#its only an illusion of choice when one of them is so much better than the others

[foxstens]

just beat my first boss. i kinda hate how unbalanced the weapons are

[centrally-unplanned]

The thing about morality is that it only matters when it's real. Discussions of rules or norms for what is right or wrong are almost always, at some level, illusions, approximating reality and guiding decisions in an uncertain world - which does not make them useless, just contextual. Profaning god in your bedroom can never be “wrong” - there is no one to hear you, no one to be hurt by it. You can only show something is really wrong from the intentions of the actions and their results.

So with that out of the way, lets talk about Knives Chau - and specifically, how the comic vs the anime handled that part of the story.

Scott Pilgrim vs The Reification of Dating a High Schooler

There is an extremely pervasive meme in Scott Pilgrim discourse that our titular Scott is a scumbag. Our returning whipping boy the Kotaku article loves this idea, describing Scott’s “detestable behavior” and wondering “was it too subtle the first time about Scott being an absolute shitbag?”. There is this viral headline screenshot from an interview floating around right now riding that same line:

Which is, of course, pretty much false. Its up to you in the end, “shitbag” is a subjective description, but the story just isn’t about events that would be described that way. Its the story of a guy getting over an awful ex, hurting some people, then meeting a new person, and realizing step-by-step what it takes to be their partner and levelling up as a person each time he does. He starts off broken, and Ramona of course is just as broken - getting better is their mutual arc. And its fundamentally about relationship drama - those stakes don’t make you a scumbag lol, just clueless, unless you are terminally online and don’t know what real stakes are.

I will let O’Malley get the last word in with his quote the writer of that interview is hilariously trying to torture into his headline:

There's a bit of, like, young people see Scott Pilgrim a certain way, and, you know, there's a lot of, like, 18-19-year-old fans that are really judgmental of the character. They're like, "Oh, he's a bad person. I would never do that." But I always tell them, like, get back to me when you're 25 or 30, tell me how your 20s went. Were you a bad person? Everyone has to make choices and do things in life that maybe they're not going to be proud of later.

Scott is a scumbag the way everyone is - you yourself will likely commit similar sins; that at least seems to be the authorial intent, and I agree with it.

So how does dating Knives Chau slot into this?

Despite the memes, age, in fact, is just a number - two consenting people dating does not a sin make. The reason dating underage people is bad is because of its consequences, not the categorical imperative. So what are the consequences of dating Knives Chau in the comic?

Knives is, as a consequence of dating a guy who is simply via his age able to appear so much cooler than her peers to her, absolutely obsessed with Scott. She worships his band:

She starts aping his taste in music and interests; she slots herself into his circle of friends, who don’t relate to her, even after their breakup (often drinking her way through it):

She totally spirals after he cheats on her and leaves her, blaming everyone but him; she is wounded and hurt for months, a year, over a relationship that lasted weeks:

Knives Chau is a literal poster child for why you should not date a high schooler. She is, at every turn, emotionally not ready to date someone who is not at her own level of social development, and is deeply affected by it. It is, sometimes, played for laughs - that is the nature of the comic, everything is played for laughs, but I would have given it a bit more dramatic space myself - but over the course of the story Scott himself realizes how much of an ass he was to her, and how he didn’t take what happened seriously.

The reason I view this with charity is what Scott did to lead to this - he met a cute girl on the bus! He was deeply hurt and kind of numb in life, and found someone who was safe and easy to talk to. He never attempts to kiss her (she starts trying to kiss him which he repeatedly rejects) they don’t even hold hands, and it lasted a few weeks. He knew deep down, pretty much immediately, it was fake:

Then he met an actual person he liked, and with some browbeating from Wallace agreed to break up with her, but chickened out for a day. Then the next day he decides to break up with her, and she drops the L bomb before he can, so he instantly ends it. It is really awkward for everyone involved.

Pushing off an awkward and uncomfortable conversation resulting from a dumb decision you made on a whim for a week - god I relate to that, that’s everyone! If you think it isn’t you I think you're lying. Its why this relationship is so interesting in the comic - Scott is always one step removed from it, putting it at abeyance, and the fact that something so minor to him is so destructive to her is a really good portrait of how these kinds of things happen. Its so easy to hurt someone when you don’t even know what the stakes are, and when its coming not from malice, but from weakness. Its a very good portrayal of a bad relationship because its bad in a relatable way, even if as a story is a bit more dramatic than is typical. And its a great portrayal of how fraught age gaps can be - this bad relationship is part of what makes the comic a good story.

But its 2023, we don’t give a shit about any of that anymore!

O’Malley in the same interview discusses the cultural shift around these kind of relationships:

I felt like in this day and age, I had to provide clarity on that [relationship]. Because when I wrote the first books, I took it for granted that people would understand that dating a high schooler was a bad thing. But on the internet, in this day and age, people are like, "He's dating a high schooler. That's terrible!" Like, that's pretty much what I say on page 1 of the book. But I try to spell it out a little bit more this time.

He isn’t telling the full story though - it was bad in 2004, but not bad the way it is today. Its dubiousness was mitigated by its frequency; people were doing this kind of shit all the time. Scott Pilgrim is a bass guitarist in an indie band; fucking groupies is like built into the cover charge. Half the problem Scott has in dating Knives is that she is the wrong kind of 17-year-old - had Scott met her at 1 am in the aftermath of a Born Ruffian’s concert at the Whippet Lounge knocking down shots off the back of her fake ID, no one would have even noticed. Hell, no one does notice; there is someone who actually makes out with a drunk 17-year-old Knives Chau in the comic Scott Pilgrim, and isn’t Scott Pilgrim:

No one cares about Kim’s inebriated petting session here; that is 10% because she is a Girl and Girls Can’t Be Predators, 40% because she isn’t the main character, and 50% because Kim Pine’s dating history is not a useful proxy battleground for GamerGate-adjacent nerd culture wars in ~2014; but that is road that goes directly to hell, so let's veer back.

The point, of course, is that in 2004 this is a crime flecked with normality, something your friend would do and you would maybe just cock an eyebrow at:

Its not that in discourse today - it is radically more condemned. It is not a contextual sin, but an original sin. It underwent a process I am calling reification - where it goes from being just a shifting descriptor of reality, to a thing in itself, with a defined (reified) meaning. And to be clear, that is in a lot ways on net a good thing? The reality is that, despite everyone’s protestations, there are today thousands of 17-year-olds taking the L line out to a gig at the Brooklyn Steel and going down on a 25-year-old guy they just met in a back alley off Frost St who swears he’s a “drummer in a sick new band” that played here “just last week”, he promises, and she is having a great time, bragging to her friends about how hot his tattoo was, and then shipping herself off to Cornell next year to start on her pre-med track with barely a memory. But for every dozen of those, there is at least one person who is deeply, deeply hurt, a Knives Chau who never deserved this. The rest can have a slightly worse time, its probably worth it.

That does not make it a categorical imperative, though - the reification has masked that truth. The crime comes from the context - those other girls aren’t victims, they would laugh at you for suggesting they were. But in 2023, Scott Pilgrim Takes Off is no longer concerned with context. It is telling you, right to your face, that Scott is a bad dude. Over and over and over - jokes from the Evil League about “wow, I thought we were evil”, its not subtle.

Yet meanwhile, Knives Chau is, like, fine? She dates Scott, is totally into him, and then literally in the middle of his funeral forgets about him for Envy crashing it:

Picks up the bass and has yuri-inflected playtime with Kim the literal next day:

And less than a week later is pitching an off-broadway musical adaption of Scott’s life to a billionaire Matthew Patel - I can’t explain that okay, I’m as confused as you are.

She is mad at Scott, sure, but she is over it in a matter of days. Hell, notice how she was already a fan of the Clash at Demonhead now? There is no scene of Scott introducing her to his kind of music. He didn’t change her. By the end she is a member of his band and they are totally chill:

This is, again, about a week or two later.

Knives is not an important character in this show, way less than in the original, this is no grand sin. But I still find it very interesting: O’Malley is wrong. He “spells it out” way less in this version when it comes to the actual consequences of Scott’s actions. Everyone’s verbal condemnations are substitutes to replace the real damage his actions dealt in the comic. Scott is a better person this time, in a world that has universally agreed he is worse (still not a good move ofc). Even Scott’s moment of apology to Knives about their dating is so tepid its almost Straussian:

Its ‘frowned upon’…which is not the same thing as saying it was wrong! I don’t think this is intentional, its just funny, but its a nice capstone nevertheless.

And it had to be this way, not just for media in general, but for Scott Pilgrim in particular. Not only are sexual crimes far more reified today, but Scott Pilgrim’s sin of dating a high schooler is reified as well - its the first piece of discourse everyone encounters about it. Its the ur-debate of the franchise. The idea of actively engaging on this point, and digging deeper into it…its too hot, too controversial. Way better to shy away from it, disown it. The discourse wrote this part of the script over the course of a decade; its not something the creatives had any say in.

Honestly they should have just gone all the way - just make Knives 19. Then how tepid it is wouldn’t be a distraction anymore. Scott can just be an asshole for cheating on her, that would work fine. If you aren’t going to commit to the reality of these things, you shouldn’t bother with it at all.

[finalvortex]

Completely overanalysing Shadow Generations: Dark Beginnings Episode 1

The opening is a deliberate parallel to the scene leading into Maria's death (images taken here from Shadow '05, although this scene is also in SA2). If you're paying attention you can immediately tell it's a fakeout, though: there's no alarm blaring, the lighting is blue rather than red, and Maria is pulling Shadow along instead of the other way around.

It's the aurora borealis. You can only see them from certain latitudes down there, but up here, we can see the whole...

Maria's a nerd.

Shadow is immediately prepared to catch Maria when she collapses.

The low gravity here only keeps your condition in remission. You should know better than to exert yourself.

This is new information I think? I don't think this makes scientific sense but I guess it provides a justification for why Maria is up here aboard the ARK beyond 'that's where the research is being done'. Only, the ARK was a space colony, there were other civilians aboard it as well, like the future GUN commander.

I can't wait for the day when we can finally return. I was created here. I don't know if there's a place for me on Earth.

I just wanted to highlight this exchange as significant to Shadow's overall character arc across his history, being one where he has carved out a place for himself on earth.

Love the way Maria comforts shadow here.

You and grandfather are doing your best. I'm just as happy to spend time with you here, while you both research-

I think this is just awkward wording, but surely Shadow isn't doing any researching?

My boyyyy

Hull breach in the experimental weapons wing! Multiple subjects are free of containment!

Multiple subjects? Given the events of Lost Impact, things are just escaping from here all the time, huh.

Here's the entries on this incident from Gerald's journal in Sonic Battle:

The higher ups are threatening to shut down this research facility. I had no choice but to hand them the Gizoid to buy more time for my research. I tried to be careful and commanded it to never absorb any dangerous technologies. However, I have heard that other researchers have been making the Gizoid absorb weapons. Apparently, the way to cause the Gizoid to form a new "Link" is to show it power that surpasses that of its former master. While this poses immense danger, I cannot risk losing Maria.

My worst fears have come true. The Gizoid has absorbed enough weaponry and technology that it has started to go out of control. The resulting rampage resulted in the destruction of most of the "Ark." ... I have deciphered the rest of the stone tablet. It says, "When the Gizoid had learned all that it could, it became a god of wrath, and all was destroyed." The researchers somehow managed to subdue the Gizoid and sealed it away.

That robot was heading towards Grandfather's lab! Shadow, you have to save him!

Why was Emerl - uh, well, I guess Project Gizoid at this point - headed directly for Gerald? If he was overloaded with power, like at the end of Sonic Battle, he should just be destroying things indiscriminately, right? So... was this a deliberate ploy by GUN to get rid of Gerald?

Maria grabbing Shadow's hand breaks the illusion briefly and triggers a trauma-induced flashback (forward?) to the GUN soldier shooting her. Compare with the actual scene from Shadow '05:

Again, why is Emerl specifically targeting Gerald here?

Not much to say about the fight scene aside from the fact that it's really well animated, and it happens with no background music to emphasize the weight of the blows being thrown. It's also really cool how Emerl copies Shadow's spin attack - you don't need to know how the Gizoid functions for that to be a cool visual, but it's a nice nod if you do.

Ok this is really confusing me. Is there any mention of GUN having a space fleet anywhere? Where did these things come from? They don't even share the same aesthetic as other GUN vehicles, they look more like the Egg Fleet.

Nice look at Shadow's Air Shoes from below the glass floor.

Next Shadow lands into Gerald's cell on Prison Island, which raises the question: why is this in Shadow's memories? Is this just his memory of the recording from SA2? Or was Shadow not put on ice until after Gerald's execution? We know it wasn't immediately after the ARK was destroyed, since he was around long enough for Gerald to alter his memories.

There is a bit of static distortion here, with an analog effect that implies it might just be the video.

On the other hand, we actually get these very brief flashes of Gerald's execution here, which we don't see in SA2 itself.

The professor gets farther and farther away from Shadow. He can no longer reach him.

Shadow then falls into a red sky, with bits of debris floating all around him, reflecting the final battle against Devil Doom in Shadow '05.

Interestingly, this scene is mixing imagery from both Gerald and Maria's deaths. The image of the GUN soldiers is the firing line that killed Gerald, and the sound of the lightning turns into automatic gunfire, as opposed to the single pistol shot that killed Maria.

Finally, Shadow falls into the giant face and outstretched hands of Black Doom.

Waking up from his nightmare in a panic, Shadow uses that damn fourth chaos emerald* to Chaos Spear this unfortunate tree.

*Okay, the fourth chaos emerald was the white one.

The moon looks so good.

Shadow stands in a field surrounded by lilies, a flower which can be used to symbolise purity as well as death, and is a flower commonly used at funerals. In particular, they are often placed on the graves of children.

That was no mere nightmare. And it all began in view of the ARK. Could he have survived? No, that can't be. I need answers.

Shadow seems to think the sight of the ARK is what triggered this nightmare. I think the only 'he' that makes sense here is Black Doom, since Gerald and Emerl are both pretty definitively dead.

