on his friends again. In the last weeks he caught himself more and more often as his thoughts circled around you.

 As if on cue, the door opens and you come into the living room with a broad grin. With you inside you bring a huge bouquet of white balloons floating in a funny mountain above your head.

"Surprise! Time for Steve's birthday present," you call and tie the balloons to the back of a chair.

 The whole group curiously joins you as you stand next to Steve. From their amazed faces Steve can guess that you haven't initiated anyone into your whimsical plan.

"Dear Steve", you begin and grin at the man at your side with the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. "To become 101 years old is a rarity and we have to celebrate it today. Above all, we must celebrate you especially! An approving murmur goes through the room.

"So how could you do this better than at the same time honouring your person and worrying for a little fun?

Cheeky smiling you look up at Steve, who feels more and more uncomfortable in the center of all attention.

 "So I came up with a game. It's based on an old tradition from my village. I only had to modify it a little so that it would suit your age," you winked and clopped him on his muscular upper arm. The sudden physical touch briefly stretches his muscles.

"In each of the balloons there is a piece of paper with a task or question. You must stab the balloons one after the other with a dart and complete the task or answer the question. The fun of the whole game is that if you fail you have to drink a schnapps. If, on the other hand, you complete the task, we'll have to drink a schnapps."

 Laughing, Steve takes the dart you give him from your hand. "What kind of strange place are you from?"

You shrug your shoulders and position Steve about five meters away from the balloons. "I forgot one thing. If the balloon doesn't burst because you miss or the arrow bounces off, you'll have to drink one too, of course."

With a smile Steve raises his arm with the arrow. Normally, he wouldn't voluntarily take part in any drinking game. But you're so cute about the whole situation that he just can't say 'no'.

 Steve throws the first arrow and hits one of the balloons, which bursts with a loud 'Peng'. Blue, silver and red glittering confetti trickles to the ground along with a small folded piece of paper.

"Hit!", you cheer and pick up the piece of paper.

 "If you were a vampire, which one of us would you bite now?" you ask and point to the round.

"What a stupid question", Sam shouts.

An evil look on your part and Sam quickly pulls back. "I mean... The answer is clear! He would bite me. After all, my blood is as sweet as chocolate.

Dramatically you twist your eyes, but you can't hold back a grin. "Steve should answer!

The person addressed looks around the room. "I'd probably... Actually start with Sam and then suck each one of you... one after the other?"

"With your appetite we'd have to let the whole New York Yankees team come..." Tony laughs and Pepper agrees.

"Anyway - passed! Time for the booze," you're happy.

 Quickly you run into the adjacent kitchen and open the large refrigerator. In the morning you secretly deposited several bottles of schnapps in the fridge and placed small glasses of schnapps on a tray. With the bottle under your arm and the tray in both hands, you return to the living room. Natascha takes great pleasure in filling every single glass with the clear liquid.

You squeeze a glass into the hands of everyone present, turn to Steve and solemnly say "Cheers!" before you put your head up your neck and drink the liquor to your ex. The cool liquid burns sharply in your throat, but it is not an unpleasant burning. To be honest, it's not the first alcohol of the day for you either. You were so nervous that you drank at least two glasses of prosecco and one whiskey at the beginning of the celebrations. A warm feeling of serenity crawls slowly from your belly up into your already glowing cheeks.

 "Next arrow," Maria asks and Steve obeys. The next throw hits again, the balloon bursts and the note and confetti flutter to the ground.

This time Sam picks it up. "Oh. That's good. This will be fun!

Feixend he lifts the note up and announces: "Time for a date! Make-up for the man to your right!"

The whole group bursts into loud laughter, only Steve and his right neighbour don't. Clint has literally dropped every nasty comment from his face. How unfair! He just stood next to Steve two minutes ago!

 "Well Clint... Unfortunately you have no choice..."

A chair is quickly pulled up and Clint is pressed onto the chair by Sam and Bucky with some physical effort. While Clint is still complaining, you get the hidden lipstick from the big bookshelf.

"The color is called 'Velvet Kiss' and promises to look good on everyone," you try to reassure Clint, more or less. Steve takes the lipstick, pulls off the cap and turns the coloured pencil a little. It's a warm, rich red shade. It's a real waste for him to now have to apply this gorgeous colour to his friend's lips. How gorgeous would that shade look to you? Full, red lips that invite you to caress, kiss and how irresistibly seductive they could take care of him...?

 A grunt tears Steve out of his hypnosis. Sam and Bucky had still successfully pinned Clint to the chair.

"Clint... Really. I'm sorry," Steve tries to lenience his friend.

He grunts again: "Who cares? Make finally, so that I can drink the bottle liquor."

"You have to open your mouth a little to make it easier for Steve", Natasha stands right next to the two gentlemen and has her mobile phone in her hand. A shot for eternity. Slowly Clint opens his tightly squeezed lips and Steve takes a step towards him. To stabilize Clint's head a little he presses his flat hand on his forehead, whereupon Clint places his head a little bit in the back of his neck.

 Steve timidly presses the pen against Clint's lower lip and leads him along it. He needs a little more pressure and the pen slides along the lower lip - his upper lip follows at the same time. Astonished, you stand close to Steve and admire his work: "Fuck... I could have imagined that an artist like you wouldn't have any problems with a colored pencil..."

The rest of the troops agree with you too. Steve's work is almost perfect: the paint is applied evenly and the contours are flawless. Clint now has a mouth that invites you to kiss.

 "That means schnapps for all of us," you announce and go straight around with the tray. Clint, offended, takes two glasses directly and drinks them off immediately. Another schnapps for you, which you drink with relish - the distilling had meanwhile completely receded.

If Steve continues to play so well, you'll have to drink the whole bottle yourself...

Another arrow and Steve hits again, of course. You could have saved yourself the regulation in case of failure. Super Solider can simply shine everything - even in drinking games.

 Bruce picks up the note, but before he reads it, he asks, "May I wish I had a task? I've always wanted to see Steve dance a thriller!"

Surprised, you stare at the otherwise quiet man. But before you can enthusiastically agree, the actual main character speaks up: "What is a thriller dance?

"Thriller! The song by Michael Jackson", you explain and Bruce nods enthusiastically.

