#just musing. I don’t have much autonomy at the moment

[yurious-george]

The world has suddenly felt very scary and unsafe lately, and I’ve felt very vulnerable within it. Don’t know how to get my feet back on the ground- global rise of facism (sic) notwithstanding.

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

The "Prank"

Sirius wouldn’t be able to explain what compelled him to follow Regulus out of the Great Hall. He had been avoiding his younger brother for months after returning to Hogwarts. It has been easy—neither of them keen on speaking with the other, and being in separate years and houses kept them apart all but a few times a day. Besides, whenever Sirius’ eyes land on Regulus, a visceral rage flows through him, and makes his thoughts take a dangerous pivot toward the person he doesn’t want to be. He can feel it now—against his will, his blood turns black with the poison that flows through their family’s veins. But he won’t accept it, he won’t stoop to their level. James has taught him there is another way, one where he doesn’t have to corrupt himself.

“What do you want, Sirius?” Regulus drawls.

Sirius startles back a step, too lost in his mind to notice Regulus having stopped, or turned to face him. But sure enough, Regulus is leaning against the wall, the flickering scone overhead casting a halo over his dark curls, though he is far from an angel.

“Can’t I just talk to my little brother?”

“You aren’t my brother.”

And sure, he knew Regulus had been going to great lengths to avoid being associated with him anymore. But having a speculation—no matter how certain undeniable—is far better than having the actual confirmation. Because then, there was a small sliver of hope he hadn’t been completely manipulated, that he was just acting a part like an actor at the theater. But now, with just four simple words, Regulus has delivered a world-altering punch to his gut.

“Regulus… you don’t have to pretend. There is nobody here.” After everything he has done for Regulus, to keep him safe, to allow him to be his true self, and this is what he gets in return?

“I mean it. When Mother burned you from the tapestry, I burned you from my life.”

“No. No, you can’t mean that.” He can’t. Not his little Reggie who always sought him out after Mother’s disciplinary whip came down too hard. Not little Reggie who snuck food and potions to him despite the risk. Not little Reggie who fancied James. Not little Reggie. His Reggie would never hate him, would never disown him, because his Reggie isn’t one of them.

But this isn’t his Reggie. This is Regulus. They destroyed his little Reggie and replaced him with… this. Sirius turned for moments to lick his wounds, and they sunk their claws into Regulus and dug in deep. They turned the charming angel into a budding demon, ready to strike without hesitation. They took away his autonomy. They took away his heart. They took away… him.

“Since when were your eyes green?” Regulus demands out of nowhere. “And while I’m thinking about it, what happened to your nose?”

“Why do you fucking care?” He spits, teeth clenched.

“You know,” Regulus muses, completely ignoring him, “maybe it was because your eyes always looked so much like hers—”

In the span of a breath, the darkness seizes him and he has Regulus pinned against the wall, wand at his throat. And to his utter horror, it feels good. To have Regulus at his mercy, to have power over the scenario, to see the spark of terror in Regulus eyes as Sirius himself must have had that night.

“Don’t you dare compare me to them.”

“You are going to be one of them no matter what you do. Nothing can erase sixteen years of discipline.”

“I am not one of them.”

“You and I both know the truth, Sirius. No matter how far you run, you share their blood.”

“I might share their blood, but I will not walk the same path as them.”

Regulus scoffs. “Even with all your defiance, what have you accomplished? You are still here, with a wand to my throat, over a mere insinuation. You like the power, Sirius. I can see it in your eyes. You might have fooled your friends, but you cannot fool me.”

“I am breaking the cycle. Mother had the chance to end it, but she was afraid, and now the burden of her pain was thrust unwillingly onto us. But I won’t allow it to continue.”

“How noble.”

“Remember when it was just us, before Mother started controlling us like marionettes? Remember the pillow forts we built? Remember when we snuck chocolate out of the kitchen? Remember when we climbed to the roof to look at the stars? Remember when we rescued that baby bird? Remember when—”

“It was a lie.” Regulus spits. “You never loved me; you were always jealous that I was the child Mother wanted; that I was everything you never could be.”  

It's not fair. That night, Regulus took his life and mangled it into something unrecognizable. That is the moment his life changed, when his life took a turn he could never come back from. Not the day he met James, not the day he decided he wasn’t going to be the pureblood supremacist his mother raised him to be, not the day he started rebelling against her wishes. The day he turned his back on his only family, the only one he actually cared to save. The day he lost everything he had and turned into... this. A shattered likeness of a boy.

“I’ve been thinking about that night. And I’m glad I did it. I reminded you of who you are—a traitor who doesn’t deserve the Black family name.”

Just a mention of the night he has under lock and key, and it starts seeping out the cracks. Mother’s cold eyes, his body pressed against the scratchy carpet, pleading Regulus to help him. It’s too much, and the darkness is begging to take control of the situation, to give him power so he isn’t so weak anymore. So, he won’t be at anyone’s mercy anymore. Maybe he should just… no. He can’t. He won’t. Ever.

“Mother isn’t here, Regulus. She can’t hurt you; she can’t control you.”

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself? That she’s controlling me? Did you think I didn’t want to point my wand at you? You know how Unforgivables work, Sirius. I wanted to hurt you. Even if I had the opportunity to go back and take a different path, I wouldn’t. Because you needed to know how much you hurt me, and you needed to suffer for it.”

When did he lose Regulus? He can’t pinpoint the moment his brother became a weapon for Mother to use. Was it when Sirius made other friends besides Reggie? Was it when Regulus had to continue putting on the mask of being Mother’s obedient little girl because he couldn’t openly be his true self in that house? Sirius wants desperately to know so he can go back in time and mend that wound so they can be brothers again.

“I wanted to, and if you don’t leave me alone, I will do it again.” Suddenly, Regulus’ wand is in the hollow of Sirius’ neck. There is no waver like it had last time. This time his eyes are hardened steel, like the blade he is so willing to plunge into Sirius. This time, Sirius has no doubt that the agony will be intensified beyond imagination. This time, Sirius actually fears Regulus.

It is all too much. The memories of that night resurfacing. The threat of Regulus’ wand. Finally losing the last bit of hope he had clung onto for his brother. The boiling darkness inside him, threatening to push him to the brink he desperately doesn’t want to fall over. He just wants to go to the common room and curl up in Remus’ arms. But Remus isn’t there, because it is the full moon, which means Sirius doesn’t get to feel better, because he has to push it all aside for Remus. To make sure his boyfriend doesn’t tear himself to shreds or hate his very skin. So, Sirius will push it all aside, like he always does. He cannot burden his friends, because then they will leave him alone with the dangerous voices in his head.

He takes the swirling maelstrom of thoughts, and violently shoves it into a heavy iron trunk with no key. Everything goes in the box. Every last thought until his heart no longer aches, until his thoughts don’t jumble. Until he is just an empty shell. Finally, finally, everything is quiet. Then he shoves the box overboard. It disappears beneath the chopping waves, and he is alone.

“Show me your arm.” The words churn themselves up from a dark place. A place that wants to punish Sirius, because he vowed, he would never ask. Because he doesn’t really want to know. Would rather live in disregard, than to see the grotesque mark against pale skin and know he failed his brother in the worst way. Then again, maybe that is why he asks, because he no longer cares for those who turn their back on him.

Sirius reaches for Regulus’ right arm. But Regulus is faster, and shoves Sirius away. That is all the confirmation he needs.

“You have it then.” He laughs, though it sounds too high and hysterical to have come from him. it sounds like Bella’s laugh. “I can’t believe it. My baby brother had the guts to go and get himself Marked.”

“Shut up.”

“Or what, you’ll Crucio me? You’d be in Azkaban before the night is up. Though, your Death Eater pals have surely taught you more creative means of hurting people. Tell me, what has Lucius taught you?”

Regulus flinches, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Another high-pitched cackle squeezes through his lungs. Regulus’ face is dawning with some kind of realization, but Sirius doesn’t pause to think. Thinking hurts too much, thinking leads to pain and regret. And Sirius is floating right now, high above pain. Untouchable, unhurtable.

His wand tumbles through his fingers, while he flicks through the catalog of prank spells. He could start off with sticking his feet to the ground, that would keep him from running. Then he could steal the air from Regulus’ lungs—that is a creative one Bella used on him once. Then he could--

Regulus is backing away now, and Sirius lets him. “Go on, coward. Go run back to your snake pit!”

Sirius turns and saunters back down the corridor, set to aimlessly wander the corridors for however long he pleases. There is a small alarm bell ringing that he has somewhere to be soon, very soon.

But why would he have somewhere to be?

Nothing ties him down.

Nobody controls him.

He is free, free, free.

Free.

Free.

Free.

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

Everything is wrong.

Beneath the hazy surface there is a hollowness, a betrayal, a complete ruination.

But how can he feel that way if he has no heart?

If he doesn’t feel, how can he be destroyed?

If he is untouchable, how is he dragged to his knees?

“Fancy seeing you here, Black. Where is the rest of your entourage?”

“Snivellus.” Sirius’ lips pull back in a snarl, but he isn’t sure why. It is just a boy standing there. A sad looking boy who never made the right choices, much like him. No, why would he compare himself to this lowly boy with greasy hair and a hooked nose? His hair is beautiful, he is a statement walking down the corridors, he is powerful.

Powerful.

Powerful.

Powerful and free.

“Where are they then, ready to ambush me when I round the corner?”

“Maybe.” Sirius twirls his wand, grinning at the way Snape tracks the movement warily. “Maybe I’m just the distraction while they hex your housemates.”

“You would never be too far from the action. Pettigrew is your distraction.”

“Well, if you know that, we’re too obvious. We can’t be too predictable.”

“You know, Black, with you it’s all bark and no bite. When are you going to stop hiding behind your words and actually show your claws?”

A delirious laugh bubbles up from deep inside. Finally, finally Snivellus looks scared. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. It's all wrong. “You want to know a little secret, Snivellus?” He leans in, and Snape retreats a step. “You know about the Whomping Willow on the far side of the grounds by Hogsmeade? All you need to do is get a long stick and poke the knot on the trunk.”

None of this is funny, except maybe it is? Sirius isn’t sure, but there is a wide smile on his face, stretching his cheeks painfully. Maybe the way Snape’s eyes flick down the corridor and back is funny. Maybe, the look on his face when he sees a werewolf will be funny.

“Don’t you want to know our secret? Or are you snakes too cowardly to face actual danger?”

Snape tilts his head back, consulting Sirius over the bridge of his incredibly long nose. “Why should I listen to you?”

“You shouldn’t.” Then, he turns his back to the coward, and continues his stroll through the halls, back to the common room. Or maybe he will go somewhere else. Maybe he could go feel the wind on his cheeks, to cool the fire sparking from him. Or to Remus’ bed, to wrap himself up in a cocoon of his blankets and just breathe in his scent.

A hazy thought that he should be headed to the shack with the others by now flits through his mind. But isn’t it too early? Or too late? Is it even the full moon tonight, or has it already passed, or not yet come?

“Sirius! There you are, we were worried sick.”

He ambles passed the two boys at the entrance, and flops onto their claimed loveseat by the fire. The warmth doesn’t even touch him where he is floating further and further away.

“I think we have a little longer before we need to show up.”

“It’s nearly eight-thirty. If he hasn’t already, he is going to soon.”

“Nah, we’ll be just on time.” He laughs again. It’s wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.

But he cannot stop, he doesn’t want to stop. Why would he? The anguish is finally gone. He is floating high with no worries to drag him down to earth. He can just laugh and feel nothing, nothing, nothing. Everything will turn out just fine, he is sure of it.

“Sirius, what are you talking about?”

“Just giving Snivellus what he asked for. It’s about time he learned his place.”

“Sirius. Tell me what you did.” There is danger dripping in James’ tone, but there is nothing to worry about. Nothing bad can happen while he is floating floating floating.

“It’s kind of funny. He said we’re all bark with no bite, something about never showing our claws…” He laughs again, it’s pulled deep from his stomach this time. “But we have a fucking werewolf.”

“No... no, no, no. Sirius, tell me you didn’t.”

“My only regret is I won’t get to see his face.”

James tears out of the room, Peter close behind. After a moment, Sirius stumbles after them, maybe he will get to see Snivellus’ face after all.

James and Peter are much faster than he can stumble along, and by the time they have reached the Whomping Willow, Sirius is just leaving the front doors of the castle. He makes it a few more steps before he stumbles and falls. He could get up, if only to see this through, but the grass feels nice against his overheated skin, so he flops onto his back, splaying his arms and legs on either side of him.

The stars are so beautiful, so beautiful yet too dangerous to keep close. It’s fitting that he’s named after a star, isn’t it. Oh, so wrong to hold and to love, yet you keep it close anyway. He searches for his moon, but he cannot find it anywhere, the light of it snuffed out by the clouds. But he is there, and so is his brother. Two bright stars burning up everything they come in contact with.

Wrong wrong wrong. Right right right. Wrong... wrong... wrong...

★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★

The door to the shack creaks open.

But they are far too late. Remus had long ago accepted they weren’t going to show tonight. They probably gave up on him, deeming it not worthy to put their lives on the line every month for a friendship. But that is okay, because he’s survived the full without them for years prior, he can do it again.

But then, who is opening the door? The wolf is already straining at his skin, begging to burst forth. But he has been holding back. Both with the naïve hope that his friends are coming for him, and the naïve urge to feel in control for longer, even if the agony is prolonged.

He opens his mouth to shout out a warning, but all that comes out is a weak howl, splitting in half with pain. His knees collide with the hard floor of the shack as he hugs his stomach, as though that is enough to keep the monster inside.

The first bone shifts. Then another. Then his skin is torn and the wolf begins to emerge, there is no more stubborn refusal. It tears at his body to make room for itself in his place, no concern for the throes of pain that wrack his frail human body. The snapping of bone and tearing of skin always makes his stomach lurch, even after all this time. But he bares it, just as he always has.

“What the—”

Remus whips his head up, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Standing on the bottom shelf of the shack, is Snape. His eyes are wide saucers, but his wand is clenched in a white knuckled grip. Fear and magic are not a good combination, but he cannot do anything to stop it. His own magic is on the fritz right now, and he doesn’t even have his wand.

He could just let Snape run, but somehow, despite the way his body and face are warped into something… other, he knows that Snape knows exactly who he is. And knowing Snape, he will stop at nothing to hold this over his head. Or he might just go tell the whole school, then the looks always cast his direction will turn dark rather than curious or sympathetic. Merlin, he should have known better than to believe McGonagall, how was she supposed to keep him safe from hundreds of too-curious-for-their-own-good-students?

As if in response to his inner turmoil, the wolf bursts forth. After that, all his thoughts are hazy, trapped in the mist as he looses control. After that, all he can remember is screaming, and blood, and pure terror, and desperation, and magic singing the air.

[go-to-the-mirror]

Happy @tmaappreciationweek day 1! I drew something, but it’s kinda ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, so… fic recs! Jon-centric ones, because he’s my favourite major character to precisely no one’s surprise.

It’s in order of vaguely when they take place.

nature has taught her creatures to hate (words 183,928) by thepolysyndetonaddictsupportgroup

Jon goes to the Magnus Institute to give a statement about Mr. Spider when he’s 8 years old, but is kidnapped and made to become a child avatar. It… really hurts. So much. 100% recommend. Good luck.

Merry-Go-Round (words 20,744) by Prim_the_Amazing

Jon becomes a stranger avatar, in like this horrifying way, and it’s like, it’s almost appealing, like MAG 152, but also you’re like oh god. Ohhhh god. Dont. Dont do that. And yeah, it’s really good.

you appear familiar, dear— you look just like my bathroom mirror (words 3,340) by takethebreadsticksandRUN

One of those one shots that take a theme and then run with it through canon (and in this case, pre-canon). It’s about identity issues related to your body, about gender dysphoria and the Issues that come with having your bodily autonomy repeatedly violated and also religion. Catholicism, to be specific. It’s really good, and the religious imagery is neat, and it’s so good. It’s really gender, it gets the gender feelings.

Jon focused, introspection. I love Jon focused introspection.

all your scars are looking more like scales (words 2,827) by ceaselesswatchers

Another one of those one shots. This time the theme is Jon being a dragon (in an Otherkin way). It’s really good.

but you just don’t feel the same (words 2,825) by ceaselesswatchers

Yet another one of those one shots. This one focuses on soulmates, how they’re actually body horror if you think about it, and how that would interact with being aro. Jon’s aromantic in this fic.

