#just. feeling a lot of grief. a lot of anger. a lot of shame and guilt and simply not good enough in every single aspect of my life

[bixels]

Learning that fans hated Applejack and called her "boring" is crazyyy to me because I genuinely, unironically believe AJ's the most complex character in the main six.

Backstory-wise, she was born into a family of famers/blue collar workers who helped found the town she lives in. She grew up a habitual liar until she had the bad habit traumatized outta her. She lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age, having to step up as her baby sister's mother figure. She's the only person in the main gang who's experienced this level of loss and grief (A Royal Problem reveals that AJ dreams about memories of being held by her parents as a baby). She moved to Manhattan to live with her wealthy family members, only to realize she'll never fit in or be accepted, even amongst her own family. The earlier seasons imply she and her family had money problems too (In The Ticket Master, AJ wants to go to the gala to earn money to buy new farm equipment and afford hip surgery for her grandma).

Personality-wise, she's a total people-pleaser/steamroller (with an occasional savior complex) who places her self worth on her independence and usefulness for other people, causing her to become a complete workaholic. In Applebuck Season, AJ stops taking care of herself because of her obsessive responsibilities for others and becomes completely dysfunctional. In Apple Family Reunion, AJ has a tearful breakdown because in she thinks she dishonored her family and tarnished her reputation as a potential leader –– an expectation and anxiety that's directly tied to her deceased parents, as shown in the episode's ending scene. In The Last Roundup, AJ abandons her family and friends out of shame because believes she failed them by not earning 1st place in a rodeo competition. She completely spirals emotionally when she isn't able to fulfill her duties toward others. Her need to be the best manifests in intense pride and competitiveness when others challenge her. And when her pride's broken, she cowers and physically hides herself.

Moreover, it's strongly implied that AJ has a deep-seated anger. The comics explore her ranting outbursts more. EQG also obviously has AJ yelling at and insulting Rarity in a jealous fit just to hurt her feelings (with a line that I could write a whole dissection on). And I'm certain I read in a post somewhere that in a Gameloft event, AJ's negative traits are listed as anger.

Subtextually, a lot of these flaws and anxieties can be (retroactively) linked to her parents' death, forcing her to grow up too quickly to become the adult/caregiver of the family (especially after her big brother becomes semiverbal). Notice how throughout the series, she's constantly acting as the "mom friend" of the group (despite everything, she manages to be the most emotionally mature of the bunch). Notice how AJ'll switch to a quieter, calmer tone when her friends are panicking and use soothing prompts and questions to talk them through their emotions/problems; something she'd definitely pick up while raising a child. Same with her stoicism and reluctance at crying or releasing emotions (something Pinkie explicitly points out). She also had a childhood relationship with Rara (which, if you were to give a queer reading, could easy be interpreted as her first 'aha' crush), who eventually left her life. (Interestingly enough, AJ also has an angry outburst with Rara for the same exact reasons as with EQG Rarity; jealous, upset that someone else is using and changing her). It's not hard to imagine an AJ with separation anxiety stemming from her mother and childhood friend/crush leaving. I'm also not above reading into AJ's relationship with her little sister (Y'all ever think about how AB never got to know her parents, even though she shares her father's colors and her mother's curly hair?).

AJ's stubbornness is a symptom of growing up too quickly as well. Who else to play with your baby sister when your brother goes nonverbal (not to discount Big Mac's role in raising AB)? Who else to wake up in the middle of the night to care for your crying baby sister when your grandma needs her rest? When you need to be 100% all the time for your family, you tend to become hard-stuck with a sense of moral superiority. You know what's best because you have to be your best because if you're aren't your best, then everything'll inevitably fall apart and it'll be your fault. And if you don't know what's best –– if you've been wrong the whole time –– that means you haven't been your best, which means you've failed the people who rely on you, which means you can't fulfill your role in the family/society, which makes you worthless . We've seen time and time again how this compulsive need to be right for the sake of others becomes self-destructive (Apple Family Reunion, Sound of Silence, all competitions against RD). We've seen in The Last Roundup how, when no longer at her best, AJ would rather remove herself from her community than confront them because she no longer feels of use to them.

But I guess it is kinda weird that AJ has "masculine" traits and isn't interested in men at all. It's totally justified that an aggressively straight, misogynistic male fandom would characterize her as a "boring background character." /s

At the time of writing this, it's 4:46AM.

[moonlit-positivity]

Emotional Regulation- what's it all about?

Emotional regulation is the work of releasing pent up stress from your nervous system.

Your body has an entire system of automatic stress responses. Some of which can be born out of hard wired prolonged exposure to trauma in our childhoods.

With no proper regulation from our abusive & neglectful parents, many of us are still stuck in these same fear responses from our childhoods. Which means a lot of that fear, sadness, guilt, and shame, reappears in the form of how we cope now as an adult.

By learning how to recognize which state of survival you're in- and you can be in all states at different times and triggers- you can then work on giving your body a more directed route to releasing the pent up exhaustion, fear, tension, and panic.

Which in turn gives us more room to breathe easier when we are feeling stress, panicked, and triggered.

There are many techniques to help with emotional regulation. Somatics is the practice of moving your body to release the energy.

This is why everyone will scream yoga and exercise at you. But its not just limited to those two types of movements.

If you are bed bound, somatics can be as simple as raising your arms, lifting your legs, and rolling your neck.

The key idea is to recognize when you're overwhelmed, panicked, and triggered in your day to day life. Work real hard on bringing these moments into your awareness. What are your thoughts like? What are your reactions?

From there we work to integrate a basic somatic framework over time. This can look like working hard to incorporate some form of comfort, movement, and acceptance for the physical discomforts of these moments.

A basic framework can include:

Butterfly hugs (put ur hand over ur heart)

Self hugs

Hold your shoulders

Rub your shoulders, arms, tummy, and legs

Lift ur shoulders, shake ur arms, clench ur fists

Wiggle in ur seat

Raise ur legs, stomp your feet gently in place, roll ur ankles

Deep breathing

Groaning, sighing, screaming, making noise

Humming or singing

Outwardly showing emotions on your face

Cold/warm compress or towel

Weighted blankets or comfort items

Sensory stems

These are just a few examples. You can literally do whatever types of movements that feel natural for you.

The secondary idea of emotional regulation is self expression.

That's why it's okay to groan and scream and be loud and expressive in these moments, if you need to. Remember that most often panic attacks, stress, anxiety, and triggers are deeply emotional responses to very personal scenarios and traumas that we have endured in our past. Some of these fears stem from some really scary places. It makes a lot of sense that you might need to scream, cower in fear, or use facial expressions in these moments.

Oftentimes in abusive environments we are restrained from doing so by our abusers. When in reality, these are the standard reactions for what we went through. These are the types of reactions that our bodies are repressing.

It can feel overwhelming to think about acting in such ways, especially if you're not able to practice these in peace, solitude, and safety. But please know that how you cope is an extremely personal and extremely precious part of who you are. Do whatever you need to do for your health and safety and stability and peace of mind. That should be the main goal.

One last thing about emotional regulation to remember, is that the goal is to not be "happy" or at a "peaceful baseline" all the time.

The goal is to allow the anger, allow the sadness and grief and all other emotional signals in-- and then express them in healthier ways than what you're doing now.

Because at the end of the day, groaning and pitching an intended hissy fit in the privacy and safety of your own home, is a much better and healthier way to cope than hurting yourself.

Allow your inner teen the proper emotional outlets your parents stole from you.

This is the work of emotional regulation.

[self regulation chart source- primaltrust-official]

"The Autonomic Nervous System (ANS) communicates to us through our feelings and our sensations in the body. By learning how to recognize our ANS states, we can become better equipped with knowing what we can do to help ourselves in times of discomfort or distress.

Many people are aware of the fight/flight state, but there is often confusion with freeze and shut down states, which are actually different.

Dorsal vagal shutdown is a state of parasympathetic collapse, and because of this, a little movement and stimulation of the vagus nerve (since this nerve governs the parasympathetic response) is helpful. On the other hand, a freeze state is a mixture of sympathetic and parasympathetic (the dorsal vagal shutdown) immobilization, which to our nervous system is like having a foot on the gas and a foot on the brakes at the same time. In this state, the nervous system needs to be shown safety, so it can come out of paralysis, relax and then move energy as needed.

A telltale physical sign of being in freeze is having very tight, sore muscles, or noticing you are 'bracing' in your body, as if preparing for impact. Panic attacks can also occur in the state, which is a step beyond the anxiety experienced and fight/flight.

The aim of all the suggested exercises in this post is to help the body come into a healthy (not dorsal vagal shutdown!) parasympathetic state- ventral vagal- but to get there, you might journey from freeze to fight/flight for example, or dorsal vagal to fight/flight. This is very normal and can be explained wonderfully by the Polyvagal Ladder (see the teachings of Deb Dana for more). The goal is to not be in ventral vagal all the time. Our nervous system is highly intelligent and will flow between states as needed, thus the aim is to allow this flow, versus getting stuck in any shut down, freeze, or fight/flight state for too long."

[C-PTSD symptom wheel source- Lindsay Braman]

"This new C-PTSD symptom wheel resource is a tool for education and for advocacy.

The World Health Organization's diagnostic criteria for Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder are split into 8 distinct categories. These categories were mapped by Dr. Wei-May Su and Dr. Louise Stone in an Australian medical journal in 2020. Simplifying and then building off their work* to highlight specific ways these symptom categories show up in a survivor's life, I've created this radial chart showing how the constellation of symptoms experienced by survivors of complex trauma can be organized under the heading of C-PTSD.

I often avoid creating art that can be used for diagnosis or self-diagnosis, but the fact is, resources and awareness are desperately needed on the topic of C-PTSD. See, although it has been recognized by the World Health organization since 2020, the USA's diagnostic manual, the DSM-5, doesn't include C-PTSD. Because it's omitted from the DSM, many therapists aren't trained to recognize it or treat it. Insurance won't cover treatment, and too often people get misdiagnosed and given ineffective treatments.

Historically, mental health providers haven't done a great job of understanding and categorizing experiences of complex trauma survivors, but through education and advocacy, we can change that."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Hope this helps

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

[temptingfatetakingnames]

The Last Steve Harrington Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Dinner had been a truly harrowing experience that Steve never wanted to repeat. He would rather fight a horde of Demobats than sit at that table as they all tried to act normal and light and happy. He wanted to scream in their faces or bang his fists on the table – anything to get a real reaction out of them. He was also becoming increasingly terrified of Joyce and her seemingly unconscious need to offer comforting touches to everyone. Get up for a napkin? Pat Eleven on the head. Oh, forgot to get the milk? Rubbed Will’s shoulders on her way to the fridge. The third time she got up, Steve had to grip the table to keep from running. She hesitated for a moment beside him but didn’t reach out, probably because she could see the tension in his posture. He only relaxed when she sat back down again.

Hopper was quiet, but the kids and Joyce kept up a constant stream of conversation, only occasionally trying to draw him in. They failed; he was too on edge to even attempt to speak. The food tasted like ash in his mouth and he excused himself before finishing, doctor’s orders on calorie intake be damned. The silence at the table as he left was deafening. He sat down on the bed in his room and wondered how the hell he was going to do this. He wanted to sink into the floorboards and pretend he didn’t exist. He wanted to run.

Not yet.

He grabbed his backpack from under the bed and counted his canned goods and went over his supplies. The steak knife he had slipped into his sock at dinner when no one was looking was added to the pile. He had plenty of food and could refill his canteen easily, but he needed money.

A knock on the door sounded loud in the quiet of the room. Steve shoved everything in the backpack and put it under the bed before he called, “come in.”

Joyce opened the door, carrying a steaming mug in one hand.

“Tea,” she said as she walked over. “With lots of milk and sugar.”

She set it on the table before sitting down beside him. Steve couldn’t help but bristle at her presence.

“I wanted to ask how you were doing?”

Steve blinked at her. In terms of how he was doing physically, he couldn’t deny that he was better. In terms of how he was doing mentally? He had no idea how to answer that. His thoughts were a messy tangle of grief, anger, guilt, and shame. He thought his feelings on surviving were bad before, but that was nothing to what he felt now – now that he knew what he had done.

He went with the easiest answer, “better.”

It was both the truth and complete and utter horseshit.

“You don’t have to be alright, Steve. I’m going to keep talking to you and asking you questions because I want to get to know you, but you don’t have to answer. I know that you don’t know how to talk to us, and you’re overwhelmed. I guess I just hope that if I keep talking to you like normal, eventually it will be normal. Hopper thinks I should back right off and leave you alone but I think if given the choice, you’ll isolate yourself. So, I’m going to talk and you don’t have to listen and I’m going to ask questions and you don’t have to answer. Is that okay?”

She was right that he would isolate himself if he could. He really didn’t want to talk to any of them. Steve appreciated her explaining her thought process, though. It helped to make sense of why she kept trying to engage with him when he rarely responded back.

He nodded in answer.

There was something he could ask for that would ease his mind more than knowing he didn’t have to talk to her if he didn’t want to. He figured she would want to know if she was serious about making him comfortable.

“Don’t touch me,” he said and after a brief pause added, “please.”

“Of course, Steve.” She held his gaze, projecting sincerity. He remembered his Joyce always being frazzled and stressed… but she had been looking for her lost son and even after she had found him, Will wasn’t okay. This Joyce was calm and… motherly. “I won’t touch you.”

He nodded again and she got up to leave.

“Drink your tea. The green toothbrush in the bathroom is yours when you’re ready for bed and there’s lots of towels if you want to have a shower in the morning. Good night, Steve.” 

She left the door open when she left, which didn’t bother him as much as it probably would have before their conversation. He drank the tea, enjoying the feeling of the warm beverage in his hands, and started re-reading The Hobbit for the thousandth time. The evening passed slowly into night. Steve stayed in his room, enjoying the quiet. He was still reading when Will and Eleven stopped in his open doorway.

“Good night, Steve,” they chorused together.

“Night,” he replied and they scampered away.

It took awhile longer for Joyce and Hopper to settle into bed and even longer before he felt sure that everyone was sleeping deeply. He waited in the hallway and listened patiently for any signs of wakefulness or movement before he slipped downstairs and out the door. The hospital had felt like a prison and Steve needed to know he could leave if he wanted to. Needed to take back the autonomy he had lost when he had walked through that portal.  

He didn’t see anyone, no people or cars, as he made his way down the street and it reminded him so viscerally of his Hawkins that he shivered. He exited the suburb and turned onto Main Street. Passing the theatre, he saw that there were new releases for movies called Predator and Spaceballs, reminding him that time had passed here. That life had moved forward. He had a year to catch up on… along with everything else. Continuing on his way, he passed the middle school and high school and arrived at the playground. Steve sat on the swing set and looked up at the sky.

It was a clear night and the stars shone brightly. He wished he had paid more attention in school so he could know if they were the same ones from his universe. This Hawkins didn’t seem any different from his, so he figured the stars were probably the same too. Steve wondered again what the hell had made him so different? What had affected him or changed him to make him so catastrophically different from all the other Steves? What was wrong with him?

He didn’t have any answers.

The summer heat had gone with the sun, and a cool wind played with his hair. It was beautiful and quiet and he could almost pretend that he was the only person in the universe. That the past week hadn’t happened and he was still blissfully unaware of parallel universes and he only had his own failure to be guilty of. He sat there for hours. Sometimes swinging, kicking until he was as high as he could go, feet pointing at the sky before falling back down to Earth. Sometimes just sitting calmly and looking up at the sky and listening to the crickets sing. When he could see the sky start to lighten off in the distance he made his way back to the Hopper-Byers’ house.  

Hopper was in the kitchen when Steve walked in the door. Standing in front of the coffee maker and waiting for it to finish dripping. He expected him to yell, shout, ask where he had been all night. Instead, Hopper silently grabbed another mug out of the cupboard above him and set it down next to the one already on the counter. When the coffee was done, he poured two steaming mugs and handed one to Steve.

“Milk or sugar?” he inquired.

Steve shook his head and Hopper nodded before jerking his head to the front door. Steve followed him out and they sat together on the porch swing. Hopper didn’t speak again and Steve sipped his coffee and watched the sun finish rising on a new day.

---

Time passed slowly for Steve over the weekend. He mostly stayed in his room, reading or sleeping. He emerged for mealtimes, which didn’t cause him as much stress now that he and Joyce had an understanding. She would sometimes ask him easy yes or no questions that he could nod or shake his to and the kids told him about their summertime days - biking and swimming and visiting the arcade with the others.