Based on the trailer, I think from here Shadow is going to collect Team Dark to raid an Eggman base so they can obtain a rocket to get up to the ARK.

The song that plays over the credits is a remix of Throw it All Away. I have no idea why it shows footage of the biolizard fight, beyond "this is the Sonic Adventure 2 focused episode".

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (9)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: A shocking call has Spencer questioning her involvement in the case. wc: 3.7k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

MASTERLIST

SPENCER COULDN'T REMEMBER THE LAST TIME HE FELT AT PEACE. Although protecting people and making them safe gave him a certain comfort, the pressure of being involved in harrowing cases took a toll on him more than he expected. But amid the ongoing investigation, he felt rather...calm.

He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly the reason why, between his responsibilities and obligations, he found himself embraced by this unexpected peace. It certainly had to do with the woman still nestled in his bed as he now stood in his kitchen, contemplating whether she preferred drinking coffee or perhaps something sweeter to start her day.

He couldn't believe it. He never imagined himself debating on another person's choice of beverage. Yet here he was, making a new pot of fresh coffee and setting out another mug to prepare a nice, warm cup of hot chocolate because its rich sweetness reminded him of her. If he didn't know which one she preferred between the two, he was going to make both.

He let out a sigh. He was a fool, wasn't he? Spencer was never one to indulge himself in romance. It wasn't easy for him to get swept away by any potential relationships. Falling in love again seemed like an illusion for him, something so far out of his reach. It seemed impossible to find someone he genuinely liked after losing the only person he ever considered spending the rest of his life with.

But look at him now, falling for somebody he met less than two weeks ago. For a smart person with an IQ of 187, he certainly was a fool.

Although having to know her for a mere fraction of time, Spencer had never fathomed that he could harbor such feelings. Having her soft body pressed against his side let him understand how much her presence stirred his heart.

And it wasn't just the physical aspect. The night wasn't simply spent with the warm feeling of her bare skin, but it was also filled with her laughter. Their late-night conversations delved into the realms of dreams and vulnerabilities, effortlessly bridging the gap between two strangers. With each passing conversation, he discovered the captivating intricacies of her mind which he wanted to understand better.

He liked her. He really did.

Maybe after all this ordeal, after he could disclose this current case, he could ask her out on a proper date. When there was no more boundary between them, when he wasn't an authority and she wasn't someone linked to a case, he would finally enjoy her company without feeling guilty.

He was pouring the fresh pot of coffee into a mug when his phone suddenly rang. He let out a groan, knowing what was waiting for him as he noticed Garcia's name plastered on the screen.

"Hey, Garcia," he greeted, slipping his phone between his face and his shoulder. "New update?"

"Reid."

He froze, noticing the strain in her voice. He quickly stopped what he was doing and straightened himself, pressing his phone against his ear. "What's wrong?"

"Are you sitting down?"

"Uh—no." He frowned at her question. "Why?"

"You might want to sit down."

He didn't, of course. But his mind was already buzzing with curiosity. "What is it?"

"Reid," she whispered, her voice dropping low as if trying to keep quiet. "You're the first person I called which means nobody else knows about this...yet."

"Garcia," he probed, suddenly feeling anxious. "What is it?"

There was a shuffling at the end of the line before her voice filled his ear again.

"Okay, so I crossed references that could help me find any articles Jamison Lynch wrote that might involve Kevin Marshall, and it turns out, there are none. Nothing. Nada." There was an unsettling pause before she continued, "Although there is one article mentioning Mr. Marshall by a journalist, who as of now, is an active employee at the publishing firm Jamison worked at. Guess who it is?"

He clutched the phone tighter as a tumultuous mix of emotions churned in his gut. In that moment, time seemed to stretch, waiting for his response. He paused, his mind spiraling into a web of confusion and disbelief as he pieced together the verity of this call.

"I'm guessing by your silence you already know why I wanted to call you first."

He did. He knew why it was important for Garcia to be informing him before anyone else. His eyes then glanced towards his bedroom door. Gone was the peaceful bliss he had felt, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. Confusion suddenly swirled within him, clouding his thoughts and casting shadows upon the woman who still lay peacefully on the other side of the wall.

The warmth he relished this morning was now replaced by a chill of uncertainty that seeped into his veins.

"What—" He suddenly cleared his throat, hating how his voice sounded so foreign to him. He took a deep breath. "What else did you find?"

"I did more sleuthing and found Y/n's name as one of the people who filed a complaint against Jamison—which meant nothing, really, since he was known as a complete douchebag." Garcia then stopped. "May he rest in peace."

"Is there anything else?"

"Well, as it turns out, Jamison Lynch wasn't the first person Y/n filed a complaint for. There was also a complaint against Mr. Marshall."

"I thought Kevin Marshall was clean?"

"He was until I hacked into his company's database system and found this single complaint sent by her, which by the looks of it, seemed to be buried under a lot of firewalls." The clicking sound of a keyboard played in the background. "It was as if the company he worked for, or even Mr. Marshall himself, tried to hide it."

His burrows furrowed. "What was the complaint for?"

"Sexual Harassment."

His heart pounded in his chest, a fiery rage suddenly coursing through his body. The revelation he had just uncovered struck him like a thunderbolt, leaving him torn between seething anger and a torrent of conflicting emotions. The person he came to like had once suffered the unimaginable—a vile act of assault perpetrated by the man who now lay lifeless, a victim of murder.

Yet beneath the simmering rage, doubt festered like a poisonous seed. He was suddenly questioning the nature of her involvement. Not only did she know one of the victims, but she was also acquainted with both of them. His thoughts churned, torn between the desire to dismiss this uncertainty and the nagging voice of suspicion that echoed in the depths of his mind.

"Reid," Garcia called out when she was met with silence. "I don't what this means. I don't understand how or why she's linked between these two victims but please, please, don't do anything stupid."

His eyes drew back to his bedroom. Even when he was stuck between the depths of his emotions, the rational part of his brain managed to turn its gear. "Garcia, I need you to find out whether she knew the third victim."

"You mean the suicidal case that doesn't seem like suicide?"

"Harvey Webb," he confirmed, the name printed in his brain.

"Alright, I will. Oh—and Reid?" He hummed a reply. "Don't act on impulse. Please don't go concluding stuff on your own when you're obviously involved with her."

"I..." He took a deep breath. "I'm not involved with her."

"You're telling me you asked for her address and you didn't do anything about it?" When he didn't respond, she clicked her tongue. "Exactly. Now listen, I need to go and tell the others this, so come by the office and we'll deal with it together, okay?"

He glanced towards the cup of coffee now sitting cold by the counter. "Thanks, Garcia."

"You're welcome, boy genius."

As the phone call ended, Spencer found himself adrift in a sea of swirling emotions. This information was a step further into the investigation now that he found a link between the victims. But as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, a cloud of doubt descended upon his thoughts.

The deeper he delved into the complexities of the situation, the more elusive the truth became. Was it really possible she had anything to do with the murder? Could the trauma she had endured have pushed her to take matters into her own hands?

The questions lingered like a toxic fog, polluting his mind.

"Good morning."

Spencer looked up to see Y/n padding across the room wearing nothing but his shirt. The way the material draped over her form accentuated her curves, holding an allure that was impossible to ignore. His eyes traced the lines of her body, from the tousled strands of her hair to the subtle curve of her hip. It was an intimate sight that would have once mesmerized him completely.

But his mind was too clouded with his doubt.

"I hope you don't mind me borrowing your shirt—" She stopped when her eyes fell on him. "What's wrong? Is it the shirt?" She looked down at herself. "Should I change out of it?"

As quickly as the enchantment had taken hold, the weight of his doubts resurfaced. At that moment, the air crackled with unspoken words, an invisible barrier separating them. Spencer's heart ached with the weight of uncertainty.

How could the woman he had fallen for potentially be connected to a heinous crime? It seemed inconceivable, yet the voice at the back of his head urged him to question his doubt.

"Why didn't you tell me you knew Kevin Marshall?"

The unexpected question startled her, her feet instinctively taking a step back. "What?"

"When I questioned you that day, why didn't you mention that you knew him?"

She studied him, wondering where this was suddenly coming from. "I didn't think it was important," she finally responded. "And technically, I didn't know him personally. I interviewed him once for work."

"What happened that day?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you interviewed him, what happened?"

She felt his gaze upon her, intense and penetrating, and a shiver ran down her spine. It was as though he had glimpsed into the depths of her soul, unraveling something not many people were aware of.

"You know." It was more of a statement rather than a question. She took another step back. "Nobody else knows except a few of my closest friends but—" She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. What matters is how you know. I don't even think that company kept the files, they practically ignored my complaint."

"They kept it," he mused.

"And how do you know this?"

"The technical analyst in our team managed to find your files hidden."

"Technical analyst—why were you even searching for it?" She crossed her arms across her chest, focusing her attention on him. "Answer me. Why was your technical analyst searching for my complaint?"

Her heart was pounding against her chest as she waited for his answer.

"Because you're currently the only person linked between the two cases we're working on."

She frowned. "You mean the cases you think are done by the same killer? The death between my late boss and Kevin Marshall?"

"Yes. But this is only procedure, we do an investigation on any leads that we find."

"Investigation?" Then it dawned on her. It fucking dawned on her. Offense suddenly surged through her while his words, accusing and laced with suspicion, struck her with a sense of betrayal. "You think I have to do something with the murders."

The atmosphere, once a sanctuary of shared affection, now felt suffocating, closing in around her as the weight of his accusations settled heavily on her shoulders. His silence spoke louder than words.

"Unbelievable." Her eyes blazed with anger, her voice sharp and defensive. She turned away and stalked back to his room. "Unbelievable."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving," she hissed, noticing him trailing behind her. "Did you expect me to stay here and let you interrogate me like I'm some kind of criminal?"

His face twisted in frustration. "I just want to know what happened the day you interviewed Kevin Marshall."

"Why? So you can accuse me even further?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“You’re questioning me. You want to know whether I have some kind of vendetta against him."

"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything."

"But you are." Without any warning, she gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over her head. "You're practically cornering me with all the questioning, especially with that look on your face."

He quickly looked away and she stopped herself from scoffing at the absurdity of it. She was about to divulge how his sudden modesty was unnecessary when he spoke, "I wouldn't have to constantly ask you if you had answered me sooner."

This time she did scoff, grabbing onto her own pair of clothes. "You caught me off guard. What was I supposed to do?"

"Answer the question and not avoid it like what you're doing now."

"You think I'm avoiding the question on purpose?"

He drew his eyes back to her. "A study shows that body language plays a crucial role in interpersonal communication, and based on its verbal indicator, an attempt to avoid answering the question is notable by your vague response."

"And you're analyzing me based on that?"

"It's my job to analyze anyone involved in the case.”

"Anyone involved?" She screeched, dumbfounded by his judgment of her. "I trusted you last night, I opened up to you, and now you're throwing these baseless accusations at me?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm trying to make some sense of where you're connected in all of this."

"You don't even know how I'm involved!"

"That's what I'm trying to find out!"

The air crackled with tension, heavy with the echoes of their heated words. The silence that followed was almost deafening, a palpable strain that hung in the air like a fragile thread. The once intimate space now felt hollow, as if drained of its energy by the intensity of their emotions.

Breathless and emotionally drained, they stared at each other, their eyes mirroring a mix of regret, hurt, and lingering anger. But as the echoes of their heated argument faded, she felt a sudden wave of exhaustion wash over her. The adrenaline that had fueled her anger now deserted her, leaving her drained.

"You know what was on my mind this morning?" She suddenly spoke. "I woke up thinking I was happy to run into you again. It didn't take long for me to understand that, albeit the circumstances, I actually came to like you."

As the words spilled from her trembling lips, her voice quivered with vulnerability. But then a shadow of doubt danced in her eyes. A new wave of anger surfaced, overpowering the fragility of her confession.

"But the person I like is not this version of you. Who I like is Spencer Reid, not Doctor Reid."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, right now, you're not the same guy I spent the night with. You're scrutinizing me, you're—what is it that you do again? Ah, yes, a profiler." She pointed a finger at him. "You're trying to profile me, you're trying to read my mind in my most vulnerable state because if you haven't noticed, Spencer, I'm standing here half naked while you're pestering me with your questions."

He quickly glanced away, noticing the truth in her words. He had let his anger and suspicion cloud his judgment of her, something Garcia had warned him not to do. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I'll go wait outside."

"Don't bother, I'm almost done."

But he was already out of her vision, and when she heard the soft click of the door closing behind her, she let out a shaking breath.

She stood there, her heart aching with a mix of disappointment and betrayal. His accusations had cut deep, searing through the bliss they had nurtured the past night. The warmth that once enveloped them had been replaced by a cold emptiness, leaving her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Her eyes drifted to the unmade bed before her. The memory of the night lingered in her mind like a bittersweet melody, playing on the strings of her heart. The tender moments they had shared, the warmth that had enveloped them seemed so distant now, overshadowed by the disappointment and anger that colored her mind.

She had hoped for a peaceful morning, a continuation of the intimacy they had shared under the cover of darkness. Instead, she found herself faced with the harsh truth of their current reality, the dissonance of their unspoken tensions. His doubt had tarnished the tender memories, leaving a bitter taste on her lips.

With a heavy sigh, she let the memories of last night linger for a moment longer before gathering her strength. She walked out of the room once she was fully clothed to find him standing by his couch, his body turning at the sound of her footsteps.

"Y/n."

“Thanks for listening to me last night."

"Y/n."

"Thank you for letting me stay too."

"Y/n."

"Stop."

Her hands clenched into fists, a physical manifestation of the conflicting emotions raging within her. He watched her, and as the silence stretched between them, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a recognition of the hurt he had inflicted. Perhaps he had acted out of fear, allowing the shadows of the investigation to cast doubt on her. But the betrayal still lingered too deeply.

"You know what frustrates me?" She wondered. His silence was a sign for her to continue. "You're questioning me not because you genuinely want to know, you're doing it out of your obligation because you think it's your job to do so."

She held out a hand when he took a step closer.