Also, I won’t spoil it, but it’s got a moment near the end that I love so much, and it’s just… this fic really tackles a lot of things in TMA and a lot of things with soulmate AUs and makes me Very Horrified.

terror management theory (words 36,587) by prismatical

ITS SO FUNNY AND ITS SO SAD

It’s half crack half oh my god. oh my fucking god. Where Jon was killed by Mr. Spider as a kid and now he keeps coming back to life. Prismatical writes really good… moments that stick in your brain.

There is a Wasp’s Nest in my Archives (words 7,525) by ineverwritebutwhatever

One of the first fics I bookmarked, like even before finishing season 2? Had no idea what the corruption was, but then, but then, I revisited it, and it’s… phenomenal? It really does a good job of tackling both the metaphorical and literal aspects of the corruption.

of broken tables and stained kitchen sinks (words 2,114) by ocaptain_mycaptain

Everyone’s favourite… Jongeorgie angst! Platonic. It’s set in season 3, Jon’s all like “I’ll keep all of my problems right here, and then one day, I’ll die” and Georgie’s like “hey, jon, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me anything. Please tell me something” and meanwhile they’re having issues that are symbolised through Georgie’s home and furniture being in need of repairs.

Not (words 1,767) by DaFlangstLairde

A really cool fic beginning in season 3 (but it’s one of Those one shots), focusing on what it means to be a person and even real. Can confirm, feels a lot like depersonalisation, lol. Anyway, it’s so cool, also it’s something I can use to say Stranger!Jon rights.

So, for realistic depictions of depersonalisation, Jon themed musings on humanity, and Stranger!Jon propaganda… this is the fic for you!

The Bird of Paradise (comic, 47 chapters) by lady_libertine

This was required reading for a different fic. It’s about Jon meeting Odin, Dionysus, and Lucifer during the Unknowing, and getting slightly magical therapy that helps him fix his problems. It’s actually pretty good. Very long, though. And not described (unless it is through alt text).

Cry For Me (words 4,827) by BusinessCasualAura

(who is apparently my mutual, i keep forgetting this)

Okay, so this series is like, so sad. It’s so bloody sad. It starts between s3 and s4 (getting off to a Sad Start), continues through s4 and s5, ends in like, the worst way (for the characters). It’s so bloody good, and the Upton House portion is like… top 2 Upton House fics.

can’t be helped (words 5,308) and rituals (words 8,492) by doomcountry

The first fic is set in season 4, but canon diverges, and both Martin and Jon fall fully to their patrons (i.e. Jon becomes a lot more evil and inhuman, Martin fulfils more of the diagnostic criteria for major depressive disorder).

The second fic is set after the first fic, with Martin (less lonely) trying to see if there’s any Jon left in the Archivist. First fic focuses pretty equally on Jon and Martin, but in separate storylines, second fic is from the Archivist’s POV, but focuses on Jmart.

stopgap prophecy (words 16,686) by prismatical

It’s about humanity and monsterhood and “is it right to die bc living will hurt people” and change, and I love it. It’s so good. And Jon’s narration is wonderful, and the climax is just, it’s amazing to read, it plays out in my head all the time. Set in season 4, post-MAG 146.

the best policy (words 20,094) by BlueGirl22

Jon reads a truth telling Leitner during season 4, and then people have heart to hearts with him. It goes. It certainly goes.

For he will not do destruction, if he is well fed (words 15,127) by greevianguy

Jon projects on a cat for 15,127 words. No but, like, set in season 4, Jon sees a cat at the institute, and then he sees it again with Daisy, and he wonders if he can help, and he thinks about the cat Daisy had and how it was let go by someone who was supposed to help it and yes jon go on, no, im not taking notes.

It’s just, argjhhh it’s so painful. Might be my favourite tma fic. Go read it. Right now.

Out of My Head (words 15,641) by buildoblivionthenwewilltalk

This is a really good post-MAG 154 fic, and it’s got this cool original character, and it’s got this absolute BANGER of an ending that never gets elaborated on, it’s fine i’m fine and yeah. Favourite post-MAG 154, easily.

in the chillest land and on the strangest sea (words 19,632) by imperfectcircle and raven (singlecrow)

I’m pretty sure this is one of those fandom classics. Based on the amount of comments, it’s pretty well known, but I enjoyed it, so… it’s about Hope as an entity. It’s in the format of Daisy telling Jon a story while the latter is staying at the Scottish Safehouse. The story is from season 1 onward but the framing device is post-MAG 159 pre-MAG 160. It’s got great moments that live in my mind rent free.

john 19:41 (words 1,142) by tkkarno

Set immediately after MAG 160, Jon reflects on his humanity, the loss of it, and the relation of that to Jane Prentiss, and also biblical themes. The title is the bible quote: “Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid.”

Pretty much exclusively focuses on Jon. Stream of consciousness ramble, yknow.

In this harsh world (words 1,132) by CirrusGrey

This is my favourite of the 40 fics Citrus wrote while s5 was coming out. It’s a conversation after Upton House. It’s titled after a line from Hamlet. Frankly I don’t think I need to say any more.

where there’s a will, we make a way (words 305,816) by bubonickitten

Time travel fix it fic, time travel fix it fic! To be completely honest, I don’t really like time travel fix it fics, but this one is an exception. s5!Jon basically replaces season 4 Jon, and still has issues, and they focus on multiple characters, and there’s so much getting angry at Jonah Magnus — if I’m being honest, sometimes I just read this fic and go through the content warnings to see which chapters probably mention Jonah Magnus and read those, because the handling of Jonah Magnus is like, thank you. I love it.

Focuses on multiple characters, but Jon’s the main character. Also, diverges before MAG 187, and it was being written pre-finale. It’s still ongoing.

rewind. play. eject. (words 39,543) by boredshyandbi

Jon’s stuck in a timeloop of MAG 39, and it’s heartbreaking to see him every time try to fix things, try to save Sasha and Martin and Tim, and there are Lines. There are Lines. That stick out in my brain. Do you think I’m ever going to be okay about paperclips again? No! I’m not. It’s another exception to the time travel fix-it rule, but only because it’s got... a different plot. And it’s just that good.

Countdown to Extinction (words 131,464) by starspangledbread

Another exception! Tbf though, it’s another different one.

First fic isn’t quite monster4monster4monster jongerrymart, but it’s got the Vibes. Jon commits petty crimes and also major crimes like Multiple Kidnappings, uh and then the second fic is just. Wow okay that’s a tonal difference. Dealing with repercussions…

ANYWAY I wholeheartedly recommend both :D

[borreloadsavagedragon]

Give Kaito essay (for the character meme)

Oh god, I’ll read more this because it’s gonna be a journey and that's also why it took so long gjdaslgk-

And the standard zexal and arc v spoilers warning message-

1. how long have i known about them A LONG time though it didn’t get to like he’s my whole world status until pandemic era-- MalindaChan did her cosplay for him back when I was still a certified Yugiboomer who entertained GX and 5DS because "lol abridged series jokes" and that’s when I first remember seeing his design? I tried watching Zexal briefly when it was actively airing but just couldn’t get far bc Boomer Brain ™, but I remember him being cool but the "Kaiba-likeness but not being Kaiba" Yugiboomer wall couldn't be overcome right away, I had to train my skills Then 2020 happened, I watched Vrains to understand Link Summoning, got SUCKED into it, and was like wow past me was dumb, ALL of the spinoffs are GREAT Zexal reached a hand back out to me when I was kinda struggling with the Vrains community and I'd decided to start writing more spinoff muses with some mutual friends and that's also when I realized I’d be subconsciously collecting Galaxy and Photon monsters since they’re pretty + space themed but also because they were inside of ALL of the Kaiba support sets(because DUH) so it was like,,, well, let’s try that again

Now I’m In Hell And It’s All His Fault Do you think I ENJOY playing Photon competitively? Well yes, but also NO. It means learning new decks is HARD because I can't look at dragons and knights in SPACE.

2. whether or not they’ve ever made me cry Moon duel? W,, what Moon duel,,, I don’t,,, remember any space dueling, ahaha, isn’t that another yugioh, the rush of the go,,,,,,, In all serious though, yes lmao The duel against Zexal when he tells you his reasoning for why he’s the Number Hunter and he looks so broken, that got a solid few tears The flashback of him trying to break Haruto out of the city got some tears  The duel with Chris is also really good show of his character at the root, the thing that gets him back to his feet is the moment Chris even considers Haruto as part of his suffering, g o d The moon duel of course. That��s. That one was brutal. Yeah. 

3. whether or not i have any merchandise/objects with them uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

There’s a wall scroll behind my work desk that sneaks into my Zoom calls, there’s a canvas print he’s on that sits at my work desk, my ita bag has a handful of charms, pins, and buttons for him(still hunting for artists who draw him with merch wink wink)

I guess my Photon tcg deck counts? The tcg is just one big merch machine if you squint enough-

My Book of Moon themed binder is literally just all of my collector Photon and Galaxy/references to Kaito cards + a small page for Miza since Tachyon is a Galaxy Eyes

Do cosplays count? Because I’ve got all but his space suit basically done + his duel disk 

4. what about their personality i like How seriously he takes himself despite literally everything else about his character 

He’s often off to the side with his arms crossed, pouting or frowning, having the cool guy edge lord behavior But also he’s screaming in the rain, jumping through a window on a kite glider he made himself that also doubles as his robo-butler, flying to the whole ass moon because a rock told him to, and beefing 14 yr olds, he’s just a legend 

I also love that he's like... very clear about himself and on how you should treat him. He straight up says he's going to hell for what he's done and just continues to be there because that's how he'll atone because atonement isn't forgiveness, like he's not ours to forgive. Love him so much.

5. what about their backstory makes me emotional Honestly, most of it

Watching Kaito slowly lose his autonomy (his brother whose been his responsibility for what could be read as since birth, his father just becoming a figure head in his life versus an actual parent, Chris walking out on him with no closure until they duel, being watched by and trained under brutal conditions by the government, failed escape attempts, getting lied to and used, etc) and then knowing one of the people who he attributes half of that loss and suffering to is someone he never gets closure against is very hard to watch

Even in Arc V, he loses his entire family in a way that makes him cut ties with every single person left in a desolate city and hunt his enemies down one by one to pay them back for his suffering, and it happened before we finally actually get to see him or hear of him for the first time so god knows the details

He really just gets put through it time and time again, yugioh be nice to that onion challenge

6. the moment of theirs that made me the saddest there was no duel on the moon in yugioh zexal

But actually, Kaito dying is tragic for a few reasons

THEY JUST LET HIS BROTHER WATCH IT HAPPEN? FAKER??? HELLO?

He was... ok with it happening-

He was killed off before the final duel and before he could reunite with Yuma and Ryouga again, and even though he came back as a spirit, it felt like a such a cop out

7. the moment of theirs that made me the happiest The pure look of joy on his face reuniting with his brother after they defeat Vector the first time, it’s so good The first time Prime Photon is summoned, goated, perfect, all boss monsters should be willed into existence like that But also Arc V, Kaito watching Dennis duel Yuya after everything with Zarc and clapping for him is so sweet omg

8. something about them that made me laugh HIS ONE LINERS, yugioh really gives the rivals the best solo lines I swear to god

Ok listen, dub and sun debate aside, I watched both because I’m a mess and need as much Kaito as I can get, but the dub has some heaters and Kaito’s got a few good ones, ESPECIALLY when he's talking to Mizael

The one to Shark, “You’re quite the romanticist”, who the fuck says that out loud to another person Kaito talking to Dennis is also a fever dream, the dub especially is so jarring, I love them

9. my favorite canon outfit of theirs White coat with the gazer tattoo, you can never go wrong with the Photon coat Numeral Hunter is also based, I know that's not like HIS look in any show, but... I HC that would be his Vrains Avatar, he could go to Vrains very easily, Solflare is an exploitable card in his deck

10. my favorite moment with them in canon UUUUGGHHHH CHOOSING ONE IS HARD

Uhhh, episode wise Shark Hunter is prooobably my favorite(for obvious reason but besides those LOL) because it’s such a tone setter for who Kaito is and also I could listen to these two bicker all day long, we really didn’t get nearly enough of their side rivalry as opposed to like Kaiba and Joey or Takeru and Ryoken

And then the Moon Duel is like my second favorite duel in the whole franchise, only outclassed by Soba and Revo in Vrains, you really get to see just how strong he is because he's half blind, still actively dying by dueling, and gets his helmet cracked in the vacuum of space, and he's still able to win

Character moment, the duel against Chris comes to mind again because it shows a lot of Kaito to his core, but also Kaito hauling ASS to get Yuma to Astral world to reunite with Astral is iconic, Kaito's always ready to take the plunge when everyone else says not to because he just KNOWS he's right

11. my favorite relationship they have with another character sweats profusely, I said it above somewhere I think- removing shipping from the equation entirely, I REALLY like all of the bff / rival dynamics across all of the shows, I love how well done they are and I fully find them more interesting than the standard protag/rival ones, even with KaiRyo having like the least amount of time dedicated to theirs comparatively. Ryouga and Kaito being treated so similarly by the hands dealt to them to where they'd understand the other one like looking in a mirror and yet they cannot stand each other, I eat that shit up. But also knowing the other person so well that they don't even have to talk and also realizing that person is their one of their only option to success? Give me MORE of that I also really love the foil between Mizael and Kaito a lot, I REALLY wish it got the time it was rumored to get, guess I gotta do everything myself In Arc V, Kaito and Shun's dynamic is really good for the little bit we're allowed the time to see it, Shun being one of the only characters who actually goes back for him after leaving so abruptly between Arc V and Zexal... tugs on the heart strings I also love that Kaito took ONE look at Edo in the safe house and decided to speed run the enemies part of the enemies to lovers arc they were going to have, I wish they could have spoken in canon more, hell GX Edo and Zexal Kaito would also be such an interesting dymamic

12. what i like about the way the fandom portrays them Everyone drawing him like >:D all of the time, keep doing that The white lab coat look too? Like not the Photon one, like a standard white lab coat? Perfect, DO NOT change that

nsfw next but also just how everyone knows he's a bottom no matter which ship it is lmao

13. what i dont like about the way the fandom portrays them that no one talks about him except in “WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE RIVAL” polls fndhxjshxbs

I’m going insane in my thoughts alone over here, I need to convert everyone to watch Zexal

14. what i liked about the way canon portrayed them Ok here we can get heated for a bit because I’ve seen an argument somewhere that Kaito didn’t develop at all from season 1 to 2 of Zexal but he 100000% did and I honestly like how it's done

Season 1 Kaito was purposefully talking to the air Astral could be in to avoid even looking at Yuma because he thought so little of him despite how much clawing to get on the same level as him Yuma did

Season 2 Kaito is jumping in to keep Mizael from killing Yuma without a second thought, he's going to the arctic despite ALL of the protests to build the bridge to Astral

His development is subtle, but it's very there, not to mention he can now stomach being in the same room as Faker, gave Chris a second chance, his dying words to Yuma are all the more apparent how important Yuma became to him Like the ONLY person we should have seen an actual conversation touching on Kaito's actions with WAS Ryouga but... be honest, Ryouga's not accepting that from Kaito, they're both very much people of action and they established their bond through the snark and bickering, that's how they communicate Plus Kaito's also outward about not being a good person, telling Yuma he sold his soul to the devil, telling the gang in the first episodes of Zexal II he's already going to hell because that's what his guilty soul deserves Ryoken and Kaito would be SUCH an interesting duo, I'm just saying

15. what i dont like about the way canon portrayed them Oh boy now here we go LOL

The duel against Mr Heartland. - This one's unbelievably bad for so many reasons, mostly because there’s no universe where Kaito struggles against Heartland of all people in a duel, but also this is the person who’s been THE symbol for most of his trauma and trials up until that point. There is no chance in hell he struggles, gets crippled by him, and has to have Yuma take over. That was and always should have been his duel to win, but Yugioh has the unfortunate "this is a story through the protag's eyes" shonen protag bug at its core (Yuma sweetie you’re lovely and wonderful, it’s literally not your fault) 

Arc V giving him literally no time for their version of Kaito to have a more satisfactory character arc because of how long and bad the Synchro Dimension/Friendship Cup arc was. Just another victim of the Synchro Arc, sighs. The dub also puts this weird and bad attempted joking line about how Kaito doesn't do family and like have you literally watched any of Zexal, you're the whole ass studio Kaito just doesn't feel very Kaito the same way in Arc V, it's very sad, lots of shit you know og Kaito wouldn't let fly that just goes by in Arc V, but different versions, dimensions, stories, etc etc, it's just such a whiplash coming from Zexal where he's just so much more

OCG Structures was a coward and didn’t want to play with dimensional physics because Kaito 110% could find a way into that timeline I haven't read the Zexal manga in full just yet because I wanna collect them all physically so that'll be later- And a little bit for the games since Konami wanted at least one of those to be canon thanks to Vrains world-

Cross Duel literally had you consider killing kids for him but honestly this one is more funny than infuriating, everyone's a worst version of themselves in Cross Duel agjdaslkgj Duel Links is usually pretty good, but since Kaito’s first launch event where he's hunting you down, he’s been very much more like an NPC for the Zexal world events, just seems weird to me, I'm sure that'll get thrown out once Chris' unlock event actually happens coming up here and when Miza gets added... then that digital world won't know WHAT to do

[the27percent]

INTIMACY  &  RELATIONSHIP  PREFERENCES  GUIDE (  as always,  repost don’t reblog  )

for multiple choice sections: bold for always, italics for sometimes, bold & italics for especially likes, strikethrough for never, no emphasis for neutral or n/a remember: “top” means the one penetrating, “bottom” means the one being penetrated. positions will be specified as such.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

SEXUAL ROLES: dominant.  submissive. versatile

PENETRATIVE PREFERENCES: open to varying penetrative options on themself. Does not easily reveal how weird that can get with them. Willing to use toys and straps on partners given the opportunity

DOES YOUR MUSE USE A STRAP ON ?: Sometimes. Yes.