"To everyone's surprise, Bruce raises his arms to a huge claw, first takes three steps to the right, then stamps on and takes three steps in the opposite direction again.

Bruce notices that Steve still doesn't understand what he is talking about: "Well. Never mind. It was just an idea..."

He suddenly finds his little dance interlude incredibly embarrassing. With a bright red head he finally unfolds the piece of paper and reads: "Luck in the game! If you roll the biggest number, you'll get seven minutes in heaven!"

 Stunned laughter shakes the room.

"Seven minutes in heaven? Do you want to lock one of us in his room with him", Wanda asks and lets the gaze wander back and forth between you, Steve and Vision.

"Not in a room... In a closet," you explain to Wanda and wink at her.

"Somewhere I had also hidden a cube ... ", you say and run the large buffet searching off.

"Do you mean this one?? asks Pepper and holds the find in the height. "I wondered why there was a cube between the appetizers."

"I really should have thought of a better hiding place," you confess with a smile. "But then you can roll first, Pepper!"

 "Wait a minute," Tony interrupts you immediately. "Exception for all those who are in a relationship! They won't join in!"

"Don't be a spoilsport," Sam shouts.

"We all have to pay our dues," Clint agrees, a little out of tune. In the meantime he had given up removing the red lipstick. The stuff was actually waterproof! Only Natasha seems to be happy about it. If only he could already know what his red lips can do to her...

 "Exactly! Don't be a spoilsport, Tony!" With a very provocative look Pepper throws the dice. Clattering he remains lying on the tile and shows two black eyes.

Almost disappointed, Pepper looks down at the cube. But she really never has luck in the game...

Triumphantly, Tony takes the Cube.

"Don't rejoice too soon, Tony. Better make sure you don't throw the six," says Bucky with a laugh.

Only now does he really seem to be aware of the danger of having to spend seven minutes in heaven with the famous Captain America.

He throws, the dice rolls and to everyone's disappointment only a skinny three remains.

 The rest of the team rolls the dice one after the other and it only gets exciting for a moment when Vision throws a five. The last one is you. The cube jumps on the ground three times before six black dots remain. The whole team rejoices enthusiastically and relieved.

Playfully moaning, you accept your defeat: "Great! And at the next round of poker I'll only draw rivets again!"

 In Steve's face a slight blush slowly spreads. Will he actually spend seven minutes in heaven with you now?

Even before he can question the whole action, you grab his big hand and pull him behind you, accompanied by shouts from your friends.

 Quickly you lead Steve to the end of the corridor to the small chamber where brooms, towels and all kinds of small stuff are stuffed. Without hesitating to pay attention to Steve, you push the big man into the small chamber. After you have also entered, you close the door and immediately it becomes pitch dark.

Heat crawls up Steve's neck as you press your body against his.

 "Listen', he whispers, 'we don't have to do all this here. Let's just go out again and I'll drink the booze."

A giggle rises from your throat. "Of course you would lose voluntarily. But I love to win...", your voice is nothing more than a smoky whisper. To prove your determination you put your hands on his chest. Steve's instinctive reaction is to dodge backwards, but his back directly hits the closet wall no escape possible.

"Relax..." you breathe and your hands move further up until you can put them in his neck. Carefully you exert a little pressure and finally Steve gives way and lowers his head.

 Slowly his eyes get used to the darkness. His gaze wanders from your glowing eyes, over your little nose down to your exciting lips. These wonderful lips...

Gently place your lips on his, open them and gently stroke the tip of your tongue over his. Steve's breath falters briefly before putting his big hands on your hips. Finally Steve also opens his lips, his tongue finds yours.

You stroke his neck with your hand, feel the short, shaved hair first, then the first longer strands.

 Steve presses your body closer to himself, lets you feel the heat of his strong body. Should you dare?

You release your hand from his neck and let it wander down his long arm to his belt. Test your finger between his hip and the waistband. Steves draws in the air sharply and says against your lips: "Sweetness... What are you up to?

Instead of saying something, you just giggle at his lips.

Your other hand follows the first and with skillful fingers you open the belt. Steve could at that moment say what he wanted, protest or even ask you to stop, his body expresses the complete opposite.

While one hand of Steve remains on your back, his other glides down to your ass. To your disappointment, however, it just stays there quietly.

 With both hands you pull down Steve's pants together with his boxer shorts. To your surprise, Steve's limb was already aroused, Präejakulat glittered on the top. Steve holds his breath as you put your warm hand on his shaft. Your thumb circles its tip, spreading its prejaculate along its length. Fascinated you can feel every protruding vein.

"Sweet..." Steve's voice breaks and you form a fist around his shaft.

Slowly and evenly you start to pump. As soon as you grasp Steve more strongly, he can't prevent moaning anymore. Smiling, you press your face to his neck - inhaling his very own scent of wood and chocolate, mixed with the heavy scent of his masculinity.

 Steve puts his head back to the cupboard, his breath is heavy and fast. His big hand strokes over your buttocks, first over your dress, until he raises his skirt and slides his hand under it. He pays special attention to the depression between your two buttocks.

Goosebumps are spreading on your body, along with an undeniable heat between your own legs.

 You pump faster and faster and Steve's best piece gets even harder. Steve is noticeably tightening his abdominal muscles, moaning again with his eyes closed.

"Baby, please, stop... I'm coming..."

Instead of answering him, you kiss his neck and grab it a little harder.

Pump it a few more times and Steve's tension will unload into your hand.

"Jesus..." Steve mumbles, his breath still fast and irregular.

 A loud hammering at the door makes you both startle - Steve really jerks together.

"Don't worry, I've locked the door," you whisper to Steve and wink. He breathes a sigh of relief, a blissful smile on his lips.

"Time is up," Sam warbles.

"Come out, come out," Clint joins in the sing-song.

"Don't you want to give the birthday boy a few more minutes," you ask through the door. Your hand still lies on Steve's half erect limb. You don't just want to give Steve a few more minutes, you want to give yourself!

"No chance," Clint shouts.

 "All right...", you give in. "Can Steve at least put his pants back on in peace?"

Shocked, Steve stares at you. Did you just have to tell that seriously?

"Of course... He can also take the time to do his hair and refresh his make-up..." Clint and Sam burst out laughing loudly.

"Should we give Steve a quick cold bath?" Clint and Sam seem to have a real pleasure raising Steve.

