#love victor made multiple decisions i did not like.

[loubetcha]

ok i either absolutely love when a character dates the wrong person to see the right one or i hate it. regardless, it feels more accurate to life and relationships, because generally you don’t end up with your first relationship or love (that’s not to dismiss those that do). in my moderately analytical viewer opinion, i have watched writers make both the right and wrong decisions concerning this. i think the duffers have done a wonderful job of getting people to root for byler and i cannot comprehend anyone being unable to see the obvious endeavors to reveal homosexuality- not just from will- the duffers have placed at their feet.

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 17

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 17: The Tourney; The Melee

AO3 - Masterlist

The final day of the tourney had arrived, marking the culmination of the thrilling jousting matches that had unseated multiple knights and lords from their horses. In an unexpected turn of events, House Kettleblack emerged as the victor of the jousting tourney, as Aran Blackwood himself was unseated by a skilled knight hailing from House Mallister. 

As expected, House Arryn secured their dominance in the archery competition, showcasing their prowess with the favored weapon of their house. Their skilled archers hit their marks with precision, solidifying their claim to victory. 

However, the highlight of the entire tourney was yet to come–the highly anticipated melee competition. 

Aran had made the decision to partake, and truth to be told, Daenera couldn’t help but feel a pang of unease over it. Over the course of the tournament, she had grown fond of Aran’s company, spending their days and evenings together, exploring the tourney and the castle grounds, engaging in meaningful conversations. Aran had proved himself to be sweet, considerate, and honorable–a man who would undoubtedly make a fine husband. Though she did not feel a burning passion for him, she believed that their marriage would be comfortable, and perhaps, with time, love could blossom between them if she chose him as her husband. 

As the bustling atmosphere of the tourney grounds filled the air, Daenera couldn’t help but wonder about the outcome of the melee competition. Her thoughts were entangled with a mix of hope, apprehension, and excitement. Whatever the results, the competition would undoubtedly mark the conclusion they were all waiting for.

As they walked along the path leading to a smaller, sunlit arena with white stone and fluttering fabrics providing shade, Jelissa couldn’t contain her excitement. She turned to Daenera. “Do you like him?”

“Well enough,” Daenera replied, her tone measured and casual. She understood the weight of the decision before her. Marrying someone was a significant choice that held the potential to either strengthen or weaken her mothers claim. She contemplated whether her feelings for Aran Blackwood were enough to justify such a union. 

Jelissa’s excitement overflowed as she dreamed of the prospect. “I think he’ll make a fine husband!”

Daenera smiled, but remained quiet. He would make a fine husband, but she already knew that Daemond would counsel her to choose someone of more importance than a mere Blackwood. 

“He’s handsome, brave, and skilled with a sword,” Jelissa continued, her steps skipping over the gravel. “And he gave you a sprig!”

“A branch of pear blossoms,” Daenera corrected. 

“A stick, you mean,” Fenrick interjected playfully, teasing the princess. “The princess should consider more than just good looks when choosing a husband.”

Daenera rolled her eyes in response.

“He is also kind,” Jelissa argued, defending Aran’s character.

“And kindness is a rare and noble quality in this world,” Daenera chimed in, purposefully japing at Fenrick. 

“ And he is good with a sword,” Jelissa added, furthering her argument. 

“What woman doesn’t want a man who would kill for her?” Daenera exclaimed dramatically, fanning her face and fluttering her eyelashes in a playful swoon. 

“No, that wasn’t–”Jelissa began, her voice lowering as she tried to process Daenera’s statement, her face contouring in a familiar expression of distaste, the same way it did when encountering something sour. 

“You should find a man who knows when to wield a sword and when to lay it down,” Fenric said, making his opinion clear. “Someone who understands when and where battles must be fought, someone who will protect and honor you.”

“And you don’t think Aran would do that?” Daenera’s voice turned sharp, as if Fenrick had insulted her. 

“I simply believe you’ll find little challenge from the Blackwood boy,” Fenrick clarified his perspective. 

“You think I’ll grow bored with him?” 

“I think it’s a difficult decision that should not be rushed,” Fenrick replied, his words conveying a sense of caution. 

Daenera pursed her lips, squinting at Fenrick with suspicion. Would there ever be a man he deemed worthy of her? It seemed to her that Fenrick would find fault in any suitor. Aran was the better of them, and even he could not live up to Fenrick’s standards. 

“Will he be able to protect you?” Fenrick continued. 

“You speak as if we’re preparing for war,” Daenera observed, her mood damped by the thought.

Fenrick gave her a knowing look, hinting at the uncertain future that lay ahead. 

“War is always on the horizon, Princess. And especially now, should the Hightowers wish it,” Fenrick murmured in a low voice, meant only for Daenera’s ears. His words carried a somber undertone, reminding her of the ever-looming threat that lingered.

Pale hair caught Daenera’s attention, and she looked over to see Aemond engaged in conversation with Boris Baratheon. Despite Baratheon’s towering stature, Aemond never seemed diminished in his presence.  

“Come on! Let’s not speak of war and indulge in such gloomy thoughts,” Jelissa interjected, gripping Daenera’s wrist and urging her up the steps towards the sheltered canopy of the balcony, stealing her attention away from Aemond. 

Daenera cast a pleading glance at Fenrick, but he merely shrugged, acknowledging Jelissa’s point. It was not the time nor the place to dwell on the wavering stability of the realm or Viserys’ ailing health. 

They reached the railing of the balcony and leaned over to peer down into the sandy center of the arena. A perfect circle, demarcated by ropes, lay untouched, its sand smooth and undisturbed. 

The anticipation seemed to swell within Jelissa as she exclaimed, “I cannot wait to see Ser Blackwood! He simply adores you.” 

A fluttering sensation stirred in Daenera’s stomach at the thought. It resembled a childhood infatuation she had experienced in the past, where it quickly moved from one handsome man to the next. Yet, this time, it felt different. It held the potential for something more enduring, perhaps even love. 

“We are still in the process of getting to know each other. No marriage contract has been discussed or signed,” Daenera clarified, tempering Jelissa’s excitement. It seemed the girl was more excited than Daenera herself was. 

“I believe Princess Rhaenyra would agree to it if you asked her,” Jelissa chimed. 

Daenera nodded, acknowledging the possibility. However, Fenrick interjected with a warning gaze, emphasizing the importance of Daemon’s approval. His meaningful look seemed to convey the expected outcome, reminding Daenera of the potential obstacles there were in choosing a husband. 

Basking in the warmth of the sun as it radiated from the clear blue sky, Daenera closed her eyes, allowing the comforting rays to wash over her. She embraced the moment of tranquility, letting the anticipation build as they awaited the start of the competition. 

As she blinked away the temporary blindness, Daenera’s gaze was immediately drawn to a figure bathed in the sunlight, giving his hair an ethereal glow of moonlight. Aemond stood on the opposite side of the circle, his presence sending a surge down her spine. Her heart tightened within her chest, torn between irritation and fascination.

Aemond's expression bore a smugness that hinted at hidden secrets, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. Daenera's anger mingled with an intense curiosity, fueling a fiery concoction within her.

 Suspicion clouded her narrowed eyes as she tried to unravel the enigma before her.

Always present, Aemond lingered in the background, his mere presence drawing her attention away from matters of importance. It was as if an invisible force tugged at her heart, refusing to release its grip. Despite her resistance, she found herself unable to avert her gaze from Aemond, caught in a relentless battle against the enticement that burned under her skin. She staunchly refused to succumb to such madness.

Her attention snapped back to the enclosed circle as the contestants made their entrance. 

The ten victorious knights from the previous melee competition strode into the arena, their footsteps sinking into the soft sand under the weight of their formidable armor. Each knight proudly displayed their house sigils or colors in various ways, a display of loyalty and identity. 

Aran stood out among them, clad in a combination of boiled leather and light plate armor, favoring agility and speed over heavy protection. In contrast, Boris Baratheon donned a suit of chainmail and sturdy plate armor, his yellow tunic adorned with the iconic black stag emblem. It seemed that most contestants had opted for a lighter armor setup similar to Aran’s. 

As each contestant entered, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of cheers, jeers and excited shouts. The air crackled with anticipation, and the fervor of the spectators was palpable. Bets were being made, adding an extra layer of excitement and tension to the atmosphere. 

Jelissa couldn’t contain her excitement, squealing with delight as she clutched Daenera’s arm, shaking it with enthusiasm. Aran’s radiant smile in her direction brought a faint blush to Jelissa’s cheeks, the subtle signs of her affection evident for all to see. 

Daenera remained composed. 

“You are aware of the dangers of the melee competition,” Fenrick said, the voice of reason. He couldn’t help but express his concern and his eyes shifted from the bright-eyed Jelissa to Daenera, a glimmer of worry in his gaze. 

However, Jelissa seemed oblivious to Fenrick’s cautionary words, caught up in the thrill of the moment. The allure of the competition overshadowed any thoughts of the potential risks involved. 

Daenera understood that when knights had adrenaline coursing through their veins, it fueled the innate savage bloodlust that laid in men. And despite the participants’ best intentions, the line between controlled combat and unbridled violence could blur in the heat of the moment. 

The competition commenced, and it didn’t take long for the violence to unfold. Boris Baratheon, wielding his greatsword with deadly precision, landed the first significant blow, sending the Arryn knight sprawling out of the circle. Filled with rage and humiliation over being the first defeated, the knight tore off his helmet and hurled it to the ground, hurling insults at Baratheon in a fit of anger. 

Undeterred, Baratheon continued his onslaught, effortlessly swatting aside the Lannister knight as if he were a mere nuisance. The Lannister, realizing the futility of challenging Baratheon, wisely redirected his focus to the Redding knight, seeking a less formidable opponent. 

In the chaos of battle, House Fenn and Glower managed to incapacitate each other, their dented helmets crashing onto the sand. Seizing the opportunity, the relentless Lannister knight plunged his sword into Redding, forcefully expelling him from the circle, blood streaming from his side. 

Meanwhile, Aran skilfully fended off Manderly, his blade cutting through the knight’s leg. Seizing the moment, Aran grasped a handful of Manderly’s leather armor, swiftly yanking him and propelling him outside of the circle. As this unfolded, Baratheon mercilessly struck the Thorne knight across the face with the pommel of his sword, causing teeth and blood to fly from the knight’s mouth. 

Jelissa’s excitement reached a fever pitch as she witnessed the brutal scene before her eyes. The crowd, equally enthralled by the display of bloodshed, erupted in a roar of exhilaration. 

Daenera felt a lump forming in her throat, her hands clenched into fists on the cool marble railing as she observed Baratheon’s ferocious strikes. With thunderous roars, Baratheon swung his sword through the air where Aran had stood just moments before. In a fleeting moment, the Lannister knight seized the opportunity to attack, thrusting his sword forward, only to have it effortlessly parried away by Baratheon’s ironclad hand as if it were a mere toothpick. 

Never before had Daenera truly grasped the sheer size and strength of Boris Baratheon. He swung at the Lannister knight, swatting him away like an annoying fly. The knight managed to evade the blow by ducking under it, retaliating with a desperate thrust of his own sword. But Baratheon’s counterattack was swift and powerful, jolting the Lannister knight’s arms and forcing him to stagger backward. Growling with fury, Boris relentlessly swung his sword again and again, until the Lannister knight, overwhelmed by the unyielding assault, momentarily dropped his guard. 

Aran attempted to intervene, but his efforts were swiftly repelled, causing him to stumble backward. Boris brought his sword down with bone-shattering force, shattering the Lannister knight’s arm, and then repeated the action on his leg. Though the Lannister knight proved his mettle by drawing his knife and attempting a desperate stab at Boris, his attack was deflected, leaving him no room for honor in his actions. The blade did manage to find its mark, piercing Boris’s side, but the ferocious warrior barely acknowledged the wound. The Lannister knight collapsed onto his back, blood spilling from his mouth as Boris delivered a vicious kick that rendered him unconscious. Two squiers rushed to his aid, gripping his shoulders and dragging him out of the circle, hastily carrying him to the medical tent. 

Aran, determined to turn the tide, aimed to bury his sword in Baratheon’s back, but the formidable brother of the Lord of Storm’s End swiftly turned, swatting the blade aside with a contemptuous ease. Boris retaliated, swinging his sword with such force that it nearly disarmed Aran in a single blow. The clash of steel echoed through the arena, intensifying the atmosphere of chaos. 

“He is going to kill him!” Jelissa cried out, her hands flying to cover her mouth in horror, while the other one gripped Daener’s wrist tightly, digging her nails into her skin. 

Fenrick’s brow furrowed deeply as she responded, his voice filled with disapproval and concern. “He is showing some restraint, aiming for broken bones and damaged teeth. No one has died yet.”

“What restraint? I’m certain the Lannister knight has internal bleeding,” Daenera murmured, scowling down at the bloodied sands of the arena. 

Boris Baratheon’s brutal assault continued without mercy. He struck Aran across the face, reopening the healing wound on his brow and breaking his nose. Blood gushed from the broken appendage as Aran stumbled, blinking in a desperate attempt to regain focus. Barely managing to defend himself, he ducked, rolled through the sand, and rose to his feet, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Despite his unsteady stance, Aran refused to yield. 

Baratheon spat something at Aran, but his words were drowned out by the cacophony of the jeering crowd.

 Daenera clenched her teeth in frustration as Aran glanced up at her, then turned his stubborn gaze back to Baratheon. She felt her heart strain in her chest, and she prayed that Aran would see reason and yield. Better to yield than to allow the brutality to continue. 

Aran mustered all his strength for a single retaliatory strike, his sword connecting with Boris’s side. But Boris seized Aran and delivered a powerful blow to his stomach with the pommel of his sword.

Doubled over, gasping for breath, Aran dropped his sword, clutching his abdomen. He heaved, spit and snot dripped onto the sand, as tears streaked his cheeks. 

With another roar, Boris brought his sword down on Aran’s back. 

Jelissa couldn’t bear to witness the brutality any longer, tears welling in her eyes as she turned away. But Daenera’s gaze remained fixed on Boris Baratheon, a sickening feeling churning in her stomach. Something was terribly amiss. Boris had already secured victory, yet he continued to mercilessly pummel Aran’s defenseless body. The sickening sound of bone cracking finally brought an end to the onslaught. 

