#just a sort of musing on some parallels

[camellia-thea]

another meta post for iwtv in the works btw

[magic-shop-stories]

Hello! Hope you're doing well. Love your work! Can I request something slightly.. Maybe confusing?

Idk why but I've always felt that Yoongi and Namjoon have the potential to be attracted to similar people, given their ideologies and personalities. So what happens when they meet reader organically and feel drawn towards them?

I am not envisioning a love triangle per se, but only the illusion of one. Where both grow closer to reader but with namjoon, it indeed is just a solid friendship. Lovestruck but in denial Yoongi doesn't see it that way necessarily. At least initially. Maybe some angst there.

Therefore despite the reader showing interest back, it takes our honey boy a minute to get there, and finally it's all sorted. Yoongi and reader end up together and all their friends are happy for them!

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Pairings: Min Yoongi x Archivist!Reader (slow burn), Platonic Kim Namjoon x Reader Rating: R (M) Genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, fluff Warnings: alcohol use (whiskey), emotional confrontations (themes of self-doubt, fear of artistic irrelevance), mild language, jealousy, kissing (non-explicit) Word Count: ~ 3k

Description: As HYBE’s archivist, you’re a keeper of ghosts - demos, coffee-stained lyrics, and the jagged edges of artists’ past selves. But when Min Yoongi starts haunting the archives to resurrect his old mixtapes, his obsession with the boy he used to be collides with the man he’s become. Between debates about Rilke, Camus, and the stains on his notebooks, you’ll learn that some wounds outlive the knife… and some hearts only thaw in the cold.

💌 Reply:

Hi love! 💜 First off - THANK YOU for this brilliant request (and your kind words, my heart 🥹). I hope you don’t mind that I spun this into a full imagine/fic — your concept of Yoongi and Joon’s parallel pulls and the “illusion” of a triangle hit me like a TRUCK. As a Yoongi ult (he’s my first/last/always 🐱) and Namjoon bias-wrecker, I vibrated at the idea of their dynamic clashing over someone who challenges them - god, I wish I could thank you enough (you scratched my brain) I kept your vision sacred: no real triangle, just Yoongi’s honey-coated denial, Joon’s platonic muse vibes, and the angst of two artists fearing too much vulnerability (at least in my mind). Also, the others teasing Yoongi? I couldn't NOT do it If this isn’t what you pictured, I’ll happily tweak, but I hope it gives you that slow-burn, you deserved. Thank you for trusting me with this gem. Now go feed your brainrot, legend. 🖤 – c – 💜

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Cold Storage: An Archive of Imperfect Notes

Prologue: The Quiet Before the Storm

The archives room at HYBE was a cathedral of silence, if silence could hum.

You liked it that way; the steady whir of climate-controlled servers, the faint tang of aged paper clinging to your fingertips, the way dust motes drifted like static in the blue-tinted dark. Here, in the belly of the iconic building where music went to hibernate, you were more archaeologist than archivist. Unearthing demos from 2013 felt like brushing silt from fossils, each lyric sheet was a bone fragment of who BTS used to be.

You’d taken the job for the anonymity. Artists came to you as ghosts, through track lists scrawled in Sharpie, voice memos buried in hard drives, the occasional coffee ring staining a producer’s notes. They rarely came in person.

Until today.

The Catalyst

The door hissed open at 3:47 PM. You didn’t look up, fingers skating over the spine of a 2014 lyric journal. “If you’re here for the Dark & Wild masters, they’re digitizing in Bay 6.”

“Not here for Bang PD’s old angst,” a voice drawled. Dry, low, lacquered with a Daegu rasp. “Looking for mine.”

Your head snapped up.

Min Yoongi leaned against the doorframe, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His face was all angles under the archival LEDs. his sharp jaw, sharper eyes. You’d seen him before, of course. In hallways. Through the frosted glass of Studio 4, in the practice rooms... Never here, where the past was kept under lock and humidity controls.

“Am producing D-3,” he said, pushing off the frame. “Ten-year reissue. Need the raw stems. And the notebook I used back then. The black one.”

You blinked. “The one where you wrote ‘I want to scream but my throat is a cemetery’?”

His eyebrow twitched, he seemed impressed for a second. “…Yeah.”

You stood, chair screeching. “Physical copies are in Cold Storage. Digital’s accessible if you...”

“Want the physical.” He crossed his arms. “Need to see the… stains.”

Ah. The coffee spills, crossed out words - rewritten a hundred times, whatever sins of sentimentality survived a decade. You nodded, turning toward the steel vault door.

The archives chose that moment to spit out Kim Namjoon.

He materialized between shelves like a philosopher-king misplaced by time, hair tousled, glasses smudged. “Hyung? What’re you...”

“My mixtape’s getting a facelift,” Yoongi said, not taking his eyes off you. “You?”

Namjoon hefted a dog-eared copy of The Myth of Sisyphus. “Preparing speech on art as resilience. Need more Camus. And… something that doesn’t sound like a TED Talk.” He grinned, dimples cratering. “Help?”

You snorted. “Camus is a TED Talk. 1942 edition.”

Namjoon’s grin widened. “Then give me the director’s cut.”

Yoongi cleared his throat. Loudly. “Cold Storage?”

“Right.” You led them deeper into the archives, fluorescent lights flickering like a heartbeat monitor. Yoongi’s shadow loomed over your shoulder; Namjoon’s fingers trailed the shelves, dislodging years of dust.

The vault door groaned open. Yoongi stepped into the 12°C chill like a soldier entering a trench.

“Box S-13,” you said, gloved hands lifting a battered container. Inside lay the notebook, the pages warped, edges singed. “Handle with care. Literally.”

He took it like a relic. For a moment, his mask slipped, lips parted, eyes soft and startled, as if meeting a ghost. Then he sniffed. “Nostalgia’s a scam. This…” He flicked a page. “Kid was an idiot.”

You tilted your head. “Or you’re scared he’s smarter than you now.”

Yoongi froze.

Namjoon coughed; badly hiding a laugh.

“Growth isn’t a diss to who you were,” you continued, pulling a crate of Camus essays for Namjoon. “Just proof you survived.”

Yoongi’s gaze cut to you, calculating. “You psychoanalyze all the artists, or just the ones who peaked in 2014?”

“Only the ones who leave burn marks on their notebooks.” You nodded at the charcoal smudges on his thumb.

Namjoon burst out laughing. “Oh, I like her.”

Yoongi didn’t laugh. But his lips quirked, brief and begrudging. “Whatever. Thanks.” He turned to leave, then paused. “…Kid me. You think he’d hate me now?”

The question hung in the frozen air.

You considered the man clutching his past like a grenade. “He’d pity you.”

Yoongi’s brow furrowed.

“For thinking you had to choose between him and who you are now.”

For a heartbeat, the vault hummed with unsaid things. Then Yoongi huffed, tucking the notebook under his arm. “Tell Cold Storage to chill less. It’s fucking arctic in here.”

He left.

Namjoon lingered, thumbing through Camus. “‘The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart,’” he read aloud. Then, softer: “You believe that? That art outlives the artist?”

You handed him a first-edition Rebel. “Depends. What if the artist wants to fade? To let the work breathe without their shadow?”

He stilled, eyes narrowing behind smudged lenses. “…Are you always this dangerous?”

“Only to philosophers who quote dead Frenchmen at me.”

Namjoon’s laugh echoed off the vault walls. “Noted. But fair warning...” He leaned in, mock-conspiratorial. “Yoongi-hyung’s gonna be back. He hates losing debates.”

“Not a debate. A fact.”

“Even worse.” He winked, tucking the book under his arm. “Thanks, archivist.”

You watched him leave, unaware of the eyes burning into your back from the security feed in Studio 4... Yoongi, rewinding the footage, pausing on your smirk.

On the desk, his old notebook lay open to a scribbled line: I want to die - I want to live.

He hit replay.

The Dance

The HYBE cafeteria at midnight was a liminal space, flickering vending machines, the scent of stale coffee, and the ghost of Jungkook’s laughter echoing from a meme video left playing on a tablet. You sat hunched over a dog-eared Rilke collection, blue-light glasses slipping down your nose as Namjoon paced, reciting draft lines like incantations.

“Art as… a rebellion against entropy,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “No, too clinical. Art as... shit, what’s the equivalent for ‘intergenerational dialogue’?”

You tossed him a chocolate bar from your bag. “Try 유산 (legacy). Or 대화 (conversation). Depends if you want your audience to weep or nap.”

He caught it, dimples flashing. “Why not both?” Collapsing into the chair across from you, he ripped the wrapper with his teeth. “Help me murder this paragraph. It’s got three metaphors and zero soul.”

You leaned over his notebook, red pen slashing through a convoluted analogy about “sculpting time.” “Camus would disown you. Keep it raw. Like your ‘My heart was filled with straight lines only’ line in Trivia: Love.”

Namjoon’s eyes lit up. “You know that song?”

“I archive your old journals. You wrote that lyric after spilling green tea on Hegel.”

He barked a laugh, loud enough to startle a passing cleaner. “Okay, archivist. What’s raw but profound?”

You scribbled in the margin: “Art isn’t a relic... it’s the wound that outlives the knife.”

Namjoon stared, then slowly grinned. “…I’m stealing that.”

Yoongi found you two days later, arguing over the pronunciation of “Schwere” (heaviness) in Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo.”

“It’s sh-veh-reh,” you insisted, slamming a German dictionary on the archives desk. “Not shuh-wear. You’re butchering the Schmerz (pain).”

Namjoon leaned back, smug. “Hyung, back me up. It’s about feeling, not grammar.”

Yoongi hovered in the doorway, a box of 2015 demos under his arm. His black sweater rode up slightly as he shifted, frowning. “Why’s Rilke in my studio?”

“Speech,” you said, not looking up. “He’s romanticizing existentialism again.”

Namjoon tossed a crumpled post-it at Yoongi. “They’re ruthless. Tell them schwere (heaviness) is subjective.”

Yoongi caught it, squinting at the scribbled lines. Art isn’t a relic - it’s the wound that outlives the knife. His jaw twitched. “Sounds like a  D-2 B-side.” He dropped the demos on your desk. “Need these scanned. And the notebook from last week.”

You frowned. “You’ve requested that notebook three times.”

He met your gaze, unblinking. “I like the stains.”

His visits became clockwork.

Tuesdays at 4 PM

“The 2016 tour schedules. For… chronology.”

Thursdays at 7 PM

“Original First Love lyrics. The ones with the coffee rings.”

Each time, he lingered; arguing over tracklists, scoffing at your critiques, circling back to debates about his old self.

“Reissue Track 5 should be The Last pt.2 ,” you said one evening, sliding the old demo across the desk.

Yoongi stiffened. “Too raw. People won’t get it.”

“Or you’re scared they will.”

He leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. The small 7 on his shoulder peeked out, a silent confession. “You think you know me because you’ve digitized my angst?”

“I think The Last saved someone once. Maybe you.”

He held your stare, the air thickening like storm clouds. Then he snatched the demo. “Track 5 stays Agust D - WHO?.”

But the next day, the tracklist update included The Last pt.2.

It was Namjoon who shattered the détente.

You’d met him in the cafeteria again, debating the ethics of AI-generated art. His laugh, warm and booming, carried across the room as you mocked his “algorithms can’t cry” argument.

Yoongi walked in just as you tossed a sugar packet at Namjoon’s chest.

“ So if a robot writes a love song,” you said, grinning, “...is it plagiarism or progress?”

Namjoon caught the packet, eyes crinkling. “Depends if it’s got soul. Like your Rilke edits., but probably not.”

Yoongi froze, tray in hand. His knuckles whitened around a cup of bitter black coffee.

Of course it’s Joon.

He left without a word.

That night, Yoongi stormed the archives.

“Seesaw,” he demanded, slamming a hand on your desk. “The original first-demo. Now.”

You didn’t flinch. “...it’s 11 PM.”

“And?”

“You’ve listened to Seesaw a thousand times. Why now?”

His throat bobbed. “Need to remember why I wrote it.”

You swiveled to the server, pulling up the file. The demo played, raw, unpolished, Yoongi’s voice cracking on “I’m afraid I’ll get used to this pain,” - a line that didn't make it too the final track.

He stood rigid, back to you.

“You wrote it because you were tired of balancing pride and regret,” you said softly. “Because vulnerability felt like failure.”

Yoongi spun, eyes blazing. “You don’t...”

“Know you?” You stood, meeting his glare. “I know the boy who scribbled ‘I need u’ in margins. Who still comes here to argue with his ghost when noone is looking, but I see.”

He stepped closer, heat radiating off him. “And what do you get from this? Playing therapist to fucked-up artists?”

“Maybe I like the company.”

A beat. His gaze dropped to your lips.

The door creaked.

Namjoon poked his head in, blissfully oblivious. “Archivist! Need your take on Nietzsche’s ‘eternal recurrence’ for the speech... Oh. Am I interrupting?”