"And it's fine," she went on. "It is your job. You're the federal agent here and I'm merely someone whose name is linked to the case."

"Y/n, I didn't mean to—"

"With that being said, we should keep our relationship strictly that way."

Her words hung heavy in the air, each syllable an arrow piercing his heart. He stood there, frozen, his eyes fixed on her as if searching for a flicker of hesitation, a glimmer of doubt. But her resolve was unwavering. With a deep breath, she mustered the courage to speak once more, her voice steady and resolute.

“If you really want to know what happened, call me into your office, I'll answer your questions then.”

Her expression dulled as she held his gaze, and with one last jaded look etched in her somber eyes, she finally turned around without sparing another glance, excusing herself from his apartment.

He watched as the door closed behind her.

Spencer stood there, surrounded by an oppressive silence that echoed the void she had left behind. Time seemed to stand still as he grappled with the overwhelming flood of emotions. The truth of the situation settled upon his shoulders, the reality that their paths had diverged and the bliss they had once shared had transformed into something unrecognizable.

Just as the weight of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him entirely, his phone suddenly pinged with a new alert. Startled, he reached for it, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the screen. The digital glow illuminated his face, casting a pale light upon his features as he read the message.

PENELOPE: THEY'RE CALLING HER IN. SHE KNEW THE THIRD VICTIM.

Spencer stood frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stared at the words. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat reverberating through his entire being. He dialed Garcia’s number only to be rejected as soon as the first ring echoed in his ear.

PENELOPE: CAN'T TALK. HOTCH IS BESIDE ME.

His heart raced, his breath quickened, and a mixture of anger, confusion, and fear surged through his veins. Spencer quickly walked over towards his window and saw a glimpse of Y/n climbing into a cab, her phone pressed against her ear. He ran a hand through his curls in frustration as his phone alerted a new message.

PENELOPE: GET YOUR ASS HERE, REID.

SPENCER: I'm on my way.

Confusion clouded him, the lines between truth and lies blurring in his head. And beneath it all, fear lurked, whispering doubts about his judgment.

A heaviness settled upon his chest, constricting his breath and swarming his thoughts. The calm that had graced his waking moments seemed like a distant memory now—his peace only lasted briefly.

>> NEXT PART

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[nozunhinged]

Okay so I wanted to play it cool and summarize the second tonklash in just one sentence:

this is how youre supposed to get fucked by your sugar daddy

But more and more thoughts about it left me with no other choice than write way too much about Pretty Men Smashing Artistically On Screen™️ again🤦

If you still didn't understand that sex is a fundamental part of tonklas coping mechanisms (and I don't mean it's a good one) then I don't know what to tell you.

Wintonkla may have fucked like in a 10/10 porn movie, but we need that level of graphicness to understand tonkla. Btw, we neither saw kornfah nor nancreepyguy fuck, only tonkla.

Anyways—

We already start with a very emotionally distressed tonkla throwing his stuff around because his beloved Korn still won't answer his calls. We clearly see hes unable to deal with that rejection although he's apparently aware of his position and how he shouldn't let Korn treat him like that. I think he ran so fast to the door because he thought it was Korn — he didn't look disappointed but I think that's because he smelled his chance with the detective the second they met.

Tonkla getting straight to business without any care what mister detective trying to tell him proves that furthermore imho. Wins timing (yaknow) couldn't have been better.

When they start making out, the contrast between them and korntonkla almost gives you whiplash. Tonklas room is dark and gloomy and the whole scene continues to stay dark and blurry, the complete opposite to the warm oranges korntonkla were drenched in. And that's only the beginning.

To match the moods room, tonklas face is cold and distant the whole time and only touches win when he absolutely has to.

He's demanding and completely selfish with the pleasure he seeks and poor win looks very pleased to follow. Its now crystal clear Tonkla is trying to recreate the illusion of intimacy he craves from Korn while simultaneously keeping the necessary distance. Not in the "imagining his face" type of way but more of a "if I can't have him then this has to make do" way.

(Honestly I think this time the fuck me raw question is 60% durex product placement and 40% tonkla manifesting said illusion 🤓)

The position they fuck in is also as distant as it can get. No touching, no kissing, no tonkla clinging to win like it's his last lifeline like he did with korn.

And the irony of it all makes me wanna rip my hair out honestly I—

Look, we saw Korn do nothing but chase his own pleasure and tonkla ate it up like candy and now someone actually cares about his pleasure and he may have not hammered it in like 4-second-korn but he 1. jerks him off while fucking him and 2. lasts until tonkla cums and all mister detective gets for that is a pat on the chest AND to finish by himself.

And now think about how Tonkla was absolutely over the moon with Korns 4 Second Show™️ and didn't even care if he got to finish or not, he just wanted his sugar daddy happy and bask with him in the afterglow. BRUH.

You see, this is why how win fucked him is how a proper sugar daddy fuck looks like and not the messy shit Korn pulled him into. But win is the one with the feelings I— this is just so damn good. FUCK ME.

Love makes you so dumb and that goes for win AND Tonkla. They are gonna destroy each other and it's gonna be so good.

Their post coital talk brings the point home. Tonkla now has proof that he can use win for what he can't get from Korn and asks him if he can come by more often. Win of course agrees and caresses him with the most heartfelt kiss one can imagine. Tonkla on the other hand doesn't even move a finger. Insanity. Absolute insanity.

I don't think it's calculating or planned from Tonkla to use win like this, he just wants to be loved and can't get it from the person he wants. He's so fragile and lonely he even turns to drugs to cope. And this is again why the graphic sex scenes are necessary for his character arc, sex is his way of filling the void he doesn't know how to fill otherwise. I'm soooo so so excited how it's all gonna play out and who's gonna die because of it lol.

One smart Tumblr fella said greattymes scenes will serve as the loving contrast to this fucked up dynamics tonkla is messing with and now that we have this ending I'm really really looking forward to how that's gonna play out ooooopppppp

Read my words on the first tonklash here

[vampyrial]

A World For Her Alone | Suffer Does The Wolf

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

cw (chapter specific): pregnancy loss, infidelity, abuse, suicide, childbirth, vomiting, dubcon, nothing good happens

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: Claude will never be able to save you but that doesn't mean he can stop trying.

He woke with a start, looking about the room as if the blood and carnage could follow him. But all he could see was his familiar dreary bedroom even though he could still feel the pain in his arm, even though he still felt disoriented from the carriage crash, even though he felt the phantom warmth of Diana in his arms. This life struck a stark contrast to the others. Before, Felix was the only one to ever kill him and for reasons clear as day. But who was this stranger in the woods? 

The assailants of the forest were not ordinary criminals. They didn’t seem at all interested in what money or jewelry he and Diana had. They did not search the carriage, their eyes never even met the brooch on his cravat or the ruby necklace around Diana’s neck. Who were they? No, more importantly – who was the swordsman with unbridled joy in his expression as he cut his head off? Could they have been comrades of Felix’s, seeking retribution? He could have sworn something about the swordsman felt familiar, only he couldn’t figure out why exactly. He told himself that he’d have to be careful, he’d have to watch for them but it was half hearted. What was the point of saving his own life? If he could do anything in this life, he wanted to find a way to save you from himself. 

So valiant it sounded to him but the reality of the matter never left him. He knew he likely wouldn’t be able to do either of those things anyway. There was no choice to begin with. His life was out of his hands. He’d been given over to darkness ages ago. There was nothing he could do to avoid becoming paralyzed in his own body. It had already been done. Sure as the sun would rise every morning, he would always be given over to a force greater than himself. This moment of control only existed as an illusion, it only existed so that he could be put back into his place.

He would never be able to save you. He would never be able to stop trying. He would watch you die again and again for so long that the lives would blur together and no longer be distinguishable. This, he was sure, was ordained by god. He had never been pious, he was always much too arrogant for it. Even now, he held to the last shred of it, the deluded belief in himself that helped him pretend there was a chance this time could end differently. 

And so he began again. The moment he saw Diana again, he was overcome with grief and intrusive love that needled its way deep into his mind. He was stifled. He could finally breathe. He was regretful, he wanted to pull her into his arms and beg her forgiveness for letting her die. He wished she’d died before this meeting. Her life was so fragile. It was precious. It was a burden.

It seemed there was nowhere he could take refuge from Diana. She’d started going to the academy, her health was better this time. She was so happy to get the chance that she nearly floated to her first class and Claude’s heart stalled to see her so vibrant. But when the classes let out for lunch she was walking alone, the roses were taken from her cheeks, she looked somber, nervous. He could not help what came over him again, he went to her. Her big, ruby eyes looked up at him in surprise, wiping away all the shyness in them. “Lord Claude?”

“Just Claude. No titles. We’re to be family and family has no need for formalities.” Family. How could he say such things with a straight face? Never mind the fact that it wasn’t true in and of itself, not of your family and certainly not of his.

A pittance of a smile rose to Diana’s face. “Claude,” She tested out calling him only by his name and an inevitable thrill stung his heart. She must have felt it too, for her he could see the affection clouding her gaze. 

“What’s wrong? You were looking troubled.”

“Well…” She hesitated and for some reason, this reminded him of you. It was like pulling teeth to get you to ever admit something was wrong and when you finally did, it was with your eyes to the floor in embarrassment. The reminder of you made his chest ache, it felt like the edge of Felix’s sword as it first broke his skin. But Diana spoke again and cut off all resemblance, obfuscated the pain of memory. “I underestimated how hard it is to go here, I don’t know anyone and I don’t have any classes with my sister. The work is hard, I don’t know if I’ll ever catch up.” Diana was not you. She never hesitated to make her feelings known. She had probably never been made to feel shameful of being human. A sudden and intense hate rose from within his truest self, though he didn’t know who it was meant for. Your parents who blatantly, egregiously favored Diana over you? Or Diana herself for…for simply being as she was? For making him feel this way?

Still, his love for her had fallen over him, smothered him. It seemed almost primordial, as if the love of her had always been and it was the Claude inside who was formed around it. It was more than inevitable, it was written into his very being. He was running desperately from something that was inside him all along. That would be until he was no more. This darkness lived before him, he was born to it. It wrapped itself around him and cradled him like a mother. It sung out in a honeyed voice, “there is nothing more for you than her.”

And so her pitiful troubles struck him deeply. “I’ll help you. If you’d like, we can sit together at lunch and go over your assignments.”

She brightened again and like a child who knew no modesty, she accepted without pretense at first. But then she remembered something Claude was certain both of them had wanted to ignore. “What about my sister? Will she mind?” She asked. He couldn’t keep himself from frowning at the mention of her. His greater self reviled the interruption in his break in reality. They usually had an unspoken agreement between them not to mention you but with eyes all around, it was impossible not to remember what they were. What other people must think when they see the two together.

“Of course not. She prefers to eat alone.” It wasn’t true, of course. You had always been pleased to spend time with him. In previous lives, he had simply avoided eating with you much of the time to the point where at lunch you did not even make a half hearted attempt. You knew what the answer was before the question left your lips and you simply left to eat alone, in some abandoned corner of the gardens. It was no matter. You could be left alone, you knew how to be alone. Diana needed someone. It couldn’t be you so it would be him. A sense of what was perhaps pride filled his chest. It felt righteous and gallant of him.

He swept her away to the dining hall, they walked so close their hands occasionally brushed against each other’s. People were looking at the two and he could hear them whisper when they walked by. He’d always hated being around other nobles, always simpering and gossiping. Although he knew that even before this all began, he had never been excellent at being human, he was certain that his fellow aristocrats were even worse at it than he was. Everything was up for grabs, fodder for the entertainment of others, everything from an alleged affair to murder. It was all very detached and uncharitable as if they were only speaking of nebulous people whose lives had long since become nothing more than stories. He felt the humiliation that exacerbated the dehumanization deep inside but what darkness surrounded him warmed at Diana’s company. It thought of nothing but her. He could be suddenly plunged into a circle of hell as payment for his many wasted lives and he’d only think to wonder if Diana had judged him as a good man; if wherever she was, she went to bed believing he’d go on to a sweeter afterlife.

His shoulder brushed against another student’s in the hall, a flash of black hair passed him by and sent a chill down his spine but he kept walking his fated path. He could not turn his head to see if he’d met his killer again but for what it was worth, he doubted finding him would have ever been so easy. As he entered the dining hall and scoped out a secluded table, it occurred to him to wonder how he would die this time around. Maybe this time, if she died before you did…

Diana opened her mouth and it became harder to hold onto that thought, it seemed to slip through his fingers. The more they spoke, the quieter his voice became. It was so eerie to speak lightly of schoolwork with a girl he’d seen murdered twice over. He’d seen her sullied by blood, dirt and terror. Now she was safe next to him and everything seemed unreal. There was the feeling of being pushed aside, out of his own body. He was losing himself, ebbing out of the wound in his chest with no way back inside.

He felt himself warm with the simple joy of having her near. He felt his expression lift from its usual seriousness. “I think you can catch up to your classmates but you’ll have to put in some effort.”

“Of course. Though, I really wouldn’t know where to start.” Diana’s brow furrowed, littered around the table were reading lists, syllabuses and assignments due the following week. 

“If you want…” He sacrificed the last of his dignity failing to stop himself from finishing that sentence. “I could help you with everything. I could study with you.”

A hope blossomed in Diana’s eyes that he had not seen since the tea party where they’d made a promise. “Really?” Her voice was so tentative, so sweet that it actually hurt him to think of denying her. 

“Yes. I can make time after classes end. We can start today, if you like.” On days where he was not meeting with you, he typically trained for several hours after getting home from the academy, spent a few more hours working on whatever tasks for the marquisate were delegated to him which left him with a slim space to simply relax. Doing this could only make that space smaller. He couldn’t remember a time since he was first able to hold a sword that he wasn’t tired, all of him ached for rest, he always had. He had been waiting to truly rest since he was ten. But what did any of that matter? He had always been dutiful and this was the one task which would bring him joy simply in and of itself. 