Apparently both guys assume that there can't have been much more between you two than a nice conversation in a small room.

 Steve had meanwhile pulled up his boxer shorts and pants and closed his belt. But the pants are still tight and the boxer shorts fabric feels uncomfortably rough on his still sensitive best friend.

Meanwhile, you wiped your hands on a towel and then put the towel to dirty laundry.

When Steve opens the door, he's surprised to see that you're not even looking at the wild ride. Your lips were still glowing in a soft pink without looking smudged or worn. Probably your lipstick was just as waterproof as Clint's.

 On the way back to the living room Steve notices for the first time that your gait is not as straight as usual. Slowly you start to notice the alcohol.

Why Steve notices it right now, he can't say for himself. Is it because this time you're walking a few steps in front of him, or because he's consistently looking at your perfect butt?

 Grinning, the small group stands in the living room and greets you.

"Come to Daddy..." says Sam and puts his arm around your shoulder. "Now tell me what you've done to Steve that he follows you so obediently..."

With innocent eyes you look up at him.

"When I want to confess, get on your knees in front of someone else...", you ram towards him. Stiff as a stick, he takes his arm off your shoulder again and stifls any further comment.

Heavens, you had pepper stuck in your sweet ass today...

 "Steve's done another job! Time for our schnapps," you're happy and take the schnapps bottle.

"Oh...", disappointed you have to realize, however, that only a small sediment is left. "No problem. I've cold-set another bottle."

You run straight towards the kitchen, but whether it's due to alcohol or speed, you suddenly break. But before you hit the ground roughly, Steve already stands behind you and wraps his strong arms around your hip.

"Not so fast, little one..." Steve's warm breath hits your ear and a shiver runs down your back.

 Only able to nod, you try to squirm out of his arms and stand alone again. But your legs cannot be convinced to carry you further.

"How about taking a short break," Steve asks lovingly and pushes you a little closer.

You shake your head sulking: "No. Let's go on. That's your gift!

Another attempt on your part to free yourself from his arms. In vain.

"Come, I'll put you to bed..."

Before you can argue, Steve lifts you up and carries you to your bedroom.

 Carefully Steve lays you down on your bed. But it doesn't look that cozy lying there in your summer dress and shoes. Steve just can't get your dress off without explicit consent. Instead he is content with your high heels. The red summer dress might have been innocent and cute, but not the black high heels.

Tentatively Steve sits down on your bed, next to your feet. Gently he takes your right foot in his hand. He gently strokes along the long side of the foot, admiring the high heel nestling against your foot. The long heel gives your foot this wonderful curved shape. He slowly strokes his thumb over the strap until he reaches the clasp. Sighing, he opens it and pulls the shoe off your foot. Lovingly he also turns to the second high heel. He must admit to himself that really every part of your body fascinates him almost to despair.

 Steve takes the blanket from the foot of the bed and covers you with it. With a grunt in agreement you wrap yourself in the soft blanket, turn on your stomach and bury your face in the pillow.

Smiling, Steve looks at your sleeping face. After a felt eternity he can finally turn away from you.

 But before he can get up from your bed, you suddenly whisper: "Steve?

"Yes?", carefully he strokes the confused hair from your face.

"Will you take me to heaven for another seven minutes?" you mumble into your pillow.

Steve briefly thinks about whether he really understood you correctly. Your drunken self seemed to have finally taken the upper hand.

But when Steve doesn't answer, you turn your head. Fearfully you fix the tall blonde on your bed. Have you gone too far in the closet? Have you finally confused him? Scared? Shaken?

 Finally Steve notices your sad, anxious look. He quickly bends over your face. It cannot be denied that your breath smells of alcohol. But under the poisonous note he could recognize your own familiar smell.

With the tip of his nose he gently stroked your cheek - his warm breath tickled and goose bumps spread all over your body.

 "Anytime again..."

 ~ Fin ~

 Note: The tradition is based on an actual tradition from Germany. On the 25th birthday, unmarried people receive a wreath of boxes (women) or socks (men) from their friends. The rest is identical. Tasks, drinking, making a fool of oneself... I got my wreath almost exactly 2 years ago.

[damienthepious]

lizard kiss time thank you

The Rite of Movement (Chapter 2)

[Ch 1] [ao3] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters:  Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep, Original Monster Character(s), Sir Marc, Sir Talfryn, Sir Angelo, Quanyii, Sir Caroline

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Engagement, Post-Canon, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Poetry, Presents, Monster Customs, Dancing

Fic Summary: Arum has a surprising revelation about his own feelings, and then decides to take matters into his own claws since his humans don’t seem to realize what they are denying themselves.

Chapter Summary: A conversation over breakfast. Hashing out the details, as it were.

Notes: Sorry for the long delay between chapters, I don't have as much of a well-defined plot for this one as I did for Reckoning, so Reckoning took precedence until it was done. Hopefully, this story will just keep going until we hit the actual wedding. Will I be able to actually WRITE said wedding, as an unmarried enby who hasn't been to a wedding since I was maybe eight years old? WE SHALL SEE.]

It isn’t until the next morning that Rilla remembers to question the technicalities, and Damien starts to worry again in the general sense.

“It’s one thing to be engaged,” Rilla says gently as Damien scoops out scrambled eggs and a vegetable hash onto their plates for breakfast. “There’s no law against engagement, regardless of how many people are involved or whether any of them happen to be monsters. But actually getting married… I don’t know if there’s a priest in the world who would-”

“I told you not to worry about what is possible, Amaryllis,” Arum says, voice warm and content and a little bit smug. “You are thinking too small. A human priest? Admittedly, you would be hard pressed to find one amenable to our situation. But your world is larger than just the realm of humanity now, is it not?”

“You are suggesting a- a monster priest?” Damien says, his voice lilting up in disbelief as he sets the skillet back on the counter and comes to join them at the table.

“Probably not a priest as you would recognize. But- there are monsters who oversee such ceremonies.” When they stare at him, doubtful, he scoffs, but he’s still smiling. “What, did you think that committing to each other was a strictly human desire? Not every monster wishes to, and some who desire commitment simply decide that they are married without the pomp and circumstance. But still others have a fondness for attention, ritual, the involvement of friends and rivals and underlings- you understand my meaning.”