Yoongi jerked back, cheeks flushed. “No.”

“Yes,” you said.

Namjoon glanced between you, smirk blooming. “I’ll… come back.”

Yoongi left without another word, but not before you spotted the tremor in his hands; the same tremor from the day he’d first held his old notebook.

The Fracture

The air in Studio 4 was always sterile, a vacuum sealed against the outside world. But tonight, it felt like a tomb.

Yoongi had been playing his  The Last pt.2 draft on loop for hours, the demo’s jagged bassline gnawing at the soundproof walls. His fingers hovered over the mixing board, tweaking the same three-second clip - “I built my pride from broken glass”, until the words lost meaning.

He didn’t hear the door open. You were one of the few people in the company with keys to almost every room.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Your voice cut through the noise. Yoongi’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t turn. “Busy.”

“Bullshit.” You stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. “You haven’t answered a single text. Skipped the archives all week. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong. The track pulsed, raw and unpolished. “The Last pt.2” was supposed to be a sequel, closure for the boy who wrote “I want to die” in smudged ink years ago. Instead, it felt like a relapse.

“MIN YOONGI.”

He spun, chair screeching. “Why’re you here? Shouldn’t you be helping Joon craft his precious speech?”

The venom startled you. “He asked me to rehearse. That’s all.”

Yoongi scoffed, jabbing a finger at the screen. “Saw you. Foreheads touching, hands all... whatever. Looked cozy.”

You blinked. “I was stopping him from clicking his pen. He does it when he’s nervous. You know that.”

“Do I?” He stood abruptly, knocking over a half-empty glass of whiskey. The liquid seeped into his notebook, blurring the notes as he shoved past you. “Doesn’t matter. Got a producer meeting.”

“At midnight?”

“Yes.”

You blocked the door. “Talk to me.”

His laugh was brittle. “About what? How you’ve got Joon wrapped around your finger? How he looks at you like you’re his damn muse?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He stepped closer, the whiskey on his breath sharp and sour. “You quote his lyrics, fix his speeches, laugh at his jokes... fuck, you even know how he takes his coffee. What’s next? Translating his diary?”

You flinched. “It’s not like that. Also you only drink decaf, iced...”

“Sure.” He yanked the door open. “Have fun crafting legacies.”

Rooftop, 1:14 AM

The wind bit through Yoongi’s sweater as Namjoon found him slumped against the guardrail, whiskey glass dangling from his fingers.

“You look like hell,” Namjoon said, settling beside him.

“Feel like it.”

A beat. The city below hummed, indifferent.

“They quoted The Last in my speech today,” Namjoon said quietly.

Yoongi stiffened.

“Not the lyrics. The… feeling. Said it reminded them that art isn’t about permanence. It’s about…” He paused. “'The courage to shatter what you’ve built.'”

Yoongi’s throat tightened.His line, from the 2016 notebook, unreleased.

Namjoon turned, gaze piercing. “They’ve been stealing your words to fix mine this whole time. Not because they’re mine... because they’re yours.”

The glass trembled in Yoongi’s hand. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” Namjoon’s voice softened. “They’re not my muse, hyung. They’re yours. Always have been.”

Yoongi stared at the amber liquid, the reflection of his own fractured face staring back.

“You gonna keep hiding in demos?” Namjoon stood, clapping his shoulder. “Or write a new verse?”

Studio 4, 2:03 AM

The door creaked open again.

You froze, breath catching.

Yoongi stood in the threshold, The Last pt.2 still looping. His eyes were red-rimmed, hair a mess, but his voice steadied the storm.

“I’m… shit at this.”

“At what?”

“Talking. Feeling. All of it.” He stepped inside, the door shutting with a soft click. “But I’m worse at pretending I don’t.”

The track swelled - “I built my pride from broken glass” - as he closed the distance.

“Joon’s right,” he muttered, gaze dropping to your lips. “I’m an idiot.”

The space between you crackled.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

He didn't, not yet...

 The Harmony

The archives hummed with the static of a thousand dormant stories, the air thick with the scent of ink and longing.

Yoongi stood in the center of the room, his back to you, shoulders tense as he rifled through a box of 2018 demos. The small 7 on his shoulder peeked out beneath his tank top, a silent testament to loyalty, and fear.

“You left this in Studio 4.”

He froze at your voice.

You held up his old notebook, the one with the warped pages and coffee-stained edges. It fell open to “I need u”, the words circled in red, your own scribble bleeding into the margin: “I need you too.”

Yoongi didn’t turn. “Thought you’d be with Joon.”

“Stop.” Your voice cracked. “Stop pretending you don’t see me.”

He spun, eyes dark and stormy. “See what? You quoting my lyrics to fix his speeches? Laughing at his jokes? Holding his damn hand...”

“To stop him from clicking his pen!” You repeated and stepped closer, the notebook trembling in your grip. “You think I care about his speeches? About legacies? I’ve been here every night, waiting for you to look up from your damn demos and see me!”

Yoongi’s breath hitched.

You thrust the notebook at him. “You want to know why I memorized The Last notes? Why I stayed late every time you asked for another mixtape? It wasn’t for the music, you idiot. It was for you.”

The archives fell silent, save for the whir of servers.

Yoongi stared at the notebook, your confession etched beside his oldest wound. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “I thought… I was just another track to you. Something to analyze and shelve.”

“You were never just anything.”

He looked up, vulnerability stripping him bare. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” He gestured between you, the air crackling. “Wanting someone who… who knows all the broken parts.”

You closed the distance, your fingers brushing his. “Then stop hiding in your demos.”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “What if I ruin it?”

“You won’t.”

The kiss was a crescendo; slow at first, tentative, then desperate. Yoongi’s hands cradled your face like you were the last fragile tape in the archives, his lips soft but insistent, tasting of whiskey and unsung verses. The shelves pressed into your back, demos scattering like imperfect notes around your feet. His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging gently as he deepened the kiss, a silent plea for more, more, more...

“Took you long enough,” a voice drawled.

You broke apart, breathless. Namjoon leaned against the doorway, tossing a USB drive at Yoongi. It landed at your table, labeled “Hyung’s Love Song (Finally)” in Sharpie.

Yoongi glared, cheeks flushed. “How long were you...?”

“Long enough to know you owe me 50,000 won.” Namjoon smirked. “Jin-hyung bet on tonight. I said you’d chicken out till dawn.”

Yoongi flipped him off, but his arm stayed wrapped around your waist, anchoring you to his side.

[Bonus] Epilogue: One Month Later

The OT7 group chat exploded at 8 PM.

Jin: [photo of Yoongi feeding you kimchi jjigae in the cafeteria] “Grandpa’s first date since 2014!!! Transfer payments, children.”

Jungkook: “WAIT THEY'RE REAL???”

Hobi: “I TOLD YOU ALL IT WAS THE ARCHIVES. PAY UP!!!”

Taehyung: [Screenshots of Yoongi’s Spotify wrapped] “Since when does hyung listen to Rilke ASMR??”

Yoongi: “Fuck off.”

You: [photo of the USB plugged into Yoongi’s laptop, titled “Love Song (Draft)”] “Track 1: ”Not Yet” 👀”

Namjoon: “Finally.”

END

[nenoname]

People tend to draw parallels between Ford and Dipper, and Stan and Mabel. So, what are some similarities you can find between Ford and Mabel, and Stan and Dipper?

i made a few posts about how the show kinda parallels dipper and stan, especially in the finales

but imo scaryoke is basically entirely about their similarities, and dipper's series goal was the same as stan's

and off the top of my head their other similarities is them being protective younger twins with trust and anger issues and that the line "who would sacrifice everything for their dumb sibling" is targeted at both of them

meanwhile ford seems to be the more (ironically) trusting like mabel, and they're both prone to tunnel vision

also the puppet funeral scene has ford musing on his similarities with her (but i demand more bonding moments between them dangit!!!)

ford unfortunately downplays his artistic/creative side (damn you stem being perceived as more respectable!!!!) but like mabel he has skills and interests in a bunch of fields (and for examples of mabel's many interests just take a peek at the intros of her shorts lol she's fascinated in so many things)

altho them both liking puppets really stuck out to me

of course they're the authors of the most important books in the show, the journals and scrapbook

and i always thought their grappling and magnet guns kinda felt similar

personally i feel like ford's obsession with his grand unified theory is like mabel's obsession with the fantasy of a summer love, aka something they both ultimately realise they never needed with mabel gaining self-love and her love of waddles, and ford still pursuing his love of weirdness but without needing the validation of others

"Dipper, Mabel, Stan and Ford, they’re all characters who need each other. Without Dipper, Mabel’s just in a fantasy land. Without Mabel, Dipper is just sort of just spiraling into misery, spiraling into his own neurosis and not being pulled into those social situations, not growing as a person."

overall, like mabel, ford needs someone to keep him grounded, while stan (like dipper) needs someone to help lift him up

+ sweater vs sweaty twins

[usermaddiehans]

not like this

featuring : evan ' buck ' buckley / edmundo ' eddie ' diaz ( buddie ) , henrietta ' hen ' wilson , howard ' chimney ' han , maddie buckley han , ravi panikkar , robert ' bobby ' nash , athena grant - nash rating : t word count : 2,229

premise : buddie , locked in a bedroom , while all their friends chant for them to kiss. it does not go over as easily as one may expect.

content warning(s) : excessive drinking

author's note : saw someone ( shoutout @offscreeneddie x ) begging for a buddie parallel to the one scene of nick and jess from new girl where people are chanting for them to kiss and nick is like " not like this ! " ( it's s 2 ep 15 " cooler " ) anyways it's been in my head ever since hope this works out put this in whatever timeline

what started out as post - shift drinks has somehow unraveled into some sort of party at the diaz house. thank god chris is staying the night with a friend , because the 118 squad had made a mess of the place at this ungodly hour. every liquor bottle has been emptied , every beer drank. the only ones sober are bobby and athena ; the former making sure his squad didn't get into much trouble , the latter likely curious for the free entertainment. even maddie showed up at some point , probably because chimney told her she was missing all the fun.

they started playing some game , eddie doesn't know how it began , but he's suddenly being pushed into the bedroom. chimney is using all of his might shoving him into the room ; maddie behind him , forcing her brother in next. buck seemed to fight it less , but that could be chalked up to not wanting to hurt his sister. before the best friends can protest any further , the door slammed shut behind them. gigging outside followed.

eddie blinks. he looks to buck , who is sitting on the edge of his bed now. he moves to the door , trying the handle to find it won't open. it won't budge. clearly , their friends were prepared enough to lock them in somehow. he bangs on the door , though it doesn't do him much.

" how long you think they are gonna keep us in here ? " eddie asks , putting his back to the door.

" oh , just until ... " buck's words are cut off by chanting.

kiss ! kiss ! kiss ! ah , yes , that's why they were shoved together. they lost whatever the bet was , and somehow the price they needed to pay was to kiss. it was probably the alcohol talking , but eddie swore he even heard bobby chanting along. he of all people shouldn't be trying to get his crew to kiss each other , but the 118 never was good with strict protocol , after all ...

eddie bangs his head on the door. buck flops on his back onto the bed. the chanting continues. eddie wonders if their friends will grow bored eventually.

" if we kiss , they'll let us out , " buck muses , his eyes locked on the ceiling. " i'm sure hen would've kissed chim to get it over with , and they both have wives ... " meanwhile , chimney's wife was one of the loudest voices outside the door. eddie wondered if she'd be this loud if it was anyone else. maddie did love to torment her brother , all in good fun or so she claimed.

" can we not and say we did ? " eddie asks.

" they'll know. " he doesn't know how , but buck's right , eliciting a groan.

eddie pushes off the door and plops next to his friend on the bed. for a moment , they both lay there , staring at the ceiling as they ignore their friends. eventually , they exchange glances , chucking to one another. this is ridiculous , they know. still , they can't help but smile.

after a couple of minutes , the chanting has dulled. hushed conversations take its place. if they listen closely , they can hear hen explaining the situation to a confused ravi ; the young firefighter confused what the big deal is. he was merely along for the ride , roped into their shenanigans time and time again somehow.

eddie knows better than to check the door again. their friends were stubborn and unlikely to give up anytime soon. thus , he laid there for just a little longer , contemplating their situation. what if they just fell asleep , right here right now , in his bed ? it was big enough for two , after all ; even two men their size. he didn't think it'd be awkward , he realizes. he'd slept in much worse conditions , after all ; what was sharing a bed with his best friend ?

they'd still be locked in here in the morning ; their friends abandoning them barracked in the bedroom if they left. buck and eddie were firefighters , they could easily break down the door if they tried. however , eddie didn't want to replace the door or its frame again ...

he threw an arm over his eyes , a groan escaping. " why all this ?? "

" i don't know. " he hears buck silently laugh. " maybe they think you haven't been kissed in a while ? "

eddie felt a shift next to him. he uncovered his eyes and looked next to him ; seeing buck now propping himself on his side , looking back at him. he couldn't help mirroring the position. it was just so casual , a little goofy.