POSITIONS AS A TOP: being ridden.  missionary.  lotus. doggy.  flatiron.  legs on shoulders.  standing up.  standing while partner sits on surface.  spooning.  side by side.

POSITIONS AS A BOTTOM: riding.  missionary.  lotus.  doggy.  flatiron.  legs on shoulders.  standing up.  sitting on surface.  spooning.  side by side.

SEXUAL RELATIONSHIPS: monogamous.  polyamorous.  open.  swinging.  hook-ups.  platonic. [don't really have a specific sexual model that they require. ]

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS: monogamous.  polyamorous.  open. casual. committed.  

RELATIONSHIP ROLES: dominant.  submissive. equal.  nurturing.  being nurtured. monetary provider.  monetarily dependent.  shared monetary burden. independent monetary responsibility.  manages household.  shares household management. prefers independent living spaces.  likes having household managed by partner.  

THOUGHTS ON MARRIAGE: Marriage isn't really a viable option for them. Like they are an entity, not sure if their whole existence is something one would want to marry. And so they haven't really thought about it. They've been in relationships for sure.. but it's very very unlikely for them to walk down the aisle.

DOES YOUR MUSE GET JEALOUS / POSSESSIVE ?: Atieno tends not to get possessive. It really makes no sense for them to be possessive that way. Like why would they be the end all and be all of someone's connections given their ways.. I mean, they would prefer not to be an afterthought, and if they feel like that because of someone's active behavior.. they are much more likely just to leave someone alone.

DOES YOUR MUSE LIKE POSSESSIVE PARTNERS ?:Complicated. They really do insist on their autonomy whenever possible. If someone wants to feel that way about them... technically they can, but they can't guarantee they will change their behavior as a response to that.

DO THEY LIKE DOM / SUB ROLES IN ALL ASPECTS OF RELATIONSHIPS ? ( i.e. dom’s responsibility both sexually and in life is to take care of the sub and look after them. sometimes utilizing sexual and nonsexual rewards / punishments to incentivize them to carry out self care or other responsibilities ) : In all aspects of relationships? Probably not. They would rather just connect with someone as beings and leave some of those dynamics to more private moments. Maybe they would do some care taking or like to be taken care of now and then - but that doesn't really read as dom/sub things for them like at all.

WHAT DOES AFTERCARE LOOK LIKE TO THEM ?: Checking on partners, really understanding how things went, taking care of an injuries. Just kind of enjoying relative quiet together afterwarsd maybe.

WHAT ARE WAYS THEY PREFER TO BUILD EMOTIONAL INTIMACY ?: Spending time together, respecting their responsibilities and efforts. Kind of understanding that their sense of morality might be... off-kilter. Like they are capable of good things but there's a reason they don't strictly identify as good and they are really very aware of this. And would strongly prefer those who would get that kind of ambivalence. But just talking, chilling - humor. Really sharing experiences at a comfortable rate. Not feeling rushed into anything in particular makes sense too.

[dollwritesarchive]

orgasm denial/overstimulation with bunny & matt? 🥺 i feel like either would fit their dynamic so well!! <33

𝓅𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 ⎹ 𝓜.𝓜.

fandom marvel / the defenders masterlist / violent delights au

featuring dark!matt murdock x bunny!reader

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning this is a darkish fic. forced stimulation. suggested kidnapping, manipulation, etc. Matt is a meanie. humiliation and a dash of degradation and dumbification. use of a vibrating wand, a gag and some good old fashioned duct tape, daddy kink, dacryphilia, somnophilia mention.

summary you’ve begged him to let you go one too many times.

word count 1.5k / mini musings

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

bunny in wonderland writing event!!

you could hear his footsteps approaching, even though they were faint, and you force your eyes to try and focus on the door to the bedroom. you couldn’t do much for the drool oozing from either side of your lips, rubbed raw by the gag fastened tight around your face. a wide, metal ring kept your mouth from closing, your lips aching to seal themselves. you couldn’t stand the way your moans sounded with your mouth wide open like this, like you were actually enjoying Matt’s idea of a game.

you weren’t… were you?

if you could speak, you would scream no. however, your body was telling a completely different story. your thighs quivered, silk panties soaked through, and your eyes kept rolling back in your head whenever you tried to escape the deep, rumbling vibrations of the wand secured to your core. it was futile to squirm, because you only ended up grinding into it, forcing more and more stimulation until you were crying out and drooling on to the sheets underneath you, begging incoherently for mercy.

you wanted to show Matt that he wouldn’t break you, and yet, you already seemed broken. when he waltzes into the room, grinning ear to ear, you imagine he’s been listening to your pitiful moaning for a while now. your teeth clink against the metal forcing your mouth open, and you attempt to angle yourself to look at his figure from your personal hell on his formerly soft, welcoming bed. oh, god, how you used to love when he pushed you on your back and you could sink into these heavenly pillows; you’d feel as though you were floating when he fucked you. but now? now, the silk sheets were soaked beneath you, and you writhed against the duct tape that cinched your thighs together, jerked at the rope on your wrists until the burn brought tears to your eyes.

you try to speak, but it’s breathy and garbled, your tongue flapping helplessly in the gap from the ring, and Matt chuckles. “I didn’t catch a word of that, Bun.” then, take the damn gag off. swaggering closer to the bed, his fingertips dance over your ankle, and you wished you had the autonomy to kick them away. you shudder at his touch, when you used to swoon. “I’ve been listening to you moan like a little whore in here. Did you forget our deal?” Matt clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, hand careening up to slip between your sticky thighs and feel the mess you’ve made of your panties. “Or are you starting to like it too much to remember what I promised?” you shake your head at that, trying to speak again. this time, he quirks a brow. “All right, all right. Let’s get that thing off of your face.” he croons, both hands fleeing to the straps of leather securing the metal to you, and in a moment’s time, he’s prying it from your mouth.

you whimper, feeling your forcibly stretched couplet able to finally relax again, your jaw aching. “H—how long… have I been in here…?” you ask, looking him up and down. he wasn’t dressed for work, but that wasn’t unusual. he had been taking more and more days off since abducting you. the room around you had been darkened, probably so you couldn’t tell what time of day or night it was.

Matt chortles as he sits on the side of the bed, causing you to recoil and attempt to slither away, but the restraints made it impossible. “Feeling dramatic already, are we, baby bun?” he teases, one palm falling to your neck. he hardly squeezes, but pulls you back to your original position, posing you like a doll. “It’s hardly been an hour.”

what? no. that couldn’t possibly be right. you felt like your mind was melting, your entire body thrumming to the vibrations of the wand between your legs, and it’s only been an hour?

he simpers; most likely feeling the way your heart beat faster under his fingers. “What were you expecting, sweetheart? That I’d left you here all day and you’d managed to hold it all in, and now I’ve come to make good on my word?”

“You—you promised…” you whimper, meek. “If I didn’t cum, I could go home.” the words burned humiliation on to your face. there was no one here to see you like this, but you still felt pathetic.

“I did, and I’m a man of my word.” Matt replies, simper barely faltering, he turns, hand running down over your breast. he could never pass up a chance to feel them, so he gave it a squeeze before traveling lower, to the buzzing demon against your throbbing sex. “But, this little thing’s only been on low the whole time. A preliminary to your real test, if you will.” your toes curl, eyes widening.

low?

“P—please, Matt…”

he hesitates, and you can see his finger hovering over the switch. your heart pounds against your rib cage so violently it hurts, and the churning in your stomach is almost too much to take. you had been on the cusp of an orgasm, and somehow managed to fight it back for so long, you feared any more and you would crumble.

“I did— what you said—“ you were panting, now, whether from nervousness or the vibrator getting to you again- you supposed it didn’t really matter to him.

he nods, thoughtful, his free hand caressing your sweat-sheen cheek. “You sure did, bunny. That’s what makes you such a good girl. But, if you really wanted to leave, would you be laying here, moaning like daddy’s good slut, enjoying your little test?” you open your mouth to speak, but only a faint whine escapes it before he hooks his thumb into the inside of your cheek. “Shh, shh. It’s listening time, bun. You’ve been having too much fun edging yourself when you’re supposed to be fighting for your freedom. If you really want to prove to me that you want me to let you go, surely you can handle a few more minutes.”

there’s a click as his fingertip connects with the switch, and the dull whirring gets louder as the rumbling becomes all but unbearable. the weak defense you’ve kept up against your creeping climax shatters like glass, and your back arches. you wanted, no, you needed to get away from the vigorous stimulation. even if you had to inch away like a worm, but in doing so, you only grind your abused sex over the throbbing head of the wand. you cry out, squinting against the power of the toy as it rips the orgasm from your body whether you want it to or not, a pathetic, “No! Please!” before you’re convulsing on the bed, and Matt’s laughing. his hand roaming every inch of you. pinching your nipple, grabbing your throat, anything he can to stimulate you more.

tears leak from the corners of your eyes shut tight, and you imagine that your peculiar captor can smell the salt in the air, because he hovers over you to kiss them away. “Don’t cry, bunny, this is just your body’s way of telling you not to resist me anymore. It needs me, and it won’t let you leave me.”

you try to look away, breathing ragged and wriggling. holding it in for so long, you felt like the failure of the century. you’d cum, whether you wanted to or not had been irrelevant, and now you were so sensitive that your sex felt like it was bruised. it throbbed and screamed for a break. “P—please—“ you sound even more pathetic, and you weren’t sure if that was possible until now. “Just— turn it off!”

but, to your dismay, he doesn’t. a powerful hand grips your face and snatches it back to face him. Matt has since lain on his side, and his lips are inches from yours. “I don’t think so, bun. We’re just now getting to the best part.”

you suck in a hiss of a breath, staring up at him. part of you is relieved he can’t see the helplessness on your face, but you know that he knows it’s there. knowing him, he could probably sense it in the way you breathe. “What?” you ask, dumbfounded. “N—no, please, I can’t take anymore. It’s— it’s too much!”

but Matt’s grin remains, even as he presses a sloppy kiss to your open mouth. “That’s the point, baby girl. I’m going to leave you like this, let the vibrator break you for me, until you’ve cum so many times you don’t even remember your own name, when you’re so braindead and silly that you just lay there and take it. And then,” his thick foredigit pets your cheekbone as he speaks, as if promising you something delightful. “Then, daddy is going to pound your tender, aching cunt until you finally black out.” he croons, pleased with himself and the prospect of torturing you, while you stare at him in disbelief. “And if you ever even think to beg me to let you go again, I’ll do it all over again.”

[rommahh]

Love On Tour…Actually

{Im sorry for how late this was. I went to the show Friday and honestly, it was the best day of my life. I had a little PCD which made me super unmotivated but I’m back. I love you all, R}

You woke up a little grumpy, you won’t lie. You didn’t like waking up alone especially on a show day. It made you uncomfortable to be left to your own devices without any structure or schedule. You understood that Harry was a busy man but it would’ve been nice to receive some text so you could plan your day accordingly.

Sitting on the couch in the lounge of your hotel room, you chowed down on leftover pasta while watching Netflix on your iPad. You had yet to receive a text from Harry even though you had texted him hours ago when you woke up. It was hard to tell if he was ignoring you out of anger or if he was simply just lost in track. Either way you felt dejected.

On the other hand, Harry hadn’t even noticed that he iced you. He was busy running around Nashville trying to get things ready for tonight’s show. He bought you a new dress and shoes, and got the ring fitted. It was hard to figure out your ring size but he end up measuring your finger when you were passed out asleep in bed last night. When you slept, you slept and he knew that would be the perfect time to measure your finger.

Harry was so busy that morning, that by the end of his errands he realized he didn’t even have time to go back to the hotel before rehearsals. He was sporting a small cough and his vocal chords felt overworked but that’s all apart of tour.

Pulling his phone out of his back pocket as he walked into the arena, he dialed your number quickly. He had people trying to talk to him but he paid them no mind.

“Oh? Would you look who’s here?” Harry’s head shot up to the sound of your voice. There you sat on his dressing room couch, arms crossed over one another as you glared at him. Your gaze burned through him and he could just tell he was in trouble.

“Hello lovie.” Harry rasped.

“Harry you sound like shit but here you are up and about running around. You should’ve slept in this morning.” Scolding as you stand up to walk in front of him. Harry could feel the anger radiate off of you but you hid it well. He melted into your hands that cupped his warm cheeks.

“I had a lot of errands to run and I didn’t want to wake you. Also it’s just a sore throat from singing and traveling- comes with being on tour.” He mumbles dropping his head into your neck. You caress the hairs on the back on his neck and massage the tense muscles.

“You’ve got to think about yourself more, Harry. You have a show to put on but you can’t put on your best show if you’re not at your best. I am not happy with you at all.” Even though your words were scolding him, you held him your arms in the most soothing way. That’s what Harry loved about you, you cared for him like no one else could (aside from his mom). You could tell him off with your harshest words but he’d always feel your love from miles away.

“You’re right love, sorry for not keeping in touch today.” You hum in acknowledgement. You both pulled away from each other when his driver walked in with Harry’s abundance of bags. “Thank you, sir.”

“What all did you buy?” You ask walking towards the bags. Harry’s arm shot out in front of you making you stop. You looked up at him in shock. “Fine be secretive.”

You huffed before making your way back to the couch. Harry rolled his eyes at you, making way to his shopping bags. Plucking the bag from Nordstrom he plopped it down on the table in front of you.

“I just didn’t want you snooping at some other stuff. I bought you this, for tonight.” He sat down beside you, thighs touching leaving no room between you two.

“Im not trying to be mean. Just a little peeved that you left this morning without telling me. You also have a cold and I wanna take care of you since you won’t do it.” A hand rubs his forehead luring his eyes shut.

“Sorry baby, I thank you for caring so much.” He whispers sleepily.

“Im always gonna care for my bubs.” Kissing him on the lips, your turn your attention to the bag. The small grey bag had light tissue paper covering the product within the bag. The tissue falls to the floor as you dig into the bag. A silky champagne dress, folded neatly to decrease wrinkles, sits in the bag. The dress was soft and you knew it was loose enough to give you the room to dance. Soft snores escaped the boy beside you- the exhaustion evident on his face.

You pull the dress out of the bag and walk over to where his outfit of the night hung. The dress was hung beside his to be steamed for later. Turning around, you smile at the sight of your curled up boyfriend. Your heart hurt knowing that in a few minutes he would have to go rehearse.

Harry sleepily went through rehearsals sitting in a chair the whole time. He knew his stage cues and performance, he only had one more thing to rehearse but it required for you to not be in the room. He gave one look to Jeff to signal him to get you out. Jeff made up some excuse saying that he needed help with some social media post for the show.

Before the show, there was a catered dinner from some local restaurant. Harry ate a light meal of fresh vegetables and a sweet iced tea which has grown on him having lived in the states for some years. You ate grilled chicken and fries enjoying the free food. The two of you ate alone in his dressing room- wanting a moment of piece before the crazy.

“How are you feeling?” You ask Harry. He shrugs, he was more nervous than anything but you wouldn’t understand why if he had told that to you. He felt floaty. Tonight would be a game changer, a step in a whole new direction. This is something he’s wanted to do for years now but it’s finally happening, and he’s scared.

"Im ok, a little tired but what else is new. I can't wait to sleep all night and cuddle with you." He grabs your hand from across the table. you squeeze it, frowning at his revelation.

"I don't like that you're so tired." You worry, his hand squeezes yours in reassurance.

“Im ok, it’s all apart if the job.” He looks down to your bare ring finger, thumb brushing over the empty spot. Your nails were done in your favorite way, some funky pattern you found from Pinterest all painted on short coffin nails.