Boris raised his arms triumphantly, basking in the adulation of the crowd, who showered the bloody sand with flowers as if he hadn’t just brutally beaten a young man of barely eighteen. 

The squiers from House Blackwood rushed onto the sand, gently turning Aran onto his back, desperately attempting to retrieve him in time. They quickly summoned a gurney and carefully transferred him onto it before hurriedly making their way out of the arena. 

“Gods,” Jelissa gasped, her face pale and eyes red-rimmed with tears. “Is he…is he dead?”

Daenera grasped Jelissa’s arms firmly, her gaze unwavering as she spoke clearly. “Go and check on Aran. Find out his condition and bring us news as soon as you learn anything.”

Jelissa nodded, gathering her skirts and running off to fulfill her task. 

A glimmer of silver caught her attention, drawing her gaze to the other side of the balcony once more. Aemond raised his wine-filled cup in a mocking toast, a wicked and malicious smirk playing on his lips. His eye gleamed with triumph and challenge, sending a shiver down her spine. 

In that moment, she understood. 

“Daenera Velaryon!” Boris Baratheon’s booming voice echoed through the arena, his sword pointed in her direction. A wide grin spread across his face, radiating the glow of victory. “I dedicate this triumph to you!”

Controlling the scowl that threatened to form on her face, she managed to summon a smile and graciously nodded in acknowledgment, aware of the scrutinizing gaze of the crowd upon her. Her eyes rose towards Aemond once again, then back to Boris as he continued speaking. 

“Princess of Flowers, a rare beauty, as sweet as the sweetest flower of all. You occupied my thoughts throughout this competition, and I knew I had to emerge victorious for you. I humbly request that you keep me in your thoughts, as I shall keep you in mine.” 

The lump in her throat was thick and sticky as Daenera nodded in gratitude, plucking one of the black roses adorning a nearby vase. With a swift motion, she tossed it to Boris Baratheon, who caught it with a gleam of ambition and triumph in his eyes. 

Daenera cast a seething glare at Aemond, her expression filled with a murderous intensity, before she turned on her heels and walked away, her steps purposeful and resolute. 

In the shade outside of the arena, where the melee competition was soon to commence, Aemond stood watching the contestants prepare themselves. He twirled his dagger absentmindedly in his hand with practiced ease, as he looked at Boris Baratheon's little squire was struggling to lift the heavy breastplate high enough to strap it onto his lord's chest.

His mood had been foul for the whole tournament, each day souring it worse than the other, and he blamed Daenera and the little pup following her around. 

“Have you changed your mind and come to participate in the competition?” Aran Blackwood asked. Clad in his padded leather armor adorned with his sigil and armed with his sword, approached Aemond with a smile on his lips. Aemond glanced at him momentarily, his gaze lingering only briefly before returning dismissively to the other knights. The dagger continued its mesmerizing dance in his hand.

“No,” Aemond curtly replied, his tone dripping with indifference, as if the mere suggestion remained beneath him, but he would lie if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, if only to spite Daenera.  

Undeterred by Aemond’s cold response, Aran pressed on, seemingly oblivious to the tension between them. “It’s a shame. I am sure you–”

“What do you want?” Aemond interrupted sharply, his glare intensifying as he fixed his eye on Aran. He wasn’t sure whether the boy was willfully ignorant to his animosity or if he was genuinely oblivious. 

Aran stumbled over his words, taken aback by Aemond’s hostility. “I am aware of your… strained relationship with the princess…”

Aemond’s gaze flickered with a dangerous glint, a flicker of violence crossing his mind as he continued twirling his dagger, imagining the ease with which it could silence Aran’s words permanently. 

“...But I thought you might have some insight into where I stand with the princess and if she considers me a real contender for her hand,” Aran continued, his voice filled with foolish hope. “We’ve spent a lot of time together, and I find myself thinking of her even in her absence. I hope she might feel the same and consider marrying me.”

Aemond’s reply was swift and short. “No.”

The dismissal hung heavy in the air, and Aran’s face fell, a confused and disappointed expression screwing up his features. “May I ask why?”

The dagger ceased its twirling, and in a swift move, Aemond slid it into its sheath at his hip. The cruel glint in his eye had a worse bite than the blade that had just been sheathed. “Face the truth, Blackwood. You possess no lands or titles to your name, and when your grandfather breathes his last, you shall inherit nothing. Your brother has already secured heirs, leaving you with scraps. Perhaps you can find solace in marrying some lowly woman from a minor house, but make no mistake: you offer nothing to a princess. Daenera is far beyond your reach, and you delude yourself if you believe you are a suitable match for her.”

Aemond reveled in his cruelty, relishing in the way his words diminished Aran’s hopes into dust. 

“You’re wrong,” Aran spoke up, his voice tense and wavering. He stared defiantly at Aemond. “I do have something to offer–”

“Do not say love,” Aemond cut him off with a scoff. 

“Titles and wealth do not define a man’s worth,” Aran replied, his voice steady despite the sting of Aemond’s cruel remarks. “It is honor, loyalty, and the strength of character that truly matter. I may not have inherited grand titles or vast lands, but I have what you do not. Bravery .” 

He took a step closer, meeting Aemond’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “Daenera and I share a connection that cannot be dismissed so easily. We have spent countless hours together, sharing laughter, dreams, and understanding. Love knows no boundaries of birthright or inheritance. It is in her heart that my hope resides, not in titles or lands.”

Aran’s voice carried a hint of defiance, his words cutting through the air with a newfound clarity. “You underestimate the power of love, Aemond One-eye . Perhaps if you had both eyes, you could see the world’s ability for love. But mark my words, I will prove myself worthy of Daenera’s affection, not through material wealth, but through the strength of my devotion. I will win this competition, in her honor.”

A sneer pulled at Aemond’s lips as he stared at the boy with incredulity and he let out a crude scoff. “A man with only one eye sees more than a boy with two, it seems.” 

Aemond’s gaze burned with fury as he locked eyes with Aran, his fingers itching to unsheathe his dagger and unleash his wrath upon the insolent boy. The thought of slicing him permanently tempted Aemond, allowing his twisted desires to surge through his veins like a raging inferno. He could almost taste the satisfaction of seeing Aran crumble beneath his own foolishness. 

A cruel smirk curled on Aemond’s lips as he leaned in closer, his voice laced with a venomous sneer. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Blackwood. Daenera will devour you like a starved dragon tearing into a helpless lamb.”

“You seem to have no understanding of the princess,” Aran opposed, with the same level of conviction. “Her beauty is not just skin-deep; it emanates from within, a reflection of her grace, intelligence, and compassion. She is a beacon of light in a place consumed by darkness. She inspires and uplifts those fortunate to know her, and she possesses a kindness rarely seen.”

Aemond felt genuine laughter bubbled up within his chest and strained to swallow it. The smirk on his lips turned sharp and biting. “It is you who do not know her. Daenera craves what you cannot give her.”

“And what is that?” Aran questioned defiantly, wanting to prove him wrong. 

“Fire,” Aemond answered. “You may think yourself capable of giving her that, but you will never make her burn for you. All that you can offer her is your feeble devotion and hope that it will be enough, and she might delude herself to think it is, but it is not. She will grow bored with you, and the boredom will grow into indifference if you are lucky, and resentment if you're not. And should she decide that you have outlasted your worth, she’ll free herself of you.” 

She was a tempest, an uncontrollable force of nature, and he knew that she would attempt to contain herself for the sake of Aran. However, Aemond saw it as nothing more than a delusion she wove around herself, convincing herself that the faint flutters she might feel in Aran’s presence could blossom into love. Aemond knew it would not. It would wither like spring flowers caught in a blizzard. 

Aran lacked the power to make her burn, to challenge her on a level that stirred her depths. All he offered was a childlike devotion, a feeble notion that held no weight in the face of Daenera’s fire. 

Aemond despised the feeling he had been left with watching Daenera pretend to be something she was not, to hide away the darkness that resided within her in favor of the mask that was expected of her to wear. He hated watching her with Aran, laughing with him, and smiling at him. The idea that Daenera might settle for someone who couldn’t match her intensity gnawed at Aemond’s core, an unwelcome ache that accentuated his dark desire for her. It burned in the bit of his stomach. Festered. Poisoned him. 

“That is rich coming from a man who is in no better position than I,” Aran sneered, finally showing the spine he had. “A second son, half a man, lacking the courage to partake in a competition, too fearful of facing defeat. The fault lies with me for seeking your counsel on matters beyond your feeble comprehension. Excuse me, my prince, as I must now ready myself to triumph in the competition.”

Aemond’s gaze followed Aran as the boy walked away, a cruel smirk etched upon his face, concealing the anger that flickered within. The sting of Aran words resonated deep within him, fueling the fire of his resentment. A sudden shift in Aemond’s focus directed his attention towards Boris Baratheon, who dismissively waved away his squire after the boy had secured the arm braces around his forearms. A devious plan began to take shape in Aemond’s mind, intertwining with his growing desire for revenge. 

Aemond approached Boris Baratheon, the towering figure before him, instinctively straightening his own posture to match the man’s height. Boris Baratheon was a mountain of a man, with broad shoulders and arms as thick as the trunk of a tree, and his face was handsome, but half of it covered in a thick black beard. 

“Boris Baratheon,” Aemond greeted, a touch of formality lacing his tone, as he asserted the formidable knight whose hands were as big as the paw of a bear, and likely as powerful.

“Ah, Prince Aemond,” Boris returned the greeting with a hint of amusement. “Have you come to join the competition? It would do me some good to have someone who actually poses a challenge, though I promise you, you will not win.”

Aemond’s lips curved into a dismissive smile. “No, I fear I cannot provide you with a challenge at this moment. My sword is still being forged, and I would not wish to compete with a lesser weapon.” 

Boris, undeterred by Aemond’s response, shifted his focus to Aemond’s earlier interaction. “I noticed you speaking with the Blackwood boy. Offering his advice, perhaps?”

“He would not heed my advice, even if I were to offer it. He seems to harbor delusions of victory.” Aemond answered, letting his eye slide over Boris’ features as they tightened. 

Boris let out a boisterous laugh, his amusement filling the air. “That scrawny pup? I can hardly believe he stands a chance against children wielding wooden swords. He doesn’t even yet have hair on his chest. His triumph over the Bracken knight was a stroke of luck, nothing more. “

“But it is not just the competition he believes he will win,” Aemond’s drawled, letting his words lead Boris down a new path. 

“Oh?”

“He fancies that his victory in the competition would bestow upon him enough honor to ask for Princess Daenera’s hand in marriage,” Aemond replied, his words dripping with mockery. 

“That is preposterous. The boy is a fool if he truly believes in such fantasies.” Boris shook his head in disbelief, dismissing the notion, a flash of anger crossing his face. “He’s been following the Princess around like a lost puppy, making it impossible for anyone else to approach her without his constant yelping and inserting himself into every conversation.”

“Indeed,” Aemond agreed smoothly. “It seems we are both in agreement that the boy is a nuisance. I think it would be best if Aran Blackwood’s delusion were met with reality.”

“Do not worry, Prince Aemond. I will make sure to shatter his delusion as well as his honor,” Boris assured Aemond.  

A shiver ran down Aemond’s spine, as if a cold gust of wind had brushed against him. Though his blind side was turned to her, he could feel Daenera’s gaze slither across his presence. He turned his head ever so slightly, meeting her eyes with a piercing gaze. Her brows furrowed in a cautiously curious frown, but before their silent exchange could continue, her serving maid intervened, obliviously pulling her along up the stairs towards the balcony. 

“Indeed,” Aemond agreed, dragging his attention back to Boris. “It would be best if Aran Blackwood was not only unable to win, but also incapable of making any marriage proposal at all.”

** Black Rose; Death, hatred, despair, sorrow, danger, obsession.

[themuskrater]

I just played and finished Gotham Knights for the first time

And I have a LOT of thoughts. I might go in depth on certain things in other posts, but I want to kinda go over my general thoughts and feelings about this game. Spoilers ahead for:

First things first, if you want this to be "Arkham: Gotham Knights", you are going to leave very disappointed. The game's reception was hurt pretty bad by comparisons it to the Arkham series. Arkham is a masterpiece. Gotham Knights is very good at what it wants to accomplish, but comparing it to Arkham feels unfair. I mean...I'm gonna do it anyways, but I'll compare them with the intention that the Arkham games and Gotham Knights set out to accomplish two different things

The Good:

•By far, the best aspect of this game is the scripted moments between the Batfamily. This game features Nightwing (Dick Grayson), Batgirl (Barbara Gordon), Red Hood (Jason Todd), Robin (Tim Drake), and Alfred. It's very clear this is the aspect the developers put the most focus into and it really pays off. It gives me the same feeling as reading "Batman: Wayne Family Adventures". If you just want to see the Batfamily interact and support each other, you're gonna love this game

•While it took me a while to get used to, I really fell in love with the art direction of this game. The skyline of Gotham City is gorgeous. I love the way the bright neon signs illuminate the low hanging fog giving everything a sort of colorful haze. And while I don't love every suit design, I think the customization let's me really like most of them. Batman especially looks really great in this game. His suit in this game is inspired by his look in the Rebirth comics and it translates beautiful

The Bad:

• I'm genuinely confused by the characterization of Mr. Freeze in this game. His motivations are all over the place to the point that I wonder if WB Montréal decided to combine Victor and Nora Fries into one character. At the beginning of the Mr. Freeze side mission, it's explained that Mr. Freeze had given up crime because Batman had promised to help develop a cure for his condition, but now that Batman is gone, he's back at it. Victor doesn't normally care about his own illness, he just wants a cure for Nora. But Nora is never mentioned in this game. Even weirder, nothing he does in the story is ever to cure his condition. SO WHY DID HE STOP CRIME IN THE FIRST PLACE IF HE DOESN'T EVEN CARE ABOUT FINDING A CURE AND HE JUST WANTS TO FREEZE GOTHAM!? It's just a weird creative decision to take

•Yeah so this one isn't a big deal, but at one point in the story, a cat sneaks into The Belfry and the Batfamily just kind of adopt it. It stays there for the rest of the game. You can't pet the cat. I know this isn't important, but it actually made me genuinely sad when I found this out

The Ugly:

•To call this game underdeveloped would be a compliment. I wouldn't call it unpolished, because the game runs perfectly as intended in my experience. I didn't encounter a single bug or crash. But the story and the gameplay feel half-baked, which really sucks considering those are the two main aspects of a video game

•In the gameplay department, combat is passable but the skill ceiling is REALLY low. It reallys very restrictive in what you're actually able to do, but the combat by itself isn't so bad that it isn't fun.