When lunch was over, Claude walked her out of the dining hall, his hand on the small of her back to gently navigate her through the swarm of students leaving. Diana clung to his arm, squeezing closer their bodies closer together to let someone by. However, neither of them let go even when they had passed the crowd. It couldn’t be helped, it couldn’t be helped. Was that what he’d say at the end of his life this time? It could not be helped, he loved her dearly and that was a force in and of itself that could not be denied.

It was Diana who had spotted you, returning from the garden. Her cheeks had turned bright red. She quickly separated herself from him, which Claude might have laughed at if his body were his own. So embarrassed to be caught touching her future brother-in-law and yet brazen enough to be doing it at the school she also attended of all places. Such a stupid girl she was, he had built a hatred of her where before there had been none. Before, he had not even considered her existence. He only ever met her out of formality but it would have been just as well if he never did. Because his love for her was so intense, it could only be met with the strongest hatred he could muster out of dregs of what he was. All of his grief turned to hatred for her and for himself. The love of her had made him sick, made him mad, brought him hell in his own home. Why wasn’t she dead? Why was she healthy? Why wasn’t she dying quietly in her bed? Why could she not have died before they ever got to meet at that stupid tea party?

“Your next class is this way too, right? Should we go together?” Diana asked, nervously. Your face became a mask at that. He scrutinized you, the detached disdain he had for you was waiting to fall onto him with one word from you. He’d not have any of the harassment you brought on other ladies directed toward Diana simply for having lunch with him.

But you smiled, a false smile that kept the darkness at bay. “Of course.” He wondered if Diana even knew how affected your voiced sounded in that moment, was she enough of a sister to you to know when you were putting yourself aside for her?

“I hope to see you again soon, Lady Diana,” He heard himself say, not even bothering to address you. He turned and left for his next class. “Good,” A voice from the dark. “No harm should come to her, not even by the hands of her elder sister.”

The days were short because he spent so much time with Diana. He didn’t know what it was about this life, but he could swear he spent more time with her in this one than he ever had before. It felt sick and rapturous, it was like the cloying, syrupy medicine the doctor had given him when he was injured in training once. He felt open, his very being had softened to the world itself because of Diana. He was rotting inside and his very being had begun to show his dread upon waking because of Diana. Even if he couldn’t express it outwardly, even the joy couldn’t obscure the steady drip of misery he sustained himself on. In a strange way, he was relieved for it. It reminded him that she had not always been in his heart. His love for you refused to be forgotten and as a result, the person he was never submitted to the greater self. This pain was visceral, he needed it like water.

He surprised himself when he took you on an outing to the botanical gardens. It was just obligatory, because Diana had thought to pull from him slightly so that he could tend to you like he should have been doing. It was a tentative offering, it was “I know that I betray my sister daily but do you not see me trying to resist?” It was pathetic. Even so, his greater self had not objected the thought of spending time with you, in this life you were far more tolerable. You spoke not a word of complaint against him when he spent hours with your sister at a time, behind his back you had even tried to cover them against rumor after rumor when before you would have made a scene. You could have moped in unearned despair and jealousy over Diana, you could have lashed out at her for eating lunch with him like you would have done before but instead you allowed Diana to have what she deserved in graceful apathy. You finally seemed to know how to behave.

He tried to enjoy the date as much as he could but it was too sweet to believe, your apathetic expression had even cracked a bit to reveal just a sliver of happiness. It was a tender moment he did not deserve. And he was painfully aware of that every moment, he had no tears but he might have cried at how unsure your happiness was. Happiness from something so small as him doing exactly as he should, taking you out to spend time at a place you enjoy. If he could have freed his body just in that moment, to apologize, to tell you how he really felt, it would have been worth dying right where he stood. He knew the moment would not last. He would live to hurt you again.

On your wedding day, the weather was appropriately miserable. Hope had deserted him, it had vanished in both sides of himself. The mirage of an oasis that had kept him company in the barren wilds had deserted him, leaving him somehow worse off, alone with the reality of his dire situation. When he first set eyes on you in white, you seemed almost unearthly. A beautiful apparition. He had seen you in your wedding dress so many times, he knew it was odd to look at you as though for the first time but he couldn’t help it. You, right then in the glow of candlelight looking holy, were the loveliest sight in all of his many lives. He could not hold back the thought that he would live to destroy this moment for the both of you. 

He heard himself say words rehearsed to the point of blind recitation. He hated the words, the greater self defied them by conjuring the image of Diana on the terrance after dark, bathed in moonlight. “I swear in the name of my good house, to love and honor you for as long as you shall live. Never will you be disgraced by any action or inaction of mine.” He doubted he could have said the words with any more sincerity if he had his own voice anyway. Perhaps it was just as well that it wasn’t him saying the words, he could never have managed to hold his composure as he looked into your eyes knowing that you could remember looking into his as he grasped your throat.

After the ceremony, when the guests were free to roam around drinking expensive wine and gossiping, he caught a glimpse of Diana over your shoulder and was yet again besotted as if the first time. He tried to focus his eyes on you but it was no use. She was positively shining in the scarce silver light that passed between clouds. Somehow the fact that she had managed to smile and radiate such warmth on such a day that must have been devastating to her made her all the more lovable. A pity unfurled in his heart that felt the same as his love. Oh, Diana. He had not even considered how hard this day would be for her, he was too self absorbed. She was made to watch the man she loved give his promise to another at a ceremony that symbolized the binding of their lives and fates together. She could not dwell in dreams of him anymore without being reminded, it would only be harder when children were born to them. Still, she shone brightly, exuberant in her love of both of you. 

He forgot himself. “So beautiful…” He murmured. Words that drew the vague horror inside him from its pathetic stillness back to its desperate lashing. He saw you react immediately, you had heard him.  He saw your face take on the sweetest look, as if so happy and surprised that your now husband should think of you as beautiful. He saw your face fall when you looked behind you and realized who the words were really for. “Stranger, if you must come for my life…” He thought, “Come now.”

Obligation to the crown soon took him away from home for a while. He couldn’t have left sooner. This time, all his letters were Diana. Not so much as a rushed, perfunctorily done letter for you. He could leave you to care for the marquisate, you could hold your own. He saw no reason to burden himself on top of everything else. But Diana sent her perfumed letter and he sent his replies. That much was different, it was what he needed to get through such tedious and draining work. They were all he thought of, all he wanted for. Diana wrote more frequently when he had mentioned in one of his replies that he read them over and over to fall asleep. His superior laughed when he called Claude’s name each time as he distributed letters among the knights, ribbing him about being newlywed. He thought the letters were from the new marchioness and how could he correct him?

Diana’s letters grew increasingly intimate, she expressed such a longing for him that he dreamed of sneaking away in the night even though such an act was treasonous. “Claude, I don’t know what there is to do without you. I thought it would be good not to see you for a while after the wedding, some time to cool off and accept things as they are. But I haven’t, I don’t think I can. I’ve been treating the love I have for you as though it’s a fever to break but no matter what I do, I cannot let go.” Those were the words that disintegrated whatever ease her letters had injected into his life away from home. He hated it, every moment spent here. He needed to see her again so much that he was sure it would show in everything he did. He was sure that you’d only have to look at him to know what he was struggling to hide. 

Throughout the next two years, his absence in the manor was even more pronounced than in lives past. Because when he returned from his duties, he went to Diana’s side. He would always remember the cloying scent of Diana’s room. Even when he bathed upon returning home, he swore he could still smell it lingering on his skin. Her touch could not be forgotten. 

He had not realized the depth of his desire for her until he set eyes on her again. Until he saw her in the flesh. A carnal and intrusive desire hung over his head precariously. She’d been in her nightgown this time, fresh from sleep, eyes soft and dreamy. It was morning, she was slowly getting ready and she’d not expected his visit but he could not help himself, it was a wonder he had even lasted the night. In the white of the morning sun shining through the cover of clouds, he could see the outline of her body plainly. His voice dried up in his throat. Desire, until then distinct, waiting to be claimed, finally reached over him and sealed his fate.

It is a strange thing for the body to yearn for things the mind opposes. When he reached for Diana, he felt a dread so strong that it became him. He understood what was meant to happen and he fought against his own body desperately, trying to assume control over it. But no amount of exertion ever made a difference, he was made to feel Diana’s body beneath his hands, her lips against his. No matter what he wanted, the greater force moved his body to its own desires. Even when inside, he was screaming at the scene unfolding before his eyes with his own body as its star.

His body was not his own but even so, he had to feel how it moved, what pleasure unfurled within him as his bare skin lay against Diana’s. It was a sick feeling of humiliation, of intrusion that juxtaposed the arousal which heated his body. His whims reduced to nothing in the face of her bare body. The inevitability of this act, it was a monumentally difficult thing for him to accept but what else could he do? Could he lay paralyzed and aware in his own body as he could only watch what was being done? No, the anguish of that would kill as surely as the sword that felled his head. Instead, he seemed to leave his body. Instead he let go of his body, he allowed it to take all it pleased as he visited elsewhere. He seemed to drift upwards toward the ceiling where he watched the act transpire more objectively. From that view, he could imagine it was not him who was driving himself into a moaning, gasping Diana, it was some other man. Yes, it must be, for Claude was not in that body, he was adrift.

When returned, he was holding her against his sweaty body beneath the sheets. Her scent clung to his skin. “I love you, Claude. I was never prepared to resist,” she said. She was trembling slightly as the heat of desire passed and left them only with the gravity of what they had done. “But we cannot allow this to happen again.” He held her closer against his chest and nodded numbly. He knew he would come to her again. This thing, it stole even dignity from him, even love.

Claude and Diana laid together again and again. And again and again. Despite their promises the first few times that it’d never happen again, that they couldn’t, shouldn’t, musn’t. It was always him who set aside these promises first, seducing her instead, he’d said on one occasion with his lips against her neck, “I don’t love her, I can’t. You are the first and last woman I will ever love. The moment you and I first met, we both knew we weren’t just going to be in-laws. Haven’t we done enough pretending?” Her will melted under her desire. His was buried under another’s. 

Then came the day Diana revealed herself to be pregnant. He thought himself to be dead inside but the moment those uncertain words left her lips, he found that he still had hope enough to destroy. He was in agony. A child between he and Diana when he knew you had never even gotten to name your own? It was a pain that had followed you into your previous life, searching for a child you’d never hold again. How could he be fit to have a child like this when he had abandoned the one born of his failure? Now, it seemed, he had a child of his shame too. Would he love this child of Diana where he’d been unable to love yours? It was unfair, he knew and he could do nothing, nothing at all to erase it.

He knew that in his misfortune, this child would be born. He would hear himself reveal it to you and watch you crack apart as you lived between haunted memory of your daughter whose name remained elusive because of him and the child of Diana who would surely be loved. As its mother was. 

Diana begged him not to reveal anything until later on, she was uncertain in her ability to carry a child to term and if she could not, what would the reveal be worth? Nothing but more pain to gather up around hers. He was bound to the secret until she was rather far along and sure that she would give birth. Even your parents knew before you did, they kept her secret and shielded her from rumors as much as they could. Their loyalties always belonged to Diana but this was egregious. They refused to even condemn their son-in-law for having an affair with his wife’s sister. Instead, they only shrewdly suggested that he take responsibility by annulling his marriage to you and take Diana as his wife since, of course, she was the one with his child. 

The greater force had not decided whether he would or would not, for even though he loved Diana, he had married you for a reason. You were the one capable of what the marquisate required. His innermost self could only recoil, seeking escape from the whole situation even as he lived in it. Desperately seeking to dissociate from the pain he would live to cause. He hid deep within worthless flesh inside the cold corner of his mind which belonged to him in the same way a cell belonged to the prisoner who lived and died in it.

But it did not save him. 

When Diana was almost eight months along, he brought her to the manor. She would have it done no sooner. She was ill from the strain of carrying their child in her womb and ill from the stress of the secret, of the inevitable fallout. Her bump was quite small even now, her condition could be made slightly more obscure with the right cut of dress and a coat. Her skin was pale and her hand trembled in his as they reached the salon where you were having tea. He let go of her when you looked up at them and approached you warily, slowly. 

“It isn’t Diana’s fault.” The nonsensical words came out of his lips instantly, above reason, he needed to protect Diana as he always had. 

You, with your flat, lifeless eyes seemed to stiffen with anticipation of his next words. “Is there something wrong?” You asked. Oh, his heart broke to hear the concern in your voice, the eagerness to help him.

“Diana is pregnant.” He would rather have died right there than witness what those words would do to you but there was no other will than that of his greater self. 

A teapot fell from your hands onto the floor, making a loud clang which Diana flinched at. “Who’s the father?”

With bile in his throat he answered. “I am.”

These words seem to break you, it cracked open the mask you hid your contempt and grief behind. It revealed a frail woman whose eyes shone with unshed tears and whose lips trembled as she tried to speak. You lost what little held you together. All you could ask was “Why?”

He wanted to answer with. “Because I was devoured by this thing which impersonates me.” But instead he said “Because I love her,” shameless as an arrogant little prince. The thoughts flooded in, he was taking control over his own life, he was proud of himself for standing up for what he wanted. It was ridiculous, almost to the point of hilarity. Who was he standing up to? A fragile woman who looked as though she were at the verge of losing her mind? His wife who asked so little of him?

Your eyes glazed over and there was no doubt in his mind that you were remembering your daughter. You screamed and he thought of your daughter, unwilling to be soothed after losing her mother. You fell onto the ground, eyes on the floor as if it could open up and reveal to you what had already been lost. 

“I’m sorry, big sister.” Diana mumbled and he felt sick to his stomach as his attention turned to her, leading her to the couch to sit. Covering her ears as if this wasn’t her sorrow to witness, she should have had to hear her sister’s screams. She should have to bear witness to what she had done to her own flesh and blood. He had covered her ears as if the noise were only an inconvenience to Diana rather than the cacophonous song of her doing.

Your nails dug into your skin so hard there was blood gathering beneath them. Your screams came like waves, faltering here and there between whimpers and sobs but returning. “Stay here, I’ll take her upstairs,” He said to Diana, calmly, dissonant as if this had nothing to do with either of them. As if he shouldn’t be on the floor begging her forgiveness, telling her that he’d met their daughter and he could never acknowledge another child. The child in Diana’s womb would be born to the darkness that moved him.