When dinner was over, he went to go back to his room but was stopped by Eleven and Will blocking the stairs.

“We are going to watch a movie, do you want to come?” Eleven asked.

A movie could be… nice. Easy.

“What movie?”

“Empire Strikes Back!” Will declared and Eleven glared at him.

“The Breakfast Club,” she argued back.  

They turned to look at him, expecting him to choose. He wouldn’t mind watching both, he loved those movies. He wondered if they chose them because they were Other Steve’s favourites… It didn’t matter, he decided. He wanted to watch them.

“We could watch both?”

They smiled and nodded.

He followed them into the living room, where they began setting up the television and VHS player. Empire Strikes Back was put in because Will had said it first, a rule that Eleven seemed to abide by. Steve settled into the corner of the couch, Eleven beside him and Will on her other side. The iconic music started and the text was rolling down the screen when Joyce came in with drinks and popcorn. Eleven held the bowl in her lap so he and Will could both reach it. The popcorn was cooked perfectly, salted and buttery and Steve had never tasted anything so good.

They finished Empire Strikes Back and were watching The Breakfast Club when Steve started to drift in and out of consciousness. He would wake up, watch some teenage shenanigans, then his eyes would get heavy again. He tried to stay awake, but he was always so tired. Maybe the kids would watch it with him again tomorrow night?

“Code red. Over,” Dustin’s muffled, staticky voice came through the walkie-talkie on the table.

Steve jerked, instantly awake as adrenaline rushed through him. Will leapt off the couch and grabbed the walkie. He hissed into the receiver, “Dustin, you can’t keep using code red to check on Steve. Over and out!” He turned the button on the top, turning it off before tossing it on the couch.

Steve was breathing harshly and staring at it like it was a snake that was going to bite him. He closed his eyes tight. Code red. Code red meant The Upside Down. Code red meant monsters and danger and death. He couldn’t do monsters and danger and death again. It was supposed to be safe here. It was supposed to be over.

“Steve!”

He couldn’t breathe. He needed his bat or his fucking gun.

“Steve!”

His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest, and his breathing was out of his control. He clutched desperately at his neck and sweater.

“Don’t touch him. Back up,” the voice sounded far away.

What the hell was it now? Had Vecna found out about the parallel universes? Did he follow Steve through the portal? He was going to kill everyone. He was going to kill everyone again.  

“You’re safe, Steve. There is no code red. Everyone is safe. There is no code red.”

He knew he was hyperventilating when a prickling sensation started in his fingers and made its way up his arms. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t watch it again. He couldn’t do it!

Please… Please… Please… Please!

“You’re safe, everyone is safe. There is no code red. Look at me, Steve.”

Hopper? What was he saying? No code red? He had heard Dustin say it over the walkie! Steve shook his head.

“It’s okay, Steve. Dustin has been radioing Will for updates, he’s used code red a few times to get a response. Nothing bad is happening, I promise.” Hopper’s voice was even and calm. So calm. Why was he so fucking calm?

Steve slowly opened his eyes. Hopper was kneeling in front of him, his large body taking up all of Steve’s frame of vision. He smiled when Steve met his eyes.

“There you are. Take a deep breath for me if you can.”

Steve tried but couldn’t do it yet. His heart was still pounding but the panic was starting to subside in the face of Hopper’s calm. He let go of his sweater and flexed his hands. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out slowly. He did it again, and again, and again.

“No code red?” Steve finally managed to ask after his breathing had settled.

Hopper shook his head. “Nothing to worry about, Steve.”

“How do you know? For sure?”

Hopper stood and grabbed the walkie from the couch where Will had tossed it and turned it back on.

He held down the button and said, “Dustin, it’s Hopper. What’s the code red?”

Silence. Steve’s panic slowly started to rise again.

“How’s Steve? Over.”

Hopper looked up and shook his head, exasperated.

“You used code red just to ask about Steve? You can pick up the phone, ya know?”

“I radioed all day but Will and Eleven never answered!” a pause and then, “over.” Dustin’s voice sounded smaller, ashamed. 

Hopper sighed and pushed two of his fingers into his eyes.

Steve reached up and took the walkie out of his hand. It was the same one they used in his universe. He pushed the button and said, “roll call,” with the strongest voice he could muster. 

There was silence for a moment, before their voices all started coming in.

“Dustin. Green. Over.”

“Robin. Green. Over.”

“Lucas and Erica. Green. Over.”

“Max. Green. Over.”

“Mike. Green. Over.”

The longest pause came next before a sleepy voice crackled through.

“Eddie. Green. Over.”

Instant relief. He sagged back into the couch, exhausted.

He looked up at Hopper. “Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle?”

“All out of town. We can call them if you need to hear that their okay.”

Steve shook his head. He didn’t want to bother them late at night. They were safe if they weren’t in Hawkins.

“El? Will?”

“We’re here, Steve,” Will called.

They were standing in the hallway with Joyce, both of their eyes wide and terrified. Steve swallowed down the guilt at causing that expression on their faces.

“El, Will and Steve. Green. Over and out.”

He put the walkie down, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Sensing them all staring at him, he opened his eyes again. Now he was just embarrassed that he had overreacted so aggressively.

“I’m alright now. Sorry for freaking you all out.”

“Nothing for you to apologize for. It’s Dustin who’s going to be sorry,” Hopper stated with frightening certainty.

“I’ll make everyone tea,” Joyce said and left the room. Hopper followed her out. He could hear them talking quietly in the kitchen.

Steve was wide awake now, still coming down from the adrenaline rush. He wanted to run to his room and curl into a ball under the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Will and Eleven came over and sat back down on the couch, their gazes heavy as they watched him. Probably for any sign that he was going to freak out and scare them again.

“We can start the movie over if you want?” Will asked quietly.

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, and the movie would be a good distraction from his thoughts. He nodded and Will went to rewind the tape before they all settled back down. Eleven sat a lot closer to him than before, and after a moment she reached out and took two of his fingers in a loose grip. Steve had never been so grateful for such a soft and grounding touch. He looked down at her tiny hand and adjusted so their fingers intertwined. She squeezed gently and he squeezed back. Joyce came in a few minutes later with a tray of steaming mugs for everyone.

Eleven and Will were fast asleep before Bender raised his fist in the air, their heads resting against each other.

Steve held the walkie in a tight grip and watched over them, the static from the television flickering in his eyes.

Part 5

@vampireinthesun @just-a-tiny-void

[notmorbid]

happiness falls.

dialogue prompts from happiness falls by angie kim.

there's a fine line, if any, between optimism and willful idiocy.

why would you assume things can't go wrong just because they haven't yet?

hanging up an iphone isn't nearly as satisfying as slamming down a landline.

hope is dangerous.

intuition trumps intellect every time.

it isn't like i was keeping it a secret.

i'm working on seeming less bossy.

you are too old for this juvenile bullshit.

bring a first aid kit, just in case.

i never read the articles, only the cartoons.

i know what you're thinking. i'm thinking it, too.

i won't tell you not to worry, but take care of yourself.

sometimes it's the tiniest difference that can make the most difference.

are you a spy?

my life just isn't that interesting.

no shutting me out and trying to do everything yourself.

i have no idea what you're thinking, but i'm thinking i need coffee asap.

'greetings'? who in hell says 'greetings'?

i'll never scare you like that again.

don't force me to ask.

i wanted to just fucking die.

i feel badly about how we left things.

i thought we were open with each other.

shame is the most powerful and long-lasting emotion we have.

the best defense is a good offense.

stop talking. don't make it worse.

it's easy to be generous when you've taken so much.

i can't fall apart. someone has to get shit done.

i care more about authenticity and honesty than tact.

i didn't realize you still did that.

sometimes, in moments of great stress, we revert to childhood behaviors.

i love your sarcasm when it isn't pointed at me.

thinking and planning are luxuries we can't afford.

'no withholding anything from anyone'. that's my new mantra.

you have to save the highest penalty sin for last. build up slowly.

slow down. start from the beginning. what happened?

i don't care if i never find out what happened.

have you ever noticed how different things sound out loud instead of inside your head?

you can be honest without being cruel.

what are you hiding? i can see it behind you. what is it?

when you can't talk, people assume you can't understand.

i am a different person in english.

can you blame me?

sometimes semantics matter. words matter.

i'd rather give you the benefit of the doubt.

i would be horrible at your job.

you know a lot more than anyone's given you credit for.

a fucking break is what i want.

it did not feel 'rare', living through it.

everyone thought they were next.

there are some things you can't say out loud.

i'm glad we tried.

anger feels so much better than grief.

i don't like remembering it.

it's okay if the answer is no.

god, we're a mess.

this isn't a movie. this is real life.

if this was a 'choose your own adventure' book, what would you hope for?

when did you wake up?

there's no harm in hoping.

how long will i feel this way?

the first try is always the hardest, right?

the world should have to accommodate you, for once.

you can squeeze my hand when it hurts too much.

stop playing games and say what you mean.

you've been doubted long enough.

you doubted me, didn't you? just a little.

i don't want to forget. i want to remember.

i still have good days and bad.

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

17 - Plans of Pain and Horror

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 14.1k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, canon divergence, reference/discussions of rape, suicidal ideation, grief and trauma response, inferences to miscarriages

Notes: Heavy exploration of heavy trauma and mental duress issues this time. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here.

It was an odd feeling, standing there against the railing with a slight nervousness in his body. A feeling he had been learning to let go of, but there were two reasons for them to resurface now. If the circumstances were any different he may have prepared himself for what he once thought was coming to him, but Jon didn’t approach Theon with that kind of intention on his face. Instead of was one of deep introspection, where his true thoughts or feelings were tightly locked away except for the frustrated anger that slipped through the cracks.

Though it was also a nervousness that he knew exactly the last time he felt like that. In the dark dungeon cells of the Dreadfort he had seen the horrific jagged red on your stomach that made him shake. You sat there alive with that, when Theon knew he’d killed men with wounds just like that, and now he knew similar scars sat littered across the chest of the man next to him. The man who may have just stayed dead had you never showed up.

Dynamics twisted, Theon had nothing clever to say or anything teasing to throw. He knew Jon could sense how nervous he was, but now there was something in the man that had felt more commanding then in the days of Winterfell. His voice was low and rasping as he leaned on the railings next to him both looking out to the scene. “What you did for her is the only reason you’re alive right now.”

Nodding to himself, Theons swallowed harshly. “I know that. Even coming here I knew you might kill me soon as I came through those gates.” Sighing to himself he could see the look in your eyes for so long that scared him. “But I knew if I didn’t get her here..she’d rather die then let Ramsay get her back.”

Gloved hands tightened around their grip of the railing and he felt shame once more as the anger fought it’s way to hide in Jon’s voice. “I was going to find her myself, the day they...” Too scared to look at him, he could still feel the pain in his pause. “I didn’t force anyone to come with me, if I was going to have to go after her alone I wouldn’t hesitate. Couldn’t sit here and act as if it wasn’t eating away at me, letting her think no one cared. But I wasn’t the one who protected her. You were.”

Theon could sense there was something intense neither of you were saying. Something that left a protective rage about your safety that Theon had only ever seen in one other man. “They want her to marry Ramsay. More then half the North haven’t come to their side, so they thought if they showed up with their Queen married, already given Ramsay an heir, it would force the rest to surrender.”

Jon beside him was clearly holding a lot back, risking a glance to him that held real pain as he continued on. “If no one helped her get away from him, she would’ve killed herself. Not after what Roose Bolton did, not after what Ramsay..”

“After he what?” Turning with a hand still on the railing to face Theon, he felt intimidated to match his position. Quite the lives they have become for Theon to be the one looking at Jon Snow and wanting to slink away instead of size him up. Eyes dark and the scar around one eye only served to make him seem even wilder as Jon muttered with rough restraint. “I’ve seen the marks around her thighs, I know he touched her but I need you to tell me exactly what he did. Because we both know she’s not okay.”

Maybe it wasn’t his place, but Theon also knew it was torture for him as well. He was the one dragged into that room night after night made to watch. He had to watch as you either fought back or tried to block it all out which only ever made it worse. Force your head up to make eye contact with Theon as Ramsay taunted you both before leaving you to handle the torment and pain. He’d seen the marks some easily hidden, others not because Ramsay wanted someone to watch. It haunted him too, but it also for just a second of seconds, had a question occur to him that blurted out.

“When did you see her like that?”

Jon didn’t respond, his eyes shifted to something a bit heavier behind the grey but it was you with the talent to read so well, not Theon. And certainly not with Jon of all people. “I can’t help her if I don’t know what he did to her.”

Some people were passing by, some with nervous eyes others curious and all directed towards the man draped in black beside him. He wondered if he knew how much he was reminding Theon of those last days he spent with Robb. Once dumb teenagers now turned into leaders, and both of which had a dark temper towards others about you.

“Not here.”

As Jon moved to close the main door to his quarters, his eyebrows quirked up a tinge as he caught Olly’s eyes. Watching with a distant fear and horror as he walked across the gravel with what looked like some kind of drink in hand. Were the place his heart was not right under where that knife had dug into, he would’ve found something to note in how he now seemed to now serve the woman he helped murder Jon for trying to protect.

When he entered, you had barley noticed you didn’t even attempt to touch the food brought to you when Olly sat down a small container onto the desk as you leaned against it. Your head screamed at you to just sleep but you hadn’t found any courage to wander further into this place which held any semblance of her.

It was possible you nodded off at some point in the night, but not enough to made any difference as you went over and over again the plans of your father. The less it made sense for him to have lost the further you understood what he was doing. You had previously been rummaging through everything trying to find the letter. You knew it was right on the desk but it was now gone and you couldn’t take just one more spiralling of panic right now.

But now you felt even more overwhelmed as your palm pressed firm into your forehead. “He thought you would come back to him, he came here still mourning your death. Your father would want-”

“My father thought I was a traitor.” Your hands flew down the desk behind you, the slight slam almost making the boy behind it jump back. “He called Robb a thief, saying he stole half his kingdom if he took Kings Landing he would have come after us next.” The pain in your voice cracked slightly, tone falling as you knew it wasn’t Davos’s fault you were so unreasonable over this. “I stopped being his heir the moment I chose to join Robb instead of sailing for Dragonstone.”

Stepping towards you, your eyes fluttered shut as arms crossed over your chest. Davos speaking quieter then you had yelled, “For a time he was angry, but he knew he made a mistake by turning your offer down. I tried telling him more then once to reconsider making peace with your husband and everytime he denied it right up until you both died.”

Scoffing, you turned your attention to the darkness of the walls around you. “Never once did he step foot in the North. Never liked it, never cared for it but he sent me here for half my life so I wouldn’t end up spoiled and unprepared like Renly. Then he married me to the North only to have them as an easy ally at his back and then still called me a traitor for staying with them.”

The cold in the air now reminded you of that night, how despite the freezing weather around it was the spirits of the North that warmed you. How unsure Robb looked and yet how he never wavered to be the King they needed, the only one they wanted.

“What was I fighting for, if I turn around now and accept the very crown we lost the war fighting against? That I was willing to be their Queen only until something better came into my lap?” Biting your lip before dropping to something softer, more distant and somber. “Besides, I was never their leader Ser Davos. I was Queen only because they chose Robb as their King. I wouldn’t have been anything without him. He was their leader, I wasn’t meant to do this on my own.”

He felt for you, having seen the qualities of the man in person that day. It was clear why the Northmen respected Robb Stark so much, and easy to see those same qualities that Stannis had seen in his brother. He had said it to no one but Davos, but were you still alive Stannis said, he wondered if Jon would’ve accepted his offer of Winterfell, if he too, had offered you as well.

A hand rested on your upper arm as you looked up, an understanding kindness in his eyes that was so uncommon amongst most of the men you’d come across in these years. “These people need a leader, they need someone to follow someone to believe in.”

The way so many had gone to him, the way so many looked to him with love in his new life. “They already have a leader. They don’t need a new one, they just needed to have the one they already believed in back. And he is.”

You hated the ease in which Davos felt like a father sometimes, an honesty with a comfort that was frustratingly effective as it cut to the chase. “Then what does that make you?”

Voice quiet, but both in the room heard it well as it was weak yet conclusive. “Suppose it just makes me someone who is in his way.” Once you may have had something to offer him, but no longer. You had nothing to give Jon or his cause that wouldn’t bring him down. A disappointment you were.

Circling around the desk before he could speak, you sat down with a louder shift in tone. “It might be a better use of your time, Ser Davos to make yourself available to the Lord Commander for the time being. He is the one in charge and with the men who will follow him, he and Stannis were trying to fight for the same cause and they both died for it. He would be better served by you then I would.”