Traversal on the other hand is awful. All the characters use a grapple to get around, but there's no momentum, so you feel like you're barely moving. You stop and lose all momentum between grapples. Arkham also has a grapple gun but it allowed you to string multiple grapple points and keep your momentum through them so they'd be more fluid and you keep your speed going

The Batcylce is also not great. It's REALLY slow and despite the added movement lines around the screen to provide the illusion of speed, you're barely moving faster than the cars on the road. Again, compare this to the Batmobile in Arkham Knight. I did not love the Batmobile in Arkham Knight, and I outright hated the Riddler races, but it was fast and you could really feel the speed in it

Finally you don't actually unlock the ability to glide or any of the other weird traversal abilities if you're playing as anyone other than Nightwing or Batgirl until you complete the Knighthood challenges. Locking an essential traversal ability behind an option set of challenges is weird to say the least. I don't have much to say about gliding, it controls fine but feels slow compared to Arkham

•Lastly, the story of this game isn't bad for what is is, but is disappointing when you realize it had the potential to be so much better by including two characters who are absent from this game: Kate Kane Batwoman and Damian Wayne Robin. The game is set up as a sort of gang war between the The League of Assassins lead by Talia Al Ghul and The Court of Owls lead by Jacob Kane. Both of their child are members of the batfamily, but were weirdly excluded from this game. Including them as playable characters could have made the conflict more personal and interesting.

Additionally, Catherine Kane, Kate Kane's step-mother, is the current anti-vigilante Commissioner of the GCPD. Her daughter being Batwoman would be great character drama that goes completely unexplored. As is, Catherine is a one dimensional, underdeveloped character. And Damian could be shown as torn between the recent death of his father and the re-emergence of his mother in Gotham City. These characters feel like obvious inclusions for the story of this game but are missing without any explanation

In Conclusion:

This game has a lot working against it. I couldn't even fit half of my thoughts into this already way too long rant. The game is just average in the gameplay, mediocre in the story, but absolutely phenomenal in the inter-character relationships. I compared it to Wayne Family Adventures earlier, and if you love stuff like that and want more of the Batfamily being supportive and wholesome to each other, you'll love this game. And I think that's genuinely the main appeal of Gotham Knights. But if you're not interested in the characters and just want a Batman action game, it's passable, but you'd be better off playing any of the Arkham games

[heavensbeehall]

"Catching Fire", Chapter 16

Part 2: The Quell

Chapter 16: Katniss is distraught about Darius. At dinner, she spills a dish so she can hold his hand for a moment. She doesn't let Peeta comfort her because Darius reminds her of Gale and spends the night having vivid nightmares. They go to training. Katniss meets Beetee and Wiress and learns about force fields. Everyone trains. Katniss ends up liking most of the victors. For her closed session with the Gamemakers, she hangs Seneca Crane (with Finnick's knot).

Thoughts

-- I love the other victors too much and have too much to say so I'm going to have to cut this into multiple parts.

-- Katniss thinks "If I had been there to stop Thread, he wouldn't have stepped forward to save Gale. Wouldn't be an Avox." While I think it is awful, I don't think Darius himself would blame Katniss for his predicament. He made the decision to grab the whip from Thread. I wish he got the opportunity to escape, learn sign language and say he wasn't sorry for what he did. (He won't. Spoilers?) He thought he was saving Gale's life. And I hope he's at least proud he didn't stand by.

Quotes;

On his wrist he wears a solid-gold bangle with a pattern of flames--this must be his concession to Effie's matching-token plan--that he twists unhappily. It's a very handsome bangle, really, but the movement makes it seem like something confining, a shackle, rather than a piece of jewelery.

So Haymitch is not a bracelet guy. But the reader must note that he has agreed to Effie's plan for later.

"I'd suggest Chaff and Seeder. Although Finnick's not to be ignored," says Haymitch.

Can't help but notice everyone Haymitch suggests is part of the plan. I don't know if he knows yet but I think these three people are ones he would consider.

Enobaria looks to be about thirty and all I can remember about her is that, in hand-to-hand combat, she killed one tribute by ripping open his throat with her teeth. She became so famous for this act that, after she was a victor, she had her teeth cosmetically altered so each one ends in a sharp point like a fang and is inlaid with gold. She has no shortage of admirers in the Capitol.

Considering what we learn about "admirers in the Capitol" from Finnick later, I have sometimes wondered if Enobaria's teeth are a way to make herself less sexually desirable, or possibly to always have a weapon on her person. But I don't know if fangs are considered attractive in the Capitol. Katniss never mentions anyone else having them, unlike cat whiskers.

... someone puts his arms around me from behind, his fingers easily finishing the complicated knot I've been sweating over. Of course it's Finnick, who seems to have spent his childhood doing nothing but wielding tridents and manipulating ropes into fancy knots for nets, I guess. I watch for a minute while he picks up a length of rope, makes a noose, and then pretends to hang himself for my amusement.

Still not sure if Haymitch knows about Plutarch's plan yet but I think Finnick clearly does. She's trying too hard to become Katniss' friend. But maybe he doesn't do a convincing "friend" since people in the Capitol don't want that from him. The way District 4 finally DOES get in with the Mockingjay crew is simply by introducing Katniss to Mags.

But I think it's worth noting that the two people we KNOW Plutarch has told about the plan are Beetee (who must have discussed the logistics of the force field with him), possibly Wiress as well, and Finnick. We know Finnick has been gathering secrets, probably for Plutarch, for years. And then we learn this:

They seem friendly enough but don't pry. We talk about our talents; they tell me they both invent things [...] his recent success creating a musical chip that's tiny enough to be concealed in a flake of glitter but can hold hours of songs.

One of the things about war is that it brings about technological improvement and for a long time the Capitol had all the technology. Not just nuclear weapons but the mutts as well. (I think this is probably why Gaul wants a forever war, either just so she can keep being funded for her crazy experiments under the guise of it being for the Hunger Games or because she knows all of this). Beetee's invention sounds inocuous but it's been pointed out that is a smart way to smuggle a TON of information in an almost-indetectible size. (Particularly useful if you consider that we think the stylists are operatives of the Rebellion and no one would question why they have glitter.) This chip might be more useful than a jabberjay, for example.

It's also been pointed out that Wiress' device that senses density of fabric for stitching is probably to aid District 8, possibly so rebel leaders there will be able to meet work quotas without actually being present at work.

There's a lot of work that went into this rebellion without Katniss knowing about it, and it's sad to me that most of these heroes will go unsung.

[ptguniversestories]

VICTOR: The Vampire Heir PT.2

On his return to England he was created Duke of Clarence and Avondale and Earl of Athlone on 24 May 1890, Queen Victoria's 71st birthday.

During the spring of 1890 Albert and Hélène met and stayed at his sister's home in Scotland. Both their mothers approve as they fall in love. He saw her as someone who is innocent, so he tried to push down those disturbing thoughts that he had of her and what he wanted to do to her. This is the woman that he wants to marry. When he told his grandmother, she didn’t approve because Hélène was a Roman Catholic. On August 29th, Albert obtained permission to meet alone with his grandmother at Balmoral Castle and he brought Hélène with him.

Marrying a catholic would have entailed constitutional forfeiture of his claim to the British throne, pursuant to the Act of Settlement, but Hélène offered to become an Anglican. When Queen Victoria expressed surprise at Hélène's offer, Hélène wept and insisted that her willingness to do so was for the sake of love. Moved by the couple's desperate plea for her help, Victoria agreed to support them but warned that she thought there were many obstacles likely to render success unlikely. This included her expectation that Hélène's father would not consent to his daughter's change of faith. 

He offered to renounce his succession rights if necessary, writing to his brother: "You have no idea how I love this sweet girl now, and I feel I could never be happy without her".His mother agreed with the match, as did his father.

However Queen Victoria's fears of insurmountable opposition from multiple sources proved accurate.Her prime minister, Lord Salisbury, expressed objections to the alliance to the Queen in writing at length on 9 September. Hélène's father refused to countenance the marriage, was adamant she could not convert and informed the Queen of his decision. He granted permission, nonetheless, for Hélène to personally beseech Pope Leo XIII for a dispensation to marry Clarence, but the pope confirmed her father's verdict and the courtship ended.

He never got over his feelings for Hélène. Even though he felt that way and still was sleeping with Stephen he knew that he had to get married. By the next year he met his soon to be bride Princess Victoria Mary of Teck who went by May. There was something about her that made her interested in him. He thought that he may not love her but he probably would grow to love her. His grandmother considered her as ideal, charming, sensible and pretty. “You can say that she’s a female version of you Eddy.”

So on December 3rd he proposed to her at Luton Hoo, which she accepted. The wedding was set for February 27th 1892.

As wedding plans were under discussion, he fell ill with influenza. It looks as if he was going to die and he was. He was surrounded by his parents, his sisters Maud and Victoria, his brother George, May and her parents. 

three physicians (Alan Reeve Manby, Francis Laking and William Broadbent) and three nurses were present. His father’s chaplain, Canon Frederick Hervey, stood over Albert Victor reading prayers for the dying.

Mary told everyone that she wanted to be alone with him and they granted her wish. When she made sure that everyone was out of the room she slit her wrist and told Albert to drink her blood. Very confused as he weakly asked her what she was doing. She told him to trust her and drink as much as he needed.

He agreed and drank her blood. He then “died” and she had to play her part as the hysterically grief stricken fiancé. She didn’t want no one to touch his body as he slept. The Queen wrote to her and told her that she understood her feelings as she had felt that way when she lost her Albert. Mary told her to just trust her and that he was only sleeping and don’t tell anyone that he’s dead.

Stephen starved himself to death after learning about the news.

Mary stayed by his side for a whole week until he woke up. He had a lot of questions and he was thirsty. Mary told him that he was like her, a vampire. She explained that she’s a descendent of Vlad III and his wife who were the first vampires. The gene sometimes skipped Generations but in her case it didn’t because her father had one as well.

She told him that he would need to wear special jewelry for him to survive in the sun just like her Diamond necklace that she always wears. She told him that she’ll teach him everything. He was sad about Stephen’s death, he even called him his first love. Everyone was happy about him being alive. Mary gave him a ring made with the special metal like her necklace.

[autistic-puffin]

THANK YOU it is consuming my entire brain

amazing i cannot wait to see them

i did in fact find it thank you sadlkfjasklfasadfas

i feel like i have probably not had a single thought about this show that has not already been articulated better by someone else, but i will still say some of my thoughts

things i keep coming back to: jack/anne/max, the DECISIONS AND CHOICES, the inevitability related to all of them, and monstrousness

jack/anne/max: this is huge to me on multiple levels, partially because as individuals i adore all of them and they're all so ALIVE and compelling and complex and nuanced and like all of their outward presentations (of gender and of other things) and their ways of communicating and fighting and not fighting and all of the above are just so so so good and delicious and they fit together so fascinatingly and i love it. and also as a queer man in a long-term QPR with a woman, idk i felt so, seen? i loved how undefined jack and anne were beyond "partners" and i also love that max's importance to anne isn't diminished by jack's importance to her and how they all respect each other's significance to one another by the end. having encountered so many people that do not understand our relationship and want to make sense of it in terms of either romantic or platonic etc, seeing a relationship more similar to my own than possibly any other i've seen, a relationship that wasn't questioned or even properly defined or picked apart, it just IS and is given enormous weight in the story,,,, that is so much to me. and also all of them are very sexy and fun and that's cool too.

DECISIONS AND CHOICES: i mentioned this above but i am so so so so so so obsessed with allllll of the tought and challenging decisions and choices made in this show by the characters. and how much all of them MADE SENSE. even if you wouldn't have made that choice (though as flint says at the end of season 4, he doesn't honestly know what he would've done had he been in silver's position), you can completely understand WHY the character is doing what they're doing, even as you're going BESTIE PLEASE STOP. the characterizations are so well-established and developed over time throughout the show and it is just HHHHHHH *chef's kiss*. and they keep getting thrown into these awful dilemmas and debates and having to make awful choices. and i love it. i think this show does a really really good job of holding all of the moral ambiguity at once. and i think that freedom to not "justify" horrible actions really allows for so much INTERESTING storytelling as we explore the reasons behind all of these different actions.

inevitability: this is very much related to choices and the tragedy of knowing these characters will always make these decisions. eleanor will always choose nassau over max in that moment. flint cannot stop fighting his war. silver cannot lose madi. there is no other way for it to go forward because these characters will always make these decisions. and many of them are even aware of this!!!! the other inevitability is knowing the historical reality of this period and region. and knowing that no matter how hard they try, they will not win this war. the conclusion is already known and so we know all of this struggling will be to some extent in vain. and it is SOOOOOOO. so. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

monstrousness: i am a simple queer and trans person, i enjoy my fictional explorations of monstrousness as much as the next queer and trans person. when i read Susan Stryker's "My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix" 6-ish years ago it rearranged my brain forever. as expected, the discussions of monsters in this show were very YES THAT YES to me. both in being assigned monsters in order to fit the narrative of civilization and in deciding to become the monster. i think for me, watching this show in 2024, it was hitting on the whole "the more things change, the more they stay the same" thing. on how i as a trans person with my horomones and my surgery am one of the monsters that needs to be eradicated, how my queer relationship is hated by my partner's family, how all of my trans siblings are either demonized or infantilized and how we're targeted and fetishized and accused of being monsters. and to some extent this has always been a thing, we all know this. but in this particular moment in time, watching this show about this group of people deemed as too other and monstrous to be allowed into "polite society" and hearing about how these monsters are necessary to maintain the fiction that this oppressive empire is necessary,,,,,,idk i guess it just hits pretty hard.

show of all time and all that etc. also flint looks SO good covered in blood that i am like. mildly concerned for myself.