" even if that were true ... " it was. they both knew. eddie wasn't trying to date. he was too tired of feeling like he was performing , only for it to end in disaster time and time again. it wasn't worth the trouble. " why you ? "

buck's shoulders bounced with a nonchalant shrug. " i'm the best kisser. obviously. " they both laughed. " plus maybe no one else can handle so - called eight pack. "

eddie rolled his eyes at the apparent nickname. he thought it started as some one - off joke ; at least it never actually caught on. " be quiet. "

" what ? " he could hear buck trying to hold back a laugh. " i've seen your abs ! i'm not intimidated by them ! " eddie wanted to push him off the bed in that moment. still , his friend continued on. " you'd be hotter , if you were just a bit less broody. "

eddie rolled his eyes. " oh , yeah ? " a tinge of disbelief coated his tone.

" yeah ! " buck answered , perhaps a bit too excitedly. " like so much hotter. and a cute kid on top of that ? girls would be lining out the door , for sure. "

" if i was less broody ? "

" oh , yeah. "

something about buck's smirk made eddie's heart skip a beat. he blinked. wait , why ? he'd been called hot before , attractive. it was an acknowledgeable truth , perhaps , but coming from buck ? all of a sudden , something stirred in his chest.

he sat up abruptly , earning a confused look from his friend. " what are we supposed to do ? " there was a sort of panic in his question.

" kiss , " buck answered simply , sitting up. now they sat on the edge of the mattress together , side - by - side , their shoulders now touching.

eddie made no effort to move , not even an inch. he became overly away of the point of contact , but he refused to acknowledged it. instead , he stared at the door. he wasn't sure how much time had passed. would they really have to kiss to get out of here ? would that be so bad ?

he looked at buck , who seemed to innocently look back ; yet why was eddie's heart suddenly beating faster and faster ? eddie's gaze flickered between buck's lips then his eyes for a brief moment. he caught himself quick enough to look away before forcing himself to stand.

eddie tried the door again , already knowing it wouldn't open. he used a little more force than before. jiggling the door clearly made enough noise to draw attention from their friends outside.

" did you guys kiss yet ? " maddie called out.

eddie tried the door again , which was correctly interpreted as a ' no. ' he was beginning to consider if a new door would be so bad ; then the chanting picked up again. kiss ! kiss ! kiss !

" fuck ! " he shouted under his breath. even if he wanted to , he couldn't knock down the door. there were too many people on the other side to safely do so. his hand rubbed at his forehead as he thought of what to do next.

" eddie. " his name sounding like an impatient plea behind him , following the sound of bedsprings. next , a sturdy hand on his shoulder forced him to turn around. " let's just get this over with. just kiss me. "

" no ! " the word coming out harsher than he expected. " i'm not gonna kiss you. " eddie's tone clearly distressed. he couldn't kiss his best friend. he just couldn't.

" kiss me ! "

" buck , stop. " a plea of his own. his scanning every feature on the other's face.

the other shook his head , practically rolling his eyes. " god ! diaz , just kiss me already !! "

" no , " it came out almost pained. " not like this ! " eddie stunned even himself with his own words. he blinked , head shaking slightly , but never breaking eye contact.

buck looked back at him , confusion clear. " what's that supposed to be ? "

" nothing. i just , " eddie was suddenly struggling with words more and more. his lips parted , only air escaping. " i didn't mean it like that. " his eyes shut , trying to collect his thoughts somehow. why was this so hard ? " we can't , like that , because ... " his eyes opened , blinking quickly. " that's not ... do you know , like ... "

he gave up , finally averting his gaze. he ran a hand through his hair , loosening strands in the process. outside the door , the chanting continued. eddie's eyes searched the space for any way out. he froze , an idea. he held up a hand , as if stopping buck from saying anything , as he walked away.

he approached the window , throwing the curtains aside. he slammed the window open with ease. how this didn't occur to him earlier , he wasn't sure. maybe he didn't feel the need to actually escape until this exact moment. he thanks god he lived in a single - story house as he climbed out.

he hit the ground with a soft thud. he didn't even dare look inside to see what buck's reaction might have been. instead , he made his way to the front of the house and let himself in the front door. ( because , of course , no one in their drunk stupor managed to like this door. ) he was greeted by the chanting once more , louder without the door as a sound barrier.

" we're done ! " he called out as he marched past his friends that lingered in the living room , making his way toward the bedroom. he found it was a chair propped against the handle that kept them locked in ; he wasn't surprised. he quickly dislodged it and swung the door open ; revealing a still very confused buck in the same spot eddie left him mere moments prior.

he directed his attention to bobby and athena. " i'm sure you two can get everyone home in one piece. "

bobby and athena nodded , accepting their role. neither looked all that guilty. the captain likely joined the chanting out of boredom than anything else.

hen and maddie looked unimpressed , borderline upset the plan didn't work. they were likely the masterminds behind much of the plan , if eddie had to guess.

ravi and chimney looked the most embarrassed ; both just going along with the plan. ravi likely didn't even know what he was getting into tonight. he never did with the 118 , on - or off - duty.

eddie motioned for everyone to get their stuff , and slowly but surely everyone gathered themselves. they filed out the door after a few minutes ; buck always the one lingering behind. eddie debated on offering him the couch , like he always did.

" good night , eddie , " buck offered him a weak smile.

everyone else was outside , out of sight. eddie stopped buck as he turned to walk away , suddenly pulling him close. without another thought , he was kissing his best friend.

to his surprise , buck was kissing him back ; and for a while , they were a mess of mouths , of arms twisted together. time stood still as they seemed to find their place in one another. it was like something naturally falling into place , like there was no question in the action , no hesitation.

locked in together , forced together , the idea felt so wrong. eddie couldn't breath. it was like the concept of kissing his best friend never crossed his mind before then ; but when it did , suddenly it felt too important a thing to waste. they shouldn't kiss because they were being told to. no , he suddenly wanted to. it was craving something he'd never tasted before , never allowed himself to.

he was tired of performing , and he refused to let this moment turn into a performance for their friends , their loved ones. he needed to let himself be raw , open , vulnerable ; in a way that only made sense with buck. thus , in the silence of the now empty house , he had to take the opportunity before it slipped away ; before he could think better of it.

as they parted to finally catch their breath , their foreheads remained together ; eddie's hands lingering on buck's waist , like they belonged there. their eyes found each other with ease. both in a state somewhere between surprise and acceptance.

eddie stole one last tender kiss from the other's lips before introducing distance once more. he just barely kept buck within reach as he finally admitted. " i meant something like that. "

his gaze averted , he made himself let go. he gave a curt nod , pulling himself a way. he knew better than to ask for anything more , end it there. maybe things would change ; for better or worse , eddie didn't know.

he gave buck a half smile , a final goodbye for the night , before he turned his back. he hid glassy eyes as he disappeared down the hall. tomorrow was certainly going to be a new day , and he'd face it when it came.

as he closed the bedroom door , eddie heard the front door open once again ; followed shortly by maddie's voice. " buck , are you coming ? or are you staying here ? "

" ... i'm coming. "

[dokidokitsuna]

“Some of us…will always be alone”

Skipping forward a bit in this re-concept, just because I can~ (loooong post ahead)

So one of the many things I found underwhelming about Return of the Mammalians is the lack of villainous impact Mr. Grizz has on his own story.

For starters, he’s straight up absent from 80% of it. =/ Just a vaguely threatening disembodied voice that does weak comedy bits with Cap’n Cuttlefish from time to time…and that’s basically it until we face him in the final battle.

The worst thing he’s responsible for in the story (as in, a successful act we have to contend with, rather than a work-in-progress that we interrupt) is dehydrating Cuttlefish…which is very temporary and played for laughs immediately afterwards. We don’t even get the opportunity to engage with this “tragedy” by actively rescuing the Cap’n in gameplay, we just suddenly find his body during a cutscene.

Compare this to Commander Tartar manipulating the player and lying directly to their face throughout the game, attempting to kill the player during the reveal of its treachery in one of the most memorable scenes of the entire series, brainwashing a former protagonist into fighting the player, and then attempting to destroy an entire city while quietly confessing that it murdered thousands of victims just to get to this point.

I’ll let you guess which one of these antagonists feels like a genuine threat, and which one just feels like a disappointment. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Now, I don’t mind Mr. Grizz being less violent and deranged than Commander Tartar…the two have different personalities and slightly different goals, and anyway a body count isn’t really necessary to be a convincing villain. But I DO mind him being so totally uninvolved, despite being a character that we already knew and interacted with beforehand. Like, at the very least…talk to the player. o_O Care about the player. Do something to interfere with the player sometime before the last minute! The fact that Grizz just doesn’t give a damn about our existence for most of the campaign is baffling from a writer’s standpoint, and heartbreaking from a Grizz-fan’s standpoint. ;_; Notice me, Kuma-san!!

…Anyway, there’s a million ways to remedy this, because it’s such a simple and obvious problem that really shouldn’t exist. ^^; And the one I chose for #re_rise (besides having Grizz haunt the game like an ever-present specter, as explained here) is one of my old tried-and-true favorites: using the villain to parallel the protagonist.

Basically, both characters are lonely at heart. Agent 3 left home for the Splatlands in search of a “fresh beginning”, after spending most of their life feeling like they never fit in anywhere. Throughout the story, we get subtle clues that what they want most is belonging and friendship…which they’re clearly discovering through their interactions with Deep Cut and Smallfry, although it’s not until the climax of the final battle that they can truly believe in it and accept it.

And of course, Mr. Grizz lost his home and entire civilization, and even in the midst of a thriving new one (that he actively engages with through his corporation…!) he’s apparently such a massive bigot that he doesn’t consider it worthy of his company. ^^; Fish-people do not count to him, thus his loneliness is self-inflicted and intensified. He believes his only recourse is to transform the world back into something he can accept.

These parallels, plus the desire-manifesting powers of Alterna’s crystals (discussed in this post) eventually brings the two characters to an understanding of sorts. Without having to exchange words, they can see and consider the similarities of their innermost feelings.

This doesn’t have much of an effect on Grizz, outside of something he might muse about while Agent 3 ascends the launchpad (and maybe quietly internalize as proof that fish-people have feelings too, just to give his last-second change of heart at least one leg to stand on). But it weighs heavily on Agent 3, especially since they’re being physically changed by their adventure in a way that makes these parallels even more relevant…yes, I’m finally gonna talk about what I actually drew. ^^

My idea was that spending too much time around Fuzzy Ooze will affect you even if you don’t touch it (i.e. through splashes/aerosols), just to a lesser degree. And since Agent 3 was the first to actually enter the underground lab spaces and spends more time fighting there than anyone else, they’ve had an unprecedented amount of secondhand exposure to it.

Through O.R.C.A.’s files, they can understand why this mild fuzzification is happening to them, and that it may not be reversible, although they press on anyway (I’d like to imply that they’re willing to ignore it to impress Deep Cut~). But Grizz’s offhand comments make them realize that they may be unintentionally setting themselves up to be cast aside again, slowly turning into a repulsive mutant monster that no one will want to be around. The only one of their kind in the world, just like a certain Ursine Anomaly…and if they succeed in stopping Grizz’s plan, that’s all they’ll ever be. 