You didn’t mean for it to come off the dismissive way you did, but there was nothing you could see that didn’t leave you behind. It made sense, you married Robb and left Jon behind to the Wall and now it was destiny he do the same to you. And you’d deserve it as far as you were concerned.

He didn’t buy it though, and curse him for knowing you that well. “Your grace if I may,” Your inside twisted at the title, it didn’t used too but since arriving you felt as if it were a mockery. Sitting down in front of you he leaned forward, “You think you’re the only one to worry about disappointing the people you love? That the things we suffer through make us weak in their eyes?”

Hard pressed to find the right words to say, you swallowed heavily hoping it would take the nerves down with it. “Tell me, Ser Davos what could you possibly have done to disappoint the people most important to you in your life?”

There was no hesitation in his answer, the words much more of a surprise. “You had the restraint and the influence to send that woman away yesterday. That isn’t nothing, she’s been attached to the King’s side for a long time and no one has managed to force her to leave until you.” Your eyes narrowed in slight question as he elaborated. “When I tried, it was with a knife and it got me tossed into a cell.”

Your expression must have shifted drastically, because Ser Davos chuckled to himself. “That’s the same expression your father had. She had pushed me one step too far, and right there in the middle of the room I tried to put a knife in her.” It steadied on the tip of your tongue to ask, but you knew the man well enough that something quite wrong must have been that cause. Or very painful.

Leaning forward yourself, you lightened the weight in your shoulders a bit as you spoke a bit more freely. “She only left because I did the exact same thing to her. I was angry, I was confused, hell0 I still am but she just kept trying to convince me to join her. That her visions were all true and not lies made up to hurt people she can’t so easily manipulate.”

Meeting his eyes you found yourself being the open one for the first time, “Told me that her god was trying to say I was with the wrong person. That I was on the wrong side and everything since then had been trying to push me here.” Your eyes drifted to the side, a quiet crack in your tone breaking through. “Saying being with Robb, having our child wasn’t my destiny. I was just so angry, so I shoved her against the wall and told her I’d put a knife through her stomach where Roose Bolton did mine.”

It was an odd thing, but there was a semblance of proud on the mans face. “I don’t mean to overstep, your grace but in my own opinion her talk of destiny is nonsense. You had a husband you loved and a child on the way and she cannot take that from you. Even now that they’re gone, she can’t take away that love between you, that will always exist.” Your eyes flickered down to a spot of nothing on the desk, your throat too choked to make any sound.

You hoped that was true, you really did. But you failed everything Robb had fought for, and betrayed his memory twice over. Davos did not let the thoughts stew though, “You suited each other. Your father wouldn’t have been to happy to hear me say this, but you looked like a proper King and Queen by the others side. Losing both of them will always hurt, but no one can take away what you had. Not even her.”

Not moving, you nodded a single time as he could see the hold in your face trying not to let too much of that pain out in front of anyone. Looking up to Olly he nodded to the side, “Come, let’s go make ourselves useful somewhere else. Give the Queen a moment alone.”

Olly nodded, getting to the door before turning back looking to you and then the food he sat out hours ago. Catching a protest from Ser Davos he quickly grabbed it to bring with him. “I can bring you something warm later.” He was trying very hard to make up what he did in your eyes and you had no idea why.

You didn’t know what Queen anyone saw you as anymore, nor if they should. As the door closed you sat in that silence for a moment before standing abruptly. Ever so slowly, you walked to the main part of the room. Theon had tried to make it relatively inoffensive but you still could sense her right there. Saw where she’d spend her time, where all her books would lay out.

The red woman may have burned her but you were the one to put a knife through her, ending a horrid pain or not it was on you and only you that she was gone. Sending her away was more to spare you from letting that anger inside you take a step too far, stop seeing their faces in hers and maybe they won’t haunt you.

But they did, all of them did. Every waking moment felt as if it was one onslaught of terror after the other in a world that no longer had a place for you in it. Fingers gently tracing over one of the books tucked away you recognized the cover. Smiling to yourself as you flipped it open gently seeing how well worn the pages were, easily seeing Shireen opening it up and going through everything as if she hadn’t read it a thousand times over.

By the time you sat, your back against the wall and knee bent with your feet flat on the floor you rested your forearms over them. Letting your head fall back onto the surface as you looked around. Your father had come here to fight an enemy you barley understood, and yet still found it within him to try and fight for a North that he knew had denied him. Some still would, or did.

You knew of some houses who sided with the Boltons, others more predicable then others. Rumours of the Umbers, some of the Manderlys making you wonder what the justification of their new fealty’s were.

Still not knowing who was left, who escaped or survived or what kind of allegiances lay about the North in truth. Hadn’t even a clue what state the Riverlands would be left in, once under Robb’s rule as well now felt so far away it was impossible to see. It flashed in your mind before you could stop it, the fire around the chanting, the horror of what became of both of them.

He didn’t deserve to be a tossed away pile of bones scattered across the Twins. He deserved be in the North, deserved to be buried with his family he fought for in his own home. He and Grey Wind both didn’t deserve to have it end in such a horror. Bringing any of him home likely wasn’t possible, if the Freys kept track of any beyond that night. Your heart almost plunged down into your stomach as a vile feeling rose in your throat.

An agony in your heart that overtook the nightmares which followed that night beyond. How many of those men would stay aligned with such traitors if they knew what they did with their King. The Young Wolf they had called him and they forced him to die as such. You didn’t know when the tears started, or when they fell too heavy to contain but your head dropped into your arms. Pulling your knees closer to your chest.

You could see them all, feel the blood under your hands and the constant loss surrounding you that all screamed it was your fault. Maybe this new life was for no purpose, maybe this was still the punishment. Eventually the exhaustion took over from the tears, but you had no idea when you fell asleep. Only the dream like sensation of a pair of arms wrapping around you before something soft fell underneath along with a gentle rasp that you couldn’t see in your slumber.

Maybe if you were lucky, you’d never wake up.

Coming around to the waking world, you were laid out under the sheets of a place you hadn’t fallen asleep in. Laid out on your side your eyes slowly opened to the sound of a grumble, as right before you red eyes watched you closely. Ghost sat to the side of the bed, his head laid out on the sheets watching you before letting out a whine when you found his attention. Slowly pushing up on your palms, the sheets fell around your waist leaning forward to run a hand along his fur.

The direwolf leaning right into it with another low grumble before shaking his head out and turning towards the door. Pausing to look back at you, you raised an eyebrow as your voice crept back from a grumbling slumber. “I suppose I can’t argue with that face, now can I?” Head tilting to your words you finally stood up, muscles for once not so angry as you did so. Over a week now had found many rough places to sleep, and even less willingness to stop to do so.

You had felt far warmer then normal and only as you stepped forward towards Ghost did you realize there was a furred cloak wrapped around you, a cloak that had your heart skipping. The last time you had ever seen it was years ago riding away from you when it’s owners father was still alive. The white fur brushed with darker spots alongside it had always stuck out from the other Starks whose were mostly dark with spots of browns and specks of black around it.

Many years ago, still teenagers, you had told him that winters and snow suited him no matter what about it he hated in name. Draped in all black for so many years, it made sense that his companion was the pure white opposite that kept it all balanced. The North felt like it was all around Jon for so long that ever pretending he was anything but a Stark was unfair. You had told Robb that night in Riverrun you never understood why he was treated the way he was.

In truth you logically did know, bastards of Westeros were treated amongst different levels depending on who it was they were born to. It had been a long time since you thought back to that day, but you could still see the boy with striking eyes and dark hair that matched you so well it stunned you into a shock you never quite got over in those days. But Gendry was a lowborn, from what you had been able to tell, possibly knew his way around being sold as a slave as well.

Having any Baratheon in his parentage meant nothing, born destined to live in the slums of flea bottom and that’s all the world would ever care from him because Robert would never have cared. But Jon was as much of a Stark as any you’d ever met and yet the only way you found one another again was in the most dire of lost times at the edge of the world brinking on a darkening end.

He was more of a Stark then you were a Baratheon anymore, no matter what Ser Davos tried to convince you of, you didn’t belong amongst the golds of Stags. But draped in Jon’s fur, you didn’t think you belonged with the wolves either. Just the dirt and rotting ground.

The Lord Commander’s quarters were naturally the most well made of the lot. More rooms were sectioned off with proper privacy rather then most of it in one place. The chill in the air reaching the point you knew it would never truly go away, wrapping the ends of the cloak a little firmer around your front as your eyes narrowed looking around.

For a brief moment, he hadn’t seen you yet. Sat away at his desk with his face twisted into something more exhausted then you’d seen before. It was hard to tell by the light coming from outside, but it appeared to be later in the afternoon, and likely Jon had been there for far too many hours scanning over too many words and numbers to not hurt your eyes eventually.

You hated the jump in your heart, the spike that felt so familiar like everytime you would see him for the first time when returning to Winterfell. Then it was more innocent, a comfortableness with a growing of more heated touch that never quite got off the ground then but just a quiet intimacy with your best friend. Now though, the faces in your mind, the life you lost in one horrible night that told you it was wrong to have anything close to that ever again.

You promised to never leave the other anymore, and you broke that by being pulled back to the world of living and not doing your duty to your vows and following him right back to the darkness. Pain and a scarring ravaging of your mind and body that took away the things he had given you and yet once you escaped that too?

Would they all hate you for what you did? For how it felt now? To look at Jon, his black curls thick, wild, and longer then they’d ever been, and the rest of him sharper and more distinguished from time, face framed by facial hair that you knew what it felt like scratching between your legs. Was it so horrible of you to so easily look at him now, and rediscover things that you once found so easy to love but in a whole new version of the same man. Was it unfair to Robb for you seeing his brother for the first time in years, and that was what happened?

It was a burning inside you that night, like you would be consumed by flames should you not give yourself to him as many times as he needed to take you. Never felt like it was more natural to be with someone, but now it all felt like you were just finding traitor in yourself to more people. A traitor to your father with Robb, and now a traitor to Robb with Jon and all of it was only your fault alone.

Clearly, you’d been standing there for a little longer then you guessed. Jon having set aside whatever took his focus previously as he softly called your name for what sounded like a second attempt. Mind snapping back to him, too falling easily into the wide tenderness of his grey eyes that made you stir uncomfortably. Your voice rough, and tone even more awkward. “You brought me here?”

Jon didn’t respond with the same stilted feeling, just looking to you with the same ease he always had even despite the raging tension in his shoulders. “The only way you could sleep was passing out on the ground or at your desk,”

Your brows narrowed for a moment, “How would you know that?”

His face never changed once and neither did his soft toned confidence. “Because I know you, and I know the last thing you’d want to is to fall asleep in either of their beds.” You hated that he was right, you hated that you had been to terrified to sleep in either your father or Shireen’s beds. Knowing the nightmares would follow thusly.

Stepping a few feet in more, distracting yourself by looking around his quarters to shove the sting in your eyes back down. “So you what, brought me to yours?” Whatever distracting accusation in your voice you attempted failed, either in you or to be fooled by Jon. He knew you so well and you hated every second of it. You couldn’t hide from him and you had the distinct feeling he no longer would let you try.

“If it meant I could keep an eye on you, yes.” You could hear a shift, likely him leaning back in his chair looking you over with a more narrowed, scrupulous gaze. You felt him follow you, as you looked over whatever lay about in the room to not meet his eyes back. Your name slipping roughly from his lips, making your jaw clench and eyes sting more.

Interrupting him before he could push the issue, but trying to push the playfulness in your voice didn’t quite hit it’s mark. “Thought men of the Night’s Watch weren’t allowed women in their beds.” Not looking, you missed the smirk slide easily onto his face.

Still low, his playfulness was much more natural in tone. “No, normally the men prefer sneaking off to Mole’s Town to stay in theirs.” But hair so red flashed in your mind and you knew it wasn’t there which his company was found, and you hated yourself deeply for feeling uneasy over it.

You had no right. You married his brother, kept another man’s bed warm while you were being looked to as a Queen and he was here shut off from the family who wished they did him better. You had no right to feel this way about Jon finding that same thing with another woman it was his life. The hands clutching the cloak gripped tight enough you could feel the strain in your knuckles, at least hidden by the black of the fabric over it.

Trying to smile while casting your eyes over titles on a bookshelf, “Suppose if they punished everyone for that, there would be nothing but corpses to man the Wall.”

“You mean more then it already is now?” You didn’t know if he intended it as a joke or not, but it finally made you whip around with a sharp unamused glare. It was all too clear exactly how those scars on his chest felt and nothing funny about it came to you. But the small conflict in his eyes had you pull back a bit. Wasn’t really funny to him either.

Glad he was giving you the space, you walked a bit closer before sitting in the seat opposite across the desk. Your hands still tightly gripping the cloak around you as he looked you over with something you didn’t want to recognize. Something you wish didn’t warm the chill in your veins. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” Your eyes flickered back up to his, something that was keeping himself at a distance to you but yet it appeared as if the effort was difficult for him. Once in another life, you both found it easy to keep apart so honestly. Hide in plain sight and save these kinds of emotion for private. But now? Now doing so in private felt almost worse, like giving into what you didn’t deserve anymore.

The quiet between you was heavy, but you had no clue how to break it. No idea what to say to make any of this easier, make any of it make sense. Neither of you should be here, and yet?

“Ser Davos told me my father offered you Winterfell.” His brows narrowed a tad as you glanced up to him and then back to the window on the walls. A twisting in your own expression at the idea, “Said he would legitimize you, give you Winterfell if you helped reclaim it. But you said no.”

The conflict in Jon’s own eyes were missed as he finally looked away from you. He was confident when he said no to the King, but all it took was one discussion with Ser Davos afterwards that stripped him off the lies he told himself. You did not know what exactly was said between them, and you did not presume to ask the details. It wasn’t your offer and not your right to know and yet here you were running your mouth about it because your mind couldn’t stop itself.

Running a hand over his mouth, there were finally nerves visible in his own person then just you for once. “I swore a sacred vow to the Night’s Watch.” You clenched your jaw as you turned away only to feel confused by the breath of a genuine chuckle from him. “There’s that look again.”

Turning with a furrowed brow, you more defensively turned your voice up. “What look?”

Jon only chuckled harder. “That right there” His forearm leaned with him to rest on his desk to point to your expression. “The same look you gave me that night, when I tried telling you why I was joining in the first place. You gave me that same look then, like you knew I wasn’t being honest with myself.”

You had no idea where it came from, but something so calm and flat slipped from your mouth with a very small amused shrug of a shoulder. “You and I are quite good at that, aren’t we?” You wanted to laugh with him, but it wasn’t quite as easy. “Lying to ourselves about what we really feel.”

His grey eyes shined at you with a familiar fondness so unique to only him. “Part of me didn’t think I deserved it. I spent so many years pining after everything my siblings got, but finally when it’s right in front of me all I could worry was that it shouldn’t be mine.” Voice and eyes far away in both as he let himself open up. “I found a place here, I found a reason to keep going to keep fighting but did any of that mean I should have the one thing I could only get because the rest of my family is gone? So I said no. That my place is here and getting myself involved with politics of the Seven Kingdoms wasn’t my place anymore.”

Pulling something from a drawer in his desk, you stilled. Recognized the tint right away before he even could open it back up. Sitting it face up between you, both knew the other had read and reread it too many times to count. Only this time, as a shaking panic found it’s way into your eyes a darkening anger swirled in his. The proof that what happened to him, was your fault.

You’d run from this very room if you didn’t think Jon would instantly leap up to shove the door closed before you could walk out of it. There also, was no hiding the watering that finally broke free of the dry sting and the red that followed the pressure. “I...what do you want me to say? If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have come here and maybe they never would have-”

It was uncommon that anger was directed towards you, but the darkness in his eyes and twisting expression of frustration as he looked at you felt horrid. “That’s what you think this is?” He leaned back before forcing himself to stand. Taking a few steps to the window running a hand over his face once more before turning back to look at you. Less of a furious anger and more like a hurt form.

Your name slipping harshly from his lips, making you turn to look at him wishing you weren’t so weak it was obvious you wanted to cry. “The Bolton’s murdered my brother, took my home from it’s own people. And when I finally find out after a year that they’ve kept you alive as their prisoner did I finally get it. I spent all this time trying to convince these men that the Free Folk deserve a place in the North as much as we do, but it wasn’t until him,” His chin nodding to the letter, “Did I realize that I don’t deserve to be the one leading these people if I don’t even try to protect the people I love.”