@autistic-puffin

WELCOME TO THE OTHER SIDE OF BLACK SAILS

it's so funny because literally yesterday i liked a whoooole bunch of black sails posts i'm about to queue up!

alas, my blog is in disuse, i ended up not posting as much as i would have if i just used this one, so i've started going back to here -- this was back when i was trying to wrangle my way out of being a multifandom space (lol can u imagine). BUT like i said... mre black sails being queued on this blog as we speak!

[thedummysdummy]

Sunset: Part 1

So @perhaps-in-anotherdream hit me up in the middle of the night asking for PAIN.

And because I love her, here it is. ;)

It was subtle, at first. A feeling that snuck up out of nowhere until finally knocking firmly on the door. Victor resisted acknowledging it for the longest time, unsure where such a feeling could have come from. Was he simply burnt out? Had something happened that he had not been able to forgive?

No. It wasn’t anything like that at all. It was more like a lack of something that was there before. A cooling ember where had once been a raging inferno. Victor sat on the feeling for another week before he was sure he was interpreting it correctly. He sighed deeply and stared at his empty hands, sunlight from the window at his back filtering over his fingers. Dust particles in the air swirled like glitter, disturbed by his breath. Like his heart, they fluttered as outside forces acted on them. Forces that could not be denied.

And so…Victor called the girl to his office. Her cheerful voice on the phone nearly made him reconsider his decision, but if there was one thing Victor was good at…it was standing by his decisions. “Yes. I need you to report to my office when you get off work today. Yes, very important. I’ll be here whenever you are finished.”

He set the phone face-down on the desk and stared at the office around him. Every surface reflected her presence: the shiba doll on the bookshelf. A jacket she had forgotten on the couch. Photographs of the pair of them on various holidays. Victor frowned and picked up the photo of the couple on his desk, carefully examining the smiling face of the girl. The way their hands were clasped so tightly together. Did the Victor then have any inkling of what the future held? He shook his head in disgust and lay the photograph down so he wouldn’t have to look into those eyes.

By the time the knock arrived at the door, Victor had accomplished next to nothing with his day. Moonlight shone on a stack of unfinished paperwork while the small lamp on the desk cast shadows over the CEO’s face. His expression was impenetrable as his eyes moved to greet the girl. She swept in as oblivious as ever, chattering about her day and making herself comfortable on the couch before looking up to smile at Victor. In the past he would have felt his heart melt at her simple light, but today he found himself feeling nothing. The absence of emotion made him rather uncomfortable, but he did his best to keep the marble mask in place.

But the girl seemed to sense something wrong in the air. “Victor, what’s the matter?” she asked, her big eyes focusing intently on his face. They scanned his sharp features, taking her back to those early days. The warmth hidden in those irises had gone out and a stone dropped into her stomach. “Something bad happened, didn’t it? Did you have to end another partnership? Which one is it this time?”

Victor did not speak for a long time. His mind scrambled to find the phrases he had so carefully constructed earlier in the day, only to find they had filtered away like the dust in the air. “You could put it that way,” he finally said, a sigh escaping his lips. “That is to say, a partnership will soon be ending.” Concern filled the girl’s eyes and she stood, pulled a chair close to Victor’s, and reached for his hands.

“I’m sorry, Victor. It must be a really important one to put you back into stone-face like this.” She reached out to caress his cheek, but tilted her head as he did not take her hands and leaned away from her touch. The stone in her stomach grew heavier, making her a little bit nauseous. “Victor?”

Meanwhile, Victor’s heart was pounding in his chest like drums at the hand of a child. Why was this so difficult? He had broken off multiple professional relationships with ease, so why was he so full of adrenaline? The CEO took a deep breath and put his heart back in its cage where it would be safe before deciding to just take the plunge. He fixed his eyes firmly on the girl and spoke. “It’s us. For weeks I have felt that something is wrong and I’ve finally come to peace with the fact that I just don’t feel the same as I did before. You did nothing wrong; I simply don’t have romantic feelings for you anymore.”

The girl’s breath froze in her lungs and she searched his face desperately for any sign of mischief. Finding none, her eyes filled with tears and her fists clenched in her lap. She fought valiantly against the avalanche of surprise, pain, and betrayal which threatened to suffocate her in that moment. No tears actually fell from her eyes, but they swam as she drew a shuddering breath and met Victor’s gaze. “Are…are you sure?”

Victor nodded, his icy gaze flashing sadness before hardening again. The girl looked around the room at a loss, grabbed her forgotten coat, and stood awkwardly. “I…guess that’s that, then. I'll stop by tomorrow to gather my things, and we can discuss how this affects the business partnership."

"I will have them gathered for you. As for your funding, our personal relationship has no weight there and our partnership will remain the same. Unless you are not comfortable with that and chose to find another financial backer. I have no doubt a company of your caliber would have no end of offers." Victor rose from his chair and reflexively went for the familiar hug, stopping himself mid-muscle memory. "I'll, uh…see you out, then." He opened the office door and stood to the side, his eyes unable to leave the form of the girl as she quietly exited the office.

Victor turned out the lamp and sat at his desk in darkness, contemplating the decision he had made. Only then did he drop the shields and allow the pent up emotion to run its course.

And down the hallway, Goldman's voice echoed, "HE DID WHAT?"

[mukami-rukis-puzzle]

Ruki's reading recommendations

Part two

Title: Frankenstein

Author: Mary Shelley

Genre: Horror, Science fiction

Released in 1818

Review: Another female author from the 19th century. I don't know what happened back then but apparently great female authors finally made their move. Many people say that Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is the first ever science fiction book and that she basically 'invented' the genre.

I believe the book shows the importance of responsibility in scientific development as well as the consequences of running away from that responsibility. There's lots of great topics for discussions that could be held in reference to the book about a variety of topics such as trauma, the human psyche, science and it's dangers, expeditions, human experimentation and even parenting.

Victor Frankenstein creates life but then refuses to care for it, love it, defend it or even teach it about the world even though he forced it into existence with a fully functioning adult brain but the emotional capacity of a preschooler. Adam (as the monster calls himself) is basically a very well spoken baby with anger issues.

It irritates me greatly when people claim that the monster is the villain in this and also the fact that modern movie culture has painted him as a dumb, green hump without the ability to speak in anything more than grunts and moans when in reality the monster has not only incredible learning abilities but also great intelligence.

However, of course the monster wasn't right in his actions. Trauma and neglect may be the reason for his behavior but it can never be an excuse. Later on he had enough emotional and general intelligence as well as knowledge to understand that his actions were wrong and while he does regret them he also falls back on violence and manipulation throughout the book. This, however still does not make him the villain as it is a consequence of the doctors actions.

The book also paints an ironic picture about the wasted potential and trauma of 'children' from irresponsible parents (in this case the monster as the Frankenstein's child) who practice a form of 'tough love', or here plain neglect and in return the child learns to resent them. Later the parent then wonders what ever they did wrong to deserve such a 'terrible' child. Note the sarcasm.

Author's comment: Women in STEM make me happy but women in STEM in 1800 who write bomb literature? *chefs kiss*

But seriously there were many times when the monster reminded me of multiple of the diabolik lover boys. They also lash out because of bad parenting and just like with the monster it's not their fault but also definitely not an excuse for their actions.

They all know very well that what they're doing is wrong and still make the conscious decision to do terrible things. They're manipulative and violent to get what they want. Just like the monster...

[nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice]

Hi fren! Been following ur blog for a while and honestly I love it! I was wondering if I can get ur thoughts on something :)) remember in sozins comet when Iroh refused to fight ozai becuz “history will see it as more violence, a brother killing a brother to gain power” but then cue to Azula and Zuko who are fighting for the throne and it’s fine?? with them?? doesn’t that count as more violence as well? Thank if you ever come across this :D

Okay, first off, I think it needs to be clarified what Iroh actually said in that scene in regards to sending Zuko to defeat Azula because the two situations are very different and everyone involved knew that. The exchange went as such:

Zuko: Uncle, you’re the only person other than the Avatar who can possibly defeat the fatherlord.... we need you to come with us. 

Iroh: No Zuko, it won’t turn out well. 

Zuko: You can beat him. And we’ll be there to help. 

Iroh: Even if I did defeat Ozai, and I don’t know that I could, it would be the wrong way to end the war. History would see it as more senseless violence: a brother killing a brother to gain power. The only way for this war to end peacefully is if the Avatar defeats the Firelord. 

(dialogue, etc.) 

Iroh: Zuko, you must return to the Fire Nation, so that when the Firelord falls, you can assume the throne and restore peace and order. But Azula will be there waiting for you. 

When I see the argument that Iroh sending Zuko after Azula was hypocritical, I think it ignores the reality of the situation and the pragmatic approach. Because Iroh was absolutely correct throughout this whole exchange. Here were the facts as of this point: 

1. Iroh and Zuko were declared traitors and could not legally assume the throne once Ozai was defeated, meaning Azula would assume the throne by default.

2. By this point in the series, Azula had shown at every point that she was just as enthusiastic about waging war and had shown no remorse for the suffering of the Earth Kingdom at the hands of the Fire Nation. She was particularly enthusiastic about the two major affronts against the Earth Kingdom: conquering Ba Sing Se and using Sozin’s Comet to burn down the Earth Kingdom. 

3. Azula was the one who had the idea for the ‘let’s use the comet to burn down the Earth Kingdom’ plan in the first place and was proud of that plan. If Ozai was defeated, she would have used her position to go through with the plan anyway.

Realistically, this situation is in no way ideal, but the reality is that Azula did need to be stopped from assuming the throne. Make no mistake, if she had the opportunity to do so, she would have been at Ozai’s side burning down the Earth Kingdom instead of staying in the Fire Nation. She was dangerous and needed to be stopped and that was evident from her actions throughout the entire series. 

And the situations of Zuko defeating Azula and Iroh defeating Ozai are completely different, mainly because it was never Zuko or Iroh’s intention for Zuko to kill Azula like everyone else was planning with Ozai. The intent with Zuko going after Azula was to stop her from being crowned, which was a thing that needed to be stopped, otherwise, the war would have continued. And Iroh was absolutely correct in his assumptions: Zuko and Katara arrived in the Fire Nation just before Azula was crowned Firelord. And in the end, as we all know, they didn’t kill her, they just removed her as a threat so Zuko could assume the throne. There is a difference between taking out an actively harmful force in a position of absolute authority (Ozai) and stopping a harmful force from taking a position of absolute authority (Azula). 

There’s also the facts that 1. Iroh had his own history as a general who held siege on Ba Sing Se for 600 days, allegedly committed war crimes, and wasn’t exactly well regarded in the Earth Kingdom. 2. Like he said, a fight between Iroh and Ozai was not one that had a clear victor. Iroh was not the right person to defeat Ozai, Aang was, for many reasons. (There’s also the fact that Iroh’s arc came full circle as he freed the city he once laid siege on, but that has less to do with the pragmatic rationale behind the match ups and more to do with thematic purposes.)

And this is a thing that also bothers me. There’s an argument that Iroh failed Azula and that part of the reason she was how she was fell on him and I don’t think that’s fair. And this post by @withyoutilltheendofthecredits articulates why: 

the ideas “azula was a victim of abuse who was manipulated and hurt by ozai” and “azula had a hand in a lot of trauma for zuko due to her awful treatment of him” can and should coexist

I think it’s important to keep in mind whenever we talk about Iroh, Azula, and Zuko how their dynamic was in season 2. Firstly, Iroh’s priority through this show was to keep Zuko safe. In season 1, he wasn’t so much there to actively help Zuko find Aang (and on multiple occasions seemed to work against Zuko’s mission), but rather was there to stop Zuko from making stupid decisions that would get him killed while offering emotional support and training him to be a better firebender. Does he actually want Zuko to kidnap the Avatar and return to his awful, abusive father? No. But he does want Zuko to have something that gives him hope, something that keeps him going. And Iroh’s priority is to be there to make sure this kid doesn’t do anything too reckless. 

 In season 2, Zuko technically no longer has his mission as he’s deemed an enemy of the Fire Nation and Iroh more explicitly works to help his nephew mentally and emotionally extricate himself from the family members that hurt him. At the beginning of the season when Zuko is excited about going home after Azula lies to them, Iroh voices his suspicion because unlike Zuko, who’s still holding onto the idea that he can win his father’s love, Iroh is able to look at the situation objectively and knows that if Zuko goes home, he’s not going to be safe and he is not going to be met with any sort of love. 

Zuko: Did you listen to Azula? Father’s realized how important family is. He cares about me. 

Iroh: I care about you!

And through the rest of the season, Iroh tries his best to take advantage of their new freedom by showing Zuko that he does deserve control of his own life, happiness, and unconditional love. He’s trying his best to help him through this difficult time because part of Zuko’s emotional struggle in this is reconciling with the fact that no, his father doesn’t want him, at all. When he was banished, he had the ‘if I get the Avatar I can go home’ thing to cling onto, but Iroh and everyone else knew that Ozai never actually intended for Zuko to succeed or return. So Zuko has to deal with that in season 2 and doesn’t get to that point, he still tries to capture Aang and he still joins Azula in Crossroads of Destiny because he’s not ready to let that little bit of hope that he could return home go. It isn’t until he takes a stand against Ozai with the “it was cruel and it was wrong” speech that he really discovers who he is and what he wants and the main reason he’s able to come to that conclusion is because of Iroh’s treatment of him in season 2. 

In season 2, Iroh not only protects Zuko from physical harm and takes care of him in regards to sickness, food, and water, but tries to drill into his head that he didn’t deserve the treatment from his father and shouldn’t throw his life away trying to please him. That he can have and deserves a peaceful life. And Zuko keeps going down the self destructive path because he’s been convinced for so long that him proving himself to his father is more important than his personal safety or happiness. Iroh just wants him to put himself before the man that abused him. He hates it that Zuko almost gets himself killed multiple times for the sake of Ozai. There’s their talk in The Avatar Day and their fight in Lake Laogai that bring this to the forefront: 

Iroh: Even if you did capture the Avatar, I’m not so sure it would solve all our problems. 

Zuko: Then there is no hope at all 

Iroh: No Zuko, you must never give into despair. 