…On the other hand, if they were to sit back and let him fuzzify the world, then…no, they couldn’t do that. They…wouldn’t…

[9w1ft]

so i was thinking about how the song chloe or sam or sophia or marcus is low key evoking “years of tearing down our banners” with the line “if you want to tear my world apart”

but first, here’s a link to a post of my thoughts on why cssm feels to me like a karlie perspective song. and this post plays off of this interpretation so please read this.

also ive written before (i think! but i cannot immediately locate!) about some of the parallels between ttpd (the titular track) and ccsm and how i think ttpd and ccsm are linked and encompass the time at karlie’s garden gate apartment, maybe with a focus on 2015, and with ccsm culminating perhaps with when she sold it in 2019.

okay so back to the idea that the line “if you want to tear my world apart” is related to the “years of tearing down our banners” motif of wcs and tgw. my thought started with, maybe the line is describing, from karlie’s perspective, an image of taylor wondering out loud, in karlie’s presence, about all the different things she might need to do to bury a path (to publicly reuniting) that they had been working towards up til the point of the song (maybe that’s the best laid plan?), and maybe the melancholy lyrics of ccsm stem from karlie feeling dissonance over the whole matter, as she is on the receiving end, carrying the majority of the weight of all these rewrites. so like maybe “your hologram stumbled into my apartment” is supposed to evoke any number of simulations taylor might be running, on ways of muddying the narrative by adding in lore connecting to any number of random ass people. so we have the imagery of a not-real scenario (or several) playing out in karlie’s real apartment. and maybe the line “so if i sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon like it never happened?” functions similarly, it could be like karlie exclaiming, to what extend would you need to create all these alternate narratives (plot twists and dynamite!) to actually stop people from being able to notice our true story? would you need to go as far as covering it up with some fling and kids? to rewind just a bit, we can easily connect these lines to maroon: “will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon like it never happened?” —it’s like saying, could you even do anything to cover up that legendary history? like in dbatc’s “trying to find a part of me that you didn’t touch,” insert the formidable and classic interpretation of dbatc as being a song about boarding up their public narrative and how it felt like death by a thousand cuts. (and just a sidenote, while i’m at it, that ccsm and maroon both include the saw/bones imagery).

she goes on to wonder, “could it be enough to just float in your orbit?” ie karlie in recent years annually coming in close public proximity to taylor but never fully publicly meeting her. would that amount of kaylor be enough to keep the lore alive? “can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses? cooler in theory, but not if you force it to be, it just didn't happen” also evokes the idea of trying to reimagine memories for the narrative in a new light which maybe sounds like a cool idea on paper but maybe not in practice. the loml “dancing phantoms on the terrace are they secondhand embarrassed” of it all

the image of karlie taking new forms of goddesses villains and fools or absorbing new narratives that knock out old lore, observing new rules and changed plans. being turned into an idea of sorts (the picasso of it all!) all to outrun each of these new narratives being killed off, and karlie just sitting there and watching it happen. maybe… she’s sitting and watching taylor… because she is the muse being painted and trying to sit still??

pardon me as i allow myself a moment to be lost in the sauce, as it were.

okay so now for the sequential aspect of my thought. after cssm, we have how did it end? and it made me think that it is (as i have noted before anyway) a song that really evokes for me fandom speculation over different ways that kaylor ended over the years and how everyone loves to make/receive/spread all these rumors and discuss it but how we (the two of them included) can’t pretend to understand how it ended because they never really make full sense (because they aren’t true). this all, i feel, is what’s meant by the “something counterfeit’s dead” of loml. a version of the truth (which was legendary).

and then the next track after how did it end is so high school and i had the thought of like, what if how did it end is a placeholder representing a tearing down of a banner at one point, and then so high school is the embodiment of the sudden appearance and reimagining of the next banner (next new narrative/new path to a public reunion). and i had the thought that perhaps (because of the theming of the song), how did it end could represent the ending of the 2013 kaylor start date narrative (following 2016? following 2019? i haven’t nailed that part down but maybe 2019?), but basically my idea is that so high school could be the resurgence in the fandom of thoughts surrounding early kaylor (what i sometimes call prequel kaylor). it had me reflecting on how, starting sometime around folklore era, i felt a loosening of the guidance being placed upon any of us (or maybe it was just all group think 🤪 hows one to know) in terms of observing the 2013 kaylor start date narrative. i’m not going to go into explaining that right now because i only know of it tangentially but maybe some og’s remember or understand what im talking about here. of course, the opening up of pre-2013 stuff is just as easily the product of taylor leaving tumblr and the diversification of platforms where people talk about kaylor and the various messengers of kaylor… migrating to different places as well, but i digress, upon listening to ccsm and then hdie in this new light, there was something suddenly glaring about the overloaded joyousness of so high school that felt almost jarring. partially because of the track placement (happy song after sad song), but upon reflection i think it kind of fits the theming of kaylor being suddenly reconceptualized. perhaps, “are you gonna marry kiss or kill me?” is a way of almost sarcastically saying (not unlike with imgonnagetyouback) so what’s gonna happen with the narrative this time? (am i gonna be your wife or is my bike getting smashed up again) and “bittersweet sixteen suddenly” is a reflection of how now, out of nowhere, kaylor can be seen as an unrequited love from way in the past. please note that i don’t think the ages or the term ‘high school’ should be taken entirely literally but i did want to note that these ages and high school imagery come up in a lot of thematic songs like maathp, ithk, betty, etcetera, and evoke the idea of a far off and more naive or idillic past all the same. also, and im not sure how to articulate it but under this new framework, so high school almost listens to me like those opening musical scenes from the barbie movie. where like… there’s metacommentary going on with the lyrics of the hey barbie song playing and also in the emotions that barbie is experiencing in the dance party scene (the part where she’s dancing and then all of a sudden has an existential crisis over her mortality)— just the idea of like, so high school is joyous (and i am a big big so high school stan!) but maybe we can all agree that it is a bit saccharine, where this version of events is being sung with true delight while at the same time there is this undercurrent of… knowingness?? as if the person singing it is also singing to the fourth wall?? like the increase in volume (of sound, of words) towards the end where she’s listing off more and more examples of feeling so high school, there’s just this insistence? that feels very meta to me?? idk if i’m making sense??? but that’s the epiphany i had 😂 and it felt really cool.

oh and so! i thought all this, and then wondered if maybe the lines “if the glint in my eye traced the depths of your sigh, down that passage in time back to the moment i crashed into you, like so many wrecks do too impaired by my youth to know what to do” are referring to just this. with glint in the eye being the blink of crinkling eye and the depths of your sigh being the im trying to stifle my sighs of it all. it’s her telling taylor, if you want to break my heart and tear my world apart, tell me you wonder if we can’t get to a public reunion by retelling things from a point further back in the past (just like i’d always hoped for in the first place). so tracks 20-22 is like, conceptualizing of the end of a narrative, its end, and its replacement with a new emerging narrative.

this all also connects to my thoughts on the alchemy that i had recently, an attempt to explain the vertigo that the song makes me feel… where it’s like, maybe it’s a song about august 2023 being a failed relaunch or maybe it was by design a singular event in a currently progressing line of events in the current narrative… but (and i think of it as a karlie perspective song) it’s like karlie is singing about planning to storm eras tour and win taylor back while at the same time being aware (through the football imagery of the song!) that actually travvy is about to enter the picture, and so there’s like, it’s not a hopeful song? it’s hard to explain. it’s like the song is almost perfectly positioned as a story about karlie going to eras tour becoming an essential event, but one that is intended to not fix things, which makes the whole thing feel fatal to karlie, and idk, this vibe is complemented by this sort of drudgery or echoey feeling to the acoustics of the song… whew, okay. so yeah. i hope there are still some people reading 😂

subsequent songs im not thinking too much about them being in chronological order with the above three. but i had some other thoughts about other tracks so here they are:

given the framework i have laid out above, what if thank you aimee is also in some part about kimye after all, where the consequences of snapchatgate pushed taylor into introducing the 2017 kaylor feud narrative, which ultimately led to a series of events that led her to abandoning the aforementioned 2013 kaylor start date narrative, and eventually landing upon reopening pre-kaylor speculation (the idea that they had pined for one another much earlier), which, if we assume is a narrative that is closer to the truth, may have ironically been healing in a way (ie, “but i can’t forget the way you made me heal”), getting the chance to turn the dial all the way back to their youth, which aimee (a high school classmate) is representative of as a sort of time demarcation.

also, maybe then cassandra is connected to this framework, with the lines “i was in my new house placing daydreams, patching up the cracks along the wall” refers to taylor crafting the 2013 kaylor start date narrative (a daydream) with “cause that’s where i was when i got the call” being the call from kanye / the beginnings of what would become snapchatgate, and “i was in my tower weaving nightmares” refers to her crafting the 2017 feud narrative and the line “they say what doesn’t kill you makes you aware, what happens if it becomes who you are?” works not just as a play on the lyrics from the kanye song stronger, but it also maybe connects to a realization on a part of taylor of the damage she has done. thematically, i am reminded of the song “my tears ricochet” and the lines “you turned into your worst fears” and “crossing out the good years”…and the black dog lines “that was intertwined in the magic fabric of our dreaming” and “tragic fabric of our dreaming” — not that im saying these songs are taylor singing about herself but that contemporarily these are similar themes she has worked with when writing. personally i’ve thought of both mtr and tbd as songs about scott b and i still hold on to those interpretations but there’s something about the themes that clicks for me in this narrative as well, if anybody feels like entertaining double meanings.

so tldr.. my basic thought is that tracks 20-22 could be cssm: karlie watching taylor brainstorm ways to destroy a failed kaylor narrative (my guess is the 2013 kaylor start narrative but it could be any one of a number of kaylor narratives), →how did it end: the destruction of the 2013 kaylor start date narrative (/ the tearing down of kaylor banners in general), →so high school: the introduction of a new narrative which is early kaylor inclusive. plus various other ideas about related songs on the album. thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far!!

[bookish-bogwitch]

Thank you @roomwithanopenfire, @rimeswithpurple, @blackberrysummerblog, @nausikaaa, @larkral,

@hushed-chorus, @alexalexinii, @monbons, @whatevertheweather, @run-for-chamo-miles,

@artsyunderstudy, @mooncello, @brilla-brilla-estrellita, @forabeatofadrum, and @aristocratic-otter for the tags over the past few weeks. I've had a crazy month (90% in crazy a good way) and too frazzled to come up with my own WIP posts, but have enjoyed reading yours and being included.

Here are six ten moody little sentence from Chapter 11 of Basil Pitch's Diary. (In case you missed it, I posted Ch. 10, September, a few weeks ago, then fled the country.) Baz is hanging in in Niall and Dev's room:

The last time I was here with Niall, he’d told me to hold out for more than ear scritches and the occasional carrot. Now we sat on his bed with a chessboard between us. “Baz,” Niall said quietly. “What are you doing?”  “Beating you.” I moved my queen to menace his remaining bishop. “With Snow, I mean.” Niall did that thing where the rook and king hop around, which shouldn’t be allowed, and I realized he’d won. Again. Somewhere, in a parallel universe, there is a me who grew up with someone to play against, demolishing a Niall who never went to math camp.

Below the cut: musing, a posting plan, and more tags.

Musing: I've actually written a ton since the last chapter even though I've been AWOL, but for a while no matter what I wrote, Baz felt out of character. I'd write a scene, like it, and then think "but why is he doing this?" Then I'd rewrite with Baz behaving completely differently, and that also felt OOC.

I worried that I'd somehow doomed myself with inconsistent characterization, but then I figured it out: Baz at this point is deeply inconsistent. He presents himself to the world one way, he tells the reader / himself that he's something else, and deep down he's a secret third thing. And sometimes his masks slip.

To some extent this is every unreliable narrator. But boyo has REALLY tangled himself up at this point. Something's gotta give. Until it does--which it will, soon--I have to be very clear in my mind, even if Baz isn't, about which Baz is driving the Baz at any given moment.

A lot of you can do that sort of thing intuitively. I can't. So I've been building this out (showing you just the headers b/c spoilers):

This might stultify some (most?) of you. For me, though, it's freeing. When my brain isn't trying to keep track of everything, my imagination can unfurl.

"'Everything'?" you ask. "This isn't that plotty a fic." It's not, but it's already 2.5x longer than anything else I've written, which means developing skills I haven't needed before. Anyway, my BPD chart and I are having fun. We're very happy together.

Posting Plan

I pushed myself to get Ch. 10 up before leaving home for three weeks, because Ch. 9 had ended on such a wretched note. While I was happy to have gotten it up, I didn't love the self-imposed time crunch (though betas @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart, and @thewholelemon were fuckin' heroes). Feeling rushed had me stressing and second-guessing choices that were probably fine.

My plan now is to pause updates until I have at least a very rough first draft of the final chapter, then post it all at regular intervals. I know a longish pause means some folks who'd been reading along will wait until it's complete, if they return at all. To those folks--sorry, and I get it, and thank you for reading in the first place, and I love you.

Tags and shy waves to @brendughh  @beastmonstertitan  @carryonsimoncarryonbaz  @carryonmylovelies  @creepyspice

@comesitintheclover @cows4247 @confused-bi-queer @artsyunderstudy@chen-chen-chen-again-chen

@chronicallyhomoerotic @drowninginships @dragoneggos @excalisbury @emeryhall

@erzbethluna @ebbpettier @fight-surrender @fatalfangirl @gay-at-ikea

@fiend-for-culture @forabeatofadrum @foolofabookwyrm-activated @arthurkko @j-nipper-95

@gekkoinapeartree @goblindad-emoshit @henreyettah @hertragedyconnoisseur @hushed-chorus

@icarus-n-flames @ineffable-grimm-pitch @ic3-que3n @ionlydrinkhotwater @iamamythologicalcreature

 @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @shrekgogurt @im-gettingby @youarenevertooold

@monbons @mooncello @raenestee @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @messofthejess

[604to647]

Code name: Hephaestus

3.2K / Marcus Pike x fem!reader

Summary: Marcus requests a change to his FBI Agent code name.

Warnings: None! Mention of cheating (obviously not Marcus! By Teresa Lisbon, that rat 😒).