Your nerves ragged and your muscles under the cloak shook as you shook your head as your words gritted together. “And coming after me got you killed.”

Clearly a sore spot was pricked at, as he stepped forward, his voice raise along with his temper. “They killed me for doing the right thing.” Your head jilted back a small bit, biting your lip at the tone but never moved to make him stop. “The Night’s Watch isn’t the shield that guard the realms of men if we’re only protecting each other. What’s the point of trying to protect the world from what’s coming if I let everything I love die before it even gets here.”

Walking closer to you, your eyes were turned away from him completely. His voice lowering as he braced his palms across the side of the desk angled towards you. “I died trying to protect you and there wasn’t one second I ever regretted it. I didn’t regret it when I bleeding out on the ground, and I don’t regret it now that you’re the only reason I’m even alive.”

One gloved hand rose up to cup your cheek, turning you to look up at him and starling you by how close he really was. Your lungs chose to not even try to work as you looked at him as he whispered, his breathe warm as it gently reached your skin. “So stop avoiding me. I made my choice. Fight for what’s right, for my people, and for the woman I love.”

Even under the leather, you were sure he felt you shiver as you tried turning your gaze away from him, this time the tears just falling. The one hand still on you, running his thumb over to wipe away what it could reach but he never moved forward beyond it. Just kept you there, until your nerves settled down.

For once, you felt a sliver of calm that gave back any strength in your voice. “So, now what? You’re alive, as am I, so what do we do?”

Not that he said it, but the darker animal inside of Jon certainly had a very different answer to that question then the reasonable answer you were thinking. But after what he learned, part of him was petrified that he had scared you. And as much as he wanted you, as much as whatever this feeling inside his new beating heart screamed at him, he would never take that gamble when you were so fresh from such a disgusting torture.

His voice was low, and sure of himself as he came back around to the right conclusion. “First, I’m getting you to eat something for once and then? We do our duty. We start planning how we get the North back. Together.”

Nodding, you felt the loud noise in your head settle. Part of you sick of how only Jon seemed to quell it, but that was just a fact you were going to have to live with. Jon on his part, gave himself credit for having the will power to not kiss you. Running his hand over the side of your head, hair running through the leather between his fingers just looking at you for a moment when he let it slip out. By accident, his voice a quiet, husky awe like it was only meant to be in his head. “You look so beautiful in my clothes.”

Jon’s chuckle was deep as you flushed, turning away from his touch trying to hide the swirling embarrassment. A warmth in the pit of your stomach that felt so normal to be there with him, but you scoffed anyways. “Alright, you already made your point there’s no need to flatter me into it.”

Laughing more freely he let one more tiny part of him slip, and thankful that you didn’t shy away from him for it. Leaning closely he mumbled, “If I’m not supposed to flatter you, then you shouldn’t look so beautiful in my furs, sleeping in my bed.” You flushed one more time as Jon leaned in like it was such a normal thing to do, slipping his hand gently behind your head to pull you to him. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, your heart leaping in your chest at the tenderness. “Stay here with Ghost, I’ll bring you something.”

If you weren’t so flustered, you’d tell him you could do it yourself but by the time you registered he even said anything he was gone. Leaning forward to drop your head in your hands only to be nudged by Ghost. Drawing you back up, you sighed running a hand along his head. “At least I know now it’s just a Stark thing to enjoy making me nervous.”

Ghost just moved a bit closer, begging for more of your nails to stretch around his ears as he shuffled closer to comfort you. If only with the direwolf, that might have been the first time you said something so calmly about Robb and not felt like you wanted to throw up over the pain. It hurt, but it was a hurt that stemmed from memories that weren’t so agonizing to recall.

Eyes drifting upwards, you hesitantly reached out to grasp the letter. Despising how easily you could hear his voice as you glossed over the words. It seemed more unhinged then what he was when you left, but still the details didn’t add up. It had taken about seven days to reach Castle Black and this letter would’ve arrived on the sixth night. Seven days of battle, but only that very night Theon and yourself made an escape did Roose Bolton bring your father up to Ramsay.

The details of his ravings about you added up in your mind, there was only one place, one person you could reliably run too and blaming Jon as if you were stolen in the night was easier then accepting two beaten prisoners out foxed your men and hounds. But why lie about your father? Why would he have reason to lie and say Stannis was dead if he wasn’t?

You froze as it hit you. So much, so very much had happened between then and that day, many people who were there in person or signed to it were gone or prisoners still to the Freys. But there were absolutely still those who would know about it.

Ghost whined at you in concern as you bent in your seat, head falling into your hands at the factor you had so massively forgotten in this haze of your mind. How could you even bring that up now, how would you ever say it? Especially after what your father already tried to offer, he would just think you were trying to manipulate him.

It was made in genuinity, you and Robb both never doubted that choice and there was never even a second choice that you two considered good enough to put first. Not even Catelyn could find a protest beyond her own misgivings, and yet as it all came onto you like freezing water you realized that you had no idea what to say. Was this even a North anymore that would value your words? Would they see you alive and consider your stance as fair and righteous as they considered their once King’s?

One thing after another it seemed, not even a fortnight had passed since you escaped the Boltons and already the weight piled up one after the other with things that you had no idea what to do about. It was a bit odd however, having this weight and yet the giant direwolf here seemed to not just sense it but found discomfort in your own.

Even sized as this, Ghost was still a bit smaller then Grey Wind. Silent as anything when he wanted to be, preferring to slink into the background to watch with keen attention. Whereas Grey Wind stood tall and proud, confident in his intimidating nature that used it as a protective guard to those he cared about and in private, preferred to relax to fall asleep in gentle peace. But the quiet watchful direwolf in front of you was so much more lively alone.

As if Ghost was still a pup demanding your attention, huffing at you when your hands stilled as they scratched along his fur. Standing so close he could knock you over when outside you had noticed he preferred to stay back and watch it all play out with no distractions. Yet both still seemed to regard you with their own protective nature when most others knew direwolves to only answer to one.

But then there were those days, moments that felt like the wolves were more human then animal and something aggressive in them leaping to the forefront at your defence. Jon had said when he died, it was like part of him lived within Ghost, that he could see and control his animal in such a strange way that left him wild and aggressive until you showed up at the gates.

For a moment, you remembered the flames. Those few seconds before there was nothing, and how there was just enough flickers of life in Robb’s deep blue eyes that you knew he had to watch you first and were you not sitting you may have fell over at the thought.

Grey Wind shot full of arrows before his head was cut off just like- jumping up to your feet as if needing urgently to shake off the bile in your throat at the memory. You told yourself countless times not to think about it, but it was the last sight of him you’d ever get and suddenly the world felt dizzy.

Stepping forward, you had to brace your palms against the desk, head hanging low as the world spun both around you and inside your mind feeling like you were at a dozy sea. Only it was the sea which dragged you out, just as a hand reached your arm you spun around in a gasp as you both flinched away from the other. Theon a few feet back, hands now raised in the air as he looked over you with wide eyes at your breathless tone. “What are you doing in here?”

Lowering them back down, he tilted his head slightly to look you over with concern. “Checking on you. The two dead people disappear all day, started to make everyone a bit nervous out there.”

Steadying your breathing you leaned back against the desk, crossing your arms. “There is a difference between being dead and rumoured to be dead.” He didn’t take the hint to leave it be, and you could only wonder just what the talk really was outside your hearing.

Moving to match your position, he eyed Ghost now sitting quietly with watchful eyes unlike the affection of mere seconds ago. His arms crossed as well, tone bordering on light but in a more distant banter then perhaps years ago. “And I know there is a difference between surviving a knife in the stomach, and surviving being butchered like he did to you.” Your head turned to the side, eyes slipping closed to turn it out but he leaned closer. “You can’t keep avoiding it. Everyone is talking about it, you and Jon both, like they can’t decide if they’re terrified of you two or ready to worship you.”

Neither of those things sounded appealing, your resolve shredded too cowardly to be feared and there was nothing about your new life that deserved any kind of reverence. You were just you, alive somehow and far more broken then any Northerner would recall following you as. “I can avoid it as long as I refuse to speak on it. I’m alive that doesn’t mean anyone thinks I’m special.”

His eyes softened as he watched you, your gaze less harsh as you looked meaninglessly around the room. It took a while for it to be spit out, but once he did it was out there and he knew he had to address it further. “Jon does.” Your tone warning him by name but he climbed over it. “You think I’m stupid? That I can’t see the way he looks at you? Like you hung the moon in the sky just for him?”

Nudging his arm, the tiny gesture letting you two slip to a more normal feeling. “Have you been reading poetry in your spare time at the Wall, or did I only miss the fancy words in between ignoring how vulgar you used to be.” Both of you didn’t really laugh, but a far away smile crossing both of your faces at the memory.

Truly two different people in those sights compared to the ones in the present.

He shrugged as you both looked more to the ground in the quiet. “Guess I’m just noticing things more then I used too. Ruined my life always trying to be the centre of attention, decided maybe it might do be some good to take influence from you two and shutting up once in a while. Gave me time to start noticing the things around me.”

You wanted to dismiss it outright, but turning to glance at Theon you didn’t see the once cocky charmer he once was, but a man just as torn apart by the very people who did you. The one who risked everything to bring you here, to someone who had every reason to hate him for what he had done. It wasn’t so easy just brushing him off anymore, not when even now he stood by you instead of finding a better life anywhere away from here. You bit your tongue as something choked up built, but you never spoke of it.

Not outloud to a soul, and with those striking blue eyes still so painfully in your heart you had even less words to describe what those grey ones did to you now. “One of us should be able too. It feels like I have no idea what anyone is thinking anymore, like I could always read a person and their intentions but now there’s a fog overtop of my eyes and everyone is just a mystery.”

Nodding mostly to himself he hummed, “I can lift it for a few people. If you care to hear.” You shrugged a shoulder, and he continued on taking it as a yes. “For once, I can tell you that boy Olly? He’s about as afraid of you as he does admire you. Told you to your face he shoved a knife into Jon’s heart, watched you cut a man’s head off and hang two others for that crime but you kept him by your side. At this point, I think he’ll do anything to make up for what he did.”

You swallowed heavily. “He’s just a boy. I can’t blame a boy for being manipulated into something he couldn’t possibly understand. Seems keeping around people like that is a new pattern of mine.” Eyes meeting the other, you both knew there was direct influence on that one. You had found a true friend in Theon after once only seeing execution as a choice for his life and perhaps it make you more willing to forgive that of another.

“I also know I ruined my own life by going back to the Iron Islands, that the only time I felt like I was part of something good was fighting by Robb’s side. And that I’m willing to get dragged along with you until you figure out what your next moves are as well.” The only thing you could be sure with, was the honesty and dedication in his eyes that was as foreign to him now as it was for you to see it again. “Besides, I didn’t just swear my sword to the King in the North. Pretty sure there was a Queen in there as well.”

Both of you knew, you didn’t feel like that person anymore. Not even close, but now you knew in a strange panic that you were going to have to do your duty. The last real act as King and Queen you had made with Robb needed to be upheld, if only could it be done by one who was less inclined to so easily fall apart. Theon didn’t need to hear it, but you said it anyways. “I’m sorry for ever sending them to you. Truly, I am.”

Eyes meeting once more, it was a bond that likely none else would understand. Forced into a torture upon the other that no one else could image were they not there to endure it. “So am I.” Progress was made for him, a kind moment of comfort where your hands found the other.

Memories of a hellish nightmare that left your souls both in horrid tatters, and yet enough pieces were scraped together to run from it before it consumed you both without mercy.

If the gods had none else planned for you, at least you could rely that Theon would go with you towards that chaos. What worse could you two find that hadn’t been done to either of you over by those blood curling pale blue eyes.

Too far removed from the present still, the small moment as the door from outside opened followed suit with something that only further proved Theon’s point which escaped your notice. But as the door and cold swung open, and as Jon walked in to the sight? Theon couldn’t help but notice that as Jon’s eyes flickered sharply between how close you two were standing and your attached hands, that he had never seen such a quick flash of possessiveness even on Robb.

But as soon as it was there, it faded when you let go of him to stand up straight, a bit of a wall throwing itself back up. One on one was easier, but more then that seemed to put you right back to an edge that you were terrified of looking weak standing over.

Theon also couldn’t help it as the thought came to him, but that he had almost walked in on you and Robb during the earlier days at war. And that even in Robb’s quick temper at Theon to get out considering your state of undress, it wasn’t anywhere near the dark which came over Jon’s grey eyes as he for hardly a second, noticed you holding hands.

If this was some strange connection between you because of what happened, he didn’t know. Theon just hoped you weren’t adding to this onslaught of self punishment by pushing it away out of a surviving guilt. Robb may have died hating Theon, but he knew he wouldn’t have died never wanting you to find any happiness again.

And gods help him, Theon was starting to suspect Jon desperately wanted you to find it with him.

“What would he get from lying about that?” That was the question you still weren’t sure of. Ser Davos seemed to agree that the time of events didn’t line up if Ramsay had been telling the truth about Stannis. But with no word from him, or where his armies were none of you had anything to go off of but a feeling.

Busy looking through the papers left behind from your father, it left Davos and Theon to work with Jon on how everything fit together. Having attempted to pledge Northern houses to his cause, you and Theon could say with certainty who wasn’t loyal to House Bolton but many had denied Stannis or not given him any response what so ever.

If the remaining Ironborn were driven out of the lands, it would leave only the ones who betrayed and murdered their King as the ones left in charge. Must like the rest of the kingdoms it seemed, no longer were the wars fought across the lands but within them just for the right to live. But the North was vast and large with little organization in place to start at.

“Trying to scare me into surrendering. If he thinks I’m a threat, telling me he and his armies are dead might mean less chance I go after them.” Your eyes were starting to hurt, but there was a vast amount of back and forth to put everything together. Half of Jons desk on the opposite side of him was covered in papers as you leaned over in your chair sorting things quietly as their voices moved around you.

Theon spoke up from the side a sudden thought occurring to him, scouring back into his memories to find it past the fears of the moment. “He tired to do more then scare you. They were trying to find Bran and Rickon, and he sent one of his men here to look for them.” Pausing he looked at the slowly filling anger in Jon’s confused eyes. “He said that even if they weren’t, you might be a threat to them, especially if you found out about...”

You knew eyes drifted over to you, but just narrowing your own at the paper hoping to blur passed the thoughts from distracting you even more. Jon asking, “When was this?”

A pause between them no doubt as he tried to recall, you knew too well keeping track of days or weeks in those times was an impossible task. “Wouldn’t have been long after..” Theon clearing his throat trying to push past the looming narrative there, “after what happened at the Twins... He’s not here though, so I don’t know what..”

Your eyes widened, hands gripping the paper a bit tightly trying to not see it. Not see the way in that last time outside the way the sun shined on the Trident and how the next time you saw any sun you were being dragged through the North almost in a delirious fever. You purposely didn’t look up, you didn’t want to distract them either.

Jon connecting it on his own, “We had a man come here, saying he was from the Riverlands but he died when we went to take care of the mutineers at Craster’s Keep. If he was there for me, someone should have told him not to waste his time. Thorne took care of that one.”

If this all happened while still at the Dreadfort no wonder you didn’t hear a thing about it, locked away in their dungeons ready to die was your state. Not much had changed beyond where you were allowed to walk around since then.

Ser Davos was sat next to you, “Makes sense actually. You know the North better then most, your father was Warden of the North for over twenty years, your brother was their King. Roose Bolton’s a smart man, he knows if you come out of the Night’s Watch you’re a threat. Especially after losing what they thought was going to be their key to their claim.”

This time they all knew you were trying to avoid their gazes. Let them speak you thought to yourself, let them figure this out. So far you were deep into discussions and numbers with the Iron Bank of Bravvos and promises to pay out the debt of the Seven Kingdoms should your father succeed in taking the Iron Throne with their backing. How he planned to do that was just another dark hole of headaches and papers and you suddenly could remember why you got so little sleep in the Westlands.

You think your name was passed around once or twice, but you had all been there quite a while and you wanted to get through most of this before leaving for the night. “Alright, so you two escape taking what they thought was their key to gaining the North’s support with, knowing the only person you could go to is me. Then lie about Stannis being dead to scare me out of retaliating.”

Theon responded this time, “Why wouldn’t you hear anything from him then?”

Both likely turned to Davos this time, who took a good moment to consider the most reasonable action he would take. “If he thinks the King would be going right for the Iron Throne, then the most reasonable way is to take Winterfell on the way to King’s Landing, goes right through there. If he’s trying to misdirect them, it’d be easy. The North is big and the Bolton’s don’t have enough men to search for him.”