“I love you Harry and I’m so proud of you. I know that these years put us both in a bad place mentally but I’m happy of where we are now.” Harry could almost tear up to your words. They settled into his mind, resonating. He was making the perfect decision and you solidified that ideal.

2014

Harry didn’t know how they did it. A show every night, a new state everyday, a new country every few months- he was burnt out. He was tired of shared tour buses and the lack of autonomy. Last nights LA show was amazing, the crowd was amazing, the energy was amazing- so why did he feel so horrid?

He walked around in The Grove, security guards walking in front and behind him. He wanted a peaceful day alone but here they were. Fans watched suspiciously trying to decipher if it was Harry or not. His hat and sunglasses were obviously not the disguise he thought they would be.

As the whispers got louder, his heart started to flurry more. Panic seeped into his veins as he looked for an escape. Bolting in the Barnes and Nobles- security guards close behind- Harry asked for the employees to close shop just for a moment. Harry only needed a moment to get a car near by to escape to. Feeling overwhelmed, Harry hid.

In between the historical fiction and romance aisle is where he sat. Head between his knees, trying to catch his breathe.

“Are you ok?” A voice asked from above him. His head whipped up in shock. Standing there was you, three books clutched between your arms. Adjusting your dress you dropped down to the floor in front of him.

“I-im fine, tired but fine.” He replied. He looked different than he did the night before, you thought. Last night, he was energetic and full of life and now, now you saw a boy whose exhaustion overpowered him.

“You here for any books?” You were just trying to change the subject, something you did with yourself when you had panic attacks.

“Oh no, I don’t-“ he stuttered shaking his head. You smiled at him before pulling a book from your stack. The fault In Our Stars, your new favorite.

“I love this book, one of my favorites. Heard a movie is coming out too so that’s fun.” You joke. Harry’s relaxed slightly, you nestled closer to him. Opening the book, you began reading, your gentle voice calming Harry.

At the start of chapter four, an interruption pulled you both away. Harry’s security guard told Harry that a car was waiting and the perimeter of the store was clear. Harry nodded telling the guard to give him five more minutes.

“I guess this is it.” You mumble closing your book. Harry nods but makes no move to leave. Something clicks in him as he looks at your face again.

“You were at the concert last night, meet and greet?” He muses.

“Yeah, One Direction is my favorite band. My friend bought our vip tickets for my birthday. Best night ever.” You say quietly, scared that he might think that you’re some obsessed fan.

“Oh, well I’m glad you enjoyed the show….so why didn’t you freak out today or- or expose where I was?”

“You’re a human being, just like me. You get nervous, frustrated, and sad just like me. You get panic attacks just like. Who am I to treat you differently?” Your words did so much for Harry. “Now don’t get me wrong, you’re my favorite in the band, but I don’t idolize you nor do I wish to be in your position cause I know it must be hard.”

“It is. Hard, I mean, really really hard. I love my job but I’m tired.” The silence you two shared burned a connection between you two. “This may be weird but could I have your number? I like talking to you and I wanna hear more of this book.”

Placing your hand made bookmark in the book, you closed in and gently placed it on Harry’s lap. “Have it. I have one at home and if you still want to talk about it- I’ll give you my number.”

Harry stills as the book sits in his lap. “I want to talk to you about the book.”

After exchanging numbers, Harry was urged by you to go. Walking side by side to the door, you were separated by his security.

“Harry, don’t let this keep hurting you. Find the joy and grasp on to it.”

You turned out to be his joy. Calls every night after shows and different books being read together, you both gravitated towards each other. Everyday was a new day to grow closer together. He invited you to more concerts, paying for every ticket because he just needed to be with you.

The show was going beautifully. Harry looked amazing in stage in all white and most fans were captivated by your outfit too. It worried you to see Harry so exhausted on stage but you knew he would stick it through like he always does. Proud was an understatement in your eyes. Harry made you more than proud.

You stood in the back of the watermelon pit at the end of the aisle where his stage stopped a few feet away. Jeff stood beside you like he normally did but he was acting suspicious. You two never stood on the side of Harry’s exit but this is where Jeff said you’d get the best view tonight.

Harry sang his final ‘we’ll be alright’ before doing his stage stroll and bows, but instead of finishing in the middle of the stage- he went down stage to the place he normally exits to at the end of the night. You watched in confusion, along with the crowd, as he walked down the steps to you. The crowd erupted in screams as the lights focused on where you were standing.

“What are you doing?” You asked with large eyes of shock. You felt your heart stop in your chest. The crowd getting louder by the moment. Harry walked closer to you, one hand digging into his pocket while his eyes focused on your face. You couldn’t place what was happening but you’re eyes welled with even more tears nonetheless. Jeff was to the side with a huge smile and his phone out to capture the moment.

“Y/N, my love, my light, the best thing that has happened to me,” he didn’t have his mic on so the crowd couldn’t hear him but you could hear him perfectly. As if you two were the only ones in the large arena, you could only see Harry. “From the moment I met you in the bookstore, I knew you were meant to be in my life. Somehow you took me from my darkest place and guided me to my lightest.

I know our lives have been hard but we’ve always found a way to be alright. I want that for the rest of my life. I want you to be by my side for the rest of my life, so will you please, my love, marry me?”

You gave him no time to answer as you yanked him up by his arm. You wept as you exclaimed loud yeses, yeses that could be heard by a few fans who screamed in excitement igniting the rest of the crowd to scream. Harry picked you up in his arms, throwing one arm out to wave at the crowd before bounding backstage.

“Oh my god Harry!” You exclaimed as he set you down. He only had a few minutes to talk so you kept it quick. You pulled his face down to your kissing his lips. This kiss pulled you both deeper into each other.

He pulled away making you whine. “I gotta go back but I promise you’ll get it all tonight. I can’t believe you said yes. I love you so much.”

Harry’s energy multiplied by 100 going back on stage. He even went as far as to explain what watermelon sugar was about. Remembering when the song was made, it made your legs clench together- a pulse overwhelming your lower regions.

Looking down at your hand, you could feel yourself tear up again at the ring he bought you. It fit perfectly in your hand, you remember him measuring your hand that night even though he thought you were asleep. The thought of your future made your heart swell. A future with new music, a wedding, a nice house, and babies made your heart swell. This was something you couldn’t wait for.

Harry found his joy in you but he never knew about the joy he was to your dark life.

[aching-tummies]

If I was your partner...I'd bind you. Arms behind your back or tied to an armrest or something. I don't got a preference for what state your stomach is in except maybe an extreme one (hungry, stuffed, sick, etc.). I want you moaning and squirming and begging for rubs. Maybe I will grant them...but the more sadistic part of me wants you on the floor, arms bound to a table leg, with my sock-clad foot prodding into your tummy causing you to moan and something to happen in that gut gu yours.

I wonder if cradling my stomach when it hurts actually does anything. Like…I instinctively try to at least put my hands on it when it starts to ache in public…but it still hurts. Would it hurt even more if I didn’t have anything pressing against it?

My musings gave you the perfect excuse to combine our mutual love for tummy kink with your binding kink. The blindfold was the first to come on. It’s just a scrap of fabric from my sewing projects and not necessarily a true blindfold. The low thread-count is one thing, so I can see silhouettes if I try hard enough. That and the little slivers caused by the gap created by the bridge of my nose…but those slivers barely allow me to see my front if I try hard. More strips of fabric fasten my arms behind me. Not in a way that gets me to cramp and ache, but enough that I can’t bring my arms up to my stomach. I’m leaned up against a leg of our dining table with my legs sprawled out in front of me and my arms fastened to the leg. If I start to panic I could easily push the table up and slip my bonds out from under it, or I could use the safe-word.

A deep, angry grumble quakes in my tummy. It’s audible and it brings an intense cramp with it. I bite back a moan, my eyes squeezing shut against the intensity of the cramping ache as it builds and builds to a head. My arms tense, fighting the bonds as my body instinctively tries to reach over to soothe my upset tummy.

“Ugh…babe?” I don’t even know if you are in the room. You made me ingest a bunch of stuff and I’ve been left to sit for a long while. The plan today was to cook up a stomach ache and we both knew that I’d subconsciously avoid eating stuff that was guaranteed to give me a tummy ache, so we sort of removed my autonomy with the blindfold. “Babe—urgh…ouch—i-it’s s-starting—ah! Ow!” A sharp growl splits the air and I can see my stomach clenching and convulsing as my body squirms involuntarily.

You didn’t just stuff me, but you were careful with the combinations to ensure that it’d cause a stomach ache. There was orange juice to start, something I usually avoid because I’m not a big fan of tart and sour flavors. At least two glasses went into my gut via a straw to start and I was sated after the two glasses. Of course, one never says ‘no’ to pizza. The next thing to nudge my lips ended up being a pizza. You’d give me a few bites and let me swallow, pausing periodically to give me a sip of something through a straw pressed to my lips to ensure my mouth didn’t get too dry. Sometimes it was water, other times it was some carbonated drink. I don’t know how many slices of pizza I ended up eating, but it felt like a lot. The liquid travelling up the straw eventually transitioned into milk tea and my dread ramped up in tandem with the pressure in my tummy as I thought about the lake of acidic orange juice it would clash with. My stomach churned as I continued to suck on the straw and that definitely didn’t help matters. Maybe it was my overactive imagination, but I could feel chunks bobbing around in my gut and I’m not entirely sure all those chunks were pizza.

You left me alone after the feeding. Tempted as you were to put your hands on my belly and slosh it around, that would defeat the purpose of our little experiment. Now we wait. You had retreated out of my sight (not hard to do) and left things to stew.

I sat there with nothing to occupy my mind except for the sensations in my tummy. It didn’t take long. My stomach cramped a little, but it was more discomfort than an actual ache. That went on for about twenty minutes. I guess those minor cramps were my body’s way of churning the mess in my belly. The aching intensified as the mess got more and more churned around. The milk and cheese reacting with the acidic orange juice and curdling terribly. My intestines were alright with the liquidy orange juice dripping into it b, but the easy-to-digest liquid soon stopped dropping in, replaced by a nasty, semi-solid glop of curdled garbage. My intestines reacted almost immediately. Peristalsis stalled for a little while, allowing the nastiness to stew for a bit. When it re-started it was clearly having trouble finding the right rhythm to get the mess moving.

I needn’t have called out. You’ve been watching from the other side of our combined living/dining area. You knew the stomach ache was forming when my mewls and bitten back moans joined the griping grumbles from my unhappy tummy. The noises had started out liquid-y and clear, sounding infrequently and gradually morphed into a sticky cacophony of nastiness. Tell me you’re sick without telling me you are sick. Came to mind. The noises from my gut just screamed ‘sickly’ to you and you were tempted to find me a bucket, but you didn’t want to miss a moment of the action. Not like I’m sitting on carpet—the smooth flooring is easy to clean, even if it’ll be a bit of a pain to do so if I hurl.

“Ugh—urlp—b-babe? Sweetie—it hurts! It really hurts—ulp—” Those aborted hiccups sound wet. Forget ‘if’ I hurl, that sound is basically a guarantee that we’ll be cleaning our floors. Well, if it’ll end up being a mess anyway. A smile forms on your lips as you quietly pad your way over to where I’m bound. Your sock-clad feet make no noise as you creep closer. “Ullf…uhhmm…ugh…’m so full—urp—s-so sick..oohh…” A moan and a coo at directed at my tummy reverberates, blending with a smooth growl from my guts. I’m still completely unaware of your presence.

“Ah—Oww—URLPK!” I was unaware of your presence until a sharp pressure drove into my bloated belly as you nudged your sock-clad foot into the crest of it. Something sour and chunky surged up my esophagus. My surprised gasp at the sudden pressure was just enough to keep the sick from coming all the way out but the back of my throat burns as my stomach churns violently. “Ugh…babe…that hurts. Ugh…forget the stupid experiment. Untie me. I need to rub—my stomach hurts.” I hiss and bite back something as my stomach clenches tightly. You watch me arch slightly, my stomach seeming to seek out any sort of comforting pressure and finding none. For a second you entertain the idea of alien chest-bursters or something from the way my arching spine brings my belly up and out for a moment before my straining body goes back down. Maybe that was an attempt at nudging up the table, but I know you are here and still haven’t used a safe-word so the scenario is still going.

While you were feeding me, you had sneakily unbuttoned my jeans and unzipped my fly on a whim. The experiment was for a belly without any sort of comforting touch. I wasn’t willing to go naked for the experiment so the undone jeans would have to do.

My breathing comes quickly and in short gasps. My stomach heaves and squirms with my breaths. It’s almost like the labor videos you’ve seen before. You nudge at my stomach, prodding it with your big toe. I groan again and shift, seemingly trying to get away from your foot. I end up pressed against one of the dining chairs that has been tucked in, not really offering me much more room to go. I’ve got you on one side and the chair on the other—talk about a rock and a hard place.

Moving was a bad idea. The movements jostled my already upset guts and the churning intensifies. The cramping pains shoot through every which way and my arms continue to fight the restraints, my body desperately trying to get any sort of comforting pressure to my sick tummy.

A warm pressure pushes at my belly. It’s your foot. You run your foot over my stomach with minimal pressure. It’s still more than a hand would do with a lazy rub because legs are generally stronger than arms. The constant pressure of your foot squeezes my guts uncomfortably and shifts things around. I feel the semi-solid mush occupying my duodenum get squeezed, seemingly pushing out of both sphincters at either end at the same time. My stomach revolts. The sensation of forced back-flow upsets the swirling contents. More gastric contents work their way up my esophagus. I feel the level rise to mid-chest and climb and ebb. My aborted groans are cut off as I try to fight the vomit.

Your foot leaves my belly just as the level reaches the back of my throat. You were worried because I had seemingly stopped breathing. Once the pressure leaves, the sour liquid falls back into my stomach. I feel my stomach expand with it as my abdominals barely unclench in time to accommodate for the returning contents. Once everything is back in my belly I finally trust myself to let out a groan and to take a deeper breath.

“Ugh…I want to rub my tummy so bad. ‘m so sick. Hurts so much. Tummy…sick…too full…too much…ugh…” I’m mumbling. Clearly, the ordeal has been overwhelming for me. A part of you worries that we’ve gone too far now. Maybe this was too much and it broke me enough to forget the safety checks we have in place? You reach for the blindfold, finding it a little damp with tears. It worries you.

Settling to sit down on the floor with me, you reach over and gently rub my tummy. I moan softly, finally feeling some relief. My stomach tenses at the first touch but gradually unclenches under the comfort of your massage.

You can feel the sickly churning and sloshing of my guts. You can feel it each time my duodenum spasms—taking in new contents and occasionally allowing back-flow that upsets things all over again.

“Sweets…do you still want this?” You ask tentatively after I’ve been silent for a little while. It’s clear I’ve calmed down slightly from your massage.

“Hmm?” You can tell I’m out of it. Whether it’s a food coma, exhaustion, or me being too influenced by the scenario to be in the right state of mind—you don’t know. You reach over and begin to work on the strips of fabric securing my arms. It’s only because you are leaning in that you catch my words. “I want—I want it all out. Now. Please?” As my hands loosen, I reach over not for my stomach, but for your leg. Realization dawns. The game is still on…though this might be the big finish.

A dull but sudden pressure rattles me as you plant your foot solidly into my belly. It sinks in despite how full I am as my stomach-contents shoot up, up, and out. You hear the sound of something slapping at the back of my throat a millisecond before it splatters onto the smooth floors of our apartment. I’m on my knees and you are standing above me. Some of the sick inevitably got on your pant-leg and sock, but those can be cleaned. You nudge at the side of my belly with your foot, bringing up more sick.

Four productive heaves later I am left dry. My stomach aches something fierce. With a groan, I flop over to the side, barely avoiding the puddle of sick. My hair is definitely in it but I’m too exhausted to care. You tower over me, my back pressed up against your shins. You raise a foot and nudge it into my belly. I close my eyes as I feel your foot providing my clenching belly with a deep massage, deeper than anything hands could do. My stomach gripes and growls around your foot and you can feel the reverberations as you knead and churn it around. You press until you hear me gasp and push at your foot with my hands. You relent the pressure and offer the massage again, lulling me into a sense of security before you’ll inevitably do it again.

[thran-duils]

Use All of Me (P.6)

Title: Use All Of Me (Part Six) Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark Mob!Steve Rogers. The Avengers are heroes saving the world but in this AU, they are also permitted by the powers in charge to have less than favorable business underneath their guise of mere superheroes. Steve and Tony are at the helm, keeping their empire’s wealth in check, both devious and perilous if crossed. Steve takes a liking to the reader at a party and it may be her undoing to her autonomy choosing to go home with him. Words: 2,503 Warnings: Dark AF, angst, emotional/mental abuse, smut, breeding, death Author’s Notes: I really like writing scenes of them working because... it’s hot. So, part of this is me indulging myself.