“It wouldn’t matter that there are three of us?” Damien asks curiously. “I know that two in unity is a very human concept, but-”

“Monster unions are often complex, and often even more complex than three. Sometimes unions are more practical than romantic, sometimes they are mergers of families, sometimes a commitment of monsters will fall out of love and hold an extravagant ceremony of parting. Three instead of two in the human way is an unchallenging thought, honeysuckle. There is only one rule, for monsters.”

“And marrying you off to a couple of humans…” Rilla trails off.

Arum shrugs. “I know one or two powerful monsters who live far from the Citadel, who hold no specific grudge towards humanity, and if I asked them to oversee the ceremony for me… I think I could convince them.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I… may have already opened a correspondence or two… to test the waters.”

“Wow,” Rilla says. “You’ve really been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“… yes,” Arum admits, his tail curling around her ankle gently. “Yes I have.”

“A monster wedding,” Damien murmurs. “Saints, how my life has changed…”

“Does the idea bother you?” Arum asks, tone carefully blank.

“Once upon a time it would have,” he says with a wry smile. “Now I’m merely considering how to go about telling Sir Angelo about this without him accidentally revealing to the entire Citadel the event we are planning.”

“Oh, damn,” Rilla says with a sigh. “Working out the invitations for this is going to be interesting, huh?”

Arum gives a long-suffering sigh. “Marrying a knight, I suppose I shall have to endure a limited number of other knights in attendance,” he grouses. “I shall not be inviting many guests myself. The Keep shall be my most important witness.”

The Keep gives a joyous trill at that, and Arum hides a smile as he takes a bite of his food.

“Hm.” Rilla taps her fork against her plate absently. “Angelo obviously, and Tal and Marc and Dampierre…” she sighs. “We can’t invite Sir Caroline, even if we did kind of reach an understanding. She’ll still walk in and behead the monster that’s supposed to marry us in a heartbeat, no doubt. And I would invite Quanyii, but I have no idea how to get in touch with her, and, well-”

“You think she’ll start asking for my thumbs again, Amaryllis?”

“Oh hush, I was desperate and I never promised anything.” She pauses. “But I really don’t want her to bring it up again, yeah.”

“I am amused that you should wish such a chaotic creature attend our ceremony at all,” Arum says with a laugh.

“She was instrumental in the saving of our Citadel,” Damien muses. “I’m sure if we are determined, we can find a way to contact her.”

“Maybe,” Rilla says. “Either way, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves a bit. Saints… I can’t believe we’re going to have to plan a wedding. I had resigned myself to perpetual engagement, to be honest.”

“It can be done however you want it to be, Amaryllis,” Arum reminds her, trying not to sound too eager. “You need not adhere to any human traditions that you do not find appealing. And the Keep will help make any arrangements with the space that we need, of course.”

“Will we hold the actual ceremony outside?” Rilla asks, tilting her head. “I don’t imagine that you would want any knights and critters running around the inside of the Keep at will, wedding or no.”

“I had-” Arum pauses. “I hadn’t thought of that. I had been imagining-” a new song filling the greenhouse, hopeful and content instead of yearning, this time. Arum clears his throat, continues, “imagining it in the greenhouse. But outside, yes, I suppose that makes more sense-”

“The greenhouse,” Rilla sighs. “It is the most incredible room in the Keep, I think.”

The Keep sings a soft pleased note at that, and Arum scowls but does not mean it in the least.

“And we could have the Keep seal it off,” Damien suggests, “and only have the guests come in through portals, limit access to the rest of the structure, if only to keep things simple and contained…”

“Yes,” Arum says, fiercely glad that they appear as enthusiastic about the idea as he is. “Yes, I think that will work quite well.”

“How soon were you thinking that we would hold the actual- ceremony?” Rilla asks, watching with amusement as Arum clenches and unclenches his fists, not meeting her eyes.

“I… a month, perhaps?” he suggests, his heart thudding, not sure if that time frame is at all reasonable by human standards. “Small ceremony, shouldn’t require too much planning, just- need to see if our ‘priest’ is willing, make sure those we want will be able to attend- and-” he sighs. “I am due to molt soon, and I had wanted to wait until after that unpleasantness for this.”

“M-molt?” Damien asks, voice tilting up.

“Lizard,” Rilla chimes, and Arum scowls.

“I am a magical construct-”

“Who just so happens to closely resemble a bunch of lizards and shares many biological similarities with them,” Rilla says with a shrug and a grin. “You haven’t noticed, Damien? The Keep’s been trying to keep him all moisturized and cared for, but poor Arum’s scales have been all dry and pale lately.”

“It isn’t exactly a pleasant process,” Arum grouses.

“But I bet you’ll look pretty incredible when it’s over.” She pauses, eying him. “Shiny new husband,” she muses, mostly to watch the way his posture freezes, the way his eyes go wide, and then narrow.

“Shameless tormentor,” he mutters, fondly, leaning so he can nudge an arm against hers. “So. After I molt at least.”

“Let’s wait until we hear from your monster officiant, and when we know they’ll be available we can start inviting the rest of the little group.”

“You are being remarkably quiet, honeysuckle,” Arum says after a moment, and Rilla feigns a wince.

“Oh, don’t get him started,” she teases.

“It’s only-” Damien laughs, possibly at himself. “I’m so happy,” he says wonderingly. “It’s quite overwhelming, actually. Distracting, even- I keep thinking about-” he glances towards Arum, then gives another pleased little laugh. “I keep half expecting to wake from a dream. This seemed impossible only a day ago, and yet-”

“The impossible is my business, honeysuckle,” Arum says mildly.

“I am overwhelmed by my love for the both of you,” he says, and Rilla smiles and sighs and reaches out to grip his wrist.

“You know we love you too,” she says gently. “No need to get worked up this early in the morning. Besides, you might wanna start saving up your speeches for the wedding itself, don’t you think?”

“I am going to preemptively set a time limit on any speechifying or poetry-reading during the ceremony,” Arum barks quickly.

“At the reception, then,” Rilla concedes with a smile.

“The what?”

Rilla blinks, then bursts out laughing. “Okay- I am asking this completely seriously, I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Have you ever actually been to a wedding, Arum?”