“Gain support, or try to, from the other Houses and attack Winterfell when they least expect it.”

You didn’t know how to say it, but it wouldn’t work. Your father wasn’t going to gain their help and the reason why was the two people sitting at the desk. But dumping that on Jon, especially now was unfair. It felt too much like trying to convince him to do something beacuse you said so, even though it was the furthest from the truth. You knew the choke hold the Boltons were keeping the North in hurt him, it couldn’t not. The North was Jon’s home and it pained him to see it so shattered from the bloodshed of his own family.

Deep within your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the time passing enough that only you remained at the desk rereading the same thing over and over. Thinking for a moment you were alone, you put the remaining of it down with the rest of the piles before leaning down in your seat resting your head back in your palms trying to will away the growing headache behind it.

War had crept up behind you all in King’s Landing over four years ago and not once had it left you. The continuation of fighting for your people on one side, and the other just beyond this very wall with things you barley understood. You hardly dreamt of the cold and the ice since that night but now they felt like they were gone. Hints of something you had no way of grasping in the war down south and yet up here you didn’t understand them any better having disappeared.

Inhaling deeply, you gathered yourself enough to stand. Deciding there was no point in lingering in his quarters beyond what he kept you there for initially. But behind you was where his voice rasped out from, your name soft on his lips. Turning to him, whatever calm you felt with him earlier struggled to return once all alone.

Everything about him tried to entice you whereas all the rest insisted you had no right to any of it, not what had already been there and none more. Turned partially to look back at him you clearly were ready to walk out the door at any second. “Was there something else you needed?”

Jon hated how formal with him you were trying to be, hated that he didn’t know if it was him or you that was causing this rift, and most of all that it hurt everytime you built that barrier. A barrier that for the entire time you’d known each other never used to exist. But if it was him, then he knew it was his responsibility alone to mend it. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Your brows narrowed as you turned to him more, confusion all over your face but quiet for him to explain himself. “For what I did. Coming back was...overwhelming, and seeing you again just...” A frown forming deeper as he stepped forward, shaking his head to collect the words catching your eyes once again. “I of all people should know better then to have assumed that was something you wanted, and it probably didn’t help I wasn’t exactly gentle about it either.”

Your heart started to race, trying to grasp what he thought was going through your mind but the implications were making you uncomfortable. “Why would you think I-”

His voice a little louder this time, but you simply refused to even look him in the eye and he hated trying to guess why and only finding an answer in his actions. “Because I know what it’s like.” You found them this time though, and yet Jon instantly could feel what he did back then. That the thing you’d hate was that he was lying to himself thinking it was alright and he couldn’t stand there and not atone for doing the same thing. “You can tell yourself it’s fine, you can lie all alone and say you liked it so what does it matter but don’t lie to me.”

You tried protesting but it seemed he couldn’t stand you trying to shut down the conversation before it even could pick up. “I’m not lying-”

His voice on edge and frustrated as he called your name almost in a tone of a stern lecture, “You can’t even look at me, barley wanted to be around me since that night and after everything Ramsay did to you,” Your eyes flickered back up to his, “and after what she -”

You fully spun to look at him as soon as he cut himself off. Something flashing in his own eyes that you had felt in yourself. “Jon,”

Shaking his head he stepped forward gently pushing back whatever he found almost slipping from his tongue. “Theon told me what Ramsay did to you. I needed to know, I saw the marks on you and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Thinking that you didn’t want to be around me because I forced you into it-”

Finding your own voice this time with it’s own breathless anger in tone. “Jon you didn’t force me into anything. I liked it.”

“Just because you liked it doesn’t mean you wanted it.”

Your eyes finding something in pain behind his grey ones, the deep breaking in his low tone that was holding back for his own sake now. Your mind only remembering flashes of pretty red and yet before you was something that didn’t match what you thought you had seen that day.

In that thick silence you looked at him, a face that at times so far could be sharp and rough now was a softness none here likely had ever seen. But still, even now, he showed it to you. The girl in you wanted to go to him, but the darkness inside your head told you to leave him alone. Your words being all that was left of the fighting between them. “I promise you, I wanted it. All of it. And maybe if I wasn’t so sure I was just ruining your life being here, I’d let you do it again.”

Just as you turned, just as the cold of the outside slipped in from the turning of the door handle, Jon’s own hand reached over your shoulder. Closing it gently as you felt his warmth radiate over your back, but he was far enough that you couldn’t feel anything else. His voice clearly at least a foot away from you. Whatever he actually wanted to say, he changed his mind at the last second. “You should stay here. It’s not good for you, being all alone in that room, and at least here I can make sure you actually get some sleep at night.”

The tender concern, your mind almost dividing as you could too hear Robb telling you to calm your temper, that it wasn’t good for you. The deep care in both of these men that came so naturally as they were around you, and yet this from the one man you thought it would be gone from for good.

Your voice was a whisper, too afraid to speak any louder or even match his quiet fear of being so loud everyone outside could hear. “So it is only the Lord Commander whose allowed to break his vows about women in his bed.”

Neither of you smiled or smirked, but the lightness in his tone felt more comforting then the pain in his eyes that threatened to break you. “My vows also said my watch does not end until my death, which has already happened.”

This time you did smile a bit, a tiny half one that unseen by you, genuinely let a real one come over Jon’s face. “I don’t think that’s how they are supposed to work, Snow.”

Stepping forward you could see the egdes of his curls dance across he side of your vision, his voice a tad lower but the smile then you could finally hear in this voice. “I also wasn’t supposed to bring the free folk South of the wall, or leave the castle to try and protect the woman I love, but I did both of those things and the only life it cost was my own.” Neither words you had ever found the bravery to say before, not in the growing affection of teenage hood and then the nervousness of adulthood kept them away more. “The only vows that matter anymore are the ones that swore me to protect the realms of men, and that includes protecting you. Even if it means me keeping you safe from yourself.”

Neither said anything else, but you nodded. Jon’s hand removing itself from the door before letting you walk out into the cold. Jon knew lying to himself was pointless and no one here would buy them anymore. The North was his home, it was part of him, and it was his duty to fight for it.

The Night’s Watch couldn’t protect the people from what was coming if they stopped caring about their well being before the darkness came. This couldn’t be about vows and rules anymore, that’s what got everyone he ever loved killed. He broke those vows and Thorne had his men murder him for it, but now he was the dead one and Jon was still here.

Thorne died and stayed dead for the rules the old gods were telling Jon he was right for breaking.

You weren’t sure you had ever been in a room this uncomfortable before. On the best of the years with him, you on many instances had no clue what things to say to your father, and you spent more years with him then your mother. Yet now, you both sat in her quarters nothing but a fire crackling on the opposite wall of her to distract. She didn’t look well, but you supposed in her eyes neither did you.

The small cuts on your face were finally beginning to fade away, but you both knew of the one sitting under your shirt that was utterly fatal. The books by her bedside spoke of titles you never heard before and you need not think of the sort of darkness preached. One that led to such horrors when you couldn’t think of anything less comforting then the fires to your agonized heart.

“You don’t think it’s going to work.”

Looking up from where your fingertips were tapping at the table between you, her eyes were narrowed but something like hope. Selyse and Stannis Baratheon were the most unloving couple you ever had imagined and yet they were your parents. Robert Baratheon was married for over twenty years to Cersei and they despised one another. But Cersei had once admitted there was something akin to a faint love in her heart during their early years towards him. You knew your parents never even had that.

Loyalty to each other is not the same as love.

You could remember telling Robb you were afraid you were dragging him into a life with a miserable woman to love as your parents were. The small hope in her eyes as you told her that you suspected he was using the rumour of death to hide his movements through the north was nothing.

Nothing compared to the way you and Robb would look when in the ends of blood and battle you’d find each others eyes and remember why the fight was worth for the other. Nothing compared to the screaming, dizzying cries in your heart as you saw Jon’s beautiful grey eyes staring back at yours that night in the ice cell.

They were not Robert and Cersei, but their affection stopped at loyalty. She stood by Stannis no matter what he chose, and he never let others disrespect her as they did himself. The thing that bonded them together truly, was their daughters. First was you, young and curious prospering in the strangeness of the island you lived on and a Kingly uncle who would visit, that in those days still held much genuine love of life inside his eyes. Then your father sent you to Winterfell for the first time after the second instance your mother lost a son in the womb.

It felt like punishment on the ship. Your second baby brother was too gone and they sent you away to a strange, cold place where you knew none but the household guard which accompanied you. You aren’t quite sure if your relationship with your mother ever really improved past that point.

“I fought beside those men, mother. In battle, I fought on the front lines with them and watched how even in their own losses, they truly believed in us....in him. They won’t have a king that isn’t one of their own.” The way they all worshipped Robb, and how he never understood it but he accepted their loyalty with such a weight and responsibility.

Her face fell a small bit, leaning more over the table to sip at her drink. Every silence felt like it lasted for hours, to the point even Olly by the door could likely feel it. You barley touched yours, ever since those long nights in the dungeons of the Dreadfort, horribly ill and throwing up so much of what went down that eventually you had only stinging bile to coat your throat, food and drink felt like a feat to down.

There was a sharpness for a moment in her eyes that you interrupted before it got any further to her mouth, “If father really is the only one true king, then they would have pledged their loyalty already wouldn’t they have?”

Your mother sighing, glancing to the fire before turning back to you. “I didn’t ask you here for an argument.”

You nodded, leaning back in the chair as you glanced to Olly. Ever since that day he has seemed to stick by your side, whenever Theon didn’t. Two men who had done terrible thing’s now seem to atone by serving you, and you had no idea what they saw in you to care so much. Certainly not your social skills judging by how difficult you and Selyse found it to even look at the other.

“I know. But I fought a war by Robb’s side for three years, a war we knew would eventually be against my own father. Even if he is passed, I will not sit here and act as if only now do I swear loyalty. If I were going to do that, I would’ve come home to Dragonstone they day I escaped King’s Landing.” Your eyes blazing into hers now actively avoiding you. “But you and father married me to the North, and they accepted me as their own, they accepted me as Robb’s Queen and I died for that cause.”

Her head whipped back to you finally. A sorrow in her eyes slowly painting over. “Could I...would you show me?” You nodded pulling the edges of your shirt up, eyes glancing back to Olly who looked at the jagged scar with the same shock in his eyes that were towards seeing Jon alive, but much more contained.

Your mother couldn’t look away. It was getting harder and harder to deny it, and it was what everyone thought regardless if you pretended it was anything but your end. Letting the fabric of your shirt drop back down, you swallowed heavily. Broken and losing what will was left as his blue eyes looked from how soaked in red his hand was to your face gasping for air that would not come through the blood that flowed up into your mouth. “I suppose the women in this family simply aren’t destined to have boys are they.”

No doubt she could see the pain on you as well as her voice was low. “That is not the same. I lost them from my own body, my health, my failings. Yours was taken from you by another. There is no reason to think you would’ve-”

Where it came from you weren’t sure but it slipped out. Maybe because if anyone understood what that loss felt like, it truly was your mother. “I dreamt about him once. A small baby boy, he had my eyes but..” Your eyes for once found the flames but saw nothing but your own memories behind them. “He had this dark curly hair, face just like a Stark..I didn’t even know I was with child at the time.”

Both of you sat in silence, a pain that was too hard to put back in it’s darkness had unleashed and no doubt both in the room saw the reflection of the crackling fire in tears down your cheeks. You didn’t bother to hide them either. Neither of you finding it in you to speak a word on the matter, the pain too fresh for you and comfort not a commonality between such a family.

Speaking your name quietly, you didn’t bother turning to look at her. Your hand risen up, nails lightly digging into your mouth trying not to see the blood once more. “You’re sure he was dead, it wasn’t any kind of a mistake?” A strange seek for doubt in your mothers tone but one that you were hearing from many on the matter.

Olly to the side dropped his head as you smiled half a smirk with no feeling beyond the simple motion as if a huff of disbelief of the question. As if down there once more, you could feel the way they pressed against your bare hands. Not healed, not quite open, but just open wounds that existed on his body much like your own and how horrible and pale he looked when you first were brought to him.

Voice a slight whisper, “There is no mistake, mother. He was dead, as dead as any man can be.”

Sensing her eyes on you, begging in your mind for her not to say it but she did regardless. “The Lord brought you back to bring him back.” You tried warning her to stop, but she pressed on. “Whatever your destiny is, it’s tied with him and you need to accept that perhaps you are meant for something greater then-”

“Then what.” Looking at her, the remains of once tears trying to dry up. “Greater then what, mother? I had a life, a husband and a son to be, coming home to the North with Robb was my destiny. I was never supposed to have one with..” Your voice so quiet but the room was as well, and she certainly heard you. “We never thought..”

Her eyes watched you carefully but you shook the thought off. For the first time in all your life, you had no idea what to feel or think about Jon Snow and you hated it. You hated that he still knew you without any doubt, but you felt like you were just intruding on a strangers life pretending you could ever still mean something to him.

Selyse had never met Robb Stark, she had no way of knowing what your life with him was like but she had seen you at Jon Snow’s side. And she could say without doubt that she has never seen a man look that way at a woman before, as if their entire world has been consumed with this other person. And yourself? She looked at you now and knew as difficult as it was, how hard you tried to not look at him said just as much as his inability to look away.

Standing up abruptly, you tried hiding any tears with the back of your hand. “You should rest, it’s getting rather late.” As you approached the door, you turned back to look at your mother before turning to the boy. “Olly, I ask if you could see to Selyse for the next coming days. We are about to get rather busy, and I think she would appreciate the company.”

He didn’t disagree, and you could only wonder what about you made him stick to your orders in atonement so deeply. Your mother’s voice speaking up, only catching as you turned only partway to look at her. “Goodnight.”

Nodding back, yours was as stiff. “Goodnight, mother.”

Walking out into the cold, you only got a few feet before finding yourself leaning against the railing you stood on, hands braced as you looked out to the night. Something you didn’t understand was beyond those walls, something that once had you dream of cold and ice, but little understanding beyond those visions.

But there was something in the eyes of those here, something that truly haunted them. As you made your way back, for only a moment did you pause before your eyes slipped closed as you sighed and the path turned only slightly towards a different room.

It was dark, but you found no care to light any fire as you made your way through the quarters with a slower hesitancy. Being in here felt so strange, not right and you were too on edge to consider looking around like any other would normally. But as you draped the fur cloak over a dresser, you ran your fingers gently through the light colour.

In the night just like this, sat in front of the Weirwood in your final moments only together as you found a comfort hiding your face between this very fur and his neck for what you both felt was surely the last time. And as you carefully peeled off your boots, you slept only under the thinnest of the top sheets as you saw and felt too much in the quiet.

Sleeping alone used to be normal, but then it was by Robb’s side for years no matter where you travelled too. Then in the worst of it, your nights too often interrupted by the violence of pale blue eyes and a slimy taunting voice that sought to make you afraid of sleeping at night.

As you lightly drifted off, part of you wished Theon never brought you here. You felt as if you were just ruining his life, and he deserved better. He always deserved better, better then what Catelyn treated him as, better then to be shut away at the Night’s Watch and better then being trapped with you.

Yet later in the night, your mind woke just enough to sense as a figure came into the room, keeping the dark as much as possible like they didn’t need to see to navigate. The part of your mind that was still mostly asleep clenching your hands as if to brace yourself.

If he thought you were asleep, he would often drag you from bed and wake you up with a jostle usually to the head against the hard ground. Make you foggy and a little less coordinated as he begun, but it never came. And in an instant your mind which was slowly finding itself more awake settled itself as the figure was warm. Sliding into the sheets behind you, slowly before leaning over you.

The brush of his curls against the side of your cheek and neck, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself wasn’t for you to enjoy anymore, relaxed at the feeling. Feeling Jon carefully drape back your hair, collecting it so gently in his hands to neatly move it out of your face and tucked neatly to the side.

A large, calloused hand ran lightly over your arm before finally relaxing. His other arm stretching out to the other side of the bed by your own head as you felt his chest bare against the thin material of your shirt. Slowly, you let him pull you closer into his arms before you shifted yourself to fit better in his touch as well. His free hand draped over your hip with a gentle touch before it slid up to just under your breasts. Pulling you back firmly into him as his own forehead nuzzled against the back of your hair.

For the first real time in either of your lives, you freely found yourself sleeping in Jon Snow’s bed, tucked safely in his arms and were you not so close to the depths of dreams once more?

You may have otherwise cried at how overwhelming it was that you and him fit together so perfectly.

[cilil]

Manwë Week Day 1

"Brother, where are you going?"