Iroh: And then what?! You never think these things through. This is exactly what happened when you tried to capture the Avatar at the North Pole. You had him and then you had nowhere to go. 

Zuko: I would have figured something out. 

Iroh: No! If his friends hadn’t found you, you would have frozen to death! 

Zuko: I know my own destiny. 

Iroh: Is it your own destiny? Or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you? 

And as Iroh acts as Zuko’s protector and tries to break him away from his self destructive mentality, how does Azula fit into that? Here are the interactions between Azula, Zuko, and Iroh in season 2: 

Azula trying to take Zuko and Iroh as prisoners to the Fire Nation with no remorse 

Azula attempting to shoot lightning at Zuko in the first episode of season 2 and Zuko only being saved by Iroh redirecting it at the last second 

Azula shooting Iroh and seriously injuring him (it could have been lighting, but I think it was just fire) 

Azula trying to capture Iroh and Zuko in Ba Sing Se and succeeding 

Azula manipulating Zuko into going back to Ozai 

Objectively, Azula is a threat against Zuko’s safety and there’s a good chance she would have killed him in the first episode of season 2 if Iroh hadn’t stopped her. He knows exactly how dangerous she is and made the decision that he was going to do what it took to keep Zuko safe, which he did. With this exchange in Bitter Work. 

This isn’t Iroh saying ‘I have no sympathy for my niece whatsoever and am choosing to ignore her’. This is Iroh saying ‘Azula has proven herself to be an objective and real threat and I need to keep Zuko safe from her.’ And he was correct. I feel like this stance is reasonable when the last two times she saw them she tried to shoot Zuko with lightning and actually shot Iroh. 

And the reality of the situation is that Iroh shouldn’t have had to be the one to raise Zuko or Azula. He wasn’t their parent and he shouldn’t have had to be responsible for them. Ideally, Ozai should have been the one to do that, but that wasn’t the reality of the situation. And Iroh was faced with a choice: go with Zuko who was banished, injured, and lost, or stay with Azula who was not in a good home with a good influence, but who was still the favored, prodigy princess. He had a choice of which kid to stand behind and I think it’s fair to say that Zuko needed Iroh more when he was banished. 

Ideally, there shouldn’t have been a choice for Iroh. Ideally, Iroh shouldn’t have had to raise his nephew. Ideally, Azula should have had a better parental influence who didn’t encourage her violent streak. But it was by no means an ideal situation. Azula was dangerous and remorseless and Iroh was entirely correct when he saw her rising to power and realized ‘if she isn’t stopped now, there is no telling what she’s going to do’. Because he knows exactly who raised her.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Hey I read your oxygen loss scenarios and I absolutely loved them, even if they made me really sad at first, but I still love them entirely! If you're still doing them, could you do one with Fort Max?

Thanks a bunch! Angst with a happy ending is kind of my favorite thing in the world, so I'm glad others feel the same! It absolutely works well with our big Maxy boy!

Here's the other posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: You're Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Fort Max

·Somehow, he's fallen for a being so small they fit in his cupped palms, and yet the two of you fit together so well he can't complain. Though he's a tad bit overprotective, you don't mind at all, and understand what drives the behavior even if he doesn't say it. What matters is that he's improving, and adores you so much every little activity is better in his mind when done with you, even just chilling and managing his security reports. That's why you're on his desk at the moment, relaxing on the human sized furniture he occasionally uses as paperweights when you're not around. Every so often you'll look up and find him glancing your way with a loving expression just visible through his attempt to remain neutral, after which point he'll dart his optics back to his work and pretend he's been busy the whole time. You can't help but think you're the reason he can't get much done.

·In addition to his filing reports, he has his monitors open at all times, each of which feeds him the security information for the various sections and systems of the ship. Most of the time there's nothing to report, save for hijinks going wrong or an experiment accidentally knocking things offline, yet he's always quick to respond. The rapid reactions to potential threats has put him on surprisingly good terms with Red Alert. Thus you're none too alarmed when he sees something unusual on one data feed and immediately gets to investigating, his large digits tapping away for answers while he vocalizes his thought process. Curious as always as to what might be the source of the issue, you move in wordlessly and are placed on his shoulder without having to ask. Having you watch him work always makes him feel quite proud after all.

·Initially the issue appears to be a simple bug in the programming of the communication systems, an inconvenient but none too hard to fix dilemma. Seeking out the source however, he finds none of the expected signs of an internal miscalculation, and before you can ask what's wrong he's messaging the bridge with a full alert. You listen as an audibly erratic signal forces him to keep things brief; emergency defense units and protocols need to be scrambled now, the ship is suffering an encrypted hack and a physical assault is undoubtedly inbound. While you feel instinctive fear at every word, somehow being in his presence and seeing him take command lessens that to a remarkable extent, for not much can get through your partner when he's on alert. Unfortunately for him he's anything but unafraid.

·When the line inevitably goes dead, he actually struggles to recall the next phase of his crisis response plans, as having you right beside him makes doing anything but protecting his delicate partner seem insignificant. Only by reminding himself that protecting you requires him to protect the ship is he able to get moving. Double checking your position on his shoulder, he clarifies that you'll be going to the nearest secure zone before he heads off to check various rendezvous points, as the crew is trained for this and the silent alarm has already been triggered. As you settle in on the broad expanse beside his helm, he just manages to grab the last of his spare weapons before a cataclysmic tremor rocks the ship. An audible rumbling through the ship blocks out all sound as you briefly tumble through the air.

·Catching you in a mad dash, he bombards you with questions as to possible injuries before you can clarify that you're fine. Tragically the relief on his face isn't something you get to enjoy for long. A second metallic rumble through the Lost Light turns his expression to a scowl. The enemy must have snagged them with a kind of anchor, he surmises, which no doubt means they'll be boarding in very short order. He needs to get you out of here now. Knowing that high stress situations can exhaust him in ways he's still not used to, you hold one of his digits tightly from your place on his palm. You're ready, you assure him, and you know he's going to be just fine. It works in the smallest way. The two of you draw strength from shared reassuring smiles before he leaves the safety of his office to start moving.

·As usual, he's not really afraid for his own sake as he moves through the hallways, due in no small part to his massive size and strength. For you though, he has to at least admit to himself that he's terrified. Hearing and feeling the tremor as intensely as he did means it must have come from somewhere uncomfortably close by, and that means the likelihood of encountering a threat in the next few minutes was remarkably high. The intensity of Cybertronian combat made such an occurrence not unlikely to be fatal for squishy little you. Yet as he recalls the closest potential drop off spot he can secure you at, he can't help but think on his role as a protector of this ship and how his responsibilities seem divided at the moment. While he has to keep you from harm, the same is true of the crew, and he can hardly ensure your safety if the ship is compromised...

·The decision to take the route he settles on is one not made easily, but it still feels proper. By going a less direct way he can check on multiple key locations only a little out of the way, helping to ensure that protocol is being followed and that the enemy isn't overwhelming their defenses. He can get you somewhere safe, while protecting you and the rest of the crew at once. It doesn't feel ideal, but he has to do his job, right? You can't be safe without the ship, unlike a Cybertronian who can at least endure the vacuum of space and even has a fair chance of surviving a planets fiery atmosphere... Primus, he can't handle thinking about those things. Focusing on getting you to safety along with everyone else is what he has to think of instead, especially with the sensation of your tiny body so warm and delicate in his palm, which he tries to also draw comfort from.

·As you trust him above all else, you don't ask any questions as he moves through the ship, sneaking as much as a bot of his size can in the open hallways. You're hardly scared for your own sake with Fort Max holding you close to his spark. In fact, the world beyond doesn't seem scary at all from this perspective. Being such a massive bot equals out to a rather strong spark, and as close to it as you are, you can feel it humming even now. It's kind of like a miniature sun with how warm and alive it makes you feel. Silly as it sounds, you do believe it feels stronger than when you first met him, as if the healing he's done since has made his very spirit grow brighter. For the sake of that hard earned recovery you hope everything goes smoothly today. It's enough to make you hold on to him a little tighter, just to convey your support.

·Eons of training prevent him from being taken by surprise, but he feels far from prepared as he detects enemy movement down a hallway. The aliens are large, numerous, and well armed. Regardless of their intent to take prisoners, he knows he can't let them go, as the mere possibility of them hurting even a single being on this ship is too much for him to take. Knowing they have to be taken care of is unfortunate with you in his care, as he doesn't want you to see him in combat. But... he trusts himself enough not to take it too far, a realization that makes it easier for him to whisper a warning and secure you in a tiny maintenance hatch, from which you will be safe and hopefully won't observe much. As soon as you promise to stay put he takes off to end the threat as quickly as he can.

·From your spot the chaos of battle is mostly the noises that reach your ears, but through them you're still able to recognize Fort Max as the imminent victor, if only because the fight is so one sided he hardly has to make a sound. It still makes you curl up in the little shelter and hope for it to be over as soon as possible. Yet the darkness of the maintenance shaft makes worrying a tad bit difficult... in fact, it makes you oddly tired. Exhaustion you didn't even notice is suddenly weighing you down, making the battle seem so far away and insignificant, all despite how clearly you realize now isn't the time to sleep. Perhaps the rush of all this has simply worn you down?

·Max finishes off the batch of enemies quickly and without a trace of the usual thrill of battle. He doesn't want to enjoy combat the way he once did, or feel the way he used to when he was at his worst and tearing foes apart actually felt good... As soon as the last enemy is down he returns to you, actually thinking he made the right call for once in checking key locations like this, for now this batch won't be able to hurt anyone. Though his usual luck shows through when he returns and finds you extremely groggy, to the point that even as a bot without medical experience he knows something is wrong, and he scoops you up immediately to start looking for injuries. You react amicably to his concern and assure him you're fine, but your breathless tone gives away that something is obviously affecting your respiration. In a series of horrifying realizations he connects the dots.

·The ship being hacked must have affected everything, including the life support systems you need for the air to be breathable, which he should have considered as a possibility from the very beginning. Without a moment to spare, he tucks you close to his chest and charges towards the medical bay. It's painfully obvious to him now that he made the wrong decision. He should have prioritized you over everything, should have anticipated there being additional threats, should have done a million other things... Hearing your weak reassurance only makes it hurt more. Unable to comprehend what's going on and not getting anything from him but whispered apologies, you just try to stay awake to support him as he runs through the ship at full speed. The only thing that stops him is an ambush from a full legion of enemies, though thankfully he still has enough of a grip to shelter you when the energy weapons start firing. Your tiny form is shielded by the impenetrable armor of his curled body as he briefly retreats to secure you once again, but this time his charge into combat is anything but controlled.

·From a little cubby you watch him unleash total vengeance on a horde of unprepared combatants, his incredible strength reducing enemy weapons and bodies to shreds without a trace of hesitation. Yet as you slip from consciousness there's no fear in your heart. Only sadness, for his sake and your own, as his resurfaced trauma tears into him yet again. It's worse than that though, he blames himself almost more than the enemies he tears apart, because protecting you was supposed to be his job. He'd told himself you needed the ship secure to be safe, but had he even considered the air you needed to breathe? It should have been obvious. Fighting somehow dulls the pain, as if the little rush of every kill helps his processor subdue the ache, and as the enemy needs to die regardless for their crimes against you he doesn't hesitate to go all in. The heated blur of battle overtakes him so completely he almost doesn't realize when he's joined by backup Autobots on his security team until there's not an enemy left to kill.

·Your last conscious perception is his face as strong hands lift you gently, followed by muffled instructions to get you to the medical bay. Some part of you knows he won't rest until every threat on the ship is dealt with, and you're correct. As you're whisked away to the medical bay, he takes no prisoners as he initiates his defense, rallying the gathering bots to annihilate those who would have turned them into a quick profit. But with every blow, he can only think of you. As he's cheered on by his fellows, he can only think of you. At the final declaration of victory and the rebooting of the systems, he can only think of you... Not even knowing the medics saved you and that you'll fully recover assuages his guilt. If anything, as he washes the blood off his servos and forgoes the festivities to sit by your bedside, he's certain he's never felt more like a monster...

·When you wake up there's a lovely warmth all around you, coupled with a gentle hum through the air that you know has been there in the past. Open eyes let you see a familiar wall of a chest, and through the oxygen mask you happily whisper Fort Max's name, making the hulking bot twitch in surprise as he looks down to you. It's with a smile you realize he was dozing with you shielded beneath his tented form. Remembering the haze of chaos and danger, you reach out to him as he offers a gentle hand to adjust the blankets laid loosely over your small body, but despite the fact that you're both okay you only see sadness in his optics. At your first prompt he lightly deflects with a sad smile. At your second his face falls and the whole ordeal comes tumbling out of him, with particular emphasis on how he failed to protect you when it truly mattered, something that impacts him so greatly he sheds a few tears as he lays his head in his hand.

·Heart breaking at the sight, you quickly point out the multiple times he charged into battle for you, though he counters by recalling how savagely he killed his enemies in front of you. It was the kind of brutality he'd thought himself beyond, but if he isn't, how can he be safe for you? It takes all the strength you have to sit up and firmly request his attention. At what point, you ask, were any of his actions not in some way motivated by the greater good? Even if he didn't know everything that was going to happen, did he once abandon you? Of course not, because he's a good bot, and you know he is. Before he can bring up one more point about his perceived failure you remind him that he's come impossibly far, enough that no setback today could undo his progress, and that you're so proud of him. As the weakness forces you to lie back and he leans in with concern, you smile and point out that everything he's done has been to the benefit of others, whether it be you or the crew. For once he can't argue. Curling protectively around you once more, he decides to let himself be happy that you're safe, shaken but reassured by your faith in him. More than anything, it gives him faith in himself.

[seriouslycromulent]

Random thoughts on ZSJL after 1st viewing

So dear DCEU fans, before I sit down to re-watch Zack Snyder’s Justice League again tonight, I thought I’d share some of my first impressions and thoughts on the film. I really wanted to take part in the watch party yesterday, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to give the film my full attention if I did so, especially since it would be my first viewing.

But now that I know what was inside my birthday gift (my birthday was March 18th), I can chat about it with others and discuss to my heart’s content. 

However, this is NOT that post. This is not a review. It’s just some of my initial thoughts and reactions, which may or may not change after multiple viewings. 