A/N: This is written for Round 2 of beskarandblasters's Pedro Pantheon challenge - I sort of misinterpreted the challenge, and instead of making Marcus an actual god, I envisioned a more allegorical story? I hope it still works! I've always found the myth of Hephaestus to be rather tragic, but learned recently (to my delight) that in some renditions he goes on to have a happy second marriage with Kharis (sometimes called Aglaea), so that's how this story was born. The parallels I draw aren't terribly subtle (in fact, you could accuse me of sort of hitting you over the head with them 😅) but in our story, Lisbon is the bare equivalent of Aphrodite (just go with it 😂) and Jane is Ares; takes place in a Mentalist AU where Marcus doesn't go to DC. This is my first time writing Marcus so please be gentle (I'm nervous about this one!); endless thanks to @morallyinept for her character files which helped me get a better handle on our dear Agent Pike (I think!) Thank you for reading!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / please see @clawdee's pinned post for the other Pedro Pantheon works.

Today is the day.  The day Marcus Pike’s approved request to change his FBI Agent code name goes live.  You’re exceptionally proud of him.

It’s incredibly rare for agents to ask for, never mind actually change their sanctioned code names; the amount of paperwork and pain in the ass database updates required were enough to have most requests denied, never mind that most agents had sentimental attachments to their top-secret monikers.  If anything, it only ever happened if circumstance necessitated – say a higher-ranking officer transferred in and used the same code name in their previous office.  No one ever asks to change just because.  Especially not to a name that had been whispered around the office for the better part of three years and made said agent the butt of a cruel joke.

Hephaestus.

Whispered in the hallways and meeting rooms of the Austin FBI building whenever his back was turned, Marcus good-humouredly admitted that there was some cleverness to it.  And though there was no real malice behind the nickname, it was inescapably insulting.

You had hated it enough for the both you. 

When you took up the job as the Austin office’s head of Public Relations, Marcus had been one of the first agents to welcome you and make you feel like your contributions and hard work were appreciated.  From your previous time in the private sector, you know that a lot of people in public service think of PR as window dressing, just frivolous adornment, but Marcus told you that he found your job to be terribly important.

“How can we protect the public if the public doesn’t trust us?  You make our jobs look inspiring and glorify our hard work so that we can do it another day.”  You’d never heard of your job being spoken about so poetically.  You would come to learn that you weren’t the only one who marveled at Marcus’ ability to look at things from an unique, often beautiful, perspective.

His valued role in the FBI’s Art Squad was never up for debate – no one else could unravel intricate mysteries and solve cases that required expertise and appreciation for the artistry of old and new creative masters the way Marcus did.  His analytical mind and problem-solving prowess when it came to art crimes were second to none in the Austin office, and some might say the whole of the FBI.  No, respect wasn’t an issue for Agent Pike.

However, as you would learn from one of your colleagues over a casual cup of coffee in the breakroom, even if they respected the hell out of him, the parallels between Marcus and his unofficial handle were too apparent for even the most high-browed FBI agents to ignore.

“I see you’ve met Hephaestus.  One of our best.”

“Hephaestus?” you muse out loud.  The God of Fire and Volcanoes?  That didn’t seem to make sense to you… but hang on, if you recalled your Greek mythology correctly, Hephaestus was also the patron god of artisans, craftsman, metallurgy, sculpture.  In your estimation, that aligned a bit more with the handsome Art Squad agent.  Your co-worker nods at your assessment but encourages you with a knowing expression for you to keep going.

An unbelievable thought crosses your mind, “Omigod, it’s not because of the limp, is it?”

The circumstances were well known around the office, but it had been Marcus himself who told you about the injury he sustained while on a case that effectively removed him from active fieldwork two and a half years ago.  He had given an overzealous art thief chase, and when the perp had been caught, they made one last ditch attempt to waylay the famous Agent Pike… with a bullet.  Though otherwise well recovered, the injury had left Marcus with a limp which permanently assigned him to desk duty.  When Marcus told you the story, it had been without any bitterness, but with an air of graceful acceptance, acknowledging his injury as a “risk that comes with the work.”

You couldn’t help but admire his steadfast commitment to the job and even-keeled approach to obstacles most people might deem to be insurmountable.

And besides, as you understood it, being taken out of active fieldwork has done nothing to slow down Marcus’ career.  He took his reprieve from field work and used it as an opportunity to emulate some of the great artists he had spend his life admiring by becoming something of a creator and maker himself.  Seeing a need for technology to become better integrated into the Art Squad’s investigative methods, Marcus began working closely with the FBI’s Tech division to develop new and innovative technological tools to fight art crimes; he became the architect behind celebrated programs and gadgets that aided in the detection of high-quality forgeries, and sophisticated applications that simplified the digital forensics in smuggling schemes.  He was something of an in-house hero – you had seen some of these tools at work, and the details in these designs were sometimes as beautiful as the traditional art hung in museums.

The trajectory of Agent Marcus Pike’s career was undoubtedly on the rise.  But even though no one, not even Marcus, viewed his limp as an impediment, you still thought the comparison to what the Greeks had considered Hephaestus’ deformity to be in bad taste.

But it was worse than you thought.  It wasn’t just because of the limp. 

Your eyes widen in horror and your heart clenches painfully for Marcus when your co-worker tells you about Lisbon and Jane. 

Most of what you knew about Marcus’ marriage to Agent Teresa Lisbon you learned from your friends at the office.  That he had given up his promotion to the D.C. office and stayed in Austin at her request (or as you saw it, a condition) before agreeing to marry him three years ago.  Teresa was partnered with a civilian consultant, Patrick Jane, with whom she previously had a close working relationship in California.  It was the Austin office’s worst kept secret that their "working relationship" had evolved into a romantic and sexual one… even as she remained Marcus’ wife.  The affair has been going on for the better part of two years, with everyone, including Marcus, privy to the fact that his wife and the mentalist were more than just partners in the field.

You’re incensed and indignant on your friend’s behalf.

As a rule, you don’t judge what goes on in other people’s relationships – it’s none of your business and you know from experience that no one ever truly knows what goes on between two people behind closed doors.  But this isn’t behind closed doors.  It’s at work.

It’s one thing to have an affair.  But it’s really another to flaunt your boyfriend in your husband’s face.  And it’s an entirely separate matter to do it at the work place you and your paramour share with your spouse.  You find yourself grinding your teeth and tapping violently at your keyboard whenever you draw up notices about the cases that Lisbon and Jane work.  You might very well even have refused to do it, except that in most cases, their success could be partially credited to Marcus. 

Because while Teresa did not find her husband worthy of being loyal to, she did deem his superior intellect worthy of helping her when she couldn’t quite puzzle out her own casework, or she found it advantageous to have an in with the new golden boy of the Tech division.  You couldn’t minimize Lisbon and Jane’s work without minimizing Marcus’ contributions as well.  Besides, it would be unprofessional to let your personal feelings bias your work, no matter how justified you felt it might be.

Even if you didn’t find her treatment of her husband to be reprehensible, you had a hard time connecting with Teresa.  While you do consider her to be a good agent, she was vain, smug and in your opinion, entirely too caught up in the appearance and perceived clout of being partners with the celebrity “Mentalist” consultant: Patrick Jane.  Jane, you couldn’t stand at all – quite frankly, his impulsive and unpredictable behaviour and frequently caviller attitude towards proper police procedure made him a risky asset.  You didn’t think it did the FBI any favours to glorify his exploits and for your part, you try not to do so.

While you quietly seethed on his behalf, Marcus remained unflappable, professional and generous when it came to all the reasons he had been bestowed his not-so-secret nickname.  It struck you as slightly odd that a man as kind-hearted and considerate as Marcus could let such insult and cruelty roll off his own back when he most certainly would not be tolerant of it being inflicted on others.  That’s one thing you learn about Marcus during the time you spend with him, be it in the Tech basement learning about all the new innovations you might have to announce, or the lunches and breaks you share – he is giving.  Benevolent even.  Bestowing on others the kindness that he’s not always shown.  He puts the good of others, the whole, ahead of himself.  It’s the whole reason he went into law enforcement. 

Not without some effort, you forbid yourself from developing and nursing a crush on your married friend.  His honour wouldn’t allow it, you’re sure, and in truth, neither does your own dignity; instead you nurture a friendship that you come to value highly with a man whose company you enjoy very much.

Once, you told Marcus that you thought he had the soul of an artist.  He had scoffed adorably at this, but listened appreciatively as you explained your assessment.  Yes, Marcus has a great appreciation for beautiful things and fine art, but he seemed to see beyond the piece itself – feeling the conviction and emotion behind every brush stroke, chiseling tap of stone, hammering of soften metal and listened to what they had to say rather than what his eyes told him.  He appreciated art for the artist, and you thought only another artist could be capable of that.

And what of his new passion for his work in Tech?  Sure, Marcus wasn’t literally chasing down bad guys in the streets anymore, but he was still pursuing them with vigor, now to the dark corners of the internet.  What was an artist but someone who reworked and shaped what was familiar in order to shine a new light on them?  Didn’t artists breathe new life and purpose into what others might see as irrelevant once its obvious usage was no longer?

And his vibrant outlook went beyond his work.  You talk animatedly over your shared lunch takeout, the one that Marcus picked up from a local Moroccan restaurant that he’s always wanted to try but had no one to try with.  “Take this food, for example,” you say. “It’s something new and maybe you won’t like it, but you’ll try!  And when you do, it won’t just be for the flavour on your tongue, but you’ll taste the culture and history behind these dishes.  You’re going to enjoy the culinary experience no matter what; even if you’re not guaranteed to like everything.”

And you know he’ll do it again!  Try another cuisine or restaurant he hasn’t before, or see a play or movie he’s never heard of!  Because artists take risks!  Even ones with low stakes because that’s what life is for.  You tell Marcus that the friend you see before you is dynamic and has the gift of seeing the potential in things (and people) where others don’t.  He takes leaps of faith and reveres life.

Marcus tells you that you might actually be the poet that you usually accuse him of being.  And though he thinks you make him out to be grander than he is (you are in PR after all!), he still thinks about your words a lot.  He supposes that perhaps he's always been an artist of sorts.

An artist creates, builds, molds – and Marcus has always firmly believed in making the best of what one is given; to see and encourage as much beauty in something as possible.  It was an artist’s gift to translate the mundane into the extraordinary, and even if he wasn’t necessarily successful, the artist wasn’t supposed to want more than or try and change what fate has handed him.  Or so Marcus had thought.

Before he met you.

Something about you and your friendship made Marcus think perhaps he didn’t have to make beautiful the cards that he had been dealt.  That it was okay to admit if something wasn’t right and not try to mold or craft it into something just this side of tolerable.  It was okay to want better, to strive for something that was actually good.  Lovely. 

Little by little over the past year, Marcus has been taking his life, his pride back.  And it fueled his desire to reclaim this name he had been mockingly bestowed and reclaim its godlike power as his own.

Yes, he’s ready to proclaim loud and proud: Marcus Pike is Hephaestus.

Marcus Pike is a lover of the arts.  An admirer of those of his fellow man who choose to create and construct, artisans and craftsmen who spin and cast stories and convey moments of deep and relatable emotion using earthly materials, metal, stone, clay, canvas, and accordingly, live on far beyond their own years.

Whose brilliant mind combines the industrious and the creative, leading the advancement of innovative technology and its implementation within the ever-evolving discipline of crime fighting.

He might never be fit for active field work the way he once was, but a renewed commitment to physio has made him stronger and leaner than he’s ever been.  He wields weights in the gym like a blacksmith might a hammer, forging muscle and strength on the anvil of his own flesh.  Far from caring about physical appearances, he sculpts his body into something hard and powerful for the calm it brings his mind, but there is no doubt about it: Marcus Pike is a physical specimen to behold.  Limp or no limp. 

And yes, Marcus Pike married a woman who did not love him and who did not deserve him.  She cheated on him with someone she thought was her equal, all the while overlooking and dismissing the quiet power and steadfast devotion of her husband.  And Marcus accepted this insult for a long time, because he thought he had to make something beautiful that wasn’t, that he could love her enough for the both of them.  But he’s come to realize that he did it mainly because she made him feel like that was all he was worthy of.  But no more.  The ink on the divorce papers has been dried for many months and now he positively basks in the love and grace of a woman who sees his true worth.

You.

The code name change is for you too, he likes to think.  Marcus doesn’t want you to feel pity for him or the parts of his life that lent connotation to this name, not that you ever did.  But he wants you to know that he feels every bit the man you’ve always treated him as: confident, virtuous, strong.

Your Agent Hephaestus.

Some time after he started divorce proceedings, Marcus had reflected a little more on your and his friendship.  It was easy and joyful.  You respected one another.  That you were objectively beautiful was neither here nor there; Marcus was a loyal partner to the core and truthfully didn’t even consider the attractiveness of other people while he was in a committed relationship… but now that he was no longer, he had to admit that he was very attracted to you.  And not just your pretty face and alluring figure, but all of you. 

You’re kind-hearted and smart, generous and compassionate.  You care.  He sees it in the way you conduct yourself at work – putting your all into making his fellow agents and analysts shine, making sure that no one was overlooked and that others feel seen and valued.  It’s certainly how you’ve always made him feel.  You’re sweet and funny – the friends that you make at the office, himself included, would attest that you were sometimes the best part of their work day.