Day 1: Family | Breath & Air Relationship(s): Manwë & Melkor Synopsis: Despite many rejections, Manwë tries to connect with his brother Warnings: / AO3

To Manwë, his brother was nothing short of a miracle. Older, greater and so intelligent and wise in his innocent eyes, he was the light of his life and the very first being he had ever perceived right after his birth, even before he had heard his father's voice for the first time. 

To Melkor, his brother was a nuisance, and his callous willingness to express such sentiments caused Manwë a lot of grief and hurt. 

Whenever he wasn't cradled in the arms of his father or instructed in the ways of music and the making of things, the young Vala followed him around the Timeless Halls like an ethereal, cloud-like duckling. He soon began to mimic the way his older brother shaped his spirit as well, assuming a form with arms, legs and a head; one he would one day recognise as reminiscent of his father's yet unborn children and the appearance He Himself took while handling them, from which he assumed Melkor's inspiration had come. 

Manwë's form, still small and clumsy, was shrouded in a gentle white and blue glow and covered by fluffy clouds he had breathed into existence all by himself, a feat that had made his father proud and Melkor laugh at him with something he not yet understood as contempt. He only knew it was bad because Eru had scolded the older Vala for it. 

"Brother, where are you going?"

Melkor was once again leaving him behind after singing together for their father, abandoning him in front of the throne, and Manwë hurried after him, hoping that maybe he would feel inclined to play with him this time. His optimism and faith in the ultimate triumph of good, undying and eternal like he himself was, had already led to many rejections, at times even being pushed away and thrown around by his mightier brother, but his innate desire to love and please those around him was ever stronger. 

When Manwë reached out with his spirit, he was instantly met with a wall of a strong, distinctly unfriendly emotion he didn't understand; one that he would one day learn was called anger. 

"Go away." 

"But why?" 

He approached Melkor without fear, opening his heart freely to show him his love and admiration. 

"Can I come with you?" 

"No. I don't want you to."

"Can we maybe play together?" 

"No. I don't want to play with you."

"Can we sing together?"

"I need no other voices. Only you do." 

Manwë's spirit shrunk a little. He was not so young and naive anymore as to not grasp the concept of being unwelcome, but he still didn't understand why, and his brother had never bothered to explain. His best guess was that he was simply too small and unimpressive for someone as amazing as Melkor, even though his father often told him how lovely he was. 

"But why, brother? Have I done anything wrong?" Manwë asked; while he was willing to leave if it made his brother happy, he felt a strong need to at least understand his mistake. 

"Because I need no others by my side." 

Melkor turned to leave him behind once more, as he always did.

"You don't have to need me. We can just... be together?" Manwë tried. Yet instead of placating his brother, it only resulted in their exchange being cut short and him being pushed back, blown away like a feather in the wind. 

All he could do was float in place and watch Melkor vanish into the ethereal light of their father's realm. 

— — — 

Manwë had considered returning to Eru to be with him instead, yet his spirit felt heavy and burdened with an unknown emotion he would one day understand as shame. He wanted to make his father and brother happy, not to have them be upset with him or on his behalf, so he hid himself and searched his ëala for whichever shortcomings prevented him from connecting to his beloved sibling. 

Alas, his search was — as it had always been before — unsuccessful, for Manwë in his youth and innocence couldn't grasp the concepts and emotions that Melkor's heart had begun to conceive ever since others were born beside him, most notably the ability to hate and envy; and ever and anon would these things elude him, as Eru had designed him to be free of what would one day be called evil. 

Thus Manwë eventually wandered the Timeless Halls alone, repeating all the melodies he remembered and making more little clouds that he shaped to his heart's content, moving them around by summoning his element. His father had told him that he would one day be the Breath of Arda, the world that was to come; and whereas his understanding of such a destiny was as of yet limited, he nevertheless felt that it was good to practice. 

There was a shape he loved in particular, one born and growing from the slowly awakening seeds of inspiration he carried within him. Manwë imagined creatures he was going to make in the future, beings of wind and air like him, with wings and feathers and other features he would devise together with Yavanna. 

He had shown Melkor his ideas, proud that he had finally been inspired like his great brother was all the time, and had been told that his designs were silly and stupid. Still, Manwë held on to his winged creatures and played with them when he was by himself, shaping their likeness with his element and carrying them around like the Children would one day have their stuffed toys. 

It was then that he came upon his brother again by accident, holding on to the biggest cuddle-cloud he had made yet. Melkor was curled up in a corner and unusually still and silent, seemingly resting from whatever he had been up to in the meantime. 

Surely it must have been a great and miraculous deed if it could exhaust his strong sibling so, Manwë thought in awe, and approached him as quietly as he could. Perhaps Melkor hadn't meant to hurt him earlier and merely thought his little brother was too young to join him. Perhaps he was protecting him like his father always did. 

Lighting up with joy, Manwë wanted to curl up beside him and snuggle up to him, but something inside him told him not to. As great as his optimism and love for his brother were, he had on some level understood that his presence might still be unwelcome; yet even so, he wanted to do something to show Melkor just how much he loved him, to give him a part of himself to nurture their bond. 

Tenderly and carefully, Manwë nudged the older Vala's ëala until its limb-like appendages opened up and placed his cuddle-cloud in its embrace. Melkor shifted then, seemingly sensing that something was nearby, but remained in his state of meditative rest. Instead he embraced his brother's creation, and a few soft notes of contentment emanated from him. 

He likes it! Manwë thought to himself, glowing brightly with pride and joy, and continued to watch his brother for a while longer until he left him alone again. 

Maybe Melkor didn't need his company and thought he didn't want it either, but there was a part of his ëala that liked when a part of his brother was with him and sought comfort in the closeness of another; and if Manwë was going to return to his father's loving embrace, he should get some cuddles as well. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @bluezenzennie @edensrose @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @melkors-defense-attorney @singleteapot @stormchaser819 @wandererindreams @manweweek

[cleromancy]

oracle year one born of hope from batman chronicles #5 (published 1996) is hands down the best defridging story ive ever read for a lot of reasons--the first being just that its such a damn good comic in the first place. but every time i read it im so struck by the way it reframes the casual *incidental* violence done to barbara in TKJ, where she's just an obstacle in the joker's way to get to jim (to get to batman) and it's not *about* her. on the very second page of OYO we have this:

the entire page (...minus bruce in the bg up there) is drawn from barbaras point of view while she recounts the incident from her hospital bed. literally recentering her and her perspective, her experience and her feelings. where TKJ sensationalizes and sexualizes the violence done to her we see an illustration of her choice--love for her father, "don't get up"--then the shock and pain of the injury, then the operating room.

and she opened the story with "i cant believe i was such an idiot," berating herself for not looking through the peephole or using the chain on the door before she opened it, emphasizing that she knew better, and its a very human response to being the victim of something like this--almost fixating on a small mistake you made. inside the story its about the grief and the sense of control bargaining gives you--"if only i had--!" and then on the meta level its actually addressing the "well why DIDNT barbara look through the peephole???" (<- the answer being that TKJ never considered whether or not she would have, bc that was less important to the story than hurting her.)

and the next page. god. its masterful:

the balance of OYO being a response to TKJ on a meta level and the genuine story-level exploration of barbaras feelings just in the first 3 pages alone... chefs kiss. the way it addresses the previous bullshit storytelling choices--but builds something new off of them, because that shouldn't be the end of barbaras story.

and its so fantastic bc it doesn't shy away from barbaras ugly feelings...

she's so angry and she's allowed to be. and thats also what makes it such a good defridging--that its a resonant portrayal of becoming disabled. anger, grief, humiliation, shame, fear, the absolute *slog* that is recovery, the realization that your independence has been compromised... it really reckons with what this means for her in that moment and moving forward.

just posting this one bc i love her...

and the crux of the story is barbara taking control back over her life, barbara not feeling helpless anymore. its a superhero origin story to its core and its fantastic at what it does.

and i mean... i do always feel iffy about this part:

the juxtaposition of her wanting to do this without batmans help with her, well, unknowingly accepting bruces help. makes seesaw motion with hand. i always feel like its a bit of a weak spot... i like elements of it, particularly *because* this work is addressing so much of TKJs bullshit; this is making bruce actually care about barbaras injury because fuck you he *should* care, he *should* do something. and barbaras need for independence and her struggles to accept help are pretty central to her character and in a story about disability... i mean interdependence is a core tenant of disability rights activism, no man is an island and all that. but btwn it being bruce who finds richard dragon for her to train with, and richard dragon both being yknow a man and not a wheelchair user himself, it falls flat. which is really something you notice bc the rest of the story is so damn good... its hard for me to put my finger on exactly what i think they should've done instead, bc they only had 18 pages for this story and like. it's incredibly tight, not a panel wasted, so it *was* important that barbaras teacher be someone we the reader already know, and there was no *time* to establish some other way for barbara to find someone of richard fucking dragons caliber on her own without bruces connections.

but that i guess does bring me to. the other thing i find frustrating re: OYO which is just that it's. 18 pages collected with two other stories, neither of which is memorable... i mean how many other year ones of a heavy hitter like barbara freakin gordon can you think of with less than a single full issue? and batgirl year one had 9 issues (9 mediocre, mediocre issues). i dont think OYO needed that much time (but hey neither did fucking bgyo)... but come on. come on!!!!!!

anyway whatever. oracle sweep

[myloveismineallmine]

Sydcarmy & Beauty and The Beast

So, The Bear is a story with many themes and messages in it. The process of creating a story a lot times is just frankenstein-ing other stories and elements you like plus your owned lived experience.

I don't really remember how I started thinking about it, I do remember it was like 3am so that definitely has something to do with it, but I started thinking about Beauty and The Beast. And then I started comparing certain elements of it with The Bear. And then I started reading the Wikipedia page for Beauty and The Beast. And then I looked at the clock and it was like 4am so I was like okay, I should sleep now actually.

I did notice a lot of interesting similarities between the two, so I wanted to compare some of them in this post here. I think it's a really interesting lens to look at the story of The Bear from.

Chapter 1: The Beast

So, while it would be cool to do some kind of role reversal with the two romantic leads, this story does not do that, and the obvious parallel for Carmy is The Beast.

Rundown of The Beast's character traits, via wikipedia:

"In the original tale, the Beast is seen to be kind-hearted for the most part, and gentleman-like, with only an occasional tendency to be hot-tempered. Disney's interpretation of the Beast made him more constantly angry and depressed, due to the shame from his unkind actions which led to his transformation, and particularly his struggle of reconciling his hideous appearance with his inner humanity which made him feel hopeless about breaking the curse. Supervising animator Glen Keane describes The Beast as "a twenty-one-year-old guy who's insecure, wants to be loved, wants to love, but has this ugly exterior and has to overcome this." Upon his reform under his love interest Belle, his personality changes to refined and more even-tempered, while naive about the world at the same time."

Obviously this isn't to shame JAW's appearance, he's a pretty attractive dude, I'm looking more at the personality traits here.

The Disney version of him is way more unhinged and animal-like, which I'm not sure perfectly fits Carmy, but I feel like the insecurity, anger and depression is pretty accurate.

I don't think the "beast" element is entirely irrelevant, however. Let's think about what the namesake of the show is: The Bear. In reference, or course, to the main family having the last name Berzatto. They do also refer to each other as "Bear."

It's Cousin Michelle who makes the connection between the Berzattos and literal bears:

When she mentions this quote someone had said to her.

Stevie likens the Berzattos to bears later on in this episode:

It's pretty clear that the Berzattos = bears. Aggressive, but also kind and emphatic.

I also want to talk about the very first scene of The Bear:

Carmy is letting the bear out of it's cage, walking slowly towards it. He says "I know" to the bear, trying to calm it, or maybe trying to empathize with it. The bear growls and attacks him, and he wakes up from the nightmare.

It's clear that the caged bear represents something in Carmy. His rage, his stress, his grief. And he can't control it, it escapes and it consumes him.

Backstory of The Beast, extremely paraphrased:

Disney version: A prince is spoiled, cold-hearted and extremely selfish. He's transformed into a hideous beast as punishment, and told he won't transform back unless he earns the love a beautiful young woman.

Fairytale version: The prince's father died before he was born, and his bio mother leaves him in the care of an evil fairy godmother. Things get weird and incesty, this was the 1700s ig, the godmother tries to seduce the prince when he's an adult. He rejects her and she curses him to become a beast and says the curse won't be broken until he receives a maiden's act of true love. There's then a lot of really irrelevant fairy-lore and other stuff that I don't really want or need to get into.

I feel like evil mother figure one might be more accurate? Especially because Donna's one of the people who gave him so much trauma that he still carries with him? Generational trauma and addiction is "a curse" in a way.

Chapter 2: The Beauty

So it's very clearly Sydney.

Beauty in the OG fairytale doesn't have a super interesting personality outside of "pretty, caring and kind." so I think we'll look more at the Disney version here:

"While the studio wanted Beauty and the Beast to resemble an old-fashioned film, the writers envisioned Belle as "a woman that was ahead of her time"."

"...  the screenwriter conceived Belle as a headstrong feminist to avoid creating another "insipid" Disney princess."

"Beauty and the Beast's story department was predominantly male. Woolverton often argued with the more traditional story artists over Belle's role and personality, but continued to be supported by Katzenberg and lyricist Howard Ashman, the latter of whom also lobbied for "a thinker and a reader" who "wasn't a victim"."

So, Belle was basically a strong and independent woman for Disney at the time. I wanna hone in more on these character traits they mention specifically.

Sydney is very intelligent, even an overthinker at times. She literally shows up to, like, week 2 of work with a full book written on how the business can be improved.

We know she's a reader. Not only from the coach K book, she also mentions lending Marcus books at some point.

I also think Sydney fits the "not a victim" criteria. Sydney is shown pretty consistently to stand up for herself and fight back in situations.

On Beauty's backstory:

In every version of The Beauty and The Beast, Beauty's a daughter to a widower (much like Sydney is.) Beauty has many siblings, most notably her evil older sisters. They are omitted from the Disney version, and Belle is an only child.

In the Disney version, Belle is well known for her beauty, but looked down upon for not conforming to more traditional feminine roles.

Being a headstrong woman of color in the very white and male dominated world of fine dining, I can see how she fits this.

Her father has doubts about her career as a chef, she has had bad experience with chefs in leadership positions before, and the crew of The Beef really looks down on her at the beginning of the series.

Chapter 3: Beauty and The Beast

So now let's talk about the actual relationship of the Beauty and The Beast.

Belle/Beauty is lured into The Beast's castle because her father is being held captive inside. And interestingly....

Sydney references her father as the reason for why she applies for The Beef.

In the fairytale, The Beast is immediately smitten with Beauty and asks her to marry him every day. That would be a very obvious HR violation in The Bear, so I think it might be better to look at the Disney version of this story.

So in the Disney version, The Beast is more annoyed that Belle and her father showed up at all, but he does know she's a pretty woman and allows the release of her father so she will be his prisoner instead.

Their relationship is pretty bad at first, like you'd expect a captor and prisoner relationship to be, but he does allow her a nice lavish room. He orders her to have dinner with him, and she refuses to leave her room to protest against him.

Carmy and Sydney were friendly at first meeting, but after The Stock Incident, their cracks really start to show. It's when Sydney really stands her ground and argues back at him. This is not the end of the arguments and tension between them.

Belle and the Beast end up getting in a fight when Belle snoops around his room. He yells at her more loudly this time, and Belle flees the castle on horseback. She gets attacked by a pack of wolves and The Beast saves her. She takes him back to the castle and nurses his wounds.

This to me matches with the final fight Sydney and Carmy have in season 1. Carmy displays the worst of his anger, and it causes Sydney to want to wipe her hands with him completely. She grabs her stuff and leaves, telling him she's quitting.

She comes back when he apologizes to her, and they have a real bonding moment when they decide to open a restaurant together.

The Beast and Belle start to have a better relationship after The Beast heals. They become more friendly, The Beast more docile, and they're both really happy for the first time in the film. There's a scene where The Beast shows Belle the castle library and tells her it's hers.

I think the equivalent would be seeing Carmy and Sydney plan the menu together. In those scenes they seem less like co-workers and more like friends. You can also tell it's one of the few things they get actual real enjoyment doing.

I think the main parallel I see for this relationship is how Carmy and Sydney improve each other. Like with Belle and The Beast, you can actually see Carmy learn how to better handle conflict and communicate more efficiently when he's placed with Sydney.

He's more vulnerable. He apologizes more. He's able to better control his temper.