Part Five || Part Seven || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

The crack of Steve’s fist against the man’s jaw reverberated through the room. It left the man unable to speak, his jaw broken. He laid on the ground, whimpering as the blood from him biting his tongue on impact seeped from his mouth.

Adrian stared down at the ground at the man. “Well, that was unhelpful if you wanted him to talk anymore,” he drawled, meeting Tony’s eyes calmly. Despite having been kidnapped and now being cornered in a room with Tony and Steve, their men outside, he was too calm. Much to Tony’s annoyance; he wanted him rattled.

“I don’t want to hear from him. I want to hear from you,” Tony said, flashing him a sarcastic grin. He leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms.

“Careful. You might crease that expensive suit,” Adrian sneered.

“Don’t worry. I have two more of the same at home. It’s not that big of a deal. Plus, I don’t do my own laundry, so… even less of a deal for me,” Tony quipped. “So, Adrian. Who gassed you up and made you get buck?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the shit,” Steve said, danger in his tone. “You know exactly what we are talking about. Sure, we got the kid to squeal but,” he stepped closer, his arms crossed across his chest. Adrian stared up at Steve, only a flash of concern in his eyes as Steve towered over him. He leaned close and hissed, “I want to hear it from your mouth. And it’ll go better for you if you just do as I ask.”

Adrian spat in Steve’s face.

Steve stepped back, giving himself room to gear up and plant a swift kick to Adrian’s chest, sending the chair flying back. Adrian cried out as his face made impact with the cement.

“You son of a bitch!” Steve snarled, wiping at his face.

“Hmm, that was a poor choice,” Tony mused. Adrian stared up at him from the ground, wincing in pain. “Hopefully Steve here didn’t break a rib. Not that I would feel bad if he had. I would’ve slit your throat if you spit in my face. So, you’re going to stay down there for now since you got yourself in that position. Let me repeat myself: what made you think you could fuck with us? Try to screw with our operation? Hmm?”

Adrian shot Tony a defiant look and Tony sighed, knowing what was coming. “I think there are a great many others that would come gunning for you, Stark. Maybe think about that.”

Rolling his eyes, Tony yelled over his shoulder, “We’ve got a problem!”

The door opened and Wanda walked into the room, her eyes fixed on Adrian lying on the ground. Adrian immediately stiffened, unable to hide the nervousness on his face. Tony smirked.

“Hmm, that got your attention,” Steve said.

Adrian clenched his jaw, trying to mask again but he had already shown he was uncomfortable. They had the upper hand. He stared up at Wanda, his chest rising and falling quickly. He knew what was coming, he knew what she was capable of. Her eyes were already glowing when she leaned down next to him.

Writhing, still confined, Adrian’s eyes were lost, staring at nothing. Tony relaxed back in the chair, checking his watch. Steve paced on the side of the room, watching Wanda work. She smiled wickedly before Adrian gave a violent thrash, his head making contact with the floor.

“Alright, that should be enough, right?” Steve said to Wanda’s back.

She responded, standing up, before withdrawing her power. Tony was ready, kneeling down beside Adrian. Tony grasped Adrian’s jaw as his vision cleared. He observed the tears coming from the corners of Adrian’s eyes as he gasped for air, clearly spiraling into a panic.

“You work for us now, got that? I’m tired of small fish thinking they can swim upstream. You fucked up, Adrian. You could have kept your shitty little trade and made ends meet – hell, you did more than that. I saw you got yourself a nice house for you and your hot little fiancé. You’re lucky I don’t stop by and give her a visit.” He shook his head. “You just had to go and try to steal from us. All you did was piss me the fuck off and get yourself some cops to tail you.”

He let go of Adrian roughly who was sniffling, looking broken.

“Hope it was worth it, you jackoff,” Tony muttered, fixing the cuffs on his jacket.

<> <> <>

Walking into the garage, you eyed the car. You had swiped the key from the dish in the kitchen. Bryce had protested, saying you should wait until Steve got back. You told him if he wanted to tell Steve you were taking the car, be your guest, but you were leaving to get some air. You were gambling because you were afraid if Bryce actually did get a hold of Steve that he would actually tell you that you could not go. Your prayers were answered, and Steve did not answer his phone. Bryce was uneasy and you told him you were perfectly fine driving a car, you had been doing it for years. And if driving around with the windows down was against the rules, well then, you would have that discussion with Steve when he got back. He had not explicitly told you that you could not take the car, and Bryce could not argue that. He insisted on going with you and you insisted right back you needed some time to yourself.

“I’m not gonna kill myself, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you had shot at him before walking out of the kitchen towards the garage.

This was going to be the first time in practically a month you were leaving the house grounds on your own. Being outside here, you were still surrounded by a fence.

The car you were taking was expensive, a charcoal Audi. You had to make sure you did not get a scratch on it. It practically purred when you started it up and you smiled. This was going to be fun. Rolling up to the gate, you reached out, pressing the button. The guard near the gate eyed you suspiciously and you saluted them, sarcastically. It annoyed the shit out of you that they all thought you were so fragile you could not handle going by yourself.

Although, you did plan on going pretty fast, windows down, which would cause concern. And that is what you did, whipping around the winding road out towards where you knew there was a waterfront. You had spent time googling the surrounding area; it might come in handy later.

There was still snow on top of the mountains, even at this time of year. It must look beautiful in winter.

You pulled off on a turn out and turned the car off, getting out. The wind was a reprieve from the heat, not too strong and not too weak. You walked to the guardrail, looking out over the lake below. It was breathtaking.

Thinking of your friends, you took a picture to be able to send them later. Seeing such openness was not a luxury in the city. Maybe if you showed them you were out, they would not worry as much.

You stayed out for quite some time, walking back and forth. The air helped you clear your head, losing yourself in your thoughts. You were not settled in, still contemplating how you could leave. You knew leaving while you were pregnant was not an option. If you went to a hospital, your name would be in the records and that was easily traceable. And if you did not go to a hospital, how would you give birth on your own? You needed to have the baby first. Without seeing the baby yet, you thought it would be easy to leave on your own. It is not like the baby would not be cared for. But you worried that it would end up not being easy because how could you leave an infant? As controlling as Steve was with you, would that extend to his parenting?

Cars drove by every so often, catching your attention. You knew it was probably not the safest being alone out here in a pretty isolated area. You were testing your luck. Plus, Steve would be back sooner rather than later now. You still had a drive ahead of you to go back home.

Home.

The word turned sour when you realized you had thought of Steve’s mansion as your home. It was getting easier to think of it that way and that made you feel a mixture of anger and worry.

The drive back felt like going back to a gilded cage.

Upon pulling in past the gate, you saw up ahead Steve was walking out of the garage, anger etched in his features. He was striding towards the other car where Tony was getting out of.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself before straightening up as you drove. You needed to act as calm as possible. If you did not think this was a big deal, maybe that would cool him off.

Steve said something to Tony and Tony looked past him to the garage. That was the moment Steve heard your car, his eyes snapping to meet your gaze as you pulled up, Tony following his gaze. You gave them a small smile, pressing the garage key on your visor, before whipping the car around to start backing it into the garage.

When you turned the car off, Steve was already standing by, glowering. Tony was still standing by his car outside the garage, trying to not pay attention to the scene. He had gotten his phone out, scrolling through, his head turned downward.

He reached out, opening the door before you could do it yourself, throwing it open. “Where the hell did you go?” Steve demanded.

Feigning surprise at his anger, you said as you got out with the minimal space Steve was leaving for you to do so, “Um, I went for a drive. Up by the lake. There’s a pull out overlooking it.”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“I didn’t know I had to.”

Steve warned, his voice strained, “Don’t play dumb, Y/N. You know damn well I don’t want you going out by yourself. Especially up to an isolated place like that. Anything could happen to you.”

“Nothing happened but fine. Noted,” you said, defeated. You made to walk past him, but he lashed out, his fingers closing in around your arm.

“Ask me, Y/N. Understand?”

“Well, for reference, Bryce tried to call you because that was his first instinct. But you did not answer. And I told him I would talk to you about it when you got back. And that’s exactly what is happening.”

Steve’s grip tightened and you winced. You were not leaving until you satisfied what he said.

“I understand!” you said, resisting the urge to try to tug your arm away from his grip.

He leaned in and told you quietly, “I want to know where you’re going so I know where to look if something goes wrong. Is that too much to ask?”

“No,” you said, trying to shy away from his stern stare.

Steve’s fingertips on his free hand came up underneath your chin, tilting your head to keep eye contact. “Don’t squander my trust with you, doll face.”

“I came back,” you returned quietly.

He studied you for a few moments before his hands dropped. “That you did. Regardless, what I said still stands. Don’t make that mistake again, Y/N, or I’ll lock the damn keys up.”

<> <> <>

Your doctor was making small talk as she prepped the transvaginal ultrasound. The position you were in was not unusual, just uncomfortable because you hated pap smears and that is all you could think of.

Steve was sitting next to the bed, holding your hand, caressing it gently. You looked over at him and he gave you a reassuring smile. He made sure he would be able to come; he wanted to come to every appointment with you, especially in the later months. He was more excited than you to come to the appointment, ready for the upcoming appointment when you would be able to tell the sex of the baby. He was in awe doctors were able to be able to tell and he kept a copy of the first ultrasound in his wallet. You caught him looking at it more than once, a smile on his face.

“Alright, ready?” she asked, catching your attention.

You nodded and she stuck the wand up gently. Steve was watching the screen closely, completely engrossed.

“Oh, there they are,” she said happily. Her smile faltered and she made a concerned noise.

“What?” you and Steve asked at the same time. You had a hunch the two of you were worried for different reasons at the sudden change in her demeanor.

“It looks like…” she started to say, trailing off, as she moved the wand slowly.

“What?” Steve demanded again, concern lacing his tone, leaning forward in his chair. His hand was holding yours tighter and you winced but did not pull away.

She pointed at the screen, “There. Look.” You had no idea what you were looking at where she was pointing and neither did Steve because both of you were staring, waiting for an explanation. She grinned back at the two of you, “Looks like there’s a second. You’re having double trouble.”

Reflexively, you collapsed back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Your chest was tight, you could not breathe.

“Hey,” Steve was over you, his eyes flooded with concern for you now. “Y/N.”

“I…” you started to say but could not form the words.

“You need to breathe,” your doctor told you, trying to coax you to do so. “Just count and breathe, Y/N.”

You tried focusing on their voices to calm yourself down. You did not need to freak out in the middle of the doctor’s office for a multitude of reasons. But all you could think of was how there were two, not just one. How could you travel with two babies if you were going to leave? You tried to force the thought from your head and instead focus on your breathing.

It took a few minutes, but you finally closed your eyes, swallowing sharply, feeling the panic subside.

“Two,” you breathed, locking eyes with Steve. He nodded and you did in return. You forced a smile, “Two. That… that’s more than one.”

Steve gave a strangled laugh, caressing the side of your face. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

“It’s going to be okay,” you said out loud to yourself.