And you’re open and joyful; up for trying and learning new things – never conceited or self-important, you wear your appreciation for the wonders of life and what it has to offer on your sleeve.  Your job is about making others look good, but you yourself rarely cared about clout or public accolades - your hard work and confident demeanor speak for themselves and unironically, you come off looking fantastic and everyone liked you, just cause.  One thing you never were was cruel or heartless – you give everyone a chance and extend grace to others even under stressful or difficult conditions.  The only thing you’re intolerant of is when others exhibited those self-serving attributes.  Once in a departmental meeting, some dinosaur had tried to cover up his own mistakes by throwing a young analyst under the bus – you had put a stop to it before the old man could finish his fib with a cutting and deliberate comment about the importance of integrity at the FBI.  Marcus had discreetly chuckled to himself and thanked whatever deity looking out for him that you seemed to always be on his side. 

Yes, Marcus admires you exceedingly.

A year ago, he had asked you out, nervous that you may not see him the way he now sees you, terrified of ruining your friendship.  You had been hesitant, but not for that reason – of course you’re attracted to Marcus, he’s one of the finest men you've ever known, but you worried that his heart might not be ready after what Lisbon had put him through.  You should have known better than to doubt Marcus’ capacity for love.  Taking a leap of faith in much the same way you admired him for always doing, you’re now happier than you could have ever dreamed.  Marcus dotes on you and makes you feel cherished like a goddess.  Sharing a life with him makes everything better: food tastes better, sunsets are more colourful, music sounds more harmonious; all because the man next to you makes everything good even better with his kindness and his care.  And he worships at the altar of your body like no one ever has, and you doubt ever could; Marcus loves on you with such devotion and wickedness that you regularly see the heavens themselves.

Marcus is an artist reborn – having taken something already amazing and precious, and transforming it into something even more beautiful.  Something that makes his life complete.

Marcus doesn’t tell you, but he also put in for a code name for you as well.  It’s not needed for the Public Relations department, and you’re not an agent in the traditional sense of the title, so you’ve never asked to be assigned one, but the paperwork for your code name has been submitted and approved.  Currently on standby, if and when you ever choose to accept it, it will be ready to go live.

Perhaps someday in the future, should both of you wish it, you’ll agree to become Agent Kharis in both name and in life.  Marcus cannot think of a code name more fitting for you than the name of one of the three Graces of the ancient Greek myths, goddess of Splendor, Glory and Adornment, and the beauty who saved Hephaestus from a life without love.

[lokittystuckinatree]

Theorizing? Speculating? Musing? Daydreaming? about what the Master could have to do with *that* reveal

The Master has been haunting the narrative so much it can no longer be ignored. At first, I thought it was fan service, and then that the writers were haunting the Doctor with memory of the Master. Now, I can’t help wondering if they have a plan for the Master they aren’t telling us…Apparently the vainglorious theme even played in the Legend of Ruby Sunday.

This episode revealed that the one who waits is Sutekh, the God of Death, who I tragically know little about, as I just started Classic Who and haven’t seen Pyramid of Mars yet…(I plan to by next week.)

Sutekh is the God of Death, and in Master? I think? It was revealed that the Master is Death’s champion because the (future) Doctor killed their bully only to make a deal with Death to swap he and the Master’s fates or something like that? (Spare me the details)

Which has me thinking: what a great opportunity for narrative parallels. Is it possible that the Master has made some sort of pact to do the Death God’s bidding in return for being freed from the Toymaker’s tooth?

Sutekh is also heavily associated with the Devil and Satanic imagery; he was conjured like a demon and maybe possesses people? He is referred to as the Beast, and in Satan Pit, the same actor played Stand-In Satan.

The Master has dabbled in vaguely Gothic Horror like tropes before (Cybermen as transhumanist nightmares, reanimated corpses controlled by a Mad Scientist? Missy’s whole Mad Wife in Attic thing?) so would Tortured Artist Sells Soul to the Devil be that unreasonable?

Is my writer brain cooking, or has my Master brainrot progressed to madness? Would the Master hate being caged enough to give up a bit of their control? Would RTD even think of that?

Probably not, but who’s gonna stop me fantasizing, the police?

[agentrouka-blog]

omfg you have every right to be angry over that anon. What a condescending, arrogant ask. There's an extra level of insult, because people aren't just trying to dispute your opinion, they're trying to waste your time, energy, and thinking too. It's not an honest and equal debate, it's just pure entitlement.

Something for your perusal: I've been reading the ASOIAF books again and was curious when I came upon Catelyn's passage up the Eyrie in AGOTA, where she laments that Mya Stone won't be able to marry the boy she's in love with because she's a bastard. Then Catelyn muses that Mya reminds her of Sansa. I thought this was interesting because of how the information is introduced, and then the Mya-Sansa parallels. Sansa becomes a bastard when Jon is a secret prince sort of business. I haven't seen anybody mention this and thought it was curious.

Thank you! <3

And there's actually a lot of stuff in that Mya Stone moment.

For one, it happens at a time when we already know that Sansa's own dreams are as hopeless as Mya's, no matter that Sansa is trueborn, because Cat and Ned both agreed to marry her to House Lannister and at the Trident Joffrey took off his mask and nothing is being done about it regarding Sansa.

Then we have the parallel to Littlefinger, whose crush (trueborn but low status) was always as hopeless as Mya's.

Then we have the fact that Cat foregoes an obvious comparison (tomboyish Arya) by focusing on not one but two other people in regard to Mya. First the unpleasant association with Jon Snow, followed by a softening when she recognizes the resemblance to Sansa.

"Mya Stone, if it please you, my lady," the girl said. It did not please her; it was an effort for Catelyn to keep the smile on her face. Stone was a bastard's name in the Vale, as Snow was in the north, and Flowers in Highgarden; in each of the Seven Kingdoms, custom had fashioned a surname for children born with no names of their own. Catelyn had nothing against this girl, but suddenly she could not help but think of Ned's bastard on the Wall, and the thought made her angry and guilty, both at once. She struggled to find words for a reply. [...] "Mychel's my love," Mya explained. "Mychel Redfort. He's squire to Ser Lyn Corbray. We're to wed as soon as he becomes a knight, next year or the year after." She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard. His family would arrange a more suitable match for him, to a Corbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps a daughter of some greater house outside the Vale. If Mychel Redfort laid with this girl at all, it would be on the wrong side of the sheet. (AGOT, Catelyn VI)

Mya makes her feel guilty and angry when thinking of Jon Snow, but bittersweet when contemplating her similarity to Sansa and the impossibility of her dreams. It's easier to handle Mya's status when connecting her to Sansa, someone Cat knows how to love, rather than Jon, whose existence strips all romance from the veneer of the brutal society and the reality of patriarchy for Catelyn herself. She doesn't hate bastards, she even has sympathy for them. She only hates what Jon represents for herself.

Sansa ends up modeling her own bastard figure after Jon Snow (fourteen and bastard brave), and from what we have seen of Jon's own struggles with bastardy, his own unfullfilled dreams, it becomes easy to directly compare Sansa and Jon as similar souls, with similar hopes and disappointments, with their shared longing for something unattainable by the rules of their society.

Within the one mirroring scene coming down the mountain in AFFC, Sansa contemplates Mya Stone's lost virtue (after Cat's predictions have come to pass) and potential future husband of fitting status who would love her anyway, and she will also be reminded of Jon Snow. "I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be."

The chapter ends with a proposed miracle transformation. Littlefinger paints the picture of a reveal of true identity: The bastard sheds their mask and is recognized for their true self. Something that can only happen to a false bastard. Like Sansa.

Who is so similar to Jon. With his impossible dreams.

[crossdressingdeath]

One thing I will say for the ending of DAV is that it's made one thing from Trespasser that always confused me a bit finally make sense: the fact that Solas spares even low approval Quiz. Like, the fact that he does that means that affection clearly doesn't come into that decision! He may be nicer about it if he likes Quiz, but he's not sparing them because he likes them. But it makes a lot more sense in the context of him making an enemy of Rook and then leaving them alive when he meets them in Minrathous, just assuming that they'll do what he wants and not get in his way and being completely blindsided by them tricking him even though they have no reason to just go along with what he says. At the end of the day Solas just... doesn't respect either Rook or Quiz enough as equals to see them as a potential threat, and that both explains him sparing Quiz and ultimately leads to his downfall.

I mean, think about it. He killed Mythal. He killed Felassan. Clearly he is not above killing even the people he loves best, the very last remnants of the world he's supposedly in this to save at that, if their survival might get in the way of his plans! You can talk about how much he cares for high approval Quiz, or even how much he loves Lavellan in a Sol@vellan (censored to keep it out of the tags) worldstate, but love demonstrably would not stop him if he determined Quiz to be a threat! He does not love them more than Mythal (he really, really doesn't love them more than he loves Mythal, Christ on a bike the amount of shit he does for Mythal and then refuses to accept her culpability for the fallout of is insane), he does not love them more than Felassan, he does not have more reason to spare them when they say they're going to stop him (whether peacefully or by force) than he did those two, but he still does even if he hates them. Now Solas doesn't like killing (he just has no concept of what counts as actual necessity or willingness to stop when he's going to kill most of Thedas), so it makes sense he wouldn't want them dead if he could avoid it, but if he saw them as a threat he would not spare Quiz where he didn't spare Mythal or Felassan. He's not going to spare a Quiz he hates who's vowing to stop him at all costs where he killed the last remnants of the world he wants to save... unless of course he doesn't think they actually can stop him.

And him not thinking they can stop him makes sense when you consider his response to Rook, who breaks out of a prison Solas thought was inescapable and by Solas's own admission gets further in dealing with the Evanuris than Solas ever could have himself; he still just completely dismisses them as a real threat, takes no steps to prevent them from turning on him, has no plan for if they find out what killing Elgar'nan will do, and is caught completely off-guard if they trick him with a fake dagger. He sees Rook surpass his every expectation and do better than he himself ever could have, and he still completely fails to realize that they do in fact pose a threat! I do believe that he on at least some level can grow to respect and even care for Quiz and Rook as people who exist, but he always thinks he is ultimately above them. He totally fails to see them as potential threats, and that's what ultimately leads to his downfall: if he'd preemptively killed Quiz at the end of Trespasser, or killed Rook the second Elgar'nan fell and they were no longer needed, or even just made any sort of plan for what to do if either or both of them were in fact the threats they made it clear they intended to be he might very well have won! But his unbridled arrogance and refusal to accept that a mortal could ever outdo the Dread Wolf ultimately gets him locked in the Fade (including the ending where he goes willingly, which only happens because Rook faces down yet another god to make it work). It's a very fitting end for someone who muses about the parallels between him and Elgar'nan and him and Rook and fails to consider what it might mean for him when Rook fully steps into his place in the narrative.

[rowlev]

How did you feel about daredevil: born again??

I’m dying to discuss it with somebodyyy

Ooooh man. Let’s do this! I’ll continue below the cut so I don’t fill up your entire screen lol

I’ll be honest, I prefer to view the show more as fanfiction rather than actual official DD content. The original show is so important to me and with the creative overhauls DDBA went under it just couldn’t hold a candle to the original series.

That said, it’s some pretty fucking good fanfiction. The first two episodes were so breakneck pace I instantly knew this was going to be a very different show. I actually screamed when they killed Foggy and had to pause for a second. I still don’t believe he’s dead no matter how good it is for the plot. He’s in witness protection and they’re going to bring him back at the end of season two in the most emotional reunion known to man.

The bullseye plot had me really suspicious for a long time though. It felt like they just fast forwarded his corruption arc so they could have comics bullseye on screen. But by the end of the season I felt like his motivations were more adequately fleshed out. I’m seriously loving the Vanessa Queenpin era. My own headcanons for a s4 (without knowing the original plans for s4) were to have Vanessa take the mantle of the Kingpin since Fisk would be in prison and she would sort of have immunity as Matt’s leverage on Fisk. I think they still took this route sorta. Fisk is going legit with the mayorship, even if he’s also molding the system to his will. Vanessa is the one who is getting her hands dirty so I think the s3 promise still kind of counts. It’s not perfect but I think it’s still very good.

And the plan for Fisk to basically create a legally sovereign crime state at the port? Hooooooly crap. I nearly pissed myself when I saw where they were going. Really put new stakes out there. Fisk hasn’t ever been this daring.

The way they paralleled Fisk and Matt against each other this whole season as tried so hard to deny their violent natures was amazing too. I’m shocked how well they pulled off that slow creep what with all the overhauls. The increased amount of literal blood on screen also really paralleled this beautifully. I am personally a fan of the obscured gore in the original series since I think it was just more compelling to leave most of it up to the imagination, but I can’t deny its been a great tool to show how raw both Fisk and Matt are.