“Of-” he snaps his mouth shut, his snout wrinkling in irritation. “I-” he bares his teeth, and then his shoulders sink in defeat. “Of course not. When would I have ever? Who do you think would have invited me?”

Damien is making a face like he’s about to declare that he would, of course, he would invite Arum anywhere, for the rest of his life, anywhere and everywhere, all the most beautiful places- but Rilla steers the conversation before the poet can make Arum any more uncomfortable.

“It’s not a big deal, Arum. I just- didn’t want there to be any big surprises for you if you didn’t know what to expect. Usually after the whole actual ceremony, there’s a reception. A party, really. With food, and dancing, presents, and stuff like that. We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to, though.”

“… dancing?” Arum echoes.

“Dancing,” Damien agrees in a dreamy tone, his head tilted and eyes looking somewhere distant.

“I… enjoy…” Arum pauses, frill flaring enough to reveal his embarrassment. “I enjoy dancing,” he says quietly, and then he coughs and sticks his nose in the air just a bit. “Of course, I’m sure your human dancing customs are just like all of your other customs: rigid and ridiculous and if you put one claw out of line someone will mock you for it.”

Damien, affronted, opens his mouth to retort, but Rilla gets there first with a laugh.

“Some dancing is like that,” she admits. “But obviously if you wouldn’t like that sort of lock-step, organized dancing, we just wouldn’t do it. I mean, I don’t really like that kind of dancing either, so that’s fine with me.”

Damien ducks his head slightly, almost pouting, but then he sighs and admits, “Most of that choreography is designed for… groupings of two, anyway.”

Arum wrinkles his nose. “Ugh. So invariably dull. You creatures cannot even cavort without putting restraints on every little step and turn.”

Damien frowns in earnest, now. “You don’t seem to mind terribly the restraint on my every little step and turn when I go through my exercises each morning, when you so often conveniently happen to be nearby and observing.”

“I-” Arum’s eyes dart to the side in a way that fails entirely to be stealthy. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I mean, I do,” Rilla says with a shrug. “Watching Damien stretch is my favorite part of my morning routine, just barely beating out coffee.”

Arum laughs. “Fine, fine. I suppose restraint can have its place.”

“What I’m getting from this is that you do want to dance, though,” Rilla says slyly.

“Dancing, food,” he deflects with a shrug, “none of that sounds… disagreeable.”

“How coy your phrasing,” Damien says, voice lilting. “Who would have suspected that a monster could be so very meek about the simple matter of a dance?”

“Meek,” Arum growls. He clearly knows that Damien is goading him, but he narrows his eyes and stands regardless. “I will show you meek, little knight. Keep?”

The Keep sings, then, but not in the usual way, not in its harmonious vagueness, but with rhythm and purpose. A full song, not a phrase of notes. Arum lifts Damien out of his chair with a hand on each side of his waist, and the movement glides easily into a waltzing turn. Arum is substantially taller than Damien, and Damien is less used to following than he is to leading, but he adjusts quickly with a laugh on his breath as Arum guides him through a series of steps that manage to be both unpredictable and elegant at the same time. Monstrous, but controlled. He turns Damien in a tight circle, and his movements to the music are measured and slow compared to his typical blurring speed. Finally he dips the knight back, leaning in close to nip at his jaw as if he just can’t help himself, and when that startles a more enthusiastic laugh out of Damien, Arum pulls him back to stand again, looking equal parts smug and smitten.

“Wedding ceremony planning, version two, entry one,” Rilla chimes into her recorder with a grin, and both of her breathless fiances pause to look at her. “Dancing at the reception is non-negotiable.”

[cordytriestowrite]

Thank You

Loki x Reader

One Shot

This is for @welcome-to-fangirl-hell and their Reader Insert Writing Challenge

Character A gives Character B a present to say “Thank you.”

The lights were too bright in the Avengers HQ for the late hour. Even with your eyes closed you could not avoid the harsh florescent light permeating through the thin skin of your eyelids. Your head leaned awkwardly against the back of your chair, the headrest not quite centered to cradle your skull in a comforting way. Your neck already ached with the strain of your long mission, and you could feel your head begin to pound in your exhaustion. Your hand ran hopefully down your thigh, wishing for the familiar lump of your phone to interrupt the smooth path of your palm, but you had left it at home.

Home is where you wanted to be, all snuggled up in a clean set of pajamas under your blankets. You would put on a familiar and funny tv program and fall asleep to the tune of the end credits. Sadly, home was too far to drive for your overworked body to guarantee your safety. You opted to stay in the headquarters for the night, along with a few others on your team, but before you could collapse on a random bed and leave the world of consciousness you had to shower.

When the newest Avengers HQ was designed you had not yet been part of the team. If you had been you would have suggested the addition of more than two showers in the whole building. Comfort was not the intended use of the facility, despite it often being used to house the team after a late night mission or temporary shelter for those of you who wandered.

From your seat you could see the doors of both bathrooms containing the only shower units in the building. There had been a race to get to the bathrooms first, some members of the team faster than others due to unfair advantages like super soldier serum and divinity. So while Steve and Thor enjoyed hot water washing off their dirt caked skin and warming their tired bones the rest of you remained dirty and sore and regretfully awake. You had opted for one of the uncomfortable chairs closer to the bathroom instead of joining the others in the quaint waiting-room-turned-living-room, using your unpleasant seat as means of staying awake long enough to be the next to wash away the grime of a hard won fight.

A gentle cough pulled your eyes open and toward the source of the sound. Approaching somewhat hesitantly was Loki. You smiled cumbersomely, your brain struggling to keep your eyes opened and your mouth upturned. Loki smiled back, tension fleeing his face. He strode closer toward you, his hands clenched behind him keeping his shoulders square and spine upright. Your eyes took in the god, just as disheveled as you were, his leather armor marred with dirt and blood. Despite the unsightly state of his clothes his face and hair maintained a regal elegance you discovered only he could possess despite the carnage he created in battle. The muscles around your mouth twitched, trying to sum up the energy it would take to express the fondness you felt at seeing Loki's long black hair curl and twist in defiance of its masters efforts to appear composed.

Loki moved close enough to make staring up at him from your chair awkward and you rose to better meet his eyeline. You stared quizzically as you observed Loki's behavior. His hands remained behind his back, head down slightly to prevent your eyes from meeting, his jaw clenched and unclenched making it look like he was trying to find words and coming up empty.