“It’s more than okay,” Steve told you, smiling happily openly now. He kissed your forehead, lingering for a moment. “It’s wonderful.”

~~~

Tags: @imsonick , @alexakeyloveloki, @kvzctam, @ironlady1993, @taintedgenre, @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

[and-there-were-words]

A Spider Life: You don't belong here (Chapter 03)

Taking place after “Sleep Bug” but before “Dumpling Destruction”.

After a successful mission, there was no time for a long rest. Though, Syntax decided that a little bit of a break didn’t hurt anyone. He was foolish to think that Huntsman would let him be at peace. (Wordcount: around 1300)

---

Blue filled the entire main hall of the Silk Web Cave. The looming forms and shades of their new project towering over all. It was certainly odd to watch these new plans of a mech he hadn't designed himself. Something about it struck the scientist as odd, but he wasn't well versed enough in sorcery and ancient artifacts to really know which item was supposed to do what. It didn't help that basically nobody but the little Miss Mystery knew exactly how any of this was going to work.

But they finally did have a more tangible goal. And one more good thing came out of this whole treasure hunt – Syntax had not to do any research where to find said items, since the girl seemed to already know where they were.

As questionable as this was, his Queen did not raise any concerns about this knowledge, so why should he? Instead, he took the opportunity of free time to work on his own projects. He had to overhaul their Spider Base blueprints, repair some of the Spiderbots and… actually. On second thought, after his successful heist into the Cloud, he deserved an evening of rest. Just leaning back a little, kicking up the feet, maybe coding some new games and programs. When he wasn’t working on machines, he still could experiment with them. It was a blessing when one's job was also their hobby.

Walking deeper into the tunnel system of the lair, Syntax found the little niche that he had claimed for himself. Mostly to sleep and keep a few of his more important items safe. Not that he had many, but it still was a comfort to have a little bit of autonomy, away from all those watchful spider eyes. The scientist hummed, and with the lab coat off, he was officially clocked out for the day.

Sleeves were neatly folded up to the elbows, his utility goggles snapped away. Magic was so handy! He lingered for a moment, holding bright green glasses in hands. Syntax wasn’t entirely sure how or why, but he found himself oddly sentimental over them. Even though one of the lenses had a crack. His eyes were perfectly fine too, so anything looked blurry trough them, rendering them practically useless. With a shrug, he put them back into his little box of trinkets, turning around to his personal computer.

…..

There was not really any sense of time within the Silk Web Cave, not that it mattered much. Hours could’ve pass by and the only indicator that the world was still turning, was that his coffee always grew cold way too fast. Running another test for his current code, Syntax frowned as errors popped up where none had been before. He reached for his cup without looking, first confused about something not being right. It took him a few seconds to notice that he was grabbing into thin air. His cup was not at the spot where he placed it anymore.

“What’cha doing?”, a raspy voice required from his other side, making the scientist jerk violently, nearly falling off his chair. A groan escaped Syntax, slightly turning his head to confirm his apprehension. And indeed, it was Huntsman. With his coffee mug in hands. It was bothersome how he always managed to sneak up unnoticed and seemingly appear out of nowhere. The other spider was not even looking at him directly, just watching the screen displaying an endless amounts of lines with mock interest. It was clear that the hunter had no idea what he was looking at, and Syntax knew that trying to explain any of this to him would be wasted breath. Still, he thought himself better than that.

“Optimizing the behavioral pattern of the Spiderbots. So next time we can spread the Queen’s venom faster.”, he left it at that, starting to tip away on the keyboard again.

“Uh-hu.”, the spider demon mused, but it was clear that this wasn't the focus of his attention at the moment. Instead, he just sniffed at the drink in his hand, nose curling up a little. “...I have no idea how you’re capable of drinking this stuff. Gross.” And with that, the cup was back on the table within Syntax’s reach, but the scientist didn’t dare to touch it. This was obviously a trap, both of them knew. Huntsman never had been subtle about waiting for the other to make a misstep. Syntax wasn't sure what the taller man hoped to achieve, but there was a bitter taste at the back of his throat with how he was watched by this particular spider demon.

Tension filled the room, making the air as thick as butter, as both men were just analyzing each other carefully. It almost felt like a game of chess, one that Syntax didn’t like at all, being forced to play so damn defensively. He still wasn’t sure what he did to upset the hunter, but he clearly was out for his neck in some way or another. It was Huntsman who broke the silence, and to no one's surprise, he just unceremoniously kicked down the metaphorical door.

"You don't belong here.", the spider rasped, stalking awfully close, only to loom over the sitting scientist. Green eyes glimmering in the twilight of the cave, mostly illuminated by just the cold light of the computer screen. Syntax could only swallow, feeling caged like a prey animal under this intense glare.

"You're a disgrace to the clan, human.", the hunter continued his venomous words, "Do you really think you're important to the Queen? Nothing but just a tool, once you've done your purpose, you will be nothing but dinner." The demon cackled, and Syntax could feel his body going into a panic mode. Yet, his mind was still clear, rational. The buzzing crawling up his spine keeping him grounded.

Syntax simply clicked his tongue in a (what he hoped to come off as) unimpressed tsk. "Is that all? I am busy, Huntsman.", he was not going to give in that easily, even though the words were cutting deep, slicing into something that the scientist hadn't even been aware of himself yet.

The hunting spider frowned, letting out a soft growl. Only to grab the coffee mug again, giving it another glance. Apparently, he came to a conclusion in this moment. "You'll never be one of us, freak.", the second that followed felt like an eternity, before ceramic shattered into hundreds of pieces, cold coffee splattering all over the floor. A pang of some emotion shot through Syntax's chest, watching the mess on the ground. Somehow managing to not show a glimpse of this storm of feelings on the outside.

Huntsman almost seemed disappointed, but a breath later, he was showing off fangs in his ugly grin again. A hand reaching for the communicator in his ear as he was surely contacted by the Miss. "Now, this was fun and all.", he mused, crossing arms behind his back as he twirled towards the exit. "It seems that my special skills are needed once again. So long, cyberbug." With that, the hunter was gone, leaving the scientist finally alone.

So much for that rest, Syntax thought bitterly to himself, still staring at the floor. This evening or night had been ruined in every way possible. Now trying to make sense of why his limbs felt so cold and stiff, why his heart was beating in the rhythm of a scared animal while also screaming in anger. His hands clenched into fists, short nails digging into soft palms. Syntax knew all of this already. Knew that this wasn't his place, that he wasn't like the other spider demons. But he was part of this clan, and by the Queen's pride… he will prove that he was a better henchman than Huntsman could ever dream to be.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Mission of Mercy: Forty-Three

Bucky watched you rock yourself on a bench swing and sighed. He wasn’t sure what was going on in your head, but at least you looked less tense. It was hard to tell.

You evidently still had yourself in a stranglehold. Not that he could blame you. You losing control had much more violent ends now. It did a lot more damage. And it happened quickly. He watched you stare into the middle distance and his heart twisted. Just a little. You were trying. Really hard. You wanted them all to believe that you were fine. You smiled. You teased. You joked. But. Bucky knew your heart just wasn’t in it.

Because in the quiet moments, like right now, the spark was just gone. It was like someone had forgotten to wind you up. Your therapist had warned him. That when the depression did hit, it was going to hit hard. And, evidently, it had.

“Baby?” Bucky hummed, “Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” you answer, turning to look at him. You try to smile a little, “But if you are I can make you something.”

He crosses the porch and sits next to the swing on the ground, “You should eat,” he scolded. “It’s been all day.”

“I know,” you sigh, “I’m just not hungry.”

Bucky turned his head and kissed your thigh, “Is your stomach in knots again or?”

You shake your head, “I just- don’t feel hungry.”

He kissed your leg again and smiled, “Well, maybe we can figure out a way to work up an appetite.”

“Bucky-” you start. “I just- I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He nodded and reached up to touch your cheek. He understood that too. The fear that you would hurt him. Influence him. Take away any of his autonomy. Because you could. Bucky knew you. He knew you’d never do it on purpose but. That didn’t mean that it wouldn’t accidentally happen if you lost control.

You’d been patient with him once. So patient and kind and understanding. You never pushed him or belittled him. You had no expectations. And Bucky desperately wanted to give that to you. To give you the time to heal. To figure out how to deal with this new normal. “Maybe we can just get a cuddle? Let you get some actual sleep.”

You nod and Bucky doesn’t ask questions. He just picks you up and lets your head rest on his shoulder. Sleep might help, he muses. And sometimes it’s easier for you to sleep in the daylight. Bucky laid you on the bed and pulled up an extra blanket, tucking it around you. And the pulling you against his chest. When you nestle closer, looking for comfort and security, Bucky holds you closer. “I’m here,” he soothed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he hummed, stroking your back.

“And you’re not mad at me?” he can hear the hesitation in your voice and he winced just a little.

“Absolutely not,” he answers, kissing your head. He knows you can hear what he’s thinking. And you hear everything, even the thoughts that just flit through his head. Things that are there and gone so fast they don’t even register. “I don’t have anything to be mad about. Not really.”

“But-”

“Worried and frustrated is not the same as mad at you,” he chuckles. “You know that.”

You sigh and Bucky kisses your head, “Just relax,” he said softly. “I’m here. I’m here and I’m not leaving you. Not for anything. You’re my girl. My baby. I’m gonna marry you and spend the rest of my life thrilled to share my head with you.”

He rubs your back and smiles a little, “Just be here with me. I know it’s hard. I know you’re sad and angry. And it’s okay. You’re allowed to be mad. You can even be mad at me. I just want you to be okay, sweetheart. But you don’t have to fake it for me.”

You make a soft noise and Bucky reaches over to pat the bed on your other side, coaxing Lucy to come lay on your other side. Bucky wants you comfortably surrounded. As you put it, between a rock and a fluffy place. But. Like you always do, you relax. Comforted by the pressure and the warmth that keep you pinned in place. And for a while, there’s no talking. At least not out loud.

Bucky takes the opportunity to practice mindfulness. Something that his therapist had tried to drill into his head. Something he never really saw a use for. At least not until your breathing evened out and Bucky can feel you relax into sleep. He smiled a little and stroked your hair, resting his hand against the back of your neck.

Hopefully, he thought, he’d be able to coax you into eating something when you woke up. You’d need to eat. You were losing weight and that worried him. Not like he actually gave a shit what you weighed as long as you were healthy. But. it was the losing it from not eating anything more than a snack here or there. And that wasn’t healthy. The last thing you needed was to get physically ill on top of the battle ground in your head.

He watched out the window, watching the dust motes and then, as evening settled in, the fireflies. It had been a few hours. And Bucky briefly considered waking you. Or wiggling out of your arms to go and fix you something to eat. Thinking that maybe if he fixed it for you, you’d eat it out of a sense of obligation. Or to keep from hurting his feelings.

But. You jolted awake with a gasp before Bucky had managed to even consider what to cook.

“I’m here,” he said pulling you against his chest, “I’m right here. Shh, it’s okay.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, hiding your face in his neck, “I just-”

“I know,” he muttered, “Sweetheart, I know. It’s okay.”

[jordanshenessy]

@nyttvera hi bestie here’s the Adam parrish essay for more of my favourite Adam parrish moments that would def not fit in an ask lol

1. “From the passenger seat, Ronan began to swear at Adam. It was a long, involved swear, using every forbidden word possible, often in compound-word form. As Adam stared at his lap, penitent, he mused that there was something musical about Ronan when he swore, a careful and loving precision to the way he fit the words together, a black-painted poetry. It was far less hateful sounding than when he didn’t swear.”

Lmaooo Adam thinks Ronan swearing is poetry. And without the swearing it would not be Ronan at all. It would be cold, bitter, more hateful. Lemme laugh. Lemme cry.

2. And there are like a lot of specific quotes that I don’t wanna find rn but just the fact that Adam works so hard, he works so hard for what he wants and he wants it all so much. His living situation was definitely a motivator and by the time he moved above st.agnes church, I think he started dreaming just as much as Ronan. He was boneless tired for sure I mean he works a bunch of shifts as a mechanic and has to study AND take care of himself now but like…and the fact that he doesn’t want help from anybody, he wants to do it on his own, like this fierce autonomy that resides within him is like what I related to most about him. Cuz he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. AND HES SO STUBBORN ABOUT IT TOO. But he slowly learns to grow out of it and accept help from his friends like when Ronan and gansey show up in court 😭😭😭😭

3. And I can’t for the life of me remember which book it was but there was a section going on about the time that he used to live with his family and he had to get going home and he was riding on his bike, and there were dark clouds which mean it was going to rain very soon and he just…watched the clouds get closer and darker, could practically taste the petrichor in his mouth already, he knows he can’t come home late bc his dad will get mad and his mother kept reminding him to get home but he just took that moment to watch the clouds and once the rain started he let it soak him. From tiny little droplets laying on his shirt to completely soaking him. And it was like a moment that he really enjoyed and probably the first time in his life he felt free. Even tho he knew he had to get home, he was like no let me have this. I might be remembering it wrong but I remembered this moment and relating to it a lot.

4. There’s also the moment where Ronan asks him “are you working after school” and Adam does “with a dreamer” and then it goes on about his smile that Ronan would start wars and burn cities for. SKDJDJDJ ADAM IS FLIRTING YALL. he’s straight up flirting. He’s not a stranger to flirting like have y’all seen him with blue, he’s smoooooth.

He’s just my favourite plssss 🥺😭💕💕😭

[cruelfeline]

The Hordak Bleatings Masterpost

The new and improved Masterpost! All of my ridiculous bleating in one place! Now with categories to allow you, dear friends and neighbors, to better marvel at the utter nonsense I get up to in my spare time. It shall be updated every so often/when I remember. 

some of these categories may overlap or perhaps not be perfect; I tried; there was... a lot

Enjoy!

Biological/Medical Musings

A Fairly Comprehensive List of Hordak’s Clinical Signs

I Wrote Too Much About Hordak’s Arms

And Then Someone Asked About His Elbows So Voila

Someone Else Asked About His Eyes

Yes; I Did Measure Hordak’s Ears via Fuzzy Math; You’re Welcome

A Brief Word About Dentition

Some Sad Thoughts About Clone Lifespan

I Like to Headcanon that Clones Have Naturally Different Eye Colors

Counting Hordak’s Ports

Thinking About Terrible Ways Prime Could Institute Biological Control

Doing Very Fuzzy Math And Wondering Just How Young Hordak Could Be

Spending Way Too Much Time Figuring Out Whether Hordak is Left or Right Handed

Why Tiny Food is Probably Ideal for Hordak (a joke ask I essentially took Seriously)

Discussing Hordak’s Temper

Considering Whether Hordak Needs Oxygen

Discussing Whether Prime and his Clones are Genetically Identical

Hordak in Relation to Other Characters

Entrapdak

Hordak Can Get Close to Entrapta Because He Needn’t Fear Her

Discussing Entrapdak Age Discourse

Bit More Regarding Hordak’s Maturity vs. Entrapta’s

Hordak Didn’t Manipulate Entrapta… But Catra Did

Assessing that Unfortunate Moment When Hordak Snapped at Entrapta

Further Assessing Hordak Snapping at Entrapta by Noting When He Doesn’t

On Hordak’s Wardrobe Change

Entrapta Shushing Hordak is One of My Favorite Interactions

The Entrapdak Scene Was Also One of Self-Love

I Really Like How Entrapta Talks to Hordak About Failure

Hordak Tells an Actual Lie and Succeeds

Entrapta’s and Hordak’s Social Differences Help Them Connect to One Another

I Would Have Appreciated A Scene Where Entrapta Learns About What Happened To Hordak

Hordak Takes Strength From Realizing That Entrapta Came For Him

Hordak and Entrapta Just Like One Another, and I Enjoy That

There is a Huge Difference in How The Alliance and Hordak React to Entrapta Being on Beast Island, and it’s Jarring

This is Mostly About Catradora But Kind of in the Sense of Why Entrapdak is Better, so Here it Goes

Entrapta Didn’t Teach Hordak How to Love; She Taught Him How to Be Loved

The Soup Scene is a Condensed View of Why Entrapdak Works in Light of the Rest of Hordak’s Arc

Hordak and Entrapta Search for One Another Alone, and it Makes Me Sad

I Love How Hordak Scooches Over for Entrapta to Join Him on his Throne

Catra

The How-Catra-Manipulated-Hordak Masterpost

Watching Catra and Hordak Switch Roles in Season Three is Fascinating

Hordak and Catra’s Low Points Indicate Their Core Problems

Did Hordak Abuse Catra? Did She Abuse Him? The World May Never Know

Comparing Hordak and Catra in Terms of Consequences and Agency

Hordak and Catra’s Apparent Ages Likely Affect How People Judge Them

Why Doesn’t Hordak Subdue Catra?

Losing and Regaining the Will to Fight is Another Hordak/Catra Parallel

Sometimes I Wish The Show Would Focus Less on Catra and More on Hordak

Why Catra Besting Hordak Isn’t As Satisfying As Catra Besting Shadow Weaver

Hordak Exhibits Some Level of Trust in Catra Even in Season 2... and She Betrays It

The Difference in How Hordak and Catra Handle Relationships followed by Why They Are Like This 

Some Brief Words on the Differences Between How Hordak and Catra End Up Driven to Destruction in Season Four

Musing About What I Actually Would Accept as “Hordak Abusing Catra”

I Think It’s Kind of Funny that Some Expect Catra to be Suspicious of Hordak Post-Canon

Two Scenes That Look Distressing Side-by-Side

Discussing How Catra and Hordak Start Off as Parallels but Later Deviate Due to Character Differences

Adora

How Adora and Hordak End Season Four Differently

Hordak and Adora Parallels

I Wonder if Adora Recognizes Some of Herself in Hordak

Other

This is Actually About Shadow Weaver, but Compared to Hordak, So…

Hordak Doesn’t Seem to have a “Rule the World!” Moment (compared to Shadow Weaver)

On Hordak’s Weird Interactions with DT

Watching DT Circle Hordak is Interesting

Let’s Compare the Circling Scenes, Shall We?

What Wrong Hordak’s Arc Teaches Us About Clones and Hordak

Wondering if Hordak Actually has Control Over the Etherian Horde (could he have stopped the war?)

Prime

There Is A Huge Difference In The Standards Prime And Hordak Hold Others Two Versus Themselves

Hordak and Horde Prime Handle Their Own Vulnerabilities Quite Differently

The Difference Between How Prime and Hordak Use Anger