Matt’s denial arc I think is a beautifully written cover for the overhaul also. They originally had taken out all the supporting cast and Matt literally just says it for what it is in the show: it feels fake. Making that hollow feeling purposeful rather than trying to hide their mistake really compelled me. They even wrote it in as Matt slipping into old habits, isolating himself from all his friends, and going so far this time he doesn’t even allow himself a personal space to unmask, inviting Heather into his private space.

Denials and masks are the core of Matt Murdock they were damn good about writing that into the show. The way his glasses actually shatter in the second episode when he finally slips up and punches those cops had me gasping.

That all said, I think there were also many parts that I was quite disappointed about. Muse for one, was fucking wasted. They gave him the cheapest, most flimsy copy of Dex’s backstory I’ve ever seen and then killed him off. I understand the task force needed some plot motivation and the overhauls made it hard to write him in but I’m a massive Muse fan and how they did him was downright disrespectful. That and how Matt could somehow decipher his art with his fingers???? Absolutely not possible. The POINT of muse is that Matt can’t see shit when it comes to his art. He can only smell the blood and gore he used to create it. They entirely missed the point of Muse both as a villain, and as a daredevil villain specifically.

In addition, they similarly did my boy Cole North absolutely dirty. I’m less mad because he’s just a side character in Zdarsky’s run and not majorly important but THAT IS NOT MY COLE NORTH. Comics Cole North was meant to be a misguided, but ultimately good person. He shot a kid on accident and did his best to pay the consequences, eventually learning that by being a cop he simply never did face the proper consequences for his actions. He wasn’t meant to be an enthusiast for violence and certainly not a Fisk bootlicker.

Regardless, I’m still quite glad they ran that punisher-cop plotline in general. This show really hammered in the idea that the system is broken, in ways that I did not expect Disney to be even capable of putting on screen. Watching the punisher shoot a bunch of copycat cops was cathartic. I’m really wondering what this will mean for Matt’s future legal career and how he will face the law after all he’s learned this season with the trial of Hector Ayala and the little things like his encounter with the sweets thief.

I think a controversial opinion I’m gonna have here is that I really loved that bank robbery episode. It felt like a return to the original show’s pace, where they spend an entire episode just focusing on one scene. It also had incredible tension given how Kamala’s dad was an expendable character, but important enough that we still cared about him. I really loved it as a way to cement Matt’s return to daredeviling without making him say it out loud. Plus the green mask Irishman was acting his damn heart out. that man stole the show lol.

I'm really excited to see how BB and Daniel face off next season. Daniel has such a punchable face and I love his interactions with Fisk. BB just has insane amounts of plot potential with how involved she is with Daniel and all of her little clips of New Yorkers throughout the show. Daredevil as a show has always loved its side characters and I hope they return to that in season 2 with their creative direction now sorted out.

Overall though I think Karen’s return sealed everything for me. She really made the Foggy shaped hole in the show a clear choice of writing, rather than just a mere convenience for the writers not to have to think about the previous three seasons of the show. And I think it felt like I was releasing tension I didn’t know I had to see Matt finally able to lean on a trusted friend, rather than force himself to keep the mask on at all times. I really hope they don’t push a romantic direction for Karedevil because while I think what they had in s2 was innocent and sweet, it just doesn’t work when they know everything about each other. Plus, their friendship is more important than any romance they could have imo. They should always have a bit of a flirtatious friend vibe to them but I don’t want them to be officially romantic again.

I could be on for some Kastle but I think I also stand by a similar opinion on that. The scene of Frank using Karen as bait in s2 daredevil at that one diner I think is the perfect microcosm of their relationship. He might love her but he’s always going to have a demon to fight and Karen doesn’t want to fight anymore. She understands that killing is often necessary, and is willing to kill in those scenarios, but she doesn’t want to. Her being a part of Nelson and Murdock was a way to heal from all the violence she had to take part in in her life.

ANYWAY. That’s getting more into original show analysis. I think that pretty much recaps all my surface thoughts on DD:BA. Overall I would say I liked it quite a bit but I think it had room for improvement. I hope they don’t try to nostalgia bait too much as their main appeal in the next season, since I felt there was a bit of overcorrection in that direction this season but I’m still very excited for season 2 and looking forward to a cohesive creative direction finally being able to pull out all the stops.

[sugarcube-stillabookworm]

Wot 3x08 musings

alright apart from The Thing which i'm still... thinking through let's say, i need to write down my thoughts about the finale. spoilers for the entirety of season 3! (i thinks i avoided any later book spoilers but if i accidentally put something in pls let me know!)

It had really high highs and a few lows for me. Firstly, everything that happens in the Waste plotline was amazing. With maybe the exception of the very first scene where Rand tries to meet his toh to Alsera, which I felt could have used more time to breathe (and also Aviendha instead of Egwene), it was all very charged and also spectacular from a visual pov. Rand finally confronting Lanfear with the full understaning of what she is, that she is jealous and petty and cruel, and that's why he leaves her (she never had him as much as she thought, but she loses any connection with him) in this time just like LTT did back then. Rand and Moiraine's conversation... damn. She is ruthless and he comes to appreciate it, because he's also starting to distance himself from Rand al'Thor to immerse himself in what he thinks he is and needs to be as the Dragon Reborn. He lives to win the Last Battle for the Light, and finally feels on the same page as Moiraine, even about her willingness to kill him. This conversation almost had me fully convinced she was going to die/[redacted] in this episode, despite having spoiled myself that she wouldn't, because she and Rand cement their relationship and Rand recognises her importance to his journey, right before she goes off to protect him. Instead, I guess it will have even more emotional impact if it happens a few episodes down the line in S4 (hopefully) when this new stage of their bond has been established for longer... I do hope if the conflict continues to be mainly with Lanfear that it won't feel repetitive.

mostly on a side note: so, Sammael was indeed alive just to die. lmao. it continued to show just how far the forsaken are willing to in-fight and, well, brutally murder each other, and also that means Rand still needs a teacher for saidin. i did like how disturbing his death and later state was, reinforcing how creepy moghedien is and how horrifying and powerful these people are compared to the protagonists. and visually: horrible in a satisfying (?? not the right word but i cant rn) way. it does feel maybe a bit underwhelming for a Forsaken to be introduced and killed so fast, but the fact that it's from another forsaken makes it more interesting

plus Lanfear's outfit for her little meeting with Rhavin... damn

On everything Alcair Dal: chilling showstopping spectacular. it's clear when they're walking there that Rand has grown willing to do extreme things to make the Aiel follow him, and Rhuarc's warning doesnt have any effect. when it comes to it and he needs to counter Couladin's claims, he doesn't hesitate to reveal a truth that was carefully guarded for thousands of years. him screaming "oathbreakers" was gur-punching. he did actually put in effort to connect with the aiel and understand their ways, he was emotionally affected by rhuidean, and then he used it to bend these people and claim his prophesised role. to do what he believes he "was born to do", no matter the cost for others even if means some will break, and certainly no matter the cost for himself. i thought it was a very powerful and (good) chilling moment, and then him channeling to make it rain in the desert was both visually stunning (there is so much taint in his power! and the more he channels the more there is!!) and an incredible OP Dragon Reborn scene. even more so when storms gathered across the continent too. and connecting it with ending the season on moiraine reciting that the dragon is one with the land and viceversa is fascinating. will they lean on that a lot?

and the heart of stone having to remember tears (which is also a nice wordplay) and the soul of fire having to remember love, oh. a parallel and foil of sorts to nynaeve's "remember who you are, rand al'thor" from ep1, an ominous warning in the moment when rand is starting to descend more and more into being only the Dragon, of stone and fire. he needs to be both!

on a small side note, egwene being the only one standing under the rain with rand while the aiel kneel: great for narrative foils and future roles, maybe a bit too reminiscent of the last scene of dune 2?

moiraine vs lanfear. again, visually stunning, i really like how the true power looks and that it's distinguished from the taint on saidin. lanfear at her full unhinged is very scary and enjoyable, and i don't have much more to say. i did genuinely think this would be their final confrontation, but i guess not. for most of this season they were sort of hateful allies, will they spend a few episodes of s4 fully against each other before a final showdown? they already had their big battle though, so i'm not sure what's planned there

right, lan and melindhra. eh. cool to remind lan of his duty to malkier and set him up for future plotlines, but it felt a bit disconnected to me. maybe it won't on a rewatch. and "death is lighter than a feather, duty is heavier than a mountain" coming from melindhra was... a choice. it's true that she says it as she accepts death for breaking her oaths to the dark in order not to betray what she feels is her true duty to malkier, but i don't know. especially with the whole question of moiraine and death this season, maybe there could have been a way to bring it up that felt more organic?

another thing i might appreciate more on a rewatch is the entirety of the tanchico plotline. it had its great moments and the shenanigans in ep6 were great, but overall... i don't know, at the end of the day it didnt feel like they accomplished a lot to me. one thing at a time.

Mat got hanged!! i was very very hyped for this moment and overall it was good, although maybe a bit abrupt even after all that foreshadowing. he just walks in there?? accurate mat i guess. right now i feel like after ep3 there weren't a lot of reminders of the struggles mat is facing with the memories in his head and thus why he's here in the first place, so in a perfect world i would have liked to spend a bit more time on both that and the question of the power - because i think the first time he refers to having an issue with the one power is right before going into the doorway? i might misremember. he did have a good setup with the imprisonment from last season, but it was a bit underdeveloped imo. but overall it works.

the Aelfinn. I... might have laughed a bit. rare wot show make-up fail, perhaps? i suppose they were going for otherwordly alien and disturbing, but to me it was mostly disturbing. and reminiscent of shark boy and lava girl cgi. i did like the costume! especially the back, where it looked like a skeleton spine.

donal was really good in the scene, imo. confused and scared, and finally allowed to say fuck. then mat was hanged and min cut him down and gave him cpr. again, works overall. i was crossing my fingers for nynaeve to actually have a role in helping him. i am a bit confused as to where they're going with mat *not* remembering things after he wakes up? does he actually make another trip to have his memories back?? or did the aelfinn steal his present self memories, which he didnt lose from the dagger in the show, and leave only the battle ones? that's an interesting way to bring show!mat to a similar position with book!mat

as for nyn, she finally broke her block. in this case too, i know that in-show she's been struggling with it for a very long time, so it makes sense to solve the issue here. it felt a bit... underdeserved? to me, like she didn't really have any build up to getting over it beyond the conversation on the sea folk ship. it didnt feel as big of a moment as it was supposed to, to me, but again, maybe on a rewatch. and the parting of the sea was certainly impressive.

Re: the plotline in general, they go into the palace, nynaeve hides behind a bed and finds the collar and then immediately loses it to liandrin. although it was interesting to see nynaeve have hope for liandrin (and does liandrin wait for a moment after throwing her in the water to see if she would emerge?), hopefully all the time of this plotline will pay off in later seasons. yay for elayne and balefire, and thom exposing gaebril. Jeaine insults Morgase and gets balefired about it, which, nice

and that's it i think. apart from the Tower plotline, which i will ponder for some time more i think. it's A Choice for sure, but a confusing one. i do have to say that, everything else set aside for a moment, on first watch i thought that the final sequence's interweaving of the scenes from Rand at alcair dal, moiraine, and siuan's last stand with her speech was beautifully constructed and powerful. and the last prophecy spoken by moiraine to end the season with the last scenes playing was a rather epic sending off into the core of the story.

[anteroom-of-death]

Teacher's Pet part 17

Synopsis: The Doctor muses on the nature of what he could do, the reader is a willing accomplice to her own life.

A/n: first off, I'd like to thank @queerconfusionthings on the slightly darker tone of this chapter and our long talks about 12, it changed this chapter. You get me in a way precious others do...and to all my readers, yall are best. To my mutuals, I'd die for you. Especially those who don't share my needs here. Love u.

It started to border on experimental. So many untapped valleys and choices he could make now that his pet fawn was solidly by his side, and now bound to leave him, no matter how dire the situation or how many red flags or fears the ghosts of his past could bequeath to her. (Y/N) was firmly in his grasp. Perhaps indefinitely.

There were certain thought experiments that were hypothetical that he was taught at the academy. How to not just bind a weaker species to your mind not just in mind, but in blood. The facets of addiction was the singular universal trait of all sentient life in the cosmos. He admitted that he was becoming as addicted to her as she was to him, and those nasty substances she would take.

He was of half a mind to remove their influence on her body and substitute them for him. As they walked through Kew Gardens, he mused on that. Take the urge that crippled her for drinks and cigarettes to the point of clouding her thoughts at times, bind those starved out brain cells to the idea of him. The swap from nicotine and ethyl alcohol to the Doctor would he fairly easy to do.

Ultimately, after she flashed him a smile and kissed him on the cheek before heading to the loo, he decided against it. For now.

She was getting beyond handsy…almost to the point of him being begged to fuck her in public. Maybe the switch was happening naturally. The addiction to the physical was clearly getting stronger…

Wouldn’t he be so lucky?

He’d have another full-scale rifle in her mind soon to assess the current situation!