And yes, I will mark this post as “ZSJL spoilers” for anyone trying to remain unspoiled until they get a chance to watch it at their own pace.

Here we go ...

Question #1 - Why does Barry only burn out of his shoes, but nothing else he’s wearing when he moves to save Iris? Is it the friction against the floor? Or is it just convenient for the sake of visuals? We know the suit he made is designed to withstand wind and heat resistance when he moves, so when he’s not wearing it, are his clothes in danger of getting shredded if he moves fast enough? 

This isn’t snark. I’m genuinely curious. :-)

Reaction #1 - I know it’s blasphemous to speak positively about the theatrical release, but I kind of miss the opening credit sequence with the song playing over the images and interactions of people arguing, fighting and falling into despair after Supes died. I felt it was an apt response in the world in the wake of his death, and it suited Zack’s overall tone connecting BvS to this film from the start. I’m not saying the new opening is bad. Just that I kind of liked the theatrical one better.

Question #2 - Now this is kinda snarky. But does Arthur just leave sweaters and shirts littered all over the place whenever he goes below the surface? What if there’s no one there to pick it up like that lady in Iceland? 

Reaction #2 - I’m love, love, loving the much bigger role of the Amazons in this version. That battle scene with Steppenwolf is still brutal to watch, but the extra screen time is much appreciated.

Reaction #3 - I’m now calling the arrow shot into the Shrine of the Amazons the “Hanukkah Arrow” because it was a miracle the fire stayed lit during its entire journey to the Shrine and how it stayed lit until a film crew caught it on the news. 

R#4 - Even though I knew Victor’s car accident was coming, I was still shook when it happened. Like, I genuinely screamed when the other vehicle crashed into them. That’s how emotionally invested I was in that scene at the time.

R#5 - I liked the juxtaposition of going from Victor’s dysfunctional relationship with his dad to Barry’s sweet, but heartbreaking relationship with his dad. Way to mess with our emotions, Zack.

R#6 - “gorilla sign language” Tee-hee!

R#7 - Great placement with the suicide prevention billboard. It was both seamless and poignant. 

R#8 - As a fellow tea drinker, I like that Alfred is particular about how tea is made, even when the cup of tea isn’t for himself.

R#9 - It’s interesting to see how jerky Victor’s movements are in Chapter 3. I know he will move more smoothly as the film progresses, but I feel like that growth and development in his movements were missed in the theatrical release, which is a shame because it’s a great mirror to his psychological development as well. 

R#10 - It’s a shame how easily Steppenwolf captured the 2nd box thanks to King Orm’s incompetence. Ugh. I can’t stand that guy. 

Question #3 - Why is Arthur responsible for retrieving the box that was lost on his brother’s watch? He’s not king yet, so why does it fall to him? Whatever. Orm sucks.

Question #4 - OK. So I know this was in theatrical release, but how is it that the other team members disappeared when Commissioner Gordon turned his back and Barry didn’t notice it happening? That technically should be impossible unless Barry was distracted by a squirrel or something.

Favorite Hell Yeah Moment #1 - Barry saving the kidnapped people from being hit by the falling debris outside after the team rescues them from Steppenwolf. Go Barry! Do that shit!!! You don’t need lessons on how to be a f*cking hero!

R#11 - So Barry did trip in the original script. Interesting. I still don’t like that. It’s in character for where he is right now on his journey, but I still don’t like it.

Question #5 - Architectural question for the design nerds out there. Why does Lois have a glass pane in her front door in an apartment building in a major metro area in the US? That’s an odd design. Is it a renovated office building? Was her apartment at one point the office of a private detective in a noir film? I need answers.

Favorite Hell Yeah Moment #2 - The J’onn J’onzz reveal is officially one of my biggest thrills of the entire DCEU franchise. Years ago, when people were speculating about who was the 7th in the phrase “Unite the 7,” I said it’s J’onn J’onzz, and fanboys corrected me and insisted it had to be Hal or at least one of the Lanterns. And I was like, “Nope. I bet you it’s J’onn. He could easily already be a part of the story and we don’t even know it.” This is the part where I say to you ... Called It! Like 6 years ago! I f*cking Called It!

R#12 - Yep, by Chapter 5, Victor is moving much more smoothly.

R#13 - Dude!!!!!! The “Not Impressed” moment was better than anything Supes ever did in the theatrical release. Anything. It was just so epic and smooth and smoothly epic. I’m accepting that scene as a part of my personal birthday gift. Zack did that for me. That’s why that’s in there.

R#14 - I know Barry got a couple of hero moments earlier in the film, but none of them compare to the actual reconstruction of f*cking time in order to save everyone. The way the ground literally formed under his feet as he ran had me holding my breath without me even realizing it. Thank you, Zack! Thank you for making Barry more than the comedy relief. Thank you for giving him this moment. He deserves this.

Favorite Hell Yeah Moment #3 - I know everyone is talking about how they cheered when the team goes charging into the building altogether (sans Supes). And don’t get me wrong. That moment is pretty f’cking sweet. But dude, my all-time favorite, jump-out-of-my-seat, and jump-up-and-down moment was when Arthur speared Steppenwolf from behind and lifted him up in the air. I was like ...

The fangirl in me was unashamed and unbossed. Arthur deserved that moment. He spent half the film being tossed around like a ragdoll or brooding like a hot stevedore. He deserved that shit! Yes, yes, he did.

Epilogue thoughts ---

Again, this is the longest film epilogue I’ve seen since LOTR: Return of the King, but I’m not hating, just noting.

The extra scenes with J’onn J’onzz and Deathstroke made my day after everything else made my night. They are 2 of my absolute favorite DC characters who were all but cut from the theatrical release. I’m taking those scenes as ... again ... my personal birthday gifts.

I know we may never get JL2 and JL3, but I felt like the cliffhanger was pretty good. It leaves you wanting more, but not feeling as if you’ve been left high and dry. For those who doubted Zack’s decision to keep it a cliffhanger knowing he may never get to finish the story, I say to you, “Aren’t you tired of doubting this man?”

[sophfandoms53]

Aboutta ramble about Sonic X for a few moments because I just gotta talk about this.

So my favorite episode of Sonic X is episode 73, both in the English dub and the Japanese one, and I’m gonna be talking about a certain moment in the Japanese dub (that for some reason 4kids cut out of their version but regardless) and, despite watching this episode over a hundred times, I’m just now noticing this little detail and I gotta give credit where credit is due, especially when these characters I’m about to talk about have not been used to their full potential like this in years.

Now I’ve made it clear in the past that I absolutely love Shadow and that he’s been my favorite character for a handful of years now, so it’s probably not a shock to those who have seen this episode that this is a favorite of mine. A lot of the reasons I’ve grown to love Shadow are sprinkled throughout this episode as it’s focused on him and how far he’s willing to go on his mission, and the moment in particular I’m aboutta talk about further examines just how far Shadow will go to succeed.

A major point in this episode is the team trying their best to fight against Shadow and stopping him from getting the chance to harm Cosmo. Now in this regard, Knuckles stands out the most, not only because he fought with Shadow twice, but because what he managed to get Shadow to do during these fights.

Knuckles has always been one of the strongest characters in the Sonic franchise, it’s the reason he’s the power type character in Heroes, and it’s clear as day that Knuckles can hold his own in a fight. Fighting against Shadow is no exception.

In this episode Knuckles is actually the only one to truly stand his ground and fight Shadow properly, as Sonic was knocked out of commission pretty early in the episode with the combine shock of blocking a chaos spear to protect Chris and then Shadow completely pummeling Sonic into the ground, and as mentioned before; Knuckles even fights against Shadow twice.

Focusing on their second fight, while Knuckles had the upper hand at the start of the fight, grabbing Shadow while he was in the middle of a spin dash attack on Tails and Cosmo and then throwing Shadow violently into the floor, Shadow was the one who ended up being the victor in this fight. He attacks Knuckles with a spin dash attack by building up his force bouncing back and forth against the walls before knocking Knuckles down.

Now Shadow taking down Knuckles or Knuckles being able to fight Shadow multiple times isn’t what’s interesting, those are rather normal things in all honesty, but what is interesting is this little moment after Shadow defeats Knuckles:

Now Shadow taking off his rings isn’t a decision he makes lightly, he’s aware they allow him to balance and control all the chaos energy that flows through his body when he’s fighting and without them; he loses that energy very quickly and becomes incredibly tired.

The only times Shadow ever removes them are when it’s completely necessary and he needs that extra boost of energy and power to finish off his adversary, defeating Finalhazard, avenging Molly after she was killed, and at the end of the series he removes them to momentarily freeze time in his position to allow the others the ability to escape before the planet egg explodes which kills Dark Oak in the process.

So you know what this means?

Knuckles is that strong of an opponent that in order to beat him; Shadow was forced to remove his inhibitors rings.

It takes Shadow using his full strength to completely knock Knuckles down and it works.

And keep in mind, just a few seconds before this, Shadow was acting like a cocky bastard when Knuckles challenged him:

Shadow being cocky in his abilities aren’t anything new, he’s very prideful about the fact he was created to be the ultimate creature, to the point of calling himself the ultimate life form and remarking on how powerful he is multiple times both in games and external media (such as this episode), but it’s very interesting that Shadow kept up this cocky attitude while being completely aware that he was removing the very thing that limits his powers to defeat Knuckles.

And even looking back at their first fight, the entire time Shadow resorts to energy attacks and dodges, all with the same cocky smirk on his face, but not once did Shadow truly try to physically attack Knuckles at all:

Shadow even runs off and leaves Knuckles to deal with Rouge rather than continuing to fight Knuckles himself, and you could make the argument Shadow had his mission to fulfill and didn’t wanna waste time, a valid argument, but a counter point I can make to that is; Shadow was aware that in order to beat Knuckles entirely he had to use his full strength, so he knew trying to put up a fight against Knuckles would be useless and preferred to just not bother with it, wanting to preserve his energy for later.

If Shadow knew he had the ability to beat Knuckles with ease, he 100% would’ve just knocked Knuckles out immediately and the second battle between them wouldn’t have happened, but he didn’t, because he knows how strong and persistent Knuckles is and he wasn’t about to waste his time on a fight he wouldn’t win.

So this could mean that Shadow see’s Knuckles as an equal to his own strength, which would explain how equally matched they are when fighting in the comics.

It’s a fun thing to think about and I think it was a neat detail for the anime to include.

[sass-and-suspenders]

Abogato

GIF from whatbarisiwore

Pairing: Rafael Barba x Reader

Author’s Note: This is a sequel to Dopplegänger, but you don’t need to have read it to understand this story

It would take a single glance inside Rafael’s home office to know he was stressed. If the wastebasket overflowing with crumpled pieces of paper, the haphazardly stacked files across the desk and floor, or the bottle of scotch running precariously low didn’t give it away, then the rumpled, sleep-deprived prosecutor behind the desk certainly would.

Rafael was casually dressed, his weekend commute consisting solely of a walk from the bedroom to the kitchen to your shared office, but tension radiated off him. He had been hunched over a legal pad for hours struggling to write a closing argument. His latest case had been difficult, not to mention high-profile, with the defense matching each of his small victories with their own. Rafael knew the verdict rested on his closing argument and he was determined to make it perfect.

Setting down his gold pen, Rafael ran a hand through his hair and looked over what he had so far. The page was filled with scribbled out sentences, shorthand notes exploding from the margin, and a doodle of a grumpy stick figure wearing a tie (which you would later cut out and put on the fridge). Despite the mess, Rafael managed to cobble together an introduction.

He reached for his coffee, aware that he had hours of work ahead, and was surprised to discover it was warm. You must have swapped out his stale mug of coffee with a fresh one without him realizing. Ever since your relationship began, you had taken care of him: draping a blanket over him whenever he fell asleep on the couch, bringing him food when he worked late so he wasn’t forced to survive on the saccharine contents of office vending machines, coaxing him to bed whenever countless witness testimonies and police reports left him unable to see straight.

He cherished these small, often silent, gestures, but what he loved most was sliding into bed beside you at night and waking up next to you in the morning. Without a doubt, asking you to move in with him had been the best decision he ever made. The change in the apartment was evident the minute you unpacked: you filled the space with warmth and love.

As well as numerous cat toys.

When Rafael asked you to live with him, he hadn’t fully considered what it would be like to share the apartment with a third roommate: your grey tabby. It would be safe to describe Rafael’s relationship with your cat (christened Rafaelito much to Rafael’s displeasure) as one of tolerance. Rafael tolerated finding cat toys in his briefcase. He tolerated cat hair on his expensive suits. He even tolerated the occasional hairball that managed to fall directly inside one of his shoes (and never, if he were to think about it, in one of yours).

And Rafaelito, well, he tolerated Rafael’s existence.

In between sips of coffee, Rafael looked over his introduction. As he read the words aloud, trying to find the right rhythm, Rafaelito strutted into the room. The tabby immediately noticed the lawyer behind the desk and shot him a withering glare, making Rafael feel as if he were the interloper. When it became clear Rafael had no intention of leaving, Rafaelito made his way around the desk, pausing beside Rafael’s chair, in order to glare at him in close proximity.

“Vete,” Rafael ordered, not bothering to look up from his papers, as he waved his hand towards the door. “I’m working.”

The tabby tilted his head, feigning ignorance. How convenient, Rafael thought, that the language barrier seemed non-existent whenever words like ‘dinner’ or ‘treats’ were called out in English or Spanish.

The standoff lasted a few more seconds before Rafaelito jumped onto the prosecutor’s lap, using him as a springboard to get onto the desk. The sudden impact caused the contents of the mug Rafael was holding to go flying, sending droplets of coffee all over him and the papers on his desk.

After a string of expletives and confirming that the damage to his files was superficial, Rafael turned his attention to his sullied sweater. As he blotted at the stains, Rafael scowled at the tabby (whom he had witnessed make the jump from the floor to the desk numerous times before) and calculated the odds that your beloved pet was a sociopath.

The fuzzy sociopath in question was stretched out across multiple folders bathing in a sunbeam. If it wasn’t for the destruction the cat had just caused, Rafael would have described the scene as cute. Adorable, even.