He brought you to your bedroom, his uncaring touch stilling you, anchoring you to the dreadful reality he had created. He left you there in your room even as your screams reached out to him through the door, to tend the mother of his child in this life. Diana had her face in her hands when he returned, he sat down next to her and put his arm around her, bringing her softly weeping face to his chest. He stayed there until she calmed. They slept in his room together, she wouldn’t suffer being alone in such a situation. His hands warming her skin, his sweet words of false assurance in her ear allowed her to fall sleep. He stayed awake, watching her with all of a husband’s concern for his wife. Everything Diana had belonged to you, was misappropriated for the wrong woman. Did she know that? If she did, would she care? Not the kind of care that would make her shed a few tears and words of regret, the kind that would eat her alive as it had done him. He doubted it. 

She clung to him in sleep as if she would fall apart without her comfort, while having left another woman broken.

Come morning, Diana wanted to take a tray of breakfast from the kitchen up to your room. She already navigated the manor as if she were its mistress. Perhaps subconsciously, she felt she would be. Maybe she even thought that was the way things had to be. Was she already justifying it to herself? She walked with her hand protectively on her belly as if wanting to shield her child from her own wrongdoing. He wanted to tell her it was too late for that.

When the two reached your door, Diana knocked. “Sister?” She called, hesitantly. “Are you awake?’ When no answer came, she simply opened the door and called out your name. The stench of vomit hit them and before he could tell her not to, Diana rushed in. He followed behind her as she raced to your bedside and he was overcome with unspeakable grief. The sheets were covered in vomit which had run down the side of your bed onto the floor. A bottle of sleeping tonic lay in the middle of the mess, your hand still slightly cupped as if you’d been holding it and your lips stained the same hue as its contents. You lay motionless on the bed. Diana gasped and took hold of your shoulders, shaking you, trying to call the life back into you. 

The grief turned to hate, turned to rage and he wanted to throw Diana aside so that she’d stop touching you. Stop handling you so harshly as if she had any right. Hadn’t she done enough? What made her think she was going to save you? In the piercing moment of loss, he wanted nothing more than to follow you. He didn’t think he could hold to reality any longer, but he knew would. He had no other choice. What misfortune to not even be able to go mad in the face of something like this, to always be aware of the enormous pain belonging to both of you. What misfortune to never be in control, remaining unable to even apologize. He held her shoulders and gently pulled her away as she went into shock.

Diana had begun to hyperventilate as he held onto her, she clutched at her stomach and cried out as if pained. “Diana?” he called to her, panicked. She did not respond, she stared at your dead body as if it were the only thing in the room. With the sight of you, chased into the grave by her actions, she was gripped by anguish strong enough to render her inconsolable. The fear, the guilt, the horror of this knowledge and the stress that it put on her, spurred her into labor too soon. She cried out, doubling over as the pain returned. He called out to the servants in the hall, preparing for the day. “We need help in here!”

The servants ran to swarm around Diana, gently leading her into another room. “Please, my lady, you must calm yourself!” a maid cried as they went down the hall. No one bothered seeing if there was anything that could be done for you. No one seemed to take a second look at your body. They were busy tending Diana. She was the one with his precious child, after all and you were the one with nothing. Even if they could bring the life back into you, what would they be saving? What use would you be? Claude took one last look at you before he followed after her. Even in death, you’d been neglected and even now he would abandon you. 

The labor ended quickly, that was the most merciful thing that could be said about it. Diana gave birth to a small, stillborn boy. He’d been at her side the whole time, clutching her hand. The boy was small enough to be held in one of his hands. Diana was inconsolable, sobbing and screaming out her pain at the loss of their son. After he was taken away from the room, she shrugged off Claude’s touch, it only seemed to further upset her. She begged for him to leave the room, still in tears. And he could do nothing else. His heart was hollow.

Diana entered a sort of catatonic state. Barely eating or drinking and avoiding his presence. His greater mind was inundated with grief but what did he feel inside, at his core? How was he to know? One pain rolled into the other, one grief was much like another. You had gone to your grave with the knowledge that he’d given another woman a child where you had lost yours. Now this child had been lost and both he and Diana stained in your blood with no child in their arms that might’ve allowed them to pretend it had been worth it. To what end? What kind of fate was this?

He understood what Diana must have been feeling, he had no choice but to. He was meant to be her other half, pulled on a string by some nebulous force’s yearnings for her. Her sister killed herself because the man she so dearly, so dutifully loved had an affair with her sister and there was a child between them, that much was tragedy enough. But even that could be accepted, that much guilt swallowed in the face of a very precious, much wanted child. It wouldn’t be right to say that the life she’d bring forth would be worth the death she caused but it would be something to hold to. When she looked at the child in her arms, she could put aside her guilt and regrets. She would have to put her shame aside, swapping it for the love of a mother. She could fool herself into believing it was a strange sort of fate, her greatest happiness whose birth she would never take back had to come from her greatest sadness. Through the love of her child, she could find a way to let go of the regret. Something new and good would come forth to occupy her time, her love. But her child had died and she was alone with the guilt. Her sister died because of her and nothing had come from it but grief. 

He understood too that Diana must have seen their son in his face and if it were up to him, he’d have gladly stayed away from her. He had enough grief to last lifetimes, what place did he have trying to ease hers when he had not even figured out how to do it for himself? Even so, the thoughts that ran concurrent to his own, stronger and louder, wanted nothing more than to comfort her. It wounded him that she was in no state to accept his comfort and he wanted to keep trying. He needed her comfort and he desperately needed to take care of her. He felt powerless when he couldn’t. He might’ve smiled at that, if only he could. Foolish. How foolish a man his greater self was.

It was weeks later when Diana finally let him in. A maid had come to his door on some unworthy night saying that the lady wished to see him. He came to her immediately, easily mollified by the simple act of her wanting him again. Out of the darkness came forth thoughts that they could still marry, could still have a child together even if it would never fill the void their son had left. We could still be happy, sung the darkness.

When he came to her bedside, she looked as she had in other lives when her health had failed but she smiled at him. “I’ve been thinking of our son.” Her voice was faint and fond, though it wavered slightly. “What if…he died as retribution for what we did?” Claude started to object. Even his lesser self was certain that this was probably the only tragedy he’d experienced thus far that wasn’t given as punishment. But she held up a hand. “Please, please just let me finish. He and my sister both were made to die because of we did. When I was still….with child, I thought everything would be alright, so long as I had you. I thought nothing could touch us. The hard part was over, my child was determined to live despite my weak constitution and I had nearly eight anxious months behind me to prove it. I thought my sister would come around somehow…I thought…I don’t know. I just didn’t think she’d ever react that way. Even if she wouldn’t forgive me.” Tears rolled down her wan cheeks.

“We never thought of anything but each other, did we? We didn’t even think of what we would be bringing a child into.” Her smile now resembled a grimace, she didn’t look at him. “I felt guilty for everything but I believed we couldn’t help it, we were so in love that we had to be together. I always softened it like that, you know? I sweetened it by likening us to my favorite romance novels, I believed that fate was on our side. I believed in the kind of love that was stronger than anything and I never thought I’d know a greater pain than not having you.” Her hands anxiously fidgeted with the threads on the sheets. “I…I think it’s time for me to return home,” she mumbled.

He murmured his discontent in soft words meant to coax her back even as his heart, the false one, was breaking. But Diana shook her head. “I’ll leave in the morning, I just— I need time.” She sounded slightly apologetic but it was clear she would not be argued with. He knew that she’d never return. How could she? There was too much blood between them now. This was their swan song. It struck him like a blow to the chest but it only made the contrast between his two selves that much more apparent. In that cold corner he reserved for the person he used to be, sometime, some place, ages ago, worlds away— he breathed a sigh of relief. 

In the morning, Diana left and the darkness unwound. It retreated into the air, returning his body to him too late. When he realized this, the first thing he did was cry for you. He hadn’t been able to before, he could do nothing but mourn the shambles of his relationship with Diana. Everything was Diana and the child they’d lost. He had been forced to stew in grief but in all reality, he felt relieved in some small measure. It was a sick thought that shamed him like everything else but it was there, hiding beneath misery. He was relieved never to have to give that a child a name knowing he’d never done for yours. To give that child a love that he hadn’t been able to spare for yours. 

But at the end of everything, you were dead. Gone to your grave thinking that he had done everything he’d never do for your child. Why couldn’t he ever save you? Or if not save you, then spare you this agony somehow, send you to death eternal. Why were the two of you forever trapped in this repetition? He cried for your memory, your lonely grave next to the unnamed baby boy who’d been born to the darkness that killed you again and again. He came undone, succumbed to the helplessness and dejection of his station finally. He mired in that grief. He refused to undercut it with drink or with self platitudes. He did not even stir up rage to combat the relentlessness of his own mourning. There was nothing more for him than the blood that trailed behind each and every life of his.

Eventually, when he’d grown numb, he made the decision to die again. That seemed to be an unspoken promise, the only one he could keep— that he’d always follow you into each life and each death. He drank too much sleeping tonic as you had and fell to an ungentle journey toward death. He retched and writhed in his sheets from the sharp pains. He struggled to breathe, to even move with the heaviness of his limbs. It was a wonder he had been able to turn on his side and avoid choking on his vomit. Only when he was spewing bile did his eyelids begin to droop and his consciousness fade. His addled mind conjured the image of your body lying next to him, already long gone. He reached his fingers toward the mirage, and curled them around the hand of your specter.

tags: @kage-tobiuo@kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee@cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl@s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire

[loonfromq]

hey remember the

yeah tht.

so we either have seen three eps of the total genloss saga, or, as i believe, one.

since what we just saw was generation loss: the social experiments. tse. and since that's the only one thats labelled, that must be what we saw. ofc hiccups bc a vhs tape can only have about 2hrs of footage on it, and there were more like four hours of total gl. still! we can only wait and see.

plus. i didn't want to divie up posts again and due to. complications. wont be able to add this to my gl masterpost. so!

nex theory.

see those spike boys?

see the bottom edge of that box? none of that is long enough to actually hurt him.

i mean that might be just so, irl, it wouldn't actually hurt him.

BUT ITS ALSO POSSIBLE

that showfall didn't actually kill him.

he was their hero after all.

they're not going to let him go that easily.

and we've seen w/ sneeg and charlie and such that showfall can fake deaths (or possibly even brings them back(?)) with relative ease.

it wouldn't be a surprise at all if they brought him back without our input.

we've seen before w/ showfall that choice is an illusion

and that we're as much in this game as ranboo is.

(like when i nearly cried myself to sleep last night remembering how b!boo hadn't trusted us with the color codes like we don't see what you see, yes, but we see everything else we understand your predicament you just dont understand ours we saved your life like one, two, three, four times by then maybe mroe we care for you you're our little blorbo we want the best for you even when you cant see our words but lets just forget about that, no,; we're watching this bc you're there no othre reason, if this was really really real we would have got you out by now bc your pain is ours; but no, you can trust the stranger with the masks and cameras and obvious lies, you cant trust youre own fans we literlly know you better than you know yourself WHY CANT YOU EUNDERSTAND)

[where-theres-smoak-2]

Sylki Pie Room Analysis (Loki 2x4 Spoilers)

I have to talk about the pie room scene between Sylvie and Loki in 2x4, because I can't tell you how much I loved that scene between them and I have thoughts, so many thoughts.

Obviously these are all just my own opinions and interpretation of the scene, I'm not here to tell anyone else how they should interpret it themselves, just sharing my own thoughts.

What I love about this scene is how it shows just how much Loki has grown over the course of the Loki series. But I also love what it says about Sylvie's character development, which is just as important. I'm going to break this up into sections to hopefully make it a little easier to follow.

Doing What's Hard.

I want to start with the part where Sylvie confesses that she couldn't kill Victor and why she couldn't kill him, because this was really interesting to me. If we remember back to 1x6 when Sylvie is about to kill He Who Remains, she asks him if he is going to beg for his life. In that moment it seemed to me almost like she wanted him to beg, she wanted to see his fear, for him to be afraid of her. I think this is because of the fear she felt constantly being hunted by the TVA, she felt afraid for so long and that was because of He Who Remains. So now she wants him to feel that same fear, to know what he put her through for all those years. It really reminds me of what Loki says to Mobius in ep 1 about not enjoying hurting people but doing it because he felt he had to in order to keep up the illusion, the trick conjured by the weak to inspire fear, or as Mobius puts it, a desperate play for control. In that moment Sylvie wanted control over He Who Remains.

It's interesting then that when she comes face to face with his variant, its Victor's fear that stops her from killing him. Because in that moment seeing his fear, seeing him talk about how he isn't He Who Remains, hasn't made the same choices as HWR and can make his own choices, reminds Sylvie so much of herself and how if she did kill Victor she wouldn't be any better than HWR. But I also think seeing Victor's fear reminded her that he was human. To her HWR was the monster who had destroyed her home, killing her family and people and who hunted her down her whole life. The fact that he didn't show any fear only cemented that image in her head. But Victor was afraid, he was human.

Yet in this moment we can see that Sylvie is doubting her decision to spare him, she thinks it makes her weak, which I think is why Loki tells her the story about Thor and how Loki mocked him for being 'soft' when he returned to Asgard. I think he tells her this story to show her that he understands how she feels because he too used to think that being 'soft', showing mercy, caring and trusting in others, is a weakness. We know Sylvie feels like being these things is a weakness because she says, 'soft gets you killed.' She has had to harden up over the eons she's been hunted in order to survive, so it makes sense that she thinks this way.

After she says this Loki reassures her by reminding her that by sparing Victor she also saved the remaining branches and all the lives exsisting on them. What I love about this moment is that Sylvie doesn't need to say that she feels weak for sparing Victor, Loki just knows that is how she is feeling and also knows just what to say to get through to her, he's basically telling her, you're not soft, or weak, you did a hard thing and spared more than just Victor's life in the process.