Maybe he was more like the Rani than he’d previously assessed…

Wouldn’t that just choke the life from Missy? Her precious parallels dashed in the face if him ending up much more like their estranged friend turned mutual foe.

Whatever the case in this poorly-plotted and infinitely nailed-out love story he was crafting, the Doctor was sure of one thing. His reputation as the universe’s biggest savior, it’s self-inserted martyr needed to stay intact. Missy knew to some extent. Missy could feel and reveled in his own self-corruption at the hands of this mere human.

Missy would, even if she wanted to escape, keep this secret. Their rivalry and comrades and millennia-long bond, despite how fucked up it was, or how many times they’d kill or fight one another was iron-clad.

Honor among thieves or something…

The idea of some sort of vivisection briefly clouded his vision as he saw her exit the toilets. She was beaming. She held her jacket in her hand and her teeth caught in the light.

He decided against that idea.

There were opportunities endlessly flowing out.

“Hey, I’m absolutely starving!” She pulled him by the ties on his hoodie. “Do you want to go to a pub after this? There’s got to be a really good one that does a lovely roast dinner or something.”

Totally clueless, totally obvious to the danger she was in. So fine-tuned to weird shadows and knew when a human man on the street was up to no good. She didn’t know that the real predator was getting the aglets of his hoodie flicked around.

Poor her. Poor little fawn. Fully in the wolf’s maw and her neck was already snapped. Lost in the too-dark woods, separated from her herd. Only the guidance of that would come had made a meal of her. And was toying her corpse out further…

He felt his cock stiffen.

Maybe he would take her tonight. Just until bleeding. See how far her dependence on her would go. Maybe degrade her a bit.

If he could, he would. Wasn’t it his right?

He did own her, after all. Everyone from the team at UNIT to that last scrappy remnant of Torchwood saw her over-the-moon, fully-tethered ache for him…

They all picked up on something far more grasping than mere companion in their relationship. He wasn’t risking her life and breaking her spirit on planets far outside her home solar system. A dark, full-bodied compatriot. An equal lover. Perhaps they would arrive at the conclusion of his idea of settling down on Earth.

Not like their human opinions mattered in the end…

“Yes, of course.” He returned her eager, lavish smile with one of his own.

He slammed these thoughts back in the dark chest that was his mind. For now he’d just play with her hormones and her mind. Just put them at maximum. Continue this charade.

Keep everyone and everyone in the dark…

It was a great rest of the day, a butterfly landed on her arm. She delicately picked it up to rest on her finger and it stayed put as if she was her own form of magic. The little insect crawled around and she led it to rest on his jacket.

“He’s probably picking up the sugar scrub I used last night.” She rationalized.

“Or you’re just preternaturally sweet.” He let out the cheesy line as it flicked itself off his being and flew into the air. She shot him a bemused sideways glance. When she finally got it off her finger and it was firmly on his being she slightly shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Obviously, it didn’t take a liking to him.

It’s instincts were far better tuned.

He took her to the closest pub. It wasn’t doing a roast dinner that night. She was put out, but ordered chips with a gin and tonic and some little sandwich thing.

His Earth girls really loved their chips.

Maybe that was his type? Little, bold Earth girls with loud minds that could devour nothing but chips for all eternity and be perfectly happy doing so.

He could live with that…

She went out for a cigarette and he mentally made contact with Missy.

She ‘picked up’ the mental receiver.

‘How goes London, you filthy old man?’ The words shot into his mind like an icicle from a roof.

‘Fine, just curious, how much attention did you pay to Professor Hedflonhorzthenethar’s lessons on groove-making in lesser species?’

‘Rapt, Doccy. Why?’

‘Send me your memories, I’ll Amazon a tuba to my office.’

Another betrayal of the morals he started this regeneration with…

‘Let me see you do it. I’ll only do it if you do it now and let me look through your eyes!’ It was sharp, it felt like she was beside him shouting it.

He gave her permission to see through his eyes. He sighed and whipped out his phone, ordered a tuba and closed up the connect to his eyes.

The entirety of her memories regarding the lessons pinged into his brain like an email or perhaps a text notification…

His little fawn slid back onto the barstool next to him as Missy closed the line…

‘Don’t break her yet! I want to be her friend! I’m so lonely!’

He could still feel her teasing pout lingering in his brain. Perhaps she left it as a taste of his own medicine.

“The night’s getting cooler.” (Y/N) informed.

“Pity, you’ll need to cover up.”

Her mind was clearly projecting images of her taking him to the toilets and fucking him in the stall. Loudly.

Her mind was wandering, she kept admiring the line of his brow and the way his fingers crossed over as he held the glass of Fanta he was slowly sipping. She needed him in ways that would shock perhaps even Captain Jack Harkness or perhaps that smaller, dark shadow that used to follow him around, John Hart was his name?

A pathetic kicked dog that craved the Captain’s attention…

Just like him and Missy.

He shook his head at that particular parallel.

Probably the advantage of dating someone in her profession. She knew what was avant-garde in sex!

Or at least for a human of her time period that had never been off-planet…

The Doctor let his mind wander into hers. Despite her clear projection, he wanted to see exactly what the damage of the last night was. She was chattering on about a philosophy book she picked up for between clients and for downtime at work. She completed it and wanted to share her critiques of it and her ways she’d probably improve upon the messages. As well as what she liked from it- she wasn’t all kvetching, no appreciation, after all.

In all honesty, he loved the wild tangential spin she loved. He felt some remorse about how deeply he had rummaged in her brain. She still was, in a sense, her own. Just now permanently entangled in his web. Like a rat in a glue trap, but only she didn’t grasp how sticky the glue was…. She was fully mentally tethered. He’d have to be more careful, he didn’t want to lose her, or push these experiences too deep. Losing this spark of ingenuity and tired vivaciousness would be a sin worse than anything else.

He swallowed another sip of his Fanta.

It seemed a bit shaken, but he swept those away. Kept them as salacious afterthought. Bonded the memories from today that were pleasant to her already aching neurotransmitters. Amped up her hormones a tad bit.

Anyone around her, even a stupid human could probably hear her mind now. It was both very intrigued by the subject matter of the book but also so desperately needy for her Doctor. He could feel her aching cunt and body responding from here. Anybody with a pulse could probably get her drift.

He'd probably, if anyone was sensitive enough, have to start beating them off with a stick!

That could be fun, lure her further. Let her know that she was only safe with him…

He ran the possibilities and scanned the bar, seeing if he could play any games.

Sadly not.

He decided against that for the moment.

Especially since something told him that she’d have precious little trouble fighting for herself. Unless he purposefully put her mind in a state of freeze, he doubted that a pub brawl based on her appearance would faze her. She, like most human girls, had been numbed to that sort of violence.

She’d probably have to come in and save him, by the looks of a few of the other patrons here…

He dissolved that idea. He couldn’t risk breaking his promise to her and regenerating on the spot if she was frozen, meant to witness. His superior genetics and all that may come with was no match for a gone-to-seed ex-rugby player nor someone who clearly worked security. As he finished his assessment of the crowd in the pub.

His mind games would have to play out in other ways still…

Just adjust the plans that he had. And take in the information Missy had pinged him.

The illusion of free will still reflected true, right?

His old pal, Plato did some allegory with a cave…sadly he wasn’t paying attention when the man was speaking. Missed the point, invented a self-lubricating spatula for flapjacks.

Oops.

He’d never say he was depriving her of that outright, no too controversial. Too salacious. Guidance, yes. A dual corruption arc? Definitely.

Daddy knows best, rung through his skull. An old line he told Kate about the poison to kill the Zygons…

Paternalistic? Yes.

How could he not be? A human is so young and weak compared to most species out there. Let alone him and his!

After all, he was her teacher. Her educator.

These thoughts, mixed with how strong she was fantasizing about fucking him, and her natural allure…he was shocked that he wasn’t bursting through his trousers, exposing himself to all to see.

He'd fuck her tonight. Not only did she clearly need it, but if he didn’t give in, he would probably act out.

He had fully surrendered himself to current path he was on. Yes.

He’d not destroy her entirely. Take away what enchanted him to her. That would be a sin graver than killing her outright. She had goals and dreams. They had discussed at such at length. He’d let her have those. So long as she’d never stray from his clingy side.

He half-wished he could summon a past version of himself, or perhaps a future without risking too much. Just to confer and pass back ideas.

All he had was Missy.

Or to sneak off and search for the Rani.

And they’d destroy him with zealous help.

No! He was alone in this path. Only solace was Missy and her enjoyment of his fawn and petty need to be good and please reform for her release. He walked his path utterly alone.

The evening wound itself up. The Doctor had to pounce. To claim what little of his fawn lay left unclaimed. Ruin her forever. Claim her indefinitely…

He paid their bill and ventured into the night.

A pep laid in his step, his cock still semi-stiff. He’d destroy her to rebuild her.

Teacher’s Pet.

He’d have his fun next term. Make her into a professor’s aide. Push her servile nature to him into a possibly public place. Show her off, perhaps even.

But for now? He was about ready to explode. His balls ached, and his hearts were full.

All in the name of love, right?

Or obsession…

Either way, still to have someone as alluring with such a firm form like (insert a description of your body, reader…) and a mind as hard in her ideals, but so easy to toy with?

Ecstasy…

[autistichalsin]

I find Halsin’s devotion to Silvanus quite interesting. We get the iconic gesture™ and general musings of reverence. Of course, he doesn’t proselytize to the extent Shadowheart/Lae’zel do—but the old/new teachings and the natural order are frequently invoked.

(Obviously, his worship and spirituality do not veer into obsession like the latter two, nor is he seeking to convert anyone Sharran cult-style. I’ve just noticed some parallels in language choice and religious references.)

There seemed to be some sort of crisis of faith in act 3?? Had he not been preoccupied with grove politics and the shadow curse for so long, how would his relationship to religion manifest? Would it be different? More intense? Less? Will it change post-game/epilogue?

It's interesting as well, because SH and Lae'zel were raised in their religions. Halsin, on the other hand, is a wood elf; it would be highly unusual for him not to worship the Seldarine, so it is very likely he converted at some point, or that his parents were very openminded. This raises another dimension to his religiosity; he isn't just following Silvanus because it's all he knows, but because he made the choice. Halsin is the healthy and happy religious devotee to contrast SH and Lae'zel being cult victims.

There definitely seems to be a crisis, but it doesn't seem to be a crisis of faith, or at least, not what we traditionally think of as one. He wasn't doubting his faith or devotion, but rather, how to best serve nature while also taking into accounts the way human(oid) needs have changed.

I think the Shadow Curse deepened his religious devotion; he mentions that he spent years currying favor with Silvanus as he tried to find a way into the Shadowfell. On the other hand, I could see Grove politics having a distancing effect. So maybe the "amount" of devotion would be the same, but just in different ways. As for the epilogue, I don't know if I can guess how his arc would have turned out if not for the curse!

[turbulentscrawl]

how does the illusion hall and miss nightingale work in the manor setting? you briefly mentioned them once but i don't think you ever elaborated on them?

I haven't elaborated! My thoughts about that all aren't quite as cemented as other setting details, so it hasn't come up as much, but I'll try to explain the way I see her for now.

To explain this, I need to preface a few things.

Firstly: the manor exists because of Orpheus. I'm not sure exactly how or why yet, but something in his actions created this strange, pocket dimension, and he is a core piece of its not-really-comprehensible infrastructure.

And second: I don't enjoy treating the manor like it's an actual gameshow. I don't think there's a shop, currency, or any of that. Necessities and some basic comforts are provided to survivors and hunters to keep them content enough to cooperate in the games, but there is no obvious rewards for winning (other than not feeling the pain of death again.) I enjoy the horror aspect of this all, and I think treating the setting too much like the video game takes away from that.

Now onto it: the way I see it, Nightingale is another figment of Alice that was created from Orpheus when the manor's pocket dimension formed up, similar to Memory. Nightingale, however, is far more elusive and far more eldrich than Memory, so instead of taking part in the games in any capacity, the manor uses her as an avenue for change in an otherwise stagnant pool of time. Nightingale is a muse, and a creator. She makes "skins" for the characters based on the constant stream of ideas and stories in Orpehus's unconsciousness. These skins cause (mostly small) changes in the person who wears them--they are, at their core, always the same person, but the history that comes with each alternate version of themselves emphasizes different aspects of them. This, unbeknownst to everyone else, is a way to expose this collection of cowards, assholes, and killers (sorry, but it's true) to each other. Lord knows they won't take down their emotional walls WILLINGLY and let themselves really be known.

The Illusion Hall is just her domain in the manor. It's rarely accessible, and only when she wants it to be. When it is about, it parallels the Hall of Muses in the real manor. Sort of this intimidatingly long hallway with statues and portraits of Nightingale herself. If someone enters to find her, she appears to them from one of these depictions; either speaking to them from within a frame or a living statue suddenly stepping down off of a pedestal.