Feeling a sudden surge of benevolence, Rafael decided to let the tabby stay while he worked. After all, you did always mention that cats can reduce stress levels (although Rafael wasn’t sure whether that included Machiavellian grey tabbies). The only hitch to the peaceful work environment Rafael envisioned was Rafaelito sleeping on his legal pad.

Slowly, Rafael reached out for the pad, naively thinking that he could pull it out from under Rafaelito without him noticing. His fingers didn’t even graze the paper before the tabby’s green eyes popped open and narrowed at Rafael’s impending invasion of his space. With a flick of his paw, Rafaelito sent the lawyer’s gold pen flying over the edge of the desk.

Rafael huffed, mentally adding a check mark to the sociopath column.

As he bent down to retrieve the pen, Rafael could feel the tabby smirking at him. Drawing inspiration from Indiana Jones, Rafael picked up the pen with his left hand as he simultaneously snatched the legal pad with his right. The immense satisfaction he felt at wiping the smug look off of Rafaelito’s face was diminished by the knowledge that his opponent in this battle of wits was a cat.

“Truce?” Rafael offered.

The tabby huffed, considering himself the victor in his crusade against the Harvard-educated lawyer, but returned to his nap, leaving Rafael and the valuables on his desk alone (at least for now).

With an armistice in place, Rafael returned his attention to his closing statement and found that words were flowing more freely from his pen. The showdown with Rafaelito had the unintended consequence of helping him overcome the writer’s block that had plagued him all weekend. For the next couple hours, the only sounds in the room were Rafael’s pen scratching against paper and the tabby’s unusually loud snoring.

When Rafael finally set down his pen, he had filled a dozen pages with his cramped scrawl. As he flipped through them, he heard the muted sounds of the television. Rafael shoved aside the temptation to join you, reasoning that it was better to finish this now rather than have to pull himself away from you later.

Rafael sighed, tearing his thoughts away from you, and leaned back in his chair. He began murmuring the summation under his breath, careful not to disturb the sleeping tabby. Every so often, he would pause to debate his word choice, remaining oblivious that the snoring had stopped long ago. It was only at the end of the speech, when he was interrupted by an assertive meow, that Rafael realized he had an audience.

His eyes flicked up from the page to find the tabby in front of him.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to interrupt?” Rafael chided before resuming his speech.

The tabby meowed again.

And then a third time because Rafael hadn’t immediately acknowledged him.

“What? What do you want?” Rafael asked, setting aside his legal pad. He clasped his hands in front of him and turned his full attention to the cat on his desk. The beginnings of a frown played on Rafael’s lips; he was so close to being done, to getting to enjoy the last sliver of the weekend with you, and had no patience for further disruptions. Especially those caused by sassy tabbies.

Rafaelito meowed in response, his tail curling around his front paws.

“I don’t know what that means.” Rafael ignored the look the cat shot him. A look that, you would have pointed out, was eerily similar to the one Rafael gave Carisi whenever the lanky detective offered unsolicited legal advice. “Do you want scritches? Trea-“?

The cat meowed again, cutting Rafael off.

“What did I say about interrupting?” Rafael asked, his eyes narrowing at the tabby. “If you want attention, go see Mamá. I’m work-”

Rafaelito interjected again.

“Don’t take that tone with-“

And then again.

Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. Clearly, your cat lacked the basic manners needed for polite conversation and, short of removing him from the office (an action that would undoubtedly spark retaliation in the form of hairballs in shoes), Rafael wasn’t sure what else he could do. Whoever claimed that cats lowered stress levels was a charlatan and Rafael was tempted to prosecute them for fraud. He tried to recall the feeling of serenity his apartment once held, but his reverie was cut short by a string of meows.

Without thinking, Rafael meowed right back.

Rafaelito paused mid-meow, stunned at this new development, and stared at the lawyer with wide eyes. After a few seconds, he let out a tentative, almost questioning meow. Rafael responded in kind and soon a volley of meows in varying pitches and volumes could be heard in the office.

The conversation came to an abrupt halt when movement near the door caught Rafelito’s attention. Rafael followed the cat’s gaze to find you standing in the doorway, holding a plate of banana bread and trying not to laugh.

“I thought you might be hungry,” you said when Rafael noticed you. “But I’m obliviously interrupting something important.”

“I was practicing my summation.”

Rafaelito meowed in confirmation.

“Oh, is that what you were doing?” you smirked, walking over to Rafael. You kissed him softly then set down the banana bread in front of him. He popped a piece in his mouth before replying.

“You didn’t let me finish. I was practicing my summation until your cat,” Rafael paused to gesture to the tabby who was the pure picture of innocence. “Interrupted me.”

“Mm-hmm.” You bit back a smile. Rafael could complain about the cat all he wanted, but you knew he had a soft spot for Rafaelito. You’d often catch your boyfriend giving Rafaelito treats or making room for him on the sofa or in bed. There were probably more photos of the tabby on his phone than there were of you.

“You know,” you continued, ignoring Rafael’s feeble explanation. “You really shouldn’t be meowing at him. You don’t know what you’re saying -it could be something inappropriate or offensive. As an ADA, you wouldn’t want to be charged with a feline-y.”

Rafael rolled his eyes. “Hate speech is a misdemeanour.”

“Fine. Do what you know what is a felony, though?” You asked, barely concealing your glee.

“Don’t, cariño,” Rafael warned. He knew you well enough to know where this was going.

“Purr-jury!”

“If you’re going to continue to make cat puns, you need to leave.”

“Really? Is there a claws about that in our lease?”

“Out,” Rafael said flatly, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. How’s the closing argument coming along?” You leaned against the edge of the desk, facing Rafael. Displeased at all the attention the prosecutor was getting, Rafaelito trotted over and headbutted your hand, his way of demanding scritches.

“Almost done. I’m just reading it over.”

“Do you want another audience member? It might be helpful to have a human perspective in addition to the feline one.” Rafael narrowed his eyes at you. “Oh, c’mon, that wasn’t even a pun!”

Rafael harrumphed, but began his speech, speaking as if he were in front of a jury. You listened intently, nodding occasionally. Yet another thing you did for him: you let him run his arguments by you, always giving him your full attention. You were the only one who could listen to him agonize over word choice at length without complaining or considering homicide.

For the most part, Rafaelito remained quiet, content to receive scritches from you. It was only when Rafael reached the conclusion that he let out another meow. Before Rafael could admonish the tabby, who evidently didn’t learn his lesson about interrupting, you spoke up.

“Hm, yeah, you’re right,” you addressed Rafaelito before turning to your boyfriend. “This part is a little clunky.”

“What? That’s not…How did you know that he…It’s not clunky,” Rafael sputtered, looking from you to Rafaelito.

“We have a very smart cat, Rafa. In fact, he’s so smart that he could be your co-counsel. An abogato, if you will.” You grinned, showing no remorse for your bad pun.

Rafael crossed his arms and shot you a pointed look.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist! I’ll take Rafaelito, so you can work in peace.”

“Thanks, cariño. Te amo.”

“Love you, too,” you smiled at Rafael before calling to the tabby. “C’mon, Rafaelito, let’s leave Papi alone and go watch some trashy reality TV.”

Knowing his work was done, the tabby jumped off the desk and strolled into the hallway. You followed after him, winking at Rafael before closing the door behind you.

Alone in his office, Rafael finished off the banana bread while he read over the conclusion again.

“Coño,” Rafael muttered under his breath. “It is clunky.”

Tag list: @madpanda75​ @obsessionprofessional​ @madkingcrowley​  @im-like-reallythirsty​ @burningg-red​ @nikkijmorgan​  @misssirenlove​ @zoeykaytesmom​ @mommakat32​ @thatesqcrush​ @southern-magnolia​ @evee87​

[proudlylost]

My 6+1 favorite SPN fics: AU

After the SPN finale I kinda got sucked back into the fandom. The excessive amount of fanfiction reading ensued (I re-read all of my SPN fic favorites and then some) and I realised I have actually read quite a lot of them. So I thought I could share them, to highlight all the talented authors there is and also to gather all of my favorites into the one place. This post contain my favorite AU fics, the SPN universe edition of this fic rec can be found here.

Ninety One Whiskey by komodobits

“In the spring of 1944, the 104th Medical Battalion of the United States Army is disbanded, and its men reassigned to various infantry companies in preparation for their invasion of occupied France. For First Lieutenant Novak, this is less than helpful, as he has so far met his platoon’s designated medic a grand total of twice, and has both times found Sergeant Winchester to be the optimum combination of reckless, arrogant, and downright insufferable so as to make cohesive platoon function near impossible. When the time comes to move out, however, Castiel has to reconcile himself to the fact that men are going to go down and trust that Dean Winchester may well be the only person who can put them back together again. WW2 ETO infantry AU. “ 

READ! THIS! Well, there is some really disturbing war related and time period related stuff, but if you can stomach that, read it! Along with the Angel’s Wild, this is my favorite fanfiction. This fic is heart wrenching and so, so good.The characterization is on point. Historical accuracy is on point. Slow burn is on point. Everything is just perfect. However, as I said, this fic is heavy stuff. There is some serious angst (I cried. I almost never cry when reading) and trauma. But there is glimmers of hope, even if sometimes it feels hopeless. Expected recovery time: at least two weeks. Word Count:  401,183. Explicit

Angel’s wild by LimonadeGaby and riseofthefallenone

“But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.”

This was first longer fic that I read from Supernatural fandom and I fell in love. So this is “the fic that got me into the fandom” but I have read it multiple times since and it is still very, very good. I love everything about this fic. It is very original and the lore is amazing. I love how Dean and Cas are both quite young (in Cas’s case, relatively speaking) and how their love develops (slow burn! <3) I love how Cas is described and I love how he communicates (unintentionally) with flowers. You can also read this without having any knowledge of supernatural series (like I did) which is always impressive for a fic. Wor count:  389, 271. Explicit

For All You Young Hockey Players Out There, Pay Attention by thursdaysfallenangel

“Dean Winchester knows two things about hockey, two things his dad made sure he knew. One, hockey is a guy’s sport, and two, hockey is family. Hockey meant Sam and Bobby and Benny and Victor and Gabriel and hell, his entire team. So when Victor gets traded, Russian-star-turned-new-teammate Castiel Krushnic becomes a threat. As much as Dean hates him for that, the longer he sticks around, the more he begins to threaten that first rule too. Dean’s been taught his whole life that those who play hockey should not be captivated by deep accented voices and the way a guy handles his stick, so how the hell is he supposed to justify what he’s starting to think about Cas? All Dean wanted at the beginning of the season was to win, and now all he wants to do is figure out how he feels about Cas and how to deal with it without ruining his career and tearing his family apart. “

Ah, three of my absolute favourite things smashed into the same fic: sports, slow burn and enemies to lovers. This fic has lots of cameos from supernatural characters, because hockey teams require lots of players. So it is easy to spot your favorite character in this fic. This fic is probably one of may favorites, because of the sport environment (Outside the fandom, I have been super into sports. Like so much I have several national championships medals from my sport. Anyway, not a point here): also the sexual tension between Dean and Cas is so good, especially when they are pumped with the adrenaline. You don’t really need to understand sports to enjoy this fic, though. Word count:  143,592. Explicit

Formula Won by cardinalwrites

“Of all the places Castiel Novak thought he would take in his career, an internship as a Formula One Paddock Correspondent (or journalist, for short) was most definitely not one of them for a few reasons. One: He had no clue what the hell Formula One was. Two: He knew nothing about sports in general. And Three: He should not fall in love with the people he’s supposed to be asking hard-hitting questions to, least of all the head driver of one of the oldest and most well-renowned teams in the sport’s history.

This is a love story told around the world through the eyes of the person that knows the least about where he has found himself in. Come follow a 20-race season finding love in the lost, learning the truth, and figuring out what the hell Formula One is along the way.”

Another sports fic with a slow burn. This is probably not everyone’s cup of tea, because there is quite a lot information about formula one, and the reading experience is more enjoyable if already know about formulas/do your research. Don’t let it stop you though, because this fic is very good. The friendship between Dean and Cas is very natural, and later the romance as well. The plot is very engaging and the drama inside the formula one organization is so good. This fic is also not so “heavy” as the other ones in my list (of course, there are problems along the way, but even the fic’s tags say there will be fluff). The rating is T, which is kinda surprising, because I did not notice it until I already had read the whole fic. Word count: 123,777. Teen

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster

Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other?

This is one of the fandom classics and quite rightfully so. Both Dean and Cas have issues, in other words: what’s new? The sexual chemistry between them was so good and well written, but there is also angst and mental health issues (mostly Cas). Sam is quite young in this fic, but manages to be very much a little brother. I honestly loved this fic when I was a bit younger, but I think it is still very good and deserves its place in this list. Word count  94,054. Explicit

Pick It All Up by thepinupchemist

Army veteran Castiel Novak is a wreck after his tour in Afghanistan, brought home to his brother's apartment in Lawrence, Kansas with scars both mental and physical. He copes poorly, and during one night of bad decision making, meets somebody just as much of a disaster as he is -- a prostitute named Dean Winchester. And suddenly, two damaged men might not be as irreparable as they believed.

Ah, it seems that I’m incapable of picking nice, fluffy, happy fanfics. This certainly is not one of them. There is full warnings in the tags, because there is some triggering stuff: PTSD, mentions of past abuse, alcoholism etc. But, this is also very healing story in its own way (It has happy ending. I guess I can spoil that because it reads in the tags) . I avoided this fic for a long time, because the prostitute!Dean tag scared me away, but this was so worth of reading (as I said, happy ending)! Gabriel is super supportive and sweet brother and Dean and Cas are dysfunctional but they work so well despite all the trauma they have endured. Word count:  126,611. Explicit

Bonus: Twist and Shout by gabriel and standbyme

What begins as a transforming love between Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak in the summer of 1965 quickly derails into something far more tumultuous when Dean is drafted in the Vietnam War. Though the two both voice their relationship is one where saying goodbye is never a real truth, their story becomes fraught with the tragedy of circumstance. In an era where homosexuality was especially vulnerable, Twist and Shout is the story of the love transcending time, returning over and over in its many forms, as faithful as the sea.