The Moment Prime Touched Hordak’s Face is the Moment I Truly Knew That Something About Hordak’s Backstory was Very Wrong

Clone/Origin/Prime-Related Sadness

The Clone Thing

More Distressed Bleating about The Clone Thing

Hordak’s DMV Photo Disturbs Me

Hordak Isn’t Actually an Idiot About Disease Transmission

On Hordak’s Bodily Autonomy, or Lack Thereof

How Much of Hordak is “Hordak?”

I’m 99% Certain That Hordak Sucks at Lying Because he Literally Couldn’t

You’d Think Hordak would Think Things Through, But…

Hordak isn’t Really Proud of “Hordak” (with a bonus Adora mention)

Hordak Provides Excellent Fridge Horror

Hordak’s Behavioral Pathology Isn’t Actually Pathology

So! That Purification Ritual was Really Something

Despite Erasure, Hordak Remains Himself

The Clones Are Essentially Trapped By Prime And It Upsets Me

I Get Annoyed That The Clones Aren’t Discussed More By Our Heroes

Again, I Wish The Show Acknowledged The Clones A Bit More, Wrongie Edition

Wouldn’t It Be Swell If Prime Really Did Manage The Clones Like Livestock? 

It’s More Emotionally Poignant That The Clones Are Individuals Rather Than Drones

Prime’s Doctrine Ensures Hordak Blames Himself, and it’s an Awful Control Measure

Hordak Probably Isn’t Dumb for Using Uninsulated Cables; Rather, Clone Sadness is in Play

Why I Can’t See Hordak and the Other Clones As Colonizers (unlike Prime) (also a whole convo thread)

Thinking About Clones and Self-Care

Each Clone Will Have to Realize That They Were Victimized

Wondering if Horde Clones Might Feel Anxious Sleeping Alone

Why Prime Might Encourage Some Autonomy in His Clones (spoilers: for cruelty)

Completely Arbitrary Classification of Clones Post-Prime!

Prime is an Actual God to the Clones and it is Terrifying

Canon Plausibility of Blanket Burritoing Horde Clones!

I Appreciate That, Despite Their Devotion, the Clones are Portrayed as Legitimately Suffering due to Prime

Catra and Adora have Happy Memories; do the Clones?; does Hordak?

Morality/Punishment/Redemption Related

Morality is (sadly) not a Universal Thing

Don’t Talk to me About the Reset as “Proper Punishment”

Why Hordak Doesn’t Just Become a Good Citizen

I Think About Hordak’s Choices a Lot

Hordak as an Abuse Mimic Rather Than Pure Evil

Looking at the Horde Child Soldier Thing From a Certain POV

Emotional Support is a Necessary Part of Healing

Hordak Was Forgiven Without Redemption, And I’m OK With That

Hordak’s Arc Speaks Directly to People who were “Raised Wrong”

I Wonder if Hordak Would See anti-Princess Propaganda as Propaganda

Semi-Intelligent Plot/Story Observations

Hordak’s Portrayal is a Function of Character Lens

Hordak Gets Very Legit Development in Season Four

She-Ra Isn’t a War Drama and Here’s Why

Hordak Suffers From a Distressing Lack of Agency

Hordak is a Weirdly Unenthusiastic Lord

The Season 4 Finale Reframes Hordak’s Vulnerability 

Untangling Hordak’s Backstory in Light of What We Now Know

Why Hordak Getting Possessed is Narratively Good

Hordak’s Rebellion and Subsequent Possession Essentially Summarize His Story

There Are Big Differences Between Hordak and Prime’s Etherian Wars

It Is Pretty Unlikely That Hordak Would Have Pulled The Portal Lever

It Occurred To Me That Hordak May Initially Ignore FO’s Tech Because It’s Just Really Old

An Assessment Of The Villain Intro Cards, Focusing On Hordak

I Think It’s Silly To Blame Hordak For Everything - Especially When Considering Prime

Literally Just a Thread Explaining Why Hordak is Sympathetic

Some Words On Exactly How Terrible DT’s Reveal Was For Hordak

The Escalation of Hordak’s Situation is Really Something

An Anon Asks a Normal Question and I go on a Tangent About Hordak Compensating for his Inability to Innovate via Entrapta and Catra

There are Monumental Differences Between the Galactic and Etherian Hordes in Terms of Brainwashing and Agency

Thinking About Why Chipped Etherians May Not be That Sympathetic To Clones After All

Random Bit of Logicking About Why Hordak Calls the Princesses a Rebellion

Figuring Out Why I Find Hordak So Much More Sympathetic Than The Princesses

Brief Musing on How Hordak Might Face Antagonism From Both Sides Post-Canon

Hordak’s Story Touches on the Concept of the Imperfection of Authority

Someone Asked Me if I Found Hordak’s S5 Arc Satisfying

Discussing Whether Or Not Hordak Planned on Leading Anything After Conquering Etheria

Taking Apart an Abysmal Twitter Take Because It’s Fun

Talking About Prime’s Clone Troops v. Robot Troops

Talking About Hordak’s Emotional Age

Hordak’s S3 Backtory Being Part-Delusion Helps Emphasize the Inequality in Attachment Between the Clones and Prime

A Few Not-So-Nice Acts Hordak Commits That I Find Justifiable

Random Headcanons of All Sorts

Stupidly Cute, Pointless Headcanon #3825 (ears covered)

Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #4853 (yawning, with appropriate artwork)

Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #2938 (snoring)

Stupid Pointlessly Cute Headcanon #1423 (REM sleep)

Stupidly Cute, Pointless Headcanon #7845 (blushing)

Random Hordak-Related Thought #2935 (forearms)

I Like to Think That Hordak Does Cute Things in his Sleep

I Like to Think That Hordak’s Eyes Dim While He Sleeps

Literally Me Just Having Emotions

Thinking About the Stress of Maintaining His Image in the Horde

Why Hordak’s Trauma is Particularly Disturbing To Me (compared to Catra/Adora)

Catra Overcomes her Fear of her Abuser; Hordak Does Not

All of my Emotions over the S4 Finale

Hordak’s Goddamned Smirk Lied to Me

I Have Feelings about Hordak’s Enforced Self-Care

I Need Hordak to Know that He is Loved

Hordak Goes Pew Pew and It’s Cute

Watching Hordak Lift Things Makes Me Smile

Hordak’s Unreasonable Expectations Make Me Sad

Please Just Let Hordak Rest

A Sassy Post About People Complaining the Hordak and Catra are Forgiven

All My Words About That Hordak/Adora Scene

Hordak Taps the Asphyxiation Lever With Two Fingers And It Makes Me Happy

I Wonder If Individuality Felt Blasphemous To Hordak

Please Don’t Stab Clones In Their Ports, Thank You

Hordak Clasps His Hands And It Makes Me Anxious

Hordak Shaming Catra Mimics the Purification Room And It’s Disturbing

Watching Hordak Give Up Is Heartbreaking

I Worry About Hordak Handling Anxiety

People Being Considerate of Hordak Makes My Heart Smile

I Wonder If Magic Was Frightening to Hordak at First

Thinking About Hordak Progressing in Terms of Self-Care

Prime Never Calls Hordak by Name, not Even Once

Just Being Sad While Realizing the Sort of Life Hordak had to Look Forward To

Strange Fic-Like Things No One Should Read

Please Consider: A Concept Masterpost

Hordak Practices Eyerolling

Imp Hacks Up The Worst Color of Hairball

[darkshrimpemotions]

By the way it’s not that I don’t see depth and dimension to Sam’s character. I absolutely do. I just feel like there’s so much less fulfillment there in terms of potential that it’s more frustrating than enjoyable to talk much about it.

Like...Sam’s story is arguably more immediately relatable to me in a lot of ways than Dean’s. I was the eldest sibling, not the youngest, but I was also the sibling that left home and went to college. I’m the freak in my family, the one that doesn’t quite fit, the one who always had something simmering under the surface that my father feared and hated, finally bursting to the surface when I was 22 years old.

My father literally calls me his wayward child, so, yeah. I identify with aspects of Sam’s story pretty hard. But I also feel like the most interesting aspects of his story are never fulfilled. The assumptions his character is built on never get interrogated or deconstructed by the narrative, not the way that Dean’s do.

Dean’s queer narrative is that all the things that make him the “good son” are a performance that’s hurting him, and his character development is about shedding those things and redefining what “good” means for his life. Sam’s queer narrative is that all the things that make him a “bad son” are exactly as bad as his father believed, and his character development is about learning just how bad they are via his own hubris, then being punished for it for the rest of the show.

Dean’s arc (minus the last episode) is cathartic for me whereas Sam’s is tragic. While Dean’s arc was truly only messed up for me by the finale, Sam’s arc could only have been salvaged by it, if that makes sense. There had been so relatively little in Sam’s arc for fifteen years to contradict the idea that his queer-coding was evil that they really only could have saved it by giving him just the right ending to tie all the bits of suggestion together. And even then, it wouldn’t have been in any way cohesive.

Sam never has a solid moment he’s allowed to keep that treats the “thing that makes Sam different” as anything more or less than an infection. All the steps in his journey that I identify with most--escaping his abusive environment to go to college, his struggles with autonomy and setting healthy boundaries, dealing with and healing from trauma, seeking a reconciliation between what he wants and who he is--are either framed as mistakes or dropped by the narrative entirely.

The end result of all this is that I don’t feel like I know Sam, not really. Not the way I know Dean. He doesn’t feel real, because his arc doesn’t reflect reality in any way I can connect to. I have felt intense moments of love and connection to the character, even recently! If you were to dig through my blog for posts made during seasons 13-15, you’d see some serious Sam love and even musings over whether I might be a Sam girl after all (I was not happy with Dean for a lot of the final three seasons).

But those moments don’t stay with me when the episode is over, because they’re missing the ring of conviction at the end of the day. There’s no single solid thread of relatability tying Sam’s character arc together from beginning to end for me, certainly not one that could withstand that garbage fire of a finale.

And this isn’t a failing of the character. If anything, it’s a failing of the team of people responsible for creating him, as evidenced by the fact that I love Sam in fanfiction! Some of my favorite fics spend significant time and attention on Sam, getting into his head, explaining his worldview and motivations from the seeds of character we get in canon. And they do it beautifully, and in a way that’s surprisingly consistent from writer to writer.

It could be that I’m simply not a Sam prophet like those lovely writers. But either way, it all comes back to Sam as he exists in canon just...not landing for me, despite arguably being the character that I should find more relatable.

[greytoiletpaper]

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the same-ish street-siblings universe as First Contact by @cryptids-and-muses and @a-sketchy-character @streetsiblings (they’re still awesome). Now, the pieces start falling into place or smth lmao :))

Drizzle | Deluge | AO3

Chapter 3: Squall

Did they get rid of her?

He dreads to think of it, but there’s nothing else he seems to be able to pick out from what information he gathers. Three years after he died, Cass (who hated killing, would never do it even for the worst of the worst) had nearly murdered the Joker. She almost finished the job until Batman saved the madman and subdued her. After that,

Nothing.

Not a single report on Batgirl. Nor a photo of Cassandra Todd. Only two traces he could find. One a significantly sullen Wonder Woman (he and Cass had liked her, and she, them). The other an interview of Bruce, repeating that she’d gone to ‘travel the world’.

Jason knows a lie when he hears one.

“It’s – It’s like she just disappeared,” He’s gripping his head, rocking back and forth while Rose smooths out his hair. “He cut her out of the family and then what?”

He remembers a promise, a vow Bruce had made with him. It had meant the world to Jason.

Bruce had broken that vow. Torn it apart and stomped all over it.

Rose watches him as he breaks down with no judgement in her gaze, just holds him close as his world crumbles around him again.

--

There’s a child in Nandra Parbat, and Jason has to train him.

“This is my son, Damian,” Talia had said to him, showing him some new kid as if he hadn’t just killed three assassins in the space of a minute. He would have said as much if she didn’t immediately order him to be the kid’s new teacher.

Looking at him now, all Jason can see is a small girl with a crooked smile mouthing his name. He blinks, and he’s met with a scowl and sapphire eyes (eyes just like Br-).

“Mother has requested you to be my instructor,” The kid repeats and lord, his voice is nasal. Jason chooses to stare at the kid, who fidgets. If he looks close enough, he could swear Damian’s scowl looks almost precisely like-.

“Is he mute, Mother? I do not see how an invalid could assist me,” He can tell by the way Rose’s head shoots up and glares at Damian whose side she would choose if this escalates. A flare of anger rises in Jason’s chest; his eyes start to flash a sharp emerald. Still, he pushes it down and diverts it to strengthening his stare, dominating the room.

He can’t read people the same way Cass can, but Jason could swear that the kid’s composure cracks at his uncertainty.

“Wanna repeat that for me?” Jason’s voice is low and even. He can tell the kid recognises the threat in his tone. To his credit, Damian hesitates before he honest to god tts, like every single other haughty, uptight rich boy.

“Regardless, habibi, you will treat your new instructors with respect,” Talia speaks, gesturing to him and Rose. “The quality of your instructors was incredibly subpar, and you have them to blame for killing the previous masters beforehand.”

“I do not think that a lowly thug and his harlot-,” Jason’s arm shoots out in an instant, clasping his hand over Damian’s mouth and clenching. Indignant fury flares in the boy’s eyes as Damian tries to slap Jason away. It does nothing, unsurprisingly.

“So long as you are under my tutelage, you will never speak that way to any woman. That is no way to speak to anyone, regardless of what they do for a living,” Somehow, the kid actually listens, the flinty look in his eye lessening somewhat. “I bet your own mother had to pull a fuck ton of strings just to make sure this meeting even happened in the first place.”

Jason glances up to Talia, expecting a reprimand. What surprises him is how genuine the approval she emits is. It hits him that he has literally confirmed to training Damian. He coughs.

“You should know,” Talia pipes up. “His full name is Damian Wayne-Al Ghul.”

Jason stares at the ceiling and curses the rain as it tap-dances with the universe, mocking him.

“All right, then, I’ll go to hell.”

--

Cassandra shakes herself from the nerves and rings the doorbell. The last time she had been here, she had kissed Alfred on the cheek and let him drive her all the way to the airport. That was only two months ago. Two months away from Gotham, away from Batgirl, away from-.

Bruce. He’s standing in the foyer, his gaze cold, but his body… his body seems unsure. She doesn’t know what to make of it. She half expects him to turn her away, but he moves to the side. He opens his mouth.

“Cassandra!” Steph darts from behind Bruce’s body, all flailing limbs and mismatched socks. “You’re here!”

“Yes.”

The girl grins, periwinkle eyes dazzling (They’re from the same cloth, just not the proper stitching) as she drags Cassandra away.

“So… how’s life in Hong Kong?”

“Peachy,” Cass answers honestly.

“Think of any names for your new identity?” Steph gesticulates to nothing, but her body language is focused on questions. So, she doesn’t give the girl any. They walk a little more until Steph decides to fill in the silence again.

“Tim’s dad found out about the vigilante business,” Cass nods as Steph talks. “Wants him to quit being Robin and Bruce doesn’t seem to know what to do about it.”

“His problem.”

“Well, duh. It’s just that….” Steph rubs her arm shyly, the same way she always does when she’s afraid of what she will say next. “When I was growing up, with my villain dad and addict Mom, I always imagined that Batman and Robin would save me. I’m here now, and….”

“You want to be Robin.” Cassandra deadpans, even as Steph whirls to gape at her. Really, it’s not like she wasn’t obvious. “Why not go for it?”

Silence for a moment. “Because I’m afraid.”

Cassandra looks at the blonde sharply. Stephanie Brown? Intimidated-by-Batman-and-joined-vigilantism-anyway Stephanie Brown was afraid? She doesn’t know what to think. That is until the dots connect in her head.

“You’re afraid that you won’t be able to help as much as you want to,” Steph scuffs the carpet glumly.

“With Mr. Anal-retentiveness-to-the-9’s? Yeah, that’d probably happen,” Steph sound so defeated and desperate that Cass curses because apparently, fate chose now to be when Steph is truly like Jason.

“Then don’t wear it,” Steph’s scuffing gets a little stronger. “I, for one, think you’d be a really good Batgirl.”

Steph makes an incredible impression as a fish and stares at Cass, barely wheezing as she gawks. “But Bruce -.”

“Bruce doesn’t have autonomy over Batgirl,” Cass smiles sweetly, echoing Barbara. “It’s your uniform now, and no one can take that from you but yourself.”

Her friend squeals loudly and squeezes Cass, gushing her gratitude over and over. Cass hugs her back, pretending it’s Jay she’s holding in her arms, giving the assurance of family she failed to keep.

--

He’s only trained with Damian for a few months, yet he’s seen more than he really should from the boy. His younger brother (the kid’s only a child, it doesn’t matter what Jason’s previous misgivings are) has been raised in the League of Assassins since birth. He can already use a sword with deadly efficiency at eleven years old. His attitude's as ruthless and condescending as every other assassin in the compound.

However, what is an exploitable weakness for Damian is the fact he’s only just started puberty. Most easily demonstrated when Rose makes a suggestive pose before tackling the boy and pinning him in place. Jason whistles because he’s fond of her, an asshole like that. Rose flips the bird at Jason and sticks out her tongue, now lounging casually on Damian’s squirming body.

It’s cute, the scene, but Jason knows how wrong it is. As long as Damian is with the League of Assassins, he won’t live normally. To find his own love, his own family. Even as the child wrestles with Rose and yells at him to help, it won’t ever be enough.

He’s not projecting.

He’s not.

He’s going to concoct a plan.

--

Ravi, Damian’s caretaker, has that air about him that Jason has only ever seen come from Alfred. So, he guesses trusting Ravi with this is more than okay. The man may be blind, but with him, they manage to smuggle Damian through the channels of the League, avoiding everyone who could threaten their goal.

“If I may ask, Mister Todd,” Ravi says as they reach the last legs. Jason nods. “Why are you doing this? To what gain is rescuing this child for you?”

“I don’t do this because I want to gain something,” Jason replies immediately. “No child deserves to grow up in this place. He deserves to have as good a childhood as he can get.”

Ravi stares patiently, hearing what’s unsaid.

“Sound reasoning,” Talia’s voice echoes around them. Everyone tenses. The woman steps out from behind the pillar ahead of them, alone. “And where, may a mother ask, are you taking my son?”

The woman’s voice lacks her usual veneer, sounding so genuinely earnest that he can’t help but blurt out: “Gotham.”

“Gotham,” Talia repeats, her forehead pinched. “With him?” With Batman? Jason bristles. “Might I remind you; he left your death unavenged and replaced you in mere months.”

“Fuck that,” Jason snarls. Ever since he came out of the Pit, madness clings to the edges of his mind whenever he thinks of how Bruce replaced him. This time, it only flickers. “What I want doesn’t matter when Damian needs his father figure. I’m – I’m not stopping him from having that.”

“So, you no longer wish to kill him,” Talia states. He sighs.

“I guess not,” Jason frowns, considering her presence. “Want to take him to Bruce?”

If Talia is surprised, she doesn’t show it, only beckoning for Damian to follow her. As the kid moves, Jason realises this might be the last time he’ll see Damian on the same side of the fence. He grabs the kid’s shoulder, who oddly doesn’t resist.

“Look, Damian,” Jason starts as his younger brother stares up at him. “Doing right is right, and wrong is wrong. A body ain’t got no business doing wrong when he ain’t ignorant and knows better.

“Living with your father, it’s rules like that he follows like gospel. He’ll love you; I know he will, but with him it’s always on the condition that you adhere to his principles. Can you promise something for me?”

Damian nods, soaking every word in.

“I need you to keep an open mind with what he says, but I don’t want you to follow them like gospel the way he does. You’re more than his soldier, you’re my brother, you’re his son.”

The kid nods again, shifting on his feet.