The next moment I want to talk about comes directing after this one. Realising how much faith Loki is putting in OB, Casey and Victor, Sylvie looks confused. She seems to be figuring out why Loki would trust them. I don't think she is judging him for his faith though, I think she is trying to understand it. The TVA has, needless to say, traumatised Sylvie and hurt her deeply. But the thing that helped Sylvie and Loki bond in season 1 was that the TVA had also hurt Loki, it was their mission to bring down this organisation that had ruined both their lives that brought them together. Sylvie is really struggling to trust the TVA and so she wants to understand why Loki does. She reminds him about Dox, and how those billion of lives lost were the fault of the TVA. Again this makes sense because in ep 2 Loki told her that the TVA was the only defence for the branches and yet it was a member of the TVA that pruned them, which only deepened Sylvie's mistrust of the TVA. She believes its too corrupt to fix.

But once again Loki knows exactly what to say, pointing out that there are branches that still survive and that is because of Mobius, B-15, OB and Casey who are all part of the same TVA but who are fighting to protect those lives.

I really enjoyed the push and pull between them both in this scene and how it leads into the conversation about burning things down being easy and that trying to fix what's broken is hard, hope is hard. I loved that part of their conversation. You can see that it really does get Sylvie thinking, that she's listening to Loki and actually taking in his words and considering them.

But she still has a lot of mistrust that has to be worked through. Hope is a very foreign concept to her and again that comes down to her past, if she had relied on hope in the past she never would have survived. She survived by relying on herself. So this idea of giving up control and instead relying on hope, relying on others, is very scary to her, its hard for her. But she is still willing to hear Loki out and so she asks about what they are going to do with Victor, are they really going to show him all of this then just send him home. But I do think Sylvie gets a little triggered by Loki's response of we can watch him and protect him as she sees this as 'interfering for good'. It's too close in her eyes to what the TVA was doing before. Always watching and always guarding, controlling how others live their lives.

It's interesting to me that at this moment Loki gets frustrated with her, up until now he's been calm and collected and responded to her viewpoint reasonably. But it's here that he gets frustrated, his tone gets a little more heated and he also looks and moves away from her. I do think there is a reason why he gets frustrated at this particular moment, but I am going to talk about that a little bit later on.

Loki is of the view that you can't just give people freewill and walk away, that it doesn't work that way. In an idealistic world maybe, but in the real world its not that simple or easy. I think some of Loki's frustration comes from the fact that Sylvie was the one that caused the branches to be freed, she is the one that wants the branches to be protected and says she cares about the lives on those branches, yet whenever he asks for help she seems reluctant to help, it seems to him like she just wants to walk away from the responsibility, from doing the hard part.

But I don't necessarily think that is true, I don't think she wants to walk away because its too hard, I just don't think she trusts the TVA, she is struggling to see the TVA as the solution and as this protector like Loki does.

We Are Gods

As I said above one of the great things about this whole scene is the way it shows just how far Loki has come and how much he has grown as a character. I think one of the things that shows just how much he has changed is the conversation they have about how they have to do better, to be better than HWR. Sylvie points out that no matter what they do they'll be playing god to which Loki replies, we are gods.

What is so significant about this line is that if 2012 Loki had said it he would have meant it boastfully, as if being a god made him surperior and better than everyone else. As if being a god gave him the right to rule over and dictate the lives of those who he considered beneath him. But this Loki doesn't mean it like that. He lets out this resigned sigh right before he says the line, because now he really understands what it means to be a god, to be a king. It's not about power or recognition, its about responsibilty, its about protecting others, looking out for them and often doing it thanklessly. It about having the responsibility of making those really hard choices, of being the ones to solve the problem, of having the responsibilty of carrying the burden for those who can't. This was something that 2012 Loki didn't understand but that our Loki has come to learn and I just love that growth.

But this concept of gods and the role they play also tells us alot about Sylvie and her character. We can see that she looks genuinely distressed at the idea of them 'playing god.' I think this is because of the way she sees the role of a god and its similar to how Loki used to think. She thinks a god is someone who ruthlessly rules over others, who dictates and controls their lives, who makes up their own rules and enforces them when people don't live within the constraints they've created for them. She sees it this way because its what HWR did to her, dictated her life, claimed to have written it all out for her and then tried to erase her when she didn't follow the path he had set out for her. Although I don't think He Who Remains was a god it was very much a role he played into. Sylvie is just so desperate to not be like HWR that I don't think she really knows what to do with herself, it seems to me like she is just second guessing every decision and as a result she isn't really doing anything, she's struggling to make any decision at all. This could be because of her decision to kill HWR. In the moment she was so sure that she was making the correct choice, that freeing the timelines was the right thing to do, but since then the problem with the loom has come up, threatening those very timelines she wanted to free, a variant of HWR showed up just as HWR warned them and I think that has lead to Sylvie just having alot of self doubt that she doesn't want to face, so instead she's just kind of burying her head in the sand so that she doesn't get overwhelmed by the guilt of thinking this is all her fault because she 'played god' when she killed HWR and its created a whole load more problems.

There is another really interesting way that they showed the difference in Loki and Sylvie's journey in this scene though. Though I could just be looking into this way too much but it was something I noticed and that is the, I think they call it blocking, of the scene. The positioning of the characters and the way they move.

When Loki first comes into the room, where Sylvie already is, he actually moves away from her, over to one side of the room, but then turns to face her. What is interesting is that as he moves away from her, she actually follows him but stops in the centre of the room. It creates this idea that they are both mirroring each other, that she is following him, but they don't quite meet just yet.

Loki actually moves several times during this scene, whilst Sylvie stays fixed on that one spot. I think this is meant to show how Loki has gone on a journey and changed, he hasn't stayed in the same place he was at at the beginning of season 1, whereas Sylvie is currently stuck in one spot and still at the start of her journey.

The first time Loki moves is right after Sylvie talks about his faith in OB and Casey and as he brings up how Mobius, B-15 and the guys are protecting the timelines. I think its significant that he moves at this moment as it represents the first step or milestone in his journey, the moment he learnt to trust, to put his faith in others and to come to care for others.

He moves again when he tells Sylvie that you can't give people free will and then just walk away and when he talks about needing to do better and protect the timelines. Again I think this shows the progression of his journey, now instead of playing the part of the villain, of wanting to control and rule over people, he is playing the part of the protector, he has literally bettered himself.

As a sidenote, something significant for Sylvie's character in this scene is that although she is stuck on that one spot, she shifts as Loki moves to keep herself facing him, so its like she is following his journey which could be a hint that eventually Sylvie will reach the same place Loki has.

The final time he moves is when he approaches Sylvie and then says the line 'we are gods.' I think there are a couple of things that are significant here. The first is that again this represents the final step in Loki's journey, him realising the true meaning of being a god and the responsibility that goes with it. The second is that he moves closer to Sylvie so that he is standing with her now. He brings them together, literally closing the distance between them. I also think this ties in with what I said just above about Sylvie eventually reaching the same place Loki has, in this moment they are standing in the same place. As the camera pans out we are shown them standing together as one unit. Which brings me to my next and final section.

All The Things They Didn't Say.

So ever since the citadel where Loki betrayed his promise to Sylvie when he didn't stand with her against HWR and Sylvie betrayed Loki's trust when she kicked him through the time door, these two have had this huge distance and barrier between them. They both feel betrayed by the other, they both feel hurt by the other and since then they've just continued to have disagreements with each other and haven't really spoken about their issues.

What I thought was interesting about the scene in the pie room is that although it could seem like they are having a disagreement like all the other times they've talked this season, its actually the first time they communicate openly and clearly with each other. I also think its the first time they really stop and listen to what the other person is actually saying and then explaining themselves in turn. Loki is listening to Sylvie's concerns and then reassuring her and explaining to her his way of thinking. Sylvie in turn is actually taking in Loki's point of view and making an effort to understand them and I think Loki really does give her some food for thought here. They aren't hurriedly screaming at each other whilst one of them tries to kill somebody and the other stands in their way, they aren't being interrupted with the news that an attack is going to be carried out on the branches. Despite the seriousness and urgency of the Loom's possible destruction, they are having a calm conversation. I personally love that progress.

But as I mentioned above there was one moment where Loki does get frustrated with Sylvie and he gets just a tad heated. I did promise I would come back to it and here is why I think it is significant that he gets frustrated at that moment. It is as he says the words 'walk away' that the frustration comes in and he himself actually moves further away from Sylvie and he turns away from her too, breaking their eye contact for a moment. I think the reason why he is upset is actually because he believes she walked away from him finding a new life on her branch where she is happy without him. He feels like she abandoned him just like he feels like she is abandoning the job of keeping the branches safe.

At the start of the scene Loki says that he asked for Sylvie's help but she walked away, her response is to point out no she didn't she was there, to which he counters only because she couldn't kill Victor. To me Loki seemed a bit bitter when he said this and it reminded me so much of the moment on the Ferris wheel when Sylvie asks if Loki cares about anything other than the TVA. In both these instances I think they both wanted the other to say that they were there for them, that they had shown up for them. The sad part is that actually I do think they did show up for the other person, because they wanted to know the other person was ok but they've been unable to communicate that to each other. So Sylvie is upset and hurt because she thinks Loki only came looking for her because he cared about the TVA and Loki is upset because he believes Sylvie only showed up because she couldn't kill Victor and still doesn't trust him and not because she actually wants to help or be near Loki.

I do think some parts of this conversation are acting as a film for what they really want to say to each other but can't seem to find the confidence to. There's alot of subtext here in my opinion.

One of those moments is Loki telling that story about Thor going soft. The part Loki left out was that the thing that made Thor change was meeting and falling in love with Jane. I think what Loki wants to say but doesn't here is that it wasn't just Mobius, B-15, Casey and OB that changed him, it was meeting and falling in love with her. He has grown because of her, his change began when he heard her story, when they worked together on Lamentis, when he for the first time began to care about someone other than himself, he just wanted her to be ok. She was such an instrumental part of his character growth, just like Jane was such a big part of Thor's growth and I like to think that the writers were drawing parallel between the two couples here.

There's also the part where Loki is talking about how fixing what's broken is hard. Again I think this has some relevance to their relationship. Like Loki is almost challenging her, that fixing their broken relationship is hard but just like fixing the TVA could make it into something better, something stronger, fixing their relationship could make it better, make them stronger. At the moment they are both taking the easy path of keeping those barriers between them up, because they trusted each other before, opened themselves up to another person for the first time and fell in love and in the end they both got hurt. So its easier to keep their distance and stay closed off from the other instead of trying to fix what's broken between them and potentially opening themselves up for more hurt.

Loki also says that hope is hard, but I do think that there is a little bit of hope for Sylki's relationship in this scene, its subtle but its there. And that little glimmer of hope comes when they are talking about having to do better and about playing god. They use two terms that I think are really important, 'we' and 'us'. Loki doesn't say I have to do better, or you have to do better, he says we have to better. Sylvie doesn't say you're playing god or I'm playing god but we are playing god. And again Loki doesn't say I am a god or you are a god but we are gods. Despite the distance between them, despite them struggling to get back to a place they were in their relationship before, they are talking about themselves as one unit. It's a discussion about what they are going to do together. This is actually a subtle shift from earlier in their conversation where Sylvie says what if you're wrong and what if I'm wrong or when she says you're going to show timely all this. Here she is talking about them as two separate units, which I think shows that shift in her thinking where she starts out seeing Loki and the TVA on one side together and her on the other at the start of the conversation, but come the end of it she is seeing her and Loki on the same side. I also think it adds more significance to that shot towards the end of the scene where they are both standing in the same spot, close together.

Anyway, as I said before it is possible that I am looking way too much into this, I have watched that scene more times than is healthy so. But I did really enjoy seeing Loki and Sylvie working together again in this episode, there were other little moments between them that I really loved. Like when Sylvie first shows up when they are talking to Victor Loki actually looks at her twice. He looks back when she first approaches, then back to Victor, but then you see him turn to look at Sylvie again like he just had to double check she was still there, which I don't know, I found it cute. Also when OB brings up Sylvie killing HWR Loki quickly looks over to her like he wants to check she's not upset, of course she's just looking smug about it. There were lots of little looks like that throughout the episode. Him making sure she was ok when she got stuck in the elevator was another cute moment. I also loved them shouting down the phone together at OB when he said he'd have to turn off the dampeners that prevent magic and watching them team up against brad. So I am really excited to see where they are going to take their relationship in the next couple of episodes.

I know some people are worried that they haven't got enough time to reunite them romantically and that it would seem too rushed, I personally am not too worried about that. I think I'd be more worried if they had never developed them romantically before but we've got season 1 as a foundation to build upon, is not like they have to develop a romance from scratch. Also they did a really good job of building alot of their romantic relationship in ep 3 and 4 of season 1 without it feeling rushed so I am choosing to have faith in the writing team that they can reunite them in a satisfying way in the last couple of episodes, as I do think they did make alot of headway in this episode in bringing them back together.

Anyway I have rambled on enough now, so this is where I am going to leave it. If you have read all the way to end, thank you for your time, I know this got long.

[anonymous-eggy]

your leander analysis was soooo spot on !! it's the first one that made sense to me !! i was always like ?? why would he try to mess with you ?? it just didn't make sense to me ?? you're so big brain

exactlyyyy!

i think my point didnt really get across because i said it in a very dramatic manner, but the point is there.

at the end of the day, Leander wants to manipulate you into trusting him. for what reason? we don't know yet. To take down the senobium? for selfish reasons? both?

no matter the reason, he's cunning and manipulative. he's not prone to outbursts and immediate revenge from what we've seen in the demo. he didn't become the trusted and adored leader of a huge gang by having childish outbursts and taking his frustration out on others for not trusting him or not wanting to be around him. he's like a wolf. he will play the long game if he really has to. if it becomes a game of stamina, he'll keep chasing you until you dont want to or cant run anywhere but into his arms. into his maw of fangs that he's conditioned you to believe is home so he can finally snap his jaw shut on you.