"Loki?" You said in question, curiosity outliving your patience. It seemed to be enough to snap him out of his reverie. His eyes met yours with steely determination though his lower lip was still clutched between his teeth in apprehension. His arms snaked their way out from behind his back and came back together in front of him between you. You looked down to his large open hands and the offering they held.

"What is this?" You thought out loud quite stupidly. You could see what it was and it did not warrant a question.

"A gift." Loki replied bluntly. Your eyes flicked up from his hands just in time to see the nervous bob of his adams apple in his long pale throat.

"You're giving me a knife?" You asked plainly. Maybe you were too tired to get it, to exhausted to understand the gesture. You picked it up, fingertips grazing Loki's calloused palm as they wrapped around the handle. His hands fell to his sides once you had accepted the weapon with a sure grip. The fingertips of your other hand danced along the bottom of its sheath.

"A dagger actually." He corrected. Gingerly his hands came to wrap around yours, the feeling of his delicate touch entirely foreign on your skin. They rested against you for a moment, as if testing the boundaries. Whether these boundaries were set by you or him you weren't entirely sure. When his fingers began to move yours they were firm and assured. Slowly he used your hand to pull the dagger from its sheath.

The blade was long and clean, not one that appeared to be used by Loki frequently. It shimmered in the harsh florescent overhead bulbs as Loki rocked your hand this way and that to catch the light on every sharp edge and flat expanse of the blade. Small markings made themselves known to you the longer you looked, swirling in a language you didn't understand.

"This is Eir." Loki explained, his eyes far away in retrospection. His face held the smallest of smiles as he watched the the blade move gently within your cradled hands.

"You named your dagger?" You joked lightly letting a small chuckle escape. You had watched Thor rush into the bathroom not even ten minutes earlier still clutching Mjolnir. You had become well versed with the god's custom of naming things that held value or use. Loki's eyes met yours briefly in amusement.

"It was a gift to my mother on her joining day to Odin made by brothers Brokkr and Sindri. Its imbued with magic meant to protect the owner and guide their hand." You hadn't noticed until Loki had said it, but there was an unexplored thrum pulsating beneath your fingers that warmed the length of your arm and spread tranquility through your chest.

It was a beautiful dagger, balanced and sharp and obviously full of not only sorcery but adoration and memories and love. You frowned shaking your head rapidly back and forth.

"Loki, I cant accept this. It was your mother's-" you thrust the blade back into its sheath, pushing it flat against Loki's abdomen.

"Please, I want you to have it. You've done so much for me." He countered holding the dagger in one hand between your bodies while his other hand remained enclosed over yours, clasped tight in desperation.

"I haven't done anything! I-I can't acce-" You exclaimed almost in hysterics. You couldn't think of anything you had done at any point in your life to warrent such a priceless family heirloom and you couldn't figure out how to make Loki understand that he would come to regret giving away Eir.

"You sit next to me when others keep their distance," Loki's voice drowned out your frantic declination, "you listen to me when others ignore my words, you ensure I am included while the others prefer to keep me out. You are the only one who makes me feel wanted here. Please, accept Eir and let it protect you in times I cannot." He pushed the dagger into your free hand and this time you accepted it, your mind reeling with Loki's confession.

"T-thank you, Loki." You squeezed his hand and stepped closer, awe inspired by his words. The hand still holding the sheathed weapon wrapped around his middle to rest gently on his back. You tilted your chin and set your lips against his soft, clean cheek. You sent appreciation through your fingertips into his spine, understanding into the palm flush with yours, and fondness like a fountain flowed from your lips onto his face. You hoped everything you wished to send to Loki was received through the points at which you connected. Exhausted now of physical, mental, and emotional stamina you let your lips and hands fall as you stepped back to a respectable distance.

The steady sound of running water that had been the background noise of your conversation had ceased and with a tired smile you bent down and collected your overnight bag, tucking Eir snuggly between your towel and pajama pants.

"Thanks again, Loki. Goodnight." You whispered, afraid if you said it any louder you would break the moment that settled between you. He nodded, mouthing the words back and maneuvering his hands back behind him.

You turned, bag in hand, and slipped past a freshly showered Thor into the now free bathroom. The door shut gently behind you, the click of the lock and the sound of the spray drowning out the world beyond.

On the other side of the door Thor smirked widely at his brother, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Loki rolled his eyes and mirrored his stance, spreading his feet and squaring his shoulders in an unspoken challenge.

"Don't say a word." Loki drawled, untangling one arm to hold up an admonishing finger Thor had grown immune to after centuries of kinship.

"I didn't say anything." Thor responded teasingly. The second bathroom's door opened reveal Rogers rubbing a towel along his wet tresses. The two brothers stalked toward each other Thor brushing Loki's shoulder with his own as he sauntered down the hall to bed. His smirk only widened when he heard the bathroom door slam shut behind Loki.

Permanent tag list is open! @just-add-butter @instantnoodlese @bluebriid @bambamwolf87 @iabigailgarcia @dyanlzbb @sebstanhun @thoughtfullhuman @sbluehi @fanfictionrecommendations-com

[theinquisitivej]

A Quartet of Reviews: Missing Link, Pet Semetary, Shazam!, and Hellboy (2019)

Missing Link

As the technical accomplishments and detailed beauty of Laika’s stop-motion films are part of the reason I’ve chosen to study stop-motion animation for my current academic research, you’ll forgive me if I approach their fifth film with some bias. Plus, box office numbers suggest that a lot more people really should be seeing these, so the more voices there are singing Laika’s praises the better, frankly.

         Missing Link is notably ambitious in that it strives to deliver an action adventure in the vein of Around the World in 80 Days or The Mummy (the Brendan Fraser one, not the “DARK UNIVERSE” one- yes, that did happen, and it is hard to remember), with multiple thrilling and complex action sequences, all in stop-motion. Given the labour-intensive nature of stop-motion and the limitations you’d typically expect of a medium that’s executed through real models that have a weight and substance to them that makes them less flexibly fluid than cel or digital animation, stories with an emphasis on dynamic action aren’t what you’d typically expect when it comes to stop-motion. And yet Laika demonstrate their full commitment to making Missing Link an energetic blockbuster through impressive choreography and painstakingly realised action set-pieces. While the charming characters and light-hearted tone help you stay engaged with the narrative, you’ll be constantly taken back by the seamless merging of traditional methods and modern technology in the animation which makes you sit up and take notice as you wonder how they managed to put together each scene. The best use of digital effects are the times where you’re not entirely certain it’s even there, and Laika’s approach to this modern tool definitely fits in that category.