“And – And look after yourself, okay? And -,” The words that come out of his mouth feel like hot coals, but he has to say them. “And if somehow Cass is there, can you look after her too? For me?”

“Of course,” Damian answers softly before throwing his arms around Jason’s waist. “I will find your ukht, ahki, and make sure she is well cared for.”

Jason smiles. It's a broken, weary-looking thing.

“And Todd?” Jason raises his eyebrows. “You should confess to Wilson about your ridiculous affection. It is sickening to watch you two dancing around one another every lesson.”

Jason can’t help it; he laughs and lets his little brother go, his tears like raindrops.

--

Cass leaves the fresh hydrangeas on the headstone. It stares back at her, its date (four years) seeming to mock her from beyond the grave. Literally, Jay says in her head, which has her biting back the laugh that builds in her throat.

Bruce’s son had come in a few days ago, obviously an assassin child, yet he’s still… subdued, somehow. She knows the boy is there, at her brother’s grave, and that he follows her all the way to the manor. Even then, Cassandra lets it go. He probably took all his cues from Bruce anyway.

It’s when she’s sitting at the new memorial for Jason, a small statue of an apple with a plaque underneath, that Damian approaches her.

“Cain.”

“It’s Todd.”

Something crosses the boy’s face. She can’t tell what it is.

“Todd,” Damian says, his eyebrows pinching like a mini Bruce. “What is this?”

“It’s Jason’s memorial,” Cassandra traces the words on the plaque, a quote, one whose meaning she had struggled with a lifetime ago. She gestures to the book in her hands. “I read to it, every time I’m here.”

Damian looks like he’s about to say something about that, but he withholds it. Instead, he sits down with her, his head upturned, not unlike a bird.

“What was he like?” The boy asks, the words seeming to grit out his teeth.

“He was amazing, and we loved him so much,” Dick speaks up, out of nowhere, cutting Cass off before she can even begin. “I had a few issues with him, but I promise that I’ll be as good a brother to you as he was to us.”

Cassandra snorts, and Dick’s smile falls off his face.

“Cassandra, come on, I was just-.”

“You weren’t even a good brother to me or – or him.” She says quietly, because why is he even speaking now? “Why are you trying now? Why not before?”

“Like I said, I had a lot of issues with -.”

“I don’t care, Dickface.” Does it hurt to say Jason’s old nickname for the boy? Yes. Does she draw satisfaction at how much he flinches? Also, yes.

Barbara chooses then to speak up.

“I don’t think that’s fair for you to say, Cass.”

She freezes. The fact that even Damian, who hardly knows her, does the same with the others means they know how huge an error they’ve made.

“Don’t call me that,” Cassandra snaps, voice desolate and lethal, thoughts squalling and refusing to calm down even as she buries her head in the book in her hands.

Barbara sighs and calls Dick away to discuss the mysterious hacker that’s been pulling information from them. Damian, seeming to recognise her desire to be alone, follows him. Good. Cassandra’s mind falls in and out of a lull as her eyes try to refocus. So, she caresses the edge of the apple reverently. In its reflection, tears run down her cheeks. She can’t feel them.

--

“The information breaches just keep searching for Batgirl,” Barbara says, snapping Cassandra from her stupor. She pulls up a list; every entry confirms Barbara’s statements. Every entry, that is, except for one that catches her eye. The text flashes brightly, making her head spin, and she can’t look away because printed in the bright neon text is-.

There’s a memory, one she’s locked in the far recesses of her mind, where things like the Joker and David and all her other demons live. She remembers Faizul asking who her mother is.

David smirks, a savage thing he does whenever he’s about to order her to do something (murder, as it turned out, then) and says:

Sandra Wu-San | Lady Shiva

The words blare in her mind, bouncing round and round and blocking out all sounds in the cave. It certainly explains a lot; only Shiva can read the body like a novel. Plus, Cassandra isn’t sure that assassin skills are genetic but having two master assassins as biological parents should factor somewhere. It also opens a new avenue of thought. Why? Why did she give her up and never look back? Why did she leave her with her monster of a father? Cassandra craves needs answers, and she needs them now.

Staring up at the name printed on the screen, Jason once asked himself the same questions.

While the others discuss what to do, Cassandra has already listed Shiva’s last known locations and activities. They don’t notice she’s going to leave until she revs the engine of her bike. She sees them open their mouths, but over the sound of the motor, their voices fail to reach her.

All except, somehow, for Alfred and if there is anyone in this family Cass will listen to; it’s the one Jay loved the most.

“If you do pursue her, Miss Cassandra,” The butler has never been unkind to her, yet she can’t help but feel like he’s trying to keep her in place. “I am not sure if you will find what you are looking for.”

She leaves anyway, soaring underneath the tresses of Gotham as they settle around her, the mist obscuring everything but her path forward.

--

“Damian probably landed in Gotham last week,” Rose says casually. Too casually, she realises. Jace side-eyes her and snorts in response. Damn him and his ability to pick apart what she’s asking. Four years constantly in one another’s presence would do that to people with his life experience. Yet, as much as Jason can read her, she can’t say she can do the same for him.

Something about him seems fragile, like plaster covering a beautiful and distracting collage. Rose wants to dig past that plaster, through the collage and see the mind that is Jason Todd.

She has seen him at his highest and lowest points and always makes sure to stay by his side, as she does now. He’s her best friend; he might not know it, but he’s kept her sane (reassurances her father will not find her come to mind) just as much as she’s done for him.

“What do you think of the new Batgirl?” This time, she means to be conversational. When they stumbled across the profile of Cass’ successor, Jace had shaken his head and laid out half-heartedly into a punching bag.

“I don’t hate her, if that’s what you’re thinking,” That response was… not unexpected. But, when she raises her hickory eyes, Jason has his head raised to the sky. “I looked into her, and – and she’s like us.”

Oh.

“Girl’s from the Narrows. Didn’t live on the streets, but from her background, her home life definitely wasn’t that great growing up either.”

His hand is trembling, so Rose grabs it and tries to keep him steady with all the power in her.

“She’s going to do Batgirl proud,” Jason says shakily. “I think you’d agree.”

They stand there, leaning on each other, tranquillity settling around them as Jace lets his tears flow. It occurs to Rose that she never let his hand go. She doesn’t plan to. The feeling makes her feel warm inside, and as much as she wants to go further, she also doesn’t want to push her best friend away.

In the distance, the outline of a jet approaches the runway they’re on. It is time.

“You ready?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said yes.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey,” Rose looks up at him, waiting for him to continue. “If anything goes wrong, I want you to stay out of sight of the others and get away from Gotham.”

Rose growls. “No way, there is no fucking way I’d leave you alone with them.” She steps closer, jabbing her finger on his chest. “I didn’t train with you for the past four years for it all to be thrown away just because Batman is an asshole. My dad’s just as bad, remember?

“You’re stuck with me no matter what Jace. Deal with it.”

He gives her a wry smirk that has her heart fluttering as much as her returning grin is sharp. Even as the plane touches down, she realises that he hasn't let her hand go, and neither has she.

In the next week, Red Hood and Ravager will carve their way through the deeper bowels of Gotham’s stomach, a bag of heads linking their iron fists.

For now, Rose breathes in the moist air as a drizzle begins.

--

Mad Dog, Cassandra muses, is a morbid reminder of what she might have become if she stayed with David. He doesn’t have her abilities, but he has more physical strength in spades; his movements are so strange, so unpredictable, that it’s not like it matters.

A deft swipe narrowly misses her throat, and Cassandra cuffs the man in the jaw with her knee, knocking him back.

She had definitely found Shiva. Tracked her all the way to some subset of the League of Assassins. The woman had only gazed coolly at her and set Mad Dog on her.

True to his name, the assassin growls and leaps at her, fury behind each of his strikes. Cassandra dodges one of these, the fist cratering the cement wall, and gets socked in the chest for her trouble. The force of the impact sends her flying metres away.

Getting up from the blow is a chore, and she can feel the agony her body is in, feels the blood run down her mouth as she rises. Her fist is shaking; her stance is uneven. Mad Dog notices, and he grins like David, drawing a jagged sword from his sheath and charges.

Cassandra darts past the assassin. She knows she can win this. Even though his movements are swift and deadly, she manages to outpace him. His sword strikes aim to draw blood as he swipes at her, but she’s still managed to weave her way around them, causing sparks to fly into the air. When he tries to hit her, she still uses his momentum against him and knocks him down.

Yet, Cassandra can feel herself getting slower now; her arms are still shaking. She dodges another strike, but it’s a feint, and Mad Dog grabs her by the hair and slams her onto the ground. Hazily, she watches his wicked grin widen as the assassin raises his arms and prepares his blade.

As Mad Dog is about to drive it into Cass’ chest, she thinks (This is it. It’s all over. It is time.) of a boy in an alleyway, an apple in his hand and a smile on his lips.

She closes her eyes and listens to the sprinkling outside.

--

“Do you think we were unfair to them?” Dick seems to ask to open air, but Bruce knows when his sons want a genuine response. “Like, that we didn’t give them enough credit for what they could do. And because of that, they’ve never had anyone but each other?”

Dick slumps. It looks so wrong on him that Bruce wraps his arms around him, especially careful (As a real father would. An insidious voice in his brain sneers). “Do you think, that if maybe we treated them so much better...” His boy is crying now, usually joyous lapis eyes cold and red-rimmed. “That they’d still be here?”

Bruce only grunts because not one of his answers is what Dick wants to hear.

On a slab of stone, the petals on the hydrangeas wilt, droplets dappling their edges.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[thexfridax]

Translated radio interview / transcript

Dance of the gazes and female desire

Susanne Burg, Deutschlandfunk, 26th of October 2019

// Additions or clarifications for translating purposes are denoted as [T: …]. You can listen to the interview (in German) here. Noémie speaks in English, but unfortunately you can’t hear most of it due to the simultaneous translation (or maybe you can if you have superhuman hearing). I’ve tried to combine the transcript with the recording where possible. Apologies, it gets a bit messy. //

‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ is about a female painter who is supposed to paint a woman, who doesn’t want to be painted. The film received the Best Screenplay in Cannes. Lead actress Noémie Merlant explains why this film is so special.

One of the films that has been talked about a lot in Cannes this year, in the queues, in reviews and finally at the award ceremony, was ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’. […] It is a period film, but turns many gender roles upside down and tenderly creates a utopia of liberated love.

[T: Omitted short description of film]

Interviewer: You play the painter Marianne, who is commissioned by the Countess to do a portrait of her younger daughter Héloïse. Héloïse refuses to pose. Marianne therefore has to study her face during the day and then paint her at night. Why did she even accept this commission? Does she think in the beginning, it is just a job like any other?

Noémie Merlant: She is a painter and is still at the beginning of her career. She wants to work and as a woman gets the opportunity to do so. At the time there were maybe around a hundred [T: womans 😘], who were painters. She is modern in the sense that she is and wants to work as a freelancer, [T: (as per recording) so she has to accept to work this way, in secret.]

--- [T: This bit is not in the recording for whatever reason]

I: She does that, she studies Héloïse’s face, they talk with each other. When does she start to feel guilty, because she is lying to Héloïse?

NM: I believe that she already feels a bit guilty in the beginning, when she accepts the job. This guilt is getting stronger, the more she feels for Héloïse. The more in love she feels, the more guilty she also feels.

---

I: How does their relationship change, when Héloïse finds out?

NM: [T: (as per recording) It changes everything, because then Héloïse accepts to collaborate,] she accepts to sit for the portrait. From this moment, it is about the collaboration of two women, and the love story can really begin. They collaborate on the same level, the gazes are horizontal. The concept of the muse is reinvented in this film – Héloïse is not a muse, [T: (as per recording) she is a collaborator. So this starts at that moment.]

I: Héloïse has a very strong opinion about Marianne’s painting. And Marianne is also not very happy about the result of her work at first. Why is that?

NM: Marianne has the opportunity not to marry, but to pursue her passion as painter. But she is stuck, she hasn’t really found her art. She is trapped in the constraints of a commissioned painter. But when she starts to collaborate with Héloïse, when Héloïse practically opens her eyes, that is when Marianne realizes she has to be sincere with this portrait, in this case it means the intimacy and shared moments of these women. Héloïse has found her way back in life, [T: (as per recording) and Marianne is back in life, too, so it’s easier for her to find the kind of truth in the portrait.]

--- [T: This bit is not in the recording either]

I: I read that the director Céline Sciamma was inspired by the painter Hélène Delmaire for the character of Marianne? How much did you look at her art as preparation for the film?

NM: It was important for me to closely observe Hélène at work, to absorb the gaze of the painter. She has a certain kind of gaze that all painters have somehow, when they work – how she looks at something that she paints and then at the canvas. I had to adopt this gaze, the eyes of a painter. I also observed her rhythm at work, her gestures and all the technical steps to create a portrait. You can see in the film that the portrait is reminiscent of modern art at first, the light, the shadows, how it’s built piece by piece. I find it important to understand this right from the beginning.

---

I: The dresses in the film are quite impressive, in my opinion. And they are also quite important for the protagonists in the film. How much does the dress, which you wear in the film, characterise Marianne?

NM: [T: (as per recording) This dress got pockets. It’s true at that time there were pockets,] but these were banned later on and disappeared from the dresses. These pockets were a step towards autonomy for women. As a painter these pockets are important for my character und also influence her gestures. There is also a cape that was made for the character of Marianne, it is more of a masculine cape. This dress, the pockets and the cape also helped me to get into the spirit of the character. Same for the fact that the dress with the corset was quite tight and heavy. The film also gives an idea how oppressive these social forces were, and with the heavy dress I could directly feel these restrictions. During the course of the film [T: (as per recording) the costumes get less (tight), and we smile more, we feel more, we desire more. And so the costume helped (with) that.]

I: It is a story about love and art, which takes place in the 18th century, but it also feels quite contemporary. How did the idea that the story is also saying something about the present time influence your interpretation of the role?

NM: [T: (as per recording) When I act, even if it’s in the 18th century…] I don’t think about these things, when I act. There are of course the costumes and the text that cannot be changed, but when I act and when Adèle acts, then we act together and are fully in the moment, we create that moment. But when I read the script for the first time, I was [T: in the bathtube] captivated by the film. This story has been missing so far. The stories of female painters were erased historically, and cannot be found anymore. Stories about women and the female gaze have been missing. There are only those with the male gaze, which became the universal gaze. [T: (as per recording) … it was really strong because it was necessary to share this (story) and give back this expression to the womans (sic), you know.]

--- [T: This bit is not in the recording either]

I: How does the atmosphere change on set, when it is mainly women working there?

NM: There are almost no men in the film. There are a lot of films with only men, but we don’t realise it. That is normal. This film is a kind of invitation for women and men to look at women as they are. We were indeed mainly women on set. It was different in the way… we were not necessarily freer, but maybe more ourselves and less intimidated, and there was just this horizontal gaze between all of us.

---

I: Marianne and Héloïse talk a lot with each other, but there is also a lot of non-verbal communication, especially when they start to fall in love with each other and which must take place in secret at first. How did you work on the non-verbal communication between the two of you?

NM: [T: (as per recording) Yes, the silence (is) a big part in the movie.] It was also all in the script already, the gazes, the gestures and so on. But we worked a lot on the details. An important detail is the music. There are only two pieces of music in the film. It was very difficult to listen to music then, it was predominantly silent. And when you then hear the music, you immediately thought ‘Wow!’ – this could also be conveyed through the volume. It is the same for the gazes, the touches and the silence between Héloïse and Marianne – all those details were already written down, but it is about how you fill them out, how you adopt these, and what you put in.  

Adèle has for example suggested a gaze, and it was always a different one, just like this, or with a smile. So it was a surprise, because I didn’t expect it. We worked on finding our autonomy in these. And even the breathing is important in this film. It influences every scene and their rhythm. If you finish a scene with an inhale or exhale, it changes everything. [T: (as per recording) That was great and really interesting, we were working on holding back, you know.]

I: You are in each scene of the film. What does that mean for your preparation and work?

NM: [T: (as per recording) Yes, it is exhausting, because you] have to be present the whole time – it is not about not losing control, that can be good sometimes – but to constantly be mentally present is more exhausting than being physically there. We didn’t work chronologically. It is important that the audience notices how my character and Héloïse’s change during the course of the film. And because we didn’t work chronologically, we had to carefully prepare each scene at the kitchen table, and carefully check where we are in the story, in the relationship, in the work.

In the beginning we both kind of wear a mask, we don’t show much of us, we are reserved and shy. And piece by piece, we open up a bit more. The eyes, the smile, the mouth, the dress, everything is more open. [T: (as per recording) So I had to really stay focused in each scene, where am I at that moment.]

I: You worked quite intensively on this film and it was then in competition at Cannes in May. How is it for you to see the film and yourself on the big screen?

NM: [T: (as per recording) I have a mix of feelings.] I am happy, because I love this film, it is great and I am proud of it. On the other hand, I always find it difficult to see myself or to hear my voice, [T: (as per recording) but I try to forget that and you know, appreciate what I see.]

Picture sources: [1, (c) Stephane Cardinale - Corbis/Corbis via Getty Images], [2], [3, NEON], [4, Joel C Ryan/Invision/AP]