He is the safehouse, the leader. everyone follows him eventually. he just likes to make you feel like it was your choice all along and not something he was steering you towards since the very beginning.

this is literally what makes him such an attractive character. we know in the back of our minds (whether or not we realize it) that this is what he's doing. its so bad, but it so good at the same time. he has secrets and depth to his character and we want to know them.

honestly, if anything, he grabbed mc's hand when they choose to hesitate out of desperation to prove he can handle it and gain that huge leap of trust in Mc.

which caused mc a moment of panic and surprise, thus causing their curse to flare up. the same way i assume mhin's curse would flare up to protect them. this flare up was more than what leander had planned for, so he has a moment where he has to bat away the curse with whatever stupid powerful magic he's gotten ahold of.

once again, he wants you to trust him. this is obviously a bad situation where there's only two believable and sucky ways to play it off. the truth, or a prank. so he has to pick the lesser of two bad choices and play it off like he was just messing around. like it was just jokes and everything was fine all along!!! i think theres a small crack in his facade when he says something along the lines of Mc's curse being some serious stuff he's never seen before. this is a true statement buried in false ones. its easy to breeze over. he's successfully fooled you and won if he can get you to believe he was genuinely just fucking with you.

but yeah, sure Mc could have gotten pissed with him, but isnt a moment of Mc being pissed at a joke better than them not trusting him with their curse? the trust broken from a prank is MUCH easier to repair than trust broken from a curse that almost slipped through his magical protections.

Leander wants Mc alive, safe, and trusting him COMPLETELY. He (i assume unknowingly) hints at this anytime he talks about how he shouldn't have let you leave his side. he is that one "the illusion of choice" meme.

My ending statement will be this: i am OBSESSED with characters that have a true personality hidden under a different one. the little phrases that slip out and give insight into the truth are my JAM. characters that dangle a shiny charming personality like an angler fish. maybe its because of my trauma, but we dont have to talk about that.

[yullsmb]

I shall say something about the Secret History? Sure as hell, I shall. And I shall base this ramble on my thesis.

So, we all know how important the Greek allusions are in this book. Literally, Ancient Greece is a motive of the book. We can definitely look into something here. Say, don't you think that the guys are the mirrorings of the Olympians? Because I do.

First of all, they're very secluded group of people. They literally don't have the external contacts, or this contacts are very limited. The classroom is not even in the literal class. Doesn't it look like the Mount Olympus?

Every one of them has, let's say, "a godly parent" who gave them certain qualities and allows to better understand the character.

Camilla is Artemis. We all gather, that she is that perfect girl in the eyes of Richard. But she is so much more than that. As Artemis, she is gorge, she is smart. But let's not forget that Artemis didn't like when someone disturbed her, and the only person who unwillingly did this ended up dead. So, if Camilla is Artemis, we can make a conclusion that she could be pretty harsh and even violent.

Charles is Apollo. Everything about him screams Apollo. He's that sunshine boy, but even the boys with the sun in their hair do know the tragedy of the sadness and despair. Apollo's loved one was turned into a laurel tree, and as a sign of remembrance he wears the laurel crown. Charles, who pretty much lost his hope, has an alcoholism as his laurel tree.

Bunny. I said it once, I'll say it forever. He is a litteral embodiment of Dionysus. He's driven by his pleasure, he would do anything to get it. And he is the total opposite of Henry.

Francis is a tough one. I see him as Hermes. He is a trickster sometimes. He knows how to get on the right side of the person, but he will never truly open up. Also, Hermes is know for being the gods' messenger. Literally most of the time he's the one to whom Henry comes. Having a chat after casually killing a friend? Francis is a nice person for it. He is usually the one to whom Richard talks on the phone, and then Francis could pass that information. Not to mention, that sometimes both, Hermes and Francis have to be creative about doing something.

Henry. The toughest choice for me. Well, if take into account the fact that the original title of the book is God of Illusions, then Henry could be Morpheus. He could also be Ananke - the personification of inevitability. He is the one behind every scheme, controlling its pace and turns. He also could be Zeus. Everyone just listens to him and does whatever he says. Just pure obedience to the God of the gods.

Richard, our little Californian boy. He is a human. He is a watcher, a bystander. He aspires to be like the gods, but will never get there. That's another reason for him and Camilla not being together.

[writers-vlogx]

Yandere namor headcanons

I NEED THIS MAN TO BE POSSESSIVE AND AGGRESSIVE, I NEED HIM TO WANT YOU SO BAD HE WILL DO ANYTHING TO KEEP YOU

It doesn't matter how he knows you, doesnt matter who you are, what matters is you catched his attention, and you know better than to attract the attention of a god.

It doesn't matter what drawer him in, what matters is that he has his eyes set on you. And he refuses to have anyone else.

You will be his, you don't have a choice

The first time you ever meet him, or at least you think it's the first time. He comes to you as if he was just like you. An illusion he wished he could believe, to believe he's lived his entire life next to you.

His delusion has not completely blinded him, he knows he should not just show himself to you and risk his life or his peoples life, but hey its not like you'll get very far even if you try.

Meeting him for the first time is certainly a... experience to say the least, this man that has winged feet and pointed ears that seems to be almost floating, but no that can't be true. You must be hallucinating!

Yeah that's right, that's it you must have not drank enough water and now your seeing things!

But as you stand up to leave in confusion and awe assuring yourself it was a lack of water, you feel a hand wrap around your wrist. "Where are you going amor?" ...this wasn't a dream, this man was real..he's standing right in front you me, and as if this couldn't get any worse in your shock you do the only thing that you know.

The legends of your people had taught you well, your grandmother always told you about people from the water that would take careless passerby's and drown them at the bottom of the ocean, she had told you to never go near the water at night.

She had told you that if you ever did and you saw one of them the thing that could save you was...Scream.

But almost as if he had read your mind he covered your mouth before any sound could come out, You looked up at him in fear of the stories you had heard him. Were you going to be drowned like other carless victims? but instead he just stared, seemingly unable to know of what to do. Almost like he hadn’t thought of what to do after covering your screams. 

So he slowly let his palm uncover your mouth and the second his body had stopped making contact you ran, you didn’t know if it would help but it was the only logical thing you were able to think of in that moment. 

And contrary to what you thought he did not chase after you, he only stared as you ran, and in a way you felt kind of bad for him but you couldn’t bring yourself to give it much thought instead you decided to push the strange feeling down. 

The days that followed he had been observing you, following your routine and seeing if you had alerted anyone of the incident, that could have been a good excuse he thought for him to justify him taking you away.

But as faith would have it, you hadn’t. 

The days passed on and he became more and more anxious not having you by his side but the thought of just letting you go didn't sit right with him either

So he planned everything from where you would stay, to how he would take you; he wanted to be gentle with you, he didn't want you to hate him either

So in order to avoid any...problems, he decided to take you when he knew no one would notice as easily, at night when none of the village dared to walk near the sea

You don't know what made you go back to that beach, maybe it was the fact that it had the effect of calming you for so long that now you just had to come here everytime you needed to breath, but unfortunately for you he was waiting just like how you had left him that time amd whether you knew it or not he's not letting you go this time

Everything happened so quick that by the time you had processed everything it was too late, he had you in his grasp; his arms were wrapped around your chest and his face hidden in your neck breathing in your scent

"Please be mine, and rule alongside me"

He tried so hard to make it sound like a question, like he was giving you an option, news flash he wasn't. It was a statement of what you were going to do whether you wanted to or not, after all it's all really your fault darling, you know better than to grab the attention of a god right?

I'm sorry it was shitty, but I've received yalls requests and I'm currently working on them, I just wanted to clean out my drafts finally 😮‍���

@yoongskook @hausofmamadas

[daddysfangirls-dc]

The Arrangement

CH-9 Lunch with Dick

Damian Wayne x OC! Female

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Syn closed her eyes and leaned back, fidgeting with the jewels Damian had adorned her with. Together, they were waiting for his brother to arrive. It was a fancy restaurant, and while it wasn't empty, their area was secluded, giving the illusion of privacy and few eyes and ears. The sight of the waitresses and waiters peaking around the corner said otherwise. 

"You're late" Syn opened her eyes to see Dick already taking a seat. " This meeting was arranged to adhere to your schedule. The least you could do is be punctual."

"Damian," Syn said, " he's only two minutes late. It's alright."

"No, no. He's right, actually," Dick said " I know how your time in Gotham is limited and cannot be wasted. I'm sorry." Guess that answered the question of whether his family was aware of her new residents or not. 

Damian waved the waiter over for menus. " I was surprised when Damian said you wanted to meet." 

"Yes, well, I don't believe the original dinner gave enough to learn about you all individually. I figured an individual meeting would be better, thus a simple lunch date." she looked around the fancy restaurant with its handlers, sparkle decor, plus seats and curtains. " Well, not here exactly." This was Damian's choice.

"Yeah, really fancy one you picked here, Damian. I would have been fine with a Diner."

"Public diners do not offer the same amount of privacy. " He nodded his head to the near-empty floor and privacy curtains. The peeping staff was gone. No doubt, a manager reprimanded them and reminded them of their place. A waiter came, took their orders and menus, and then closed the curtain. 

"I'm happy to see you back in Gotham. Hopefully, you'll get more this visit than your last."

Syn looked to Damian, who gave a small nod. " Thank you. I'm happy to be back. And actually, I plan to stay a little longer than my last visits."

"Oh, really! That's awesome. Do you have any plans in the city?"

"No, actually. I'm here for Damian." They both looked at him as she spoke he blushed and turned away they chuckled at his sudden shyness. " I want to spend more time with him and get to know his family. Can't do that at a distance."

"Aww."

The waiter came with their food and left, closing the curtains again. 

"SO, out of all our family, why am I honored with the first meetings?"

"Oh, you're not." the look of betrayal on Dick's face should not have been so amusing " Alfred met her before the family dinner. He was quite taken with her." Damian said a bit smugly. 

Dick turned to Syn " Here I thought I was special," he pouted.

"Well, you're still the first sibling I meet outside the house. Points for that, yeah?"

"Don't fuel his ego."

"No, please do," Dick says, fanning his eyelashes; she giggles.

Damian doesn't talk for most of the lunch, letting Syn and Dick have the conversation. She enjoyed the silly stories about their family. Especially the ones about him, where she was full of laughter. He'd take the slight humiliation just to hear her laughter. It was a rare gift for her. By the time dessert came around, she was feeling pain in her guts from all the laughter. Damian ordered for her. 

"Your lives sound so amazing," Syn smiles.

"I'm sure you have some interesting stories as well," Dick said 

"Interesting, yes," she says, a little uncomfortable," but not as entertaining or wholesome?"

"Sorry, I forgot for a moment" DIck forgot who she was.

While she didn't vibe like a regular civilian, she gave more of a vigilante/ hero aura, which made him feel more comfortable with her. But also forget who she truly is and how she was raised. She wasn't another cape and tights. She was a killer. 

"It's okay; I forget sometimes, too." No, she doesn't. She never forgets who she is. She has too many scars, too many bodies, too many nightmares, too much blood. And as sick as it all was, it made her. It was her, She could never forget. The atmosphere changed, and the amusement slowly tricked away to a sobering silence. 

"I remember," Damian began, " Once when we were in the league, your favorite place was the balcony, roof, and any place with height and a view. You always loved the view if it wasn't the sky it was the sanctuary. You named every animal in the sanctuary -"

"Of course, it was a true shame being called 2nd female lion, 3rd female lion, a lion cub. They had personalities; they deserved names... They are doing well, by the way. Leo is thriving." Syn said. 

"She taught me the constellations."

"No, our teacher did. May he rest in peace."

"he taught the stars. You taught them stories. I enjoyed your nighttime stories." Syn stared at him for a moment, then turned to Dick. 

"He used to say he hated my stories, would push me off the roof, and said I talked too loud."

"You did. I'm surprised we never got caught. But looking back they probably just left us lone... I miss stargazing," Damian says, a bit of sadness leaking in his voice. 

"Yeah, Gotham Skies aren't the prettiest. Pollution," Dick says apologetically. 

Gotham was a beautiful city with beautiful skies, but it was very rare to see them. Sadly, Gotham's beauty was constantly covered by pollution, so not everyone could see it. 

"I hear Gotham has a wonderful Observatory -"

"Would you like to go?" Syn turned to him, confused. Dick looked on in glee, watching as the romanize unfolded in front of him. " Would you like to go to the observatory with me?"

"I... Yes, Yes, I would. I'd like that very much," SYn said.

"It's a date," Dick whispered, squealing.

They ignored him. 

[astralarias]

The Hope of the World - COYH Zine

Hi!! Here is my completed fic I wrote for the GW2 Commander of your Heart Zine! It was so much fun to take part and I hope you enjoyed seeing all the gorgeous art and wonderful writing from all involved.

My piece was a reflection on Jioxa and how she feels she fits into the world, her place in it as Commander. It is set in an ambiguous dream-vision, but no matter how real, a visit from an old dear friend gives her the encouragement she needs to stay strong.

1.5k words | Implied Trahearne/Commander | No content warnings

She dreams of him, sometimes.

Nights when the buzz of thoughts in her head give rise to great thunderstorms, when all her doubts and fears crash down upon her. Torrential, unending.

She dreams of him, and he becomes her safe haven from the storm. His presence is like the serenity of the full moon on a clear night; quiet, soft, watchful. It’s in these fleeting moments that Jioxa finds peace, or something close to it.

It never lasts. She wakes to a world rocked by Dragons and Gods, the chaos she wrought upon the world heavy in her veins like lead. It was the only choice, and she knows this, but knowledge isn’t feeling, and oh, how she feels. She laments, for Soo-won especially, source of all, who Jioxa only knew in her pain and torment.

But she dreams of him, and often she wishes in dreams she could stay.

Tonight is one such night. The day had been long and arduous, leaving her body aching and her mind clouded. Sleep found her easier than usual, and the waking world gave way to a more pleasant illusion.

She sits on a precipice, overlooking a soft darkness dotted with a million stars. The spiral arm of the galaxy stretches out from beneath her feet to far above her head, purple and blue and gold. Eternal Alchemy in its most beautiful form. She’s wearing a simple, comfortable outfit, and her long black hair is loose, settled around her shoulders.