         The film never quite reaches a point of emotional intensity that leaves me completely floored, as some of Laika’s previous films have managed to do. I didn’t walk away from the film remembering a moment where a character’s vulnerabilities are laid bare or a difficult but essential lesson is imparted in the most brutally earnest way. So, when compared against ParaNorman or Kubo and the Two Strings, Missing Link left less emotional impact on me. Having said that, the film still conveys numerous themes effectively through key story beats and striking visuals, with its central thesis being the importance of learning empathy towards others, and that you shouldn’t seek validation from close-minded proponents of outdated and toxic principles. As such, through a combination of entertaining characters with likable personality, an emphasis on globetrotting action, its refreshingly positive outlook, and tremendous animation on both the large and the small-scale across the board, Missing Link is a delightful adventure that you should make a point of seeing.

Final Ranking: Silver.

Boasting charm, an infectious sense of humour, and perhaps the best action I’ve seen in a stop-motion film, Missing Link absolutely meets the standard of quality that you’d expect from a Laika production.

 Pet Semetary

As many other people discussing this film have noted, Pet Semetary is a Stephen King story that’s notable for being so bleak that even Stephen King felt it was too dark. He hesitated to submit it for publishing for three years, only submitting it when he needed to meet a deadline for a contract. In the subsequent years, King has been critical of the “nothing matters” mentality of the story. With that in mind, as well as the knowledge that several people I follow whose opinions on film I trust were not fond of it, I was prepared for the possibility that I wouldn't enjoy it, but nevertheless open to the film surprising me. After all, Stephen King is a consistently entertaining storyteller, and I’m always interested to see how people adapt his work. For a while, things seemed okay enough. Then it started to drag around the middle, and then it took a hard, fast, ugly turn, descending into the most distasteful experience I’ve had in a cinema this year.

         As that summary indicates, the set-up is intriguing enough. A family move into a new home, and there are little signs that things aren’t quite right around here, as well as the telltale indications of a traumatic past that have left some of the characters with residual hang-ups that they will inevitably be forced to confront, and the tantalising promise of something unnatural on the horizon that will draw our protagonists in as they descend into horror. It’s competent ground laying work, and apart from the horrifying past of one of the character’s being uncomfortably demonising of the sick, and a lack of a distinctive visual style for the film to call its own, I didn’t have many serious issues with the first third or so.

         Once you approach the middle portion of the film, things start to feel protracted. Even if you haven’t seen a trailer or heard the gist of this story and have a decent idea about the trajectory of its narrative, there comes a point where you start to know exactly where things are heading. Discussions of death and what may or may not come afterwards, repeated reminders of how dangerous and unexpected high-speed vehicles on the road outside their house can be, and allusions to some unknowable force that can make impossible things happen which the father of this family absolutely must not approach are all dots that anyone familiar with the phrase “monkey’s paw” can join together with little difficulty. Without an engaging dynamic between characters (a la IT), a self-aware bizarreness that results in humour, or a notable visual style, there’s little to keep you going as you wait for pieces to very, very slowly fall into place.

         And the final act is just awful. It spits course language and nihilistic vitriol with little substance or point to its depictions of pain, misery, and spitefulness other than to wallow in this negativity with nothing else to say. Actors start to abandon any semblance of understated nuance in favour of ham-fisted bluntness, cursing out characters with an intensity that doesn’t feel earned as they clumsily fight against them in a way that lacks any sense of climactic satisfaction, and, because your investment in these characters rapidly drains with each new questionable decision and unlikable action, there’s no tension to these encounters either. There are numerous instances where the actors will do their best to deliver lines of dialogue that try to be shocking or wryly dark, but the material is so poorly thought out that it awkwardly misses the mark in both categories. It’s especially galling as the film spent so much time and effort on getting to this conclusion that it was trying to amp up as this big, horrifying finale that will shake you, when instead it’s just underwhelming and unpleasant without any purpose to itself. I was wishing for it to end, and yet when the credits began to roll, I couldn’t help but ask “wait, is that it?” It’s a limp ending with little meaning that leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

Final Ranking: Cardboard.

Pet Semetary’s first act offers some potential, but that’s all it is: potential. The middle act spends so long getting to where it needs to be and where the audience knows it’s going that, by the time it gets there, it spends what little time it has left on cruel, structureless nihilism without taking any ownership for the unpleasant material it lays down at your feet.

 Shazam!

The DC movies are in a great place right now. I’ve yet to see James Wan’s Aquaman, but from the abundance of positive things I hear about it, as well as the profound impact Patty Jenkins’ Wonder Woman had on audiences, James Gunn and a whole lot of appealing casting choices being attached to the next Suicide Squad film, and the great feelings I have about the energy that the Birds of Prey teaser indicated, I’m very optimistic about the future of DC films. Now that Shazam! has released and proved to be a positively uplifting delight, my outlook on this series is cheerier than ever!

         Hm? What about that Joaquin Phoenix Joker movie? Well... my feelings towards that are… complicated. I’ll save my thoughts on it for another time, but suffice to say, I think the film has the potential to be great, but I worry about the way it will be received, and that the worst crowd will embrace it and take the wrong lessons from it.

         Anyway, for the here and now, Shazam is a refreshing blend of joyous levity and unexpected intensity. The film offers endearing comedy with teens and pre-teens acting like excited kids who enjoy doing dopey things but can still come across as insightful and having an emotional heart to them that makes you happy to spend time with them. But it’s never saccharine and, through a fleshed out script and a cast of sharp young actors and actresses, there’s a clear sense of authenticity which makes these adolescent characters seem grounded and well-observed. Something I appreciated is that, whenever the film goes into background details of the history of magic in this world, grandiose prophecies of mystical destinies, or the villain going into his sinister plans, it’s usually being talked about by grown adults who are taking themselves way too seriously. The best exemplar of this is Mark Strong who plays the villain, Dr. Sivana, with an intensity that deliberately comes across as hammy, and the young characters within the film pick up on this and play off him in a way that deflates his bluster and points out how ridiculous he’s being. As a result, the tone of Shazam! feels like it’s poking good-natured fun at prior DC projects and other big budget action blockbusters where stone faced adults spout clichéd speeches without any sense of self-awareness. It’s an approach that points out how some modes of behaviour that are often associated with maturity and being an adult are actually quite childish when you take a step back. As a superhero film that focuses on the experience of being the age where you’re young enough that you still enjoy being a kid, but old enough that you want to call adults out on their bullshit, Shazam! is impressively realised and fun as hell.