There's two very concrete examples of Sydney being able to help stabilize his emotions, actually.

Sydney is quite literally "taming the beast" in Carmy. Cognitive behavioral therapy would also achieve that, but Carmy is too much of a workaholic to attend a session, so Sydney will have to do for now. They didn't have CBT in 1700s France, either, unfortunately.

I will also say that this isn't a 90 minute Disney movie, so the slow-burn will be slow-buring for awhile until we get to the actual conclusion of the fairytale.

Chapter 4: Gaston

so I have two characters in mind for this role: Richie and Marcus. But def more heavy on Richie than Marcus.

Gaston is a villain made exclusively for the Disney movie. Here's some description for him:

"In direct contrast to his adversary the Beast, Gaston is depicted as physically handsome with an unattractive personality, both physically and emotionally embodying hypermasculinity. "

"Gaston has been generally positively received by film critics, as his lack of "magic power or political influence" means that his villainy tends to resonate with audiences who often identify someone similar to him in real life, although critics regard him as a less memorable villain than some of the studio's previous efforts."

"The Huffington Post described early drafts of Gaston as "a weaselly, sort of wimpy character." In fact, Gaston was originally intended to resemble more of an annoying than antagonistic character,"

So I think Richie kind of fits the "hypermasculinity" thing, in terms of some of his mindset and sexist behaviors.

Richie, for at least the first season, really looks down on fine dining as a concept. He makes fun of Carmy and Syd for their background in it and makes snide comments about it whenever possible.

Gaston also looks down on Belle for liking books, and encourages her to live a more "simple" life with him instead.

Here's a really interesting parallel I found with these two:

Making fun of the main character's book and then throwing it away? In the intro of the story? Very interesting.....

As far as the similarity with Marcus: it begins and ends with Marcus and Gaston both having unrequited feelings for the main female protagonist.

Other than that, Richie is way more Gaston coded in the grand scheme of things. Just not as evil. I feel like he gives first-draft Gaston with being "More annoying than antagonistic."

Chapter 5: What about Claire?

I see Claire fitting into this as almost like a faux-Belle. The love interest that's supposed to "fix" the main protagonist, but something doesn't work.

Again, there's two scenes I wanna look at specifically to showcase this:

This reaction shot of Carmy. This is the last shot of the sex scene, and there are some other previous shots of the sex scene overlaying this at times. But I've been wanting to do a deep dive into it for awhile-- why have this shot? What's the purpose of it?

I think that this shot clearly tells us that Carmy is either pensive and/or dissatisfied with what has happened. Laying with his eyes open and just staring at the wall, deep in thought, possibly regretful. This isn't the expression a man who's just had sex with a pretty woman usually has. This is one of many clues that this relationship isn't something that he really wants or enjoys.

Aaaand, the panic attack scene again. If Claire was his "true love", she would be able to quell his anxiety and panic, if this whole "beauty and the beast" story arc I'm putting together is to be believed.

Claire is the perfect girl. She's pretty, smart, talented. His family loves her. She loves him. But she does nothing to fix his problems. Because it's not true love.

Carmy not being happy at the thought of Claire vs Carmy cracking a smile because he looks at containers of radichio + fennel, ingredients Sydney cooked him once.

It is ABUNDANTLY clear that his feelings for Syd help his mental state in ways his feelings for Claire do not. Because what he feels for Sydney is closer to true love.

Conclusion:

Am I saying Christopher Storer took the plot beats and characters 1 for 1 from Beauty and The Beast? No, obviously not. Am I saying that maybe he sat down one day and this movie was on and he was like "hey maybe i can do something with this"? Possibly!

This is just speculation at the end of the day, but I really loved looking at all the possible connections between these two things. Tell me your thoughts on all of this: cool interpretation or am I just talking out of my ass?

[pinesfamilyguidetotheweird]

Looks like a lot of y'all liked the AU idea I proposed and I wish to add more to it.

First off, the name. I'm inching towards something like One Dimension Apart or the like. More of a working title since I am not clever enough.

As for the Stans, let's start with the beginning:

So, both bros get suck into the portal and find themselves in the Nightmare Realm.

Still high on anger, Stan continues to berate Ford. Ford was already in the throws of guilt over creating the portal, but now he has dragged Stan into his mess, which made him feel worse, so much so that he didn't bother to give him a verbal reply, only mumbling to himself in horror.

Stan notices this and starts to calm down, but before he could talk to Ford, Bill appears. Bill saw this new turn of events as amusing and does his little spiel towards Ford, all of which just confuses Stan as he had no idea about the true extent of what was going on.

Bill would then put the bounty on Ford's head and Stan tries to protect him, but Ford pushes him into a random dimension. The entrance way closes up and Stan nearly saw this as Ford abandoning him again, like when he got kicked out.

That is until he fully comprehended the look on Ford's face when he pushed him away.

There was shame and grief in his eyes.

And it made Stan realize that Ford was trying to save him. So, Stan makes a vow to find his brother.

The dimension he was pushed into was thankfully inhabited, but Stan was surprised to see non-human creatures that acted like humans and was initially put off.

While asking around, Stan's burn starts to hurt real bad and he was nearly mugged by aliens before he was saved by a group of traveling mercenaries. They give him a universal translator collar to help with communication and they treated his burn.

Stan spends some time with the mercs as he recovers and expresses his desire to find his brother, despite the odds against him due to his condition and circumstances. Having no idea where to start looking, Stan travels with the mercs to other dimensions, learning their ways and hoping to find Ford so they can go home.

...And that's it for Part 01! Want more? Got other questions?

[imfinereallyy]

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

Steve sighs, and he looks at Eddie in his doorway. So much has changed in five years. But Eddie seems the same. Just his hair is a bit longer, he’s got more tattoos, and he’s got scruff on his face that Steve knows when they saw each other last in 87’ would have driven him nuts.

Steve has always liked the idea of Eddie with a beard. It doesn’t matter now, though. “I think you should leave.”

“Steve, I—I just need a chance to explain.” Eddie moves side to side on his feet.

“Explain?” Steve scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “You had the chance to explain five years ago before you left. You had the chance to explain the weeks after with no phone calls to me to any of the kids. You had the chance to explain the year after when you talked to everyone but me, and I thought you just needed time. You had the chance a year ago before you cut everyone else off again.”

Eddie hangs his head in shame. “Stevie, please. I know I don’t deserve it. But I just want to talk.”

Steve’s resistance wavers slightly. He moves out of the doorway to let Eddie in. Eddie rushes inside, knowing Steve will change his mind at any moment. Steve shuts the door behind them. “I’m only letting you in because if Robin finds you in our doorway, she will kick your ass. And as much as you hurt me, I don’t actually want to see you in physical pain.”

Eddie smiles a bit, “Still the dynamic duo? You and Robbie? What’s stopping her from beating me up inside?”

“Our cat Sylvia might see. And she’s trying to shield her from as much violence as possible. Says one Sylvia has seen enough.”

“Oh please tell me she is out by now, because that is a giant gay flashing sign.” Eddie chuckles.

Steve can’t help but laugh a little, “Yes, she is. It would be hard if she weren’t, considering she’s dating Nancy. And Nancy is a lot of things, but subtle isn’t one of them. She shows her off any chance she gets.”

“Wow, Robs bagged Wheeler? Never saw that coming.” Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Must have been a blow to the ego for ya, Stevie. Your ex and your best friend.” He mock clutches his heart.

Steve lets out a big laugh this time, “Nah. I encouraged it. They’re my favorite people; they deserve to be happy.”

Eddie softens, “Yea, being a favorite person of Steve Harrington is a very special thing.”

Steve feels ice water in his veins, “What are you doing here Eddie?”

Eddie sighs, “What do you want to hear? Why I needed to come, or why I wanted to? Cause the truth is I needed to come to apologize to you. Give you the explanation you deserve. What I wanted, though, what I wanted is to tell you that I love—“

“Don’t.” Steve chokes.

“Right apologies first.”

“First? First?! Eddie. I don’t know what you could say to me right now that would make anything make sense. We had something good. It took us so long to get to that point. And it was great because we learned about each other and knew each other inside out. Our friendship blossomed into something more, and we were just getting started, and you left. I had thought I was done with love before I met you. But then you came along and made me feel seen and cared for, and then you got weird and distant so quickly, and you fucking left. And then I knew for sure I was done with love. Don’t think it was meant for me. Sure, that’s not on you, but you don’t get to—you don’t get to open old wounds because you feel the sudden desire to come around again.” Steve swallows tears.

Eddie’s face goes through hundreds of emotions. Anger. Shock. Grief. He doesn’t say anything for a minute. They stew in Steve’s words instead. Then finally, Eddie settles on. “I’m an addict.”

Steve, who has thought about a million ways this could go, has never thought of this. “What?” All the tension releases from his body. He just stares hopelessly at Eddie.

“I’m an addict. I'm sober now, I just reached a year, but yeah. I'm an addict. Never thought I would be. But after everything with Vecna and the painkillers they put me on…it got hard. Denied it for a while. Said to myself a little of everything here and there to forget wouldn’t hurt anyone. But then we were becoming something alongside, me spiraling deeper into addiction. And I—fuck this was easier to practice at the meetings.” Eddie runs his hands through his hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. But I would have hurt you. More than me leaving did. And I couldn’t live with that. I could live with you hating me. It was selfish of me. I wasn’t ready to give up the drugs so I gave up you, and it’s not fair. Not fair that I did that to you, to anyone of you really, but especially you Steve. You just deserved someone who could love you all the time, love you fully. And I thought I did but I think I was using you a little to make myself feel better. That’s not to say I didn’t love you. I did, still do, always will. But we both deserved a better version than what we had.”

Steve feels tears on his cheeks, he isn’t sure what to say. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Steve chokes on a sob, “Dammit Eddie. It was my birthday.”

Something breaks inside them, and suddenly they are in each other's arms, weeping together. There is this fragile broken thing between them, a love that never went away. It is horrible and beautiful and needs so much work to be wonderful once more.

But it was nice to break together again.

“I know. I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough. I’ll make sure every day for the rest of my life that I make it up to you. In any way I can.”

“I don’t know how we can get back Eds. Don’t know if we should.”

“I’ll take you any way you’ll have me. Friend. Lover. A person you only call when you need a ride to the airport. Just let me try; it’s all I ask. I promised I wouldn’t go back to you until I knew I had put the work into myself first. You don’t owe me anything. I would understand if you kicked me out right now. But I need you to know that Steve, I love you anyway you’ll have me. And I have never stopped thinking about you.”

Steve lifted his head from Eddie’s chest. “I’d like to try to get to know you again. This you. See where it goes. But Eds, no matter what, no matter the version of you, I will always care. And I will always be your friend.”

Eddie kisses Steve’s forehead, “Thank you.”

It’s there where Steve and Eddie hug on the wooden apartment floor; they hear the door unlock. “Oh no, she’s home early.”

Eddie doesn’t get to respond because, suddenly, Robin is in the doorway. “Hey, dingus! I brought home an extra latte—“

She freezes at the sight of Eddie before rebooting with a dark look, “Steve, is your nail bat still under your bed?”

——

Wanted to try the whole break up thing, I have a lot of different break up/makeup ideas in my head. maybe pt. 2???? Kinda feels good to stop here. But if you think so I have more ideas for this.

[kustas]

Sorry for the incoming long rant.

I just rediscovered your blog, and I always enjoyed your thoughts on WHA and wanted to rant a little bit. I found a post of yours talking about how WHA is getting less nuanced and I feel the same way. I feel like in an effort to make every character feel like a person, the manga treats everyone’s issues as if they’re on the same level. I’m not sure if that entirely makes sense, but it feels like the manga is trying to make you sympathize with everyone to some extent, even though that doesn’t really work. For example, there is a chapter that pissed me off so much that I had to put the manga on pause. It’s the chapter where Coco shows off a spell that can clean water, and the townspeople are uninterested because they don’t need it. And the moral of the chapter is that Coco should make her spell for everyone. No. No no no. These people need to learn some damn compassion and realize that they need to help end what suffering that they are able to. The moral of the chapter should’ve been that these people need to stop thinking of only themselves. Everything else was aimed at them, so Coco’s spell didn’t need to be for them. It shouldn’t have been for them. There is also the situation with the knights. You went into this already but who gives a shit if they are offended by a grieving husband taking out his anger in them when they are a part of the system that caused his grief. The manga wants you to sympathize with everyone, and while I don’t think these people should be one dimensional their issues should not be treated on the same level as others. Anyway, sorry for the weird long rant, it’s just everyone treats this manga like it is The Most Flawlessly Progressive Manga Ever and your one of the few I’ve found who acknowledges is flaws without devaluing its strengths

Thank you for your ask! I agree with what you're saying and think you worded it very well. It's a bit of a shame it's so rare to find people openly critiquing the series in the community, while it's nothing serious (and minimized by being a bit of a hermit, lol) I've seen some animosity for doing it, I assume because many assume critiquing art means you don't like it or are opposed to what it's trying to do! Which isn't true. Granted Witch Hat Atelier contains many an obvious fantasy metaphor for real life social issues it should be under more scrutiny than normal if you ask me, because those are serious topics that affect people's real lives. I do have faith in the author's serious handling of touchy topics, but in the execution there are things I'd do differently for sure...

The manga wants you to sympathize with everyone, and while I don’t think these people should be one dimensional their issues should not be treated on the same level as others.

WHA has in its writing strong expectations from the reader regarding how you think of its cast I find hard to read through a lot - the latest arc in particular, comparatively, has much of its character based moments revolve around if they're good or bad in a way that implies it'll change how you think of a character and it disturbs me. Qifrey and Sasaran are two early examples of characters that do *not* play into that - Qifrey's beginning arcs simultaneously show him as a shady manipulator and genuinely good teacher who betters the life of his students, and it participates so much to the dramatic tension. Sasaran is a villain of the week who while shown to be a huge cunt, has a backstory that implies his original motives were not nefarious ones, and his life was not easy.

Compare this to a character like Dean who, as much as I'm a fan of his concept, falls rather flat because he's, depending on the chapter, pushed as good/bad to the reader, regarding his moral alignment. Characters who are just meant to be despicable don't have the same level of attention placed to their writing which is a similar issue. It feels insecure, like if the story was saying: we have those important characters, their role is to bring up difficult situations, please don't hate them, like them, see, they're nice too! And giving them chosen positive traits. People don't work like that and it feels cheap. Fandom's obsession with villains should show well a character being despicable doesn't make them unlikeable, and I'd like WHA's characters to be less "good"/"likeable" myself to make them a bit more human. This would detonate a fandom nuke given I still regularly see passionate debates about how mean and terrible characters like Agott or Custas are but hey

As for priorities in the depicted suffering of characters in universe - yeah, it's true some scenes feel a bit off in that department...the water cleaning scene you mention did not rub me the wrong way too hard, because it's centered around Coco, who's our main character, the story bending to give her a central role makes sense, and her unique position in witch society and how it relates to helping others are, with the responsibilities of witches, very important to the story. The apprentice backstories are an earlier example I had trouble taking too seriously because while they're all terrible, tiny silly Riche and her brother's experience with physical child abuse felt drawn with the same intensity as Agott being pushed to mental disarray by her rich fancy perfectionist family. It's all hard to complain about and might sting less if the writing was a bit less dramatic and preachy, but that might just be a me issue, I've seen many fans praise WHA's writing wholeheartedly, so...

What I am hoping is that the latest arc will conclude and lead to the shorter previous structure and we'll get individual attention brought to character stories, one after the other, instead of the all at once formula going on right now... We'll see!

[utilitycaster]

In regards to episode 92, I feel like they could've kept the shock factor and had that reveal of aabria right at the end of the episode, allowed bh to reach the encampment and continue their discussions even if the episode was shorter than usual and still end with orym sending to dorian (I wonder if liam knew that him sending to dorian was going to kick-start the swap) and sending everyone off screen to allow aabria to come in and send everyone off like she did. Plus, then we could've gotten a post credits description like we would get in the EXU episodes, and I feel like it would've tied in better + the people who were anticipating this episode would've felt more satisfied

Hey anon!

So I agree with you on this. I do think at this point I'm going to make a moratorium on "here's how they could have done it differently" anons just because I feel like I've covered it pretty thoroughly. Let the below indicate my general feelings in one neat summarized place; anons are still welcome to chat about other things but at this point what's done is done, we'll see the end of that combat in a couple weeks before returning to Bells Hells. While I would never stop someone from complaining as I love complaining and think refusal to do so or shaming thereof is unhealthy, I also think there's a point where you need to say "ok, this isn't really productive anymore" and to be clear, I'm not saying you've reached that point, but I think I probably have.