He’s beside her.

Trahearne. As he was - as she remembers - before Maguuma. Back when the world was - not easier, but simpler. He turns to her, and the smile he gives warms her heart. She meets his eyes, her bright orange to his yellow, and he blurs in her vision as tears well up.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, taking his hand in her own, running her thumbs over the bumps and imperfections. The physicality of him, even in a dream - she’s missed it dearly.

“As have I, dearheart,” Trahearne replies, and her heart flutters, his love for her almost flowing between them. As if she was like him. As if she could feel what he felt, as he could do with his own kind. It’s a bitter thought, that whatever they had was not as deep as it could have been, were she - sylvari. She chokes down the word her brain had initially supplied, better.

It isn’t that she hates who she is, but she can’t discount the nights she’s spent laying awake, wishing she was more. More ‘asura’, more intelligent, more lovable. He makes her feel like she’s enough, but she wishes she could be more than enough for him. To connect with him, through thought and feeling alone; who wouldn’t yearn for that?

She sighs. As her parents had always said, thinking was like kneading dough. Helpful and necessary, but go on for too long and your bread would become chewy and tough. Think too much, and you’ll spin yourself into despair. Ugh. She wrinkles her nose. She’s using her parent’s metaphors, now? She’s getting old.

She shakes her head to clear the unwanted worries, and looks back up to the serene sylvari beside her.

“Trahearne,” she says, “can I ask you something?”

His gaze softens, warms like the spring sun. “You know you need not ask. What troubles you?”

She knows this is all an elaborate play orchestrated by her tired mind, but his presence is as comforting as it had been in life. She leans against him, and he moves his arm around her shoulder to hold her.

“Why me?” Jioxa begins. “Throughout everything, I was your first choice. You could have chosen someone better, after we killed Zhaitan. Someone - a soldier, a tactician, someone braver and stronger. Why did you stick with me? What did I bring to - to everything?”

For a moment the world hangs in silence, as heavy as a brick. When he speaks, gentle, she lets out a breath of relief. She’d almost wondered if she’d done something wrong, made some transgression by asking. The last dregs of her fear melt away as he tugs her closer.

“My heart, you underestimate yourself,” he says. “I didn’t need a soldier; indeed, I had plenty. I didn’t need bravery or strength, although you displayed both in troves, more than I had any right to ask of you. I needed you, yourself. A pure, kind heart, and a voice to inspire courage, to light the way through the dark and keep that light ablaze when I could not. Had you not been by my side, I - and the Pact - would have faltered in our first steps.”

He pauses, looking down at her with eyes full of warm sincerity. “You brought to me something more valuable than all the armies of Tyria combined. Hope. Something that had evaded my grasp for the longest time, after all those years in Orr.”

She feels heavy tears stream down her cheeks, although she doesn’t recall starting to cry. She’s silent, words slipping between her fingers despite how she scrambles to hold onto them. His own words are everything to her, a lifeline - but she can’t quite bring herself to believe him.

Trahearne turns to her, a slight furrow to his leafy brow. She sniffles, trying to wipe away her tears - unsuccessfully, as they don’t seem in any mood to stop.

“Jioxa,” he says, near a whisper. “May I show you something?”

Curiosity flickers in her chest, stirring her heart. The tears stop, and she fixes him with a quizzical look, her ears pricking up a little. Words are still beyond her, but she manages an eager nod. Whatever Trahearne has to show her, she knows it will be worthwhile.

He smiles, reaches out, and presses his hand to her forehead.

The cosmic environment fades out into a dizzying rush of color for a brief few moments. As the world stabilizes again, she finds herself in a familiar environment. Unearthly birdsong echoes in the distance, and great, towering coral colors the otherwise bleak landscape.

Orr.

And….a Pact camp. She and Trahearne stand behind a stack of crates, hidden from view of the soldiers, who lounge around a blazing campfire. Of the faces she can see, she notes a human, a charr, and a norn. There are two other figures, their backs turned. An asura, and a sylvari.

The asura is small, lithe, lively. They stand on a small box, gesturing wildly with their hands as they recall a story. It’s clearly exaggerated beyond all belief, but the others around the fire seem enraptured. Their eyes shine, their expressions ones of joy despite the war-torn environs.

The asura comes to the conclusion of their story, and the others clap and cheer. Jioxa smiles to herself. She’s not sure what Trahearne is showing her, here, but it warms her to see these people’s happiness.

The asura takes an over-dramatic bow and turns to clamber down from the box. Jioxa swears her heart stops, for a few moments.

It’s her.

Much younger, scrawnier, but undeniably her. Her face - her eyes shining with pride, her little ears, and that ponytail she used to wear day-in, day-out. She swallows the lump in her throat, turning to look up at Trahearne, who stands silent beside her.

“Why-”

“Look,” he says, softly, kneeling down to her level. “Look around, dearheart. Look at those soldiers; they’ve all lost friends this day. This was one of the hardest battles of the war against Zhaitan, and yet - you were there, always. To bring even the slightest joy to a place like Orr is no small feat, yet you did it as if nothing was more natural. You never stopped bringing hope and joy to these people, even when you, too, were scared and reeling. You were their guiding light. As you were mine.”

Raw emotion writhes in Jioxa’s chest, and she blinks back yet more tears. She glances back out at the soldiers gathered around the campfire. Trahearne is right; they look at the other-her with nothing short of adoration, reverence. She is not just their Commander; she is their reason to keep going, through all the death and despair of the Dragon.

With everything that had been going on at the time - when this scene was real - she hadn’t even noticed. She’d been doing nothing more than being herself, fearful and flawed but her, no mask, no shield.

Her gaze wanders back to Trahearne. She meets his eyes. He’s smiling, and she takes a moment to bask in his pride, lets it wash over her like sunlight. Then, she nods. Wordless, but that is all he needs; she understands. He hugs her close to him, and in his arms she closes her eyes as the scene fades away once again. She clings to his warmth and safety for as long as she can, until her consciousness fades into a soothing void, the dream - or was it more than that? - giving way to sleep.

When she wakes, it is back in her bed, and the reality of Trahearne’s absence squeezes at her heart. A familiar ache, now. But for the first time in longer than she can recall, a sense of peace permeates her mind. She opens her eyes, taking a deep breath. A brighter future is waiting for her to light the way.

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[nyt1ba]

     Memory is a dagger through ribs,   a thorn's sting that grows sharper with the torment of time,   for wherever one would turn it would dig deeper,   not allowing a moment's respite away from its ache.   There used to be a time not long after the war,   that a mere sound,   a scent,   a shape in a familiar disfigurement that brings forth a flood of unwanted memories,   a heavy tide one cannot escape but to endure   &.   hope not to be swept along with it.   Back when his wounds were bleeding fresh,   blood a lingering taste in his mouth,   the stench of decay stuck to his being as though he was the one rotting.   A grief so raw he could not,   and would not forget despite the strain of such a long life ;   it was the last proof of humanity,   that deep feeling incomprehensible to those who claimed it,   and while senses had turned numb and his passion no more,   that sorrow remains,   intermingled with flesh and bones so that his body itself a personification of grief,   a state of being as thoughtless as breathing.   The horrors that lay hidden in the sand are apparitions only his eyes could see,   now bringing forth a bitterness rather than that old and more human fear.   Elektra hadn't seen the true depths of it,   but just as he was haunted by his own demons,   hers came and took residency along with his own.   Adam had long welcomed them in,   while hers still would barge in uninvited.

  He had seen it before,   the absent look that seemed to see something in an unseen dimension,   guarded nature turns to paranoia,   a constant looking over the shoulder while nails would dig into flesh to draw out feeling through blood.   It was a thoughtless act,   to come find her when she would succumb into the illusion,   drawing back into herself with a terror as real as it had been felt the first time.   It's useless to call,   to drag her attention away from a reality separate from the one in her mind.   So he settles with her on the sand,   hands gentle as they seize hers to stop her from picking at skin,   [   with little care to all the blood between their palms now.   ]   He pulls closer to him then and into a protective embrace.   Although her troubles remain invisible to him,   he would shield her away from them regardless.   Recognition manifests itself with a tightening grip upon the fabric of his jacket,   her hold desperate,  voice reduced to a whisper.   '   Just … hang onto me, please. I feel like – I might really go to pieces if you let go.   '        ❛❛   I'm here               I'll hold you together.   ❜❜        arms wrap tighter around her as he assures,   she can fall apart in his graps however she likes and not a single fragment will slip through.

     ❛ i didn’t want you to see me like this. ❜

  When he heard her voice again she was worn with exhaustion,   slumped limply within his hold in an inability to fight any longer,   her tone akin to shame,   a defeat someone as prideful as her finds difficult to profess.   Elektra Alrune never asks for help,   always dependent on herself even when she could barely walk.   He knows the feeling,   even if he wasn't as stubborn as her,   to ask for a shoulder to carry a fraction of his burden was not a kindness he's deserving of.   He still struggles with the concept,   prefers to retreat to the agony of his solitude than to utter a word.   She's the same in that regard,   all her pain was punishment hardly sufficient to compensate for all the bloodshed.   It was justice taking its course   ...   but he couldn't stand to see it tearing her apart,   he would take it all in her stead if he were able.        ❛❛   And yet I did,   there's nothing to be ashamed of.   ❜❜        he says simply,   moving slightly so can see her better,   a strand of ashen hair is gently pushed aside,   hand cradling her cheek with his thumb brushing at skin.   Her choice had little relevance in the matter,   he would have come to find her either way,   no matter how much she would kick and thrash at him,   he would stay,   there's nothing more terrible to him than having to endure this much all alone.        ❛❛   You're alright,   that's what matters.   ❜❜

@stilettaux // answering based on this because hehe

[luna-rainbow]

Hello! I noticed you have a lot of posts analyzing the details of marvel movies, and there was something in the Winter Soldier that I thought I’d ask your opinion about. No pressure for a response!

This is about Alexander Pierce’s little speech in the bank vault scene. It seemed kind of weird to me when I saw it. You wouldn’t talk to a soldier or a professional operative like that, it kind of sounds like he’s talking to a child. He uses language that will be personable - “I need you to do it one more time” - instead of making general statements on behalf of the entire organization. One explanation for this in my opinion is the brain damage Bucky had. I’m wondering how much that had an effect on the way they treated Bucky, and how he may have perceived their treatment of him in his own mind?

Thanks for the ask! Sorry it took me 3 days to get back to civilisation LOL

My impression of that scene changes on a regular basis 🤣 The scene is very ambivalent and whatever interpretation you have would be based on your own headcanons for Bucky. Some people point to this scene as proof that Bucky had a choice in what he did. Some people see this scene as Pierce taking advantage of his physical resemblance to Steve.

My assumption for Bucky is that the brain frying meant Bucky struggled with complex information and wasn't able to make complex decisions.

My most recent view is shaped by a story from a psychologist about someone who had a background of trauma, and their protective mechanism was to completely disintegrate who their sense of self was. They acted out what other people expect them to do, without ever knowing who they were or what they wanted for themselves. The person was a "people pleaser", who always said whatever made people happy even if it was conflicting information, "because they were afraid of punishment", not because they wanted to deceive or manipulate others. If you asked them something about themselves - their wishes, how they felt, what they thought, they couldn't answer because the identity doesn't exist.

It...reminded me a lot of Bucky, who was forced to have his own identity erased to become the Winter Soldier.

Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century, and I need you to do it one more time. Society is at a tipping point between order and chaos. Tomorrow morning we're gonna give it a push. But, if you don't do your part, I can't do mine, and HYDRA can't give the world the freedom it deserves.

I think the way Pierce approaches him is using a few tactics:

When someone is a shocked state -- which Bucky was in, because his mind was in overload from seeing Steve and having some of his memories come back -- they often respond better to tone of voice. Pierce takes a quiet, intimate tone of voice with him, which helps give an illusion of closeness.

When someone is in Bucky's brain injured state, they also tend to respond better to simple phrases rather than something complex and abstract. Pierce does speak in abstracts, though -- and quite possibly Pierce knows Bucky wouldn't have the capacity to process the more complicated phrasing that are blatant lies. Bucky would understand the simpler sentences. "Your work has been a gift", "I need you to do it one more time", "if you don't do your part, I can't do mine". It is pertinent to note that these instructional sentences are much more straightforward in their wording and easier to follow/obey.

If we take Bucky as someone who doesn't have a sense of self, there is no anchor to what he knows or wants, so the only thing he can responds to is positive and negative messages from outside. Pierce first gives Bucky a carrot "your work has been a gift" before applying pressure. And...my other headcanon is that Bucky is driven by loyalty, which boiled down to its essence is a need to please and protect those he thinks are his people. He's not capable of making his own judgement in this state, so he relies on people he trusts to tell him what's right to do. It's also pertinent to note that what Pierce says gives nothing for Bucky to hang onto about what himself -- he's not given any hint about his identity, his previous beliefs or wants, and he's not given an opportunity to speak. "This is what we want and you've always done the right thing, so you'll do it again, right?"

Pierce probably also knows that Bucky's loyalty is to persons, rather than to organisations (Bucky being not keen to join the army is a good indicator that he doesn't get swept up by crowd sentiment and tends to be loyal to the few people he believes in). This is another reason why Pierce would take a personable tone with Bucky rather than speak about the organisation. It is also interesting that Pierce invokes "freedom", which is something more representative of Steve, but perhaps a word that Bucky responds to because of its familiarity.

I don't think that this scene indicated that Hydra or Pierce was kind to Bucky though. Many abusive/exploitative dynamics will have these little islands of superficial kindness between long periods of abuse and depersonalisation. If anything, it was clear from what followed ("Wipe him") what Pierce offered was an ultimatum, and abuse victims are very good at recognising an unspoken threat even if it's presented in a friendly tone. Pierce gave Bucky the illusion of a choice and Bucky's expressions indicate he understood what the "choices" were - do what he was being asked, or go through the wiping and be made to do what he was asked. Nevertheless, Bucky chose defiance, because when Steve called his name, he suddenly had an identity, whereas with Hydra he didn't, and that was important to him.