         But for as light-hearted as it can be, Shazam! nevertheless surprises you with the occasional brutal sequence that catches you off guard with such rapidity that I found it relatively shocking. It’s not so detailed, gory, or explicit enough that I’d say it goes too far, but it’s worth bearing in mind before you show it to a particularly young and impressionable viewer. The benefit of these sequences is that the unexpected escalation accentuates how in over his head Billy is when he eventually comes across a situation that’s genuinely dangerous, as, despite his newfound powers, he is still a kid, and he really shouldn’t be facing this kind of thing. Indeed, the film demonstrates an impressive grasp of and dedication towards themes of maturity as Billy faces difficult truths about something he thought he wanted and realises he’s been looking in the wrong place for what he actually craves, as well as develops into a more responsible version of himself that opens up to being part of a group built on mutual trust. There’s a cleverly subtle visual indication of the progress Billy has made by the end of the film where he remembers to lower his head as he walks through a door while in his superpowered adult form. One of the first things Billy does when he first transforms is hit his head on a train door to show how unused he is to this new body. The simple act of Billy seeing the doorframe and lowering his head as he steps through without any hesitation near the end of the film signifies the control Billy has developed over himself and his own actions, making his journey of maturation resonate that much more with me. The impact of shocking dark turns and the firm, confident grasp the film has on its cohesive themes of maturation and finding your place in life elevates Shazam! from a fun time to an uplifting and refreshing story that I think people are going to really enjoy for a long while.

Final Ranking: Silver.

Energetic, full of character, and with a strongly executed theme of maturation, Shazam! is highly recommended. It is perhaps a little longer than it needs to be, which results in the latter parts of the middle section feeling a little drawn out. Having said that, the finale sends a jolt of electricity through you that makes you forget any objections you might have and remember all the positive qualities that make this film so likable.

 Hellboy (2019)

Oof… why did I decide to end this collection of reviews on Hellboy (2019) and write this after three other sections? Sigh… okay, let’s get this over with.

It would be insincere of me to say I'm the most impassioned proponent of the Guillermo del Toro Hellboy films. I found them memorable and atmospheric, and you could certainly feel the characteristic flair from the many people that put their artistic touch on those films to create something unique that marked them out from other comicbook movies, which is especially impressive in the mid-2000s, pre Iron Man era. But after going through the slog that is Hellboy (2019), I think I’m more appreciative than ever of what del Toro and his team managed to achieve.

         For a while, it seemed like this new R-rated version of Hellboy was angling for a more faithful adaptation of the original books by Mike Mignola, given the various interviews that were had about it over the years. Sadly, the final result feels like the result of too many outside influences dictating what the film should feature, culminating in a hodgepodge of a film which regurgitates character beats from the del Toro films, and rapidly stitches together a half-hearted attempt at a King Arthur narrative to fill in the requisite new material (this is your regular reminder to check out The Kid Who Would Be King, a much better modern reinterpretation of Arthurian lore). The presentation is dour, unenthusiastic, and lacks any atmosphere or personality, and that is something you could never accuse either the Mignola books or the del Toro films of lacking. In the whole film, there are only two sequences that stand out, namely the fight with the three giants and the rampage of the hell creatures in London. Even so, the former is a relatively meaningless sequence that contributes very little to the narrative and lifts right out of the film, while the latter is so sadistic and mean spirited that it made me genuinely uncomfortable. It falls flat as both an adaptation of a beloved fictional series that’s brimming with atmosphere, and as a piece of technical filmmaking as well.

         On top of that, when the tone and general philosophy of the film does emerge out from under the rest of the film’s mediocrity, it reveals itself to be genuinely unpleasant. The film opens with narration that rushes through the backstory with Nimue and the Arthurian set-up and does so with foul-mouthed irreverence. There is a bit of humour to someone casually tossing in the odd bit of shitty language as they tell you about ancient history that should be discussed with pomp and circumstance but is instead being discussed with ill-fitting coarseness. However, there needs to be some personality to go along with it, otherwise it’s implied that the swearing is the character and all that’s there to it. In the case of this opening narration, Ian McShane emphasises each fucking swearword and it becomes clear that the dialogue is using this as a crutch in an effort to make the film seem like it has an identity as this edgy superhero movie that’s different because it swears. It’s a juvenile approach that is laughable when you consider how effortless Ryan Reynolds’ delivery in each Deadpool movie has been, which demonstrates how swearing can be used to accentuate genuinely funny jokes and characters, rather acting as the joke in and of itself.

         And this isn’t even the most egregious part of the film either, it’s simply a bad first impression. The worst aspect of the film’s outlook is how virtually every character espouses the notion that you should stop complaining, stop letting things get to or affect you, and stop taking time to process things. This is especially saddening when Hellboy’s father, a character that was played with wonderful vulnerability and heart-aching humanity by the late great John Hurt, tells Hellboy to “grow some balls” and get on with things, making the emotional culmination of their time together on screen essentially boil down to ‘quit your bitching’. Characters in Hellboy (2019) show next to no empathy towards one another, and they continually reinforce the story’s outlook which, whether inadvertently or not, nevertheless encourages a state of being where you never have time to be open or vulnerable with the people around you. It’s profoundly disheartening to watch, and gives little to no thematic or visual sustenance to get you through a runtime that feels far too long.

Final Ranking: Manure.

David Harbour does an admirable job in the lead role and I was happy to at least have a protagonist in this film that captures the gruff sadness and down-to-earth affability of the character of Hellboy. But he’s drowning in limiting makeup and an even more stifling movie that has no visual flair and a boring, miserable narrative. The experience of watching this movie is draining and deflating, and I hope to never revisit it.