I was incredibly excited for a Bells Hells episode in the wake of FCG's heroic sacrifice and an exploration of their grief and anger and complicated feelings and loved the first half so I do feel rather like Lucy yanked away that particular football while I was mid-kick.

I'm not opposed to experimentation with the format, and some of it has been great, but I think a lot of what has made this campaign harder to connect to at times has been that it feels like it keeps accelerating and then supddenly pumping the breaks at odd times and this is yet another case

I liked EXU Prime and Kymal well enough (and that well enough is doing, to be honest, heavy lifting) and I really like the Crown Keepers as characters but I have always, from the start, been like "so are we going to discuss the uh, week-long memory loss or the Blightstar as a ship that carried a vestige and showed up in the port of Emon with everyone dead? are the Nameless Ones going to ever have like. motives other than 'be a cast of thousands that serves as an obstacle'?" and so, while the biggest complaint is, again, "Not Now" it's also like...you're giving me something that I've always had a potent combination of fondness and exasperation for and you're driving the needle further into the exasperation zone. To be clear: some of this might be addressed next episode! I really hope it is! But if it's not it's like well I saw these characters I like but the plot still is focusing on everything I care least about.

I actually do not like the post-credits descriptions in EXU Prime. I feel they're symptomatic of the above reservations about the Crown Keepers, namely, it feels like we were informed about what was supposed to be the focus without it being earned within the story (eg, in the case of EXU Prime, Myr'atta). I know a lot of people like this, but it doesn't work for me.

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Several people have been kind enough to let me publish their thoughts on fandom, community, and queerness to celebrate Pride in the Library. Today's piece comes from @tackytigerfic.

Thank you so much to my lovely friend thedrarrylibrarian for opening up this discussion. The thing I would like to talk about today is the way fandom led me to examine my identity and helped me navigate the shift between shame and peace. My journey to acknowledging and exploring my queerness has not always been a joyful one.

I came to the realisation quite late in life. I was in my late 30s before I realised that what I felt about my body was not just a thing that all other people go through. I had lived for my entire lifetime, for as long as I can remember, not just wishing but knowing that my body was meant to be different to how it is. It sounds silly, but it had never occurred to me to question those feelings, or to see myself as queer or trans or non-binary (I'm still not entirely sure how I would term it—I use genderqueer for myself, though nothing feels quite right and I suspect never will). I did spend a year as a child trying to "pass" as a boy (cropping my hair, wearing clothes from the boy's section in the shops, and so on), and as a teen and young adult I was part of a group of queer friends, many of whom were gender non-conforming, so I learned early on that I don't believe that there is any right or wrong way to look like, act like, or be a woman or man. But for some reason, it never occurred to me that the "should have been" feeling was something that I could interrogate, and maybe even do something about. I have moved around a lot throughout my life, and in a way my gender identity feels like that; part of my heart is always somewhere else, and I don't think I'll ever feel entirely at home anywhere.

Before joining fandom, I had never had a candid discussion with anyone about gender identity. I had trans friends who all transitioned medically, but my experience didn't feel like theirs. My body was just something I had to get on with. It was bearable. It didn't feel right, but I was used to feeling not quite right in lots of ways (I was a very emotional child who has grown into a melodramatic adult, what can I say!). It was only through meeting and speaking to all my candid, open, generous trans and non-binary fandom friends that I realised that perhaps my gender identity was something to be addressed. Initially it caused me a lot of grief. I had heard of queer joy and gender euphoria, but my realisation and acknowledgement brought a lot of pain. I felt stupid and ashamed—not of my queerness, not at all! But of the fact that I hadn't realised. I felt like I had cheated myself of my youth. Intellectually I knew that there is no age limit to coming out, but for me it felt like an impossible step to take. I raged at myself. I cried bitter tears at shows like Heartstopper, imagining what my life might have been like had I had that sort of representation as a young person. The first time I changed my pronouns in my tumblr bio, I had to log off and cry. It all felt huge, unmanageable.

Fandom friends got me through. They listened to my sadness, never undermined me, gently guided me through, shared their own experiences so readily and with so much candour and generosity that it gave me hope. Being so immersed in an online space where people's identities are respected and embraced has given me the courage to really look at myself, to know and understand how I feel about my body (and my brain, and my spirit, and whatever else makes a person themself!).

Before I joined fandom, no one had ever asked me my pronouns. Now I have that conversation with people in my offline life too. It's still nerve-wracking for me, but it's getting easier. I have forgiven myself for not understanding myself for so long. I have compassion for my younger self now, instead of anger. And I am very much at peace with my body and identity for the first time in my life, which feels so magical and affirming and, yes, joyous. I got there in the end! That's something to celebrate. And that is thanks to every single one of the people who were there at my side on the journey, the journey that this fandom set me on. And I am very, very glad for that

Thank you, Tacky, for joining me in the Library. I appreciate the reminder that there is no timeline on figuring yourself out, no one way that you have to feel about it. Thank you for joining me for Pride in the Library.

If you want more @tackytigerfic be sure to check out their work on AO3! I reread one of my favorites from them, Silverpoint. I think it's a such an excellent characterization of Harry and Draco, both so in love they can't stand it, and both unable to communicate about it.

🏳️‍🌈 Lots of Love and Happy Pride! 🏳️‍🌈

[calzonekestis]

So Joe has been feeding us so well with his exit interviews, but I love love love…

That while he was like “yes, Eddie had a crush on Chrissy. It made sense to play it that way.”

He made sure to note that… that wasn’t what the concert was about? Like we all clutch our chests and cry at. “Chrissy, this is for you.”

We’re human, how can we not?

Joe was very clear to say though that the concert wasn’t about how Eddie felt about her.

It was about honoring and avenging her. A recognition of who she was, who she truly was, and what her life meant.

It about Chrissy.

Not about him, and his feelings for her. Just her.

And I think that’s a big thing to note, especially how it separates him from Jason?

Jason is doing all he is because he lost Chrissy. Because he lost Chrissy, or Chrissy as he knew her… and it’s clear he didn’t actually know her that well at all.

His vigilante crusade isn’t about bringing her killer to justice so much as it is a way for him to cope with his own anger and grief. It’s less about her, and more about him. Her, strictly in relation to him.

It sucks that she was killed to further both their character arcs, but. At least with Eddie, while he feels guilt and shame over her death… he mourns her in a less selfish way?

Her memory and his experience with her makes him want to be better.

Meanwhile, Jason’s perception of Chrissy… the one she presented, who was hiding so much pain and trauma behind her smile and who felt like she couldn’t come to him about it…

He’d say she inspired him. To do what, exactly? Threaten to torture Eddie’s bandmates for information? Pursue vigilante justice, and interfere with a police investigation? Terrorize Black children?

If Chrissy was around to hear that she “inspired” him to do all that, that he did it in her name… she’d be horrified and disgusted.

I don’t think she’d feel that way about Eddie’s solo or sacrifice tbh. People can be upset about the death, but not only was he protecting Dustin… he was luring those bats away from the gate. Cause if they got out in Hawkins, started spreading and multiplying? That’d have been no bueno.

People say Eddie’s death was stupid and all about his ego and pride. It wasn’t. Go back and watch. He lost Chrissy. There was a lot he didn’t get to say to her.

He didn’t lose Dustin. He made sure to make sure the kid knew what he meant to him.

Eddie didn’t die to satisfy his own ego, or even to save just Dustin. He did it, like Dustin told Wayne… for the entire town. A town that thought the worst of him.

TLDR Chrissy Cunningham inspired Eddie Munson to be a big damn hero. She inspired Jason to be a colossal douchebag.

Eddie did have feelings for her, yes, but he mourned her as a person and the loss of that person.

Jason mourned her as his “perfect” girlfriend and mourned the loss of that “perfect” girlfriend.

Jason didn’t have any idea what was going on with her, and she felt like she couldn’t tell him.

Eddie noticed something was off right away, and rather than make her feel bad for feeling bad… he tried to make her not feel bad. He was a doofus.

He intentionally was a doofus with a girl he liked, just so she’d feel safer.

It wasn’t even so that she’d realize he meant her no harm, and that he wasn’t mean and scary.

He initially thought it was it, but when she asks him not to go? He pauses. Considers her.

Ok, so it’s not him, but something’s got her freaked. He doesn’t know what, but he can try to make her smile. So he does that.

While he does flirt, his intentions aren’t “I’mma put the moves on Chrissy” - they’re “this person seems very vulnerable and scared right now, even if it’s not about Me, I’m going to do what I can to make them less scared.”

Like how he looks after the little sheep. He sees someone scared, out of sorts, he wants to help them.

Make them feel safe, like everything is going to be ok.

Eddie Munson literally can’t help himself. He sees someone who is scared and feels anxious and out of sorts, and he swoops in to make them laugh and feel like things are going to be ok.

Like they’re safe.

The Golden Retriever energy is off the charts.

Again like I’m sure this man could be a talented musician professionally or a record store owner, but I could absolutely picture him as a social worker that specializes in working with kids.

Kids who maybe didn’t grow up with much money, who came from broken homes. Who struggle with anxiety. Turn to crime. Drugs. Like. He is… that would have been so perfect for him.

They’re angry and resentful at the world, scared and insecure. He would listen, not invalidate their experiences and emotions… try to help them. They’d expect some guy in a suit or a stereotypical youth pastor type (think a Jason Carver) and instead they get this Freak. Who doesn’t belittle them, or talk down or look down on them.

God, homeboy could have lived as he died… caring about the well-being of his fellow man.

[muzzleroars]

V1 just admiring Gabes new fallen traits and Gabe noticing this and starts accepting his new self all tender and shit

mentions of body image issues //

YEA YEA EXACTLY - gabriel has a lot of preconceived notions to work through and sees every new trait as something loathsome, something lesser than what he once was as an archangel. he would never take back his decision, he is at least at peace with how he came to free heaven even if he has to carry the burden of taking the lives of other angels, but living on and watching his appearance change in such drastic ways is like a new grief. there's pain, there's resentment, there's anger, there's despair...there's hatred, at first unable to see himself as anything other than shameful. he knows what those in heaven would say now, he knows what regard god would hold him in, and he knows he's locked into this fate yet he gives into vain prayer out of old habits. just. let this stop. let something stay. at least let his halo crown his head even if it grows dim.

v1, on the outside of all gabe's internal drama and hidden prayer, excites at each novelty and genuinely views the new traits as fitting for gabriel in some ways. it has seen him when he lets go of his restraints and is fully unbound, what he can be without the heavy yoke forcing his head down. why wouldn't he look a little wild now? it's the same way, a rogue ai that's changed being left to its own devices and its own will, so what is gabriel now but a rogue angel who shapes himself. and it does admire those traits besides - massive horns, sets of claws, unbreakable plating??? gabriel initially thinks of this as little more than v1's natural interest in novelty and that as it inevitably fades...perhaps even v1 would think of him as less, how he's lost his radiance and can no longer look nearly so impressive in their sparring matches. it fell in love with him as gabriel, not what he is now. yet v1's fascination and excitement in the new grows into showing affection for it, how it tugs playfully on his horns, how it consistently buries itself in his fur cloak, how it sometimes refuses to allow him to trim his claws short over and over again. and, most importantly, how far from seeming disinterested in their sparring it seems overjoyed by his brutal technique, how it seems to answer him in kind or perhaps...how he reflects its wild but transcendent way of fighting. he's using his hands so much more now, his whole body becoming not just the force behind his blows but an entire weapon at his own command. and v1 could love nothing more....so gabriel himself starts to feel how he follows its lead little by little, finding thrill, finding acceptance, and finally finding happiness of his own in this new body. as an angel he had been taught how repulsive the fallen and demonic form are, but when he sees v1's admiration and enduring affection for it, he begins instead to be able to see that this is his own. this is the body for himself and it shows how he chose autonomy. and most importantly...the feelings he harbored for it are another heavenly lie

[angelsdean]

thinking abt this ask some more and well, it also all boils down to dean is not john because dean is not john.

dean is his own person with different life experiences and trauma and morals and agency. yes dean learned and internalized some things from john, and learned to filter most of his emotions into anger bc anger was a safer emotion to express under john's roof than fear or sadness.

but dean literally IS NOT john. he's dean. and crucially he is a victim of john, who was Thee angry man in the house. john is the first person he learned pain and shame and anger and self-hatred from. and dean has not been able to properly unpack or cope with those early experiences or any of the other traumatic events that follow. for nearly 40 years. PLUS 40 years of hell trauma. and still !! still !! dean tries to do better. he apologizes and he expresses his regret for past actions and even his worst actions are rooted in love and a need to protect. he most often acts out of fear, worry, and/or grief. as cas said, the good and the bad, everything he has done has been for love. he fears jack and is angry at jack during widowers arc because he loved cas so much and does not yet know jack is good and can be trusted. his reaction is understandable. we as the audience see and receive more information than the characters. dean has every right to be fearful and wary.

but anyways. back to dean and john. widower's arc IS meant to draw that parallel between them. we're supposed to see dean echoing john. we're supposed to feel john's ghost acting through dean. but we are also meant to see where they diverge. dean does not become obsessed with revenge. he does not go on a quest to get cas back (despite how much he wants him back) and abandon everyone else. he even starts to come around to jack, even before cas gets back.

then, there's john and his own complicated trauma. and i do feel some empathy and sadness for him. but his trauma is notably different from dean's, and that's why dean garners more of my empathy, compassion, and forgiveness.

john felt abandoned after his father's disappearance and then internalizes those abandonment issues and those unresolved feelings fester into anger. then john enlists illegally in the military chasing his father's ghost. in the military he experiences more trauma. but he did choose to go into the military. it's different from dean being forced to be a soldier and weapon for his father from a young age. john was 17 ? when he enlisted and did so of his own free will (as much free will as you can have being one of chuck's blorbos but still, you get what i'm saying), while dean never had a choice, and by the time he had the choice to leave he'd already been guilt tripped into staying by john and also had very few connections outside of the winchester family unit. IF dean were to leave john (after sam left) he'd be largely alone because john never let them forge connections and relationships. john purposely kept them isolated from others, which is a tactic of abuse. finally, john loses mary which exacerbates his preexisting issues, anger, and trauma. losing mary was not the catalyst that turned john "bad" it was just an accelerator added to the fire that had been slow-burning for years.

so yes, both john and dean have abandonment issues regarding their fathers, except john's are based on a perceived abandonment that he lets become a deep anger and propel his actions re: joining the military. whereas dean is literally abandoned and neglected repeatedly and often throughout his childhood which leads to a lot of unresolved fear and anxiety regarding losing people and people leaving him. cas dying during widower's arc and losing mary at the same time too (and crowley!) definitely triggers those deep seated fears and anxieties. dean also just as trauma surrounding death bc of mary. dean, like john, also has trauma surrounding being a soldier and having to kill people. however, john chose that path (and then later chose hunting) while dean had that life thrust upon him. (the first time he's handed a gun he is six years old and his father believes he somehow has a "killer instinct"). finally, dean, like john, loses cas who is yes mary-coded during widower's arc and he is left with a child. however, unlike john, this child is also an extremely powerful being whom dean knows nothing about except the fact that he is the biological son of lucifer. he also believes jack manipulated cas and got him killed. people will parallel jack to sam in this instance but john likely had no idea sam was infected with demon blood until much later after years of research and following azazel's trail. so early on, john's neglect and mistreatment of sam and dean cannot be blamed on john being afraid of sam or something like that. john IS afraid of the world though. he's paranoid as all heck and that fuels a lot of his actions. but dean is not wrong in this case for being wary of jack. he has every right to be afraid, it's just that his fear, coupled with grief, ends up being expressed as anger. the same may be true for john in those early years, but eventually, john lets his anger and need for vengeance consume him and he prioritizes the hunt over his children. as he says in 1x22, "killing this demon comes first. before everything." dean wants cas and mary and crowley back, but he doesn't put it before everything. he doesn't turn away from sam or jack to pursue that quest.

dean is not john because dean is dean. he doesn't see the world as black and white as john did. he still has fears and trauma that when triggered have him reverting to old, ingrained habits, but most often, he wants to do good and help people. he cares about his family and wants them to be safe and alive. sometimes he will go to extremes to make sure that happens. but his actions are always rooted in love and care. cas saw him as a being of love. as more than what john tried to make him. more than a blunt instrument. more than a weapon for heaven and hell. more than chuck's favorite toy. dean is dean. and that's why cas loves him. and that's why *i* love him.