Well, I don’t think this fic needs any introductions. This is the fic, the most popular in SPN fandom and one of the most popular ones in the whole ao3. I thought that I could read this, because I don’t generally have many triggers, despite all the warnings. I was a wreck during reading. And I have managed to read it once and I can’t make myself read it again. But it is good and amazingly written. This fic plucks every emotion out of you and does anything it pleases with them. You have been warned. Word count:  97,556. Explicit

(When I wrote this fic rec I also realised I have a serious problem with long fics. Like, most of my favorites are at least 100,000 words. At this point I think I don’t even consider a fic to be slow burn, unless it takes several days to complete the fic. Oops)

[mca-attack21]

Words Unsaid

AN: This is loosely based off of The Final Problem and is Sherlock x Reader. There is violence and death, so consider yourself warned. I hope you enjoy and as always feedback is appreciated. 

Emotional Context. Sherlock had once been able to deny its importance, instead, governing himself with logic and reasoning. However, his connections with his friends and the people who cared about him had started to change his mind on such matters. This came with both benefits and negatives as it had opened him up to new vulnerabilities and pain, especially now. As it was during this time that he discovered that his sister was more than just a suspicion. In fact, Eurus was a secret that scared his dear brother Mycroft more than anything else. 

Sherlock struggled to retrieve any memory of her. That was at least until the name “Redbeard” was brought up. He had loved Redbeard his faithful dog and childhood best friend. He couldn’t remember what had happened to him, at least not until Mycroft filled in the gaps. Since that discovery, he, his brother, and John had left to check in on Eurus’ security. Sherlock and John wanted to prove that she had left multiple times once impersonating as a girl that Sherlock met during a case, and once as John’s new therapist. Mycroft was insistent that this was impossible, so they went to settle the matter once and for all. What they were not expecting was for it all the be a trap.

They were soon captured and forced to complete trials that tested personal morality and will power all centered around Sherlock. It seems that Eurus was fascinated by her brother and wanted to better understand him. It didn’t help that she had previously formed an alliance with Moriarty and knew more about Sherlock than he did her. But that was all Mycroft’s fault now wasn’t it? The first challenge forced Sherlock to choose either John or Mycroft to shoot an innocent man in order to save his wife. Both inevitably refused and the man in a last-ditch effort took his own life in front of them. Eurus didn’t hesitate to kill the wife, questioning the three whether or not keeping their hands clean costing two lives was any better than taking one life and leaving one to survive. She then ordered Sherlock to collect the gun, which now only had one bullet, and continue.

The next trial was equally grim. Sherlock was forced to deduce which of three brothers was a murderer provided only the gun and three pictures. To add to the suspense, she presented the three brothers hanging over the ocean tied up with weights. If they dropped they would inescapably be drowned. Sherlock made the correct deduction much to everyone’s relief, but Eurus dropped all three explaining that the life of an innocent weighs no less than the life of the guilty.

The third trial was where it got personal. There was a small wooden coffin. It was nothing special about it. Sherlock quickly deduced that it was built for a woman, one with no close family, one who was sensible, one that- he was interrupted when Mycroft brought over the lid which had a mere two words on it, “Words unsaid”. 

“Whatever does that mean?” John asked.

But deep down Sherlock knew and he feared what was about to happen next.

“It’s Y/n,” he replied.

“Y/n? What does she have to do with this?”

“Why quite a lot Mr. Watson, and very good Sherlock. Now then, this ought to be fun. In a moment, I am going to give her a ring. She’s alone in her apartment which is hooked up with explosions. Now then brother, you will have two minutes to get her to say the magic words. The catch? You can’t say them yourself, you can’t give her any indication that you or she is in danger. Just play your mind games like you used to,” Eurus grinned.

“What are the magic words?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock’s face fell into a pained expression as he considered the task at hand.

“He has to get her to tell him that she loves him,” John realized.

“Yay! Now that everyone is on the same page, let’s give her a ring.” Eurus cheered, “Oh and for added fun,” she clicked on the tv showing video of you in your flat.

Sherlock studied the video feed, you looked horrible, something had clearly upset you. He could tell that you had recently been crying. As the phone rang he prayed that you would answer it. The clock seemed to loom over him as it continued to click down. He watched as you slowly retrieved yours and glanced down at the name answering it almost immediately.

1:40

“Sherlock?”

“Ah, Y/n, I-” he started.

“I ought to kill you for giving me such a scare. Baker street exploded it’s all over the news and I’ve been trying to get ahold of you ever since. Are you okay? Is John okay? What happened?”

“We’re fine, just a little accident,” Sherlock replied calmly.

“I thought you were dead, the least you could have done was sent me a text” she whimpered.

“Oh come on now, you know I’m more clever than that, besides I’ve been busy, you know how it is” he mused.

1:20

“Y/n, do you remember the phone call we had just before Reichenbach, right as Moriarty had begun his master plan?” he asked feeling rushed.

“Of course I do, I still have nightmares from that call,”

“Well, I need you to tell me what you said that day,”

“There’s no way in hell,” you replied. Sherlock was able to see how much this upset you and clenched his eyes shut feeling the pressure.

“Please Y/n, I really need to hear it,” he begged softly.

0:60

“Sherlock, is everything alright?” you asked concerned at his unprecedented demeanor.

Eurus warned her brother to remember the rules. 

“Everything is fine, I just need to hear you say it,”

“Why? This better not be one of your experiments,”

“It’s not, I promise. I wouldn’t do that, not to you,”

“I don’t get the big deal,” 

“Please Y/n,” 

0:30

“I-I can’t”

“Why not?”

“Because you didn’t say it back,”

0:25

“If you meant it then, if there is any chance that you mean it now, please say it again,” he begged.

“Sherlock,” you pleaded

“Please Y/n, please tell me what you said that day on the phone, our last call together before the fall,” he said with such sincerity and emotion.

0:18

“You called me to tell me that everything had been a lie, that Moriarty was right. You told me that  you only had one choice left. I begged you to stop, to wait until I could get to you, that together the two of us would figure something out. But you said it was too late,” you recalled tears streaming down your face.

“And then…” he prompted.

0:12

“And then I pleaded with you not to do it,”

“Why? What was your reason?”

0:08

You hesitated for a moment, “ because I cared about you,”

“That’s not what you said Y/n, what exact words did you say?” His own eyes were betraying him at this point.

0:03

“I told you that I loved you, that fake or not, I would still love you” you cried, “And you didn’t say it back.”

Just then the phone clicked off as Eurus ended the call. 

Sherlock redirected his attention to Eurus’ screen, “Okay Eurus, I won. I made her say it. What now, what happens next?”

“Funny isn’t it? I don’t recall her actually saying the words ‘I love you’. She said ‘I loved you’ and ‘I would still love you’ and while close, I just don’t think that cuts it for me.” 

“Wait!” Sherlock screamed launching forward as Eurus hit a button and he was forced to watch your apartment explode. All that Mycroft could manage was staring in shock as the tv quickly cut to black. John went to his friend who had sunk to the ground staring vacantly.

“You didn’t tell her before Reichenbach and now you’ll never be able to, tell me Sherlock, are all those complicated little emotions worth it? Because to me it seems that the emotional context is what destroys you. Now pull yourself together as the next challenge is even more enduring.”

She paused for a moment before adding, “take your time,” and shutting off her screen. 

Sherlock rose to his feet and John and Mycroft hesitantly went towards the next door, turning back when they heard him whisper “no” before aggressively attacking the empty coffin taking out his rage and immediate grief. After annihilating it, he sat back against the wall. 

Regretting that he could not properly console his friend, John forced himself over to Sherlock handing him the gun saying, “I know this is beyond difficult and you are being tortured, but you have to keep it together, we have to keep moving”

“This isn’t torture, it’s vivisection, we are experience science from the perspective of lab rats,”

“Right now, we are soldiers who just need to survive, this is not the time nor place for mourning,” John said firmly.

“Alright,” Sherlock agreed and John helped him up.

The three men continued to the next room where Sherlock was tasked with choosing whether to kill John or Mycroft. He made his decision, Eurus’ game was over, and he pointed the gun under his own chin taking a calculated risk.

When he awoke, he was alone in a small cell plastered with pictures from his childhood. He quickly called out for John and Mycroft. John answered explaining that he was in a well, but otherwise seemingly fine. There was no response from Mycroft.

Sherlock quickly figured out that he was not actually in a cell but rather in a collapsable structure outside his childhood home. Eurus tasked him with discovering the location of Redbeard and upped the stakes as she started filling the well that John was chained to the bottom of. Sherlock racked his brain trying to solve the same problem who’s solution had evaded him as a child. That was at least until in an escape attempt, John solved an important piece of the puzzle.

Redbeard was never a dog.

Sherlock suddenly remembered his childhood best friend Victor Trevor who his brain had so cleverly disguised to help preserve his psyche. With this new information, Sherlock was able to figure out the Eurus’ song corresponded to the gravestones with the weird dates. He quickly deciphered the message and went to free John who was running out of time.

Outside of the well, he discovered his sister, “I’m so sorry Eurus,” he spoke sincerely.

“You needed me and I abandoned you, I could have saved you,” he added.

“I just wanted my brother,” she replied childishly.

“I’m here now, and we can fix this, just free John, don’t make the same mistake you made with Victor,” he pleaded.

“I don’t want to quit playing the game, I don’t want you to leave me again,”

“I’m not going to leave, I’m going to save you,”

Not knowing how to respond she simply stepped back and allowed Sherlock to save his friend. He dove into action turning the water off and then retrieving a key carefully tossing down to John so that he could free his ankles. He searched for a moment to find what Eurus had used to get John down there to begin with and found some rope that he leveraged against a tree and tossed down to his friend. 

It was as John was climbing over the side that the police cars and helicopters arrived. Mycroft’s people were there to collect Eurus, who went with them peacefully. Sherlock and John were both checked over by the EMT’s and given shock blankets. They were informed that Mycroft was safe and simply left back in Sherrinford. Once he regained consciousness, he his people and sent them in helicopters to take care of Eurus. But then? Who called the police?

“William Sherlock Holmes” you yelled slamming the door to Greg’s station car.

John and Sherlock had never turned around so fast in their lives. How were you here? Hadn’t they both watched your apartment go up in smoke? Or, was that merely another one of Eurus’ tricks?

“You’d better have a good explanation for-”

“I love you too,” he interrupted shocking both you and John.

“What?” you asked in disbelief.

“I said I love you too, I wanted to say it during that call two years ago, and I wanted to say it earlier today. I promise I will explain everything, and I understand if you no longer fill the same way, I’m sorry for not saying it before,” he confessed. 

You stared at him in awe, taking a step closer still staring at him. You closed the remaining gap between the two of you and smoothly connected your lips with his allowing them to communicate for you. After an instant of shock, Sherlock reciprocated allowing the blanket to fall off of his shoulders as he pulled you in closer. When he pulled away, both of you were slightly dazed and smiling. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” you whispered.

“That I do,” he answered.

From there, Greg dropped John and Sherlock off at John’s place where he happily greeted Molly and wasted no time collecting Rosie. The next day the three of you would meet up at 221B Baker Street and begin cleaning and repairing that flat as Sherlock did as promised and explained everything. After two weeks the renovations were complete and John and Rosie moved back in with Sherlock who had decided to utilize space in 221C for experiments to keep Rosie away from them both for her safety and his sanity.

You became more than a frequent visitor and eventually moved into one of the bedrooms of 221C however you spent far more time in Sherlock’s bed than in your own. You watched Rosie as the boys went out on cases and would occasionally tag in for John. Being in a relationship with Sherlock was interesting to say the least, but you wouldn’t trade a second of it. 

[tcm]

The Aura of Carmen Jones By Constance Cherise

Based on Georges Bizet's opera, the all-Black 20th Century-Fox musical CARMEN JONES (‘54), starring Academy Award and Golden Globe-nominated Dorothy Dandridge and EGOT Harry Belafonte, was a significant progression for its historical time-frame. Best expressed by author and film historian Donald Bogle in his book Dorothy Dandridge: A Biography, “…it represented a major step forward during the Eisenhower era.”

The Cleveland, Ohio-born Dandridge, who had been lighting the stage on fire as a chanteuse in her nightclub act prior to starring in CARMEN, was not originally considered for any role—far less the lead—by infamous director Otto Preminger. According to Bogle, Preminger (who during the course of filming would become Dandridge’s lover) viewed her as “too sweet and regal,” based off of her previous nightclub performances, where Dandridge presented as a sensual vocalist, draped in sinuous gowns that clung to her figure. In order to get the role, Dandridge stripped her “polished” persona, modified her makeup and fashion revealing an alter ego to Preminger. He took one look at her and declared “My God. It’s Carmen!”

Often compared to Lena Horne, the exquisitely beautiful Dandridge was trained as an artist alongside her sister from childhood. The Dandridge Sisters evolved from church gatherings to the acclaimed Cotton Club, where Dandridge met her future husband Harold Nicholas of the famed Nicholas Brothers. Soft spoken, stunning and a quick study, Dandridge collaborated with arranger/composer Phil Moore, devising a smoldering nightclub act that was eagerly received in all-white venues. Her crossover appeal lent well to Hollywood. When talk of a CARMEN JONES production spread, Black Hollywood clamored. CARMEN JONES would be the first all-Black musical since MGM’s CABIN IN THE SKY (‘43), as well as the first Black film shot in Technicolor. Stars the likes of Harry Belafonte, Diahann Carroll and Pearl Bailey would solidify roles.

The lyrics of Carmen’s first song of the film, “Dats Love,” is an announcement of her essence.

“You go for me and I'm taboo

But if you're hard to get I go for you

And if I do then you are through, boy

My baby that's the end of you”

From the moment Carmen sashays into the cafeteria, casually holding a red rose (a present from one of her hopefuls no doubt), we know she is unique based solely on her black ruffle trimmed, low-cut blouse and fitted red skirt: A subliminal combination of colors associated with the image of a stereotypical devil.

She is decisive of her prey. She admires Joe (Harry Belafonte) unabashedly sizing him up as an alpha. Her mind is made up. She is going to get exactly what she wants, and who could blame her? Joe with his honey-toned skin and chiseled features is beautiful, and the fact that he is unresponsive intrigues her senses all the more. Her playful banter with a frustrated Joe while traveling in the Jeep is only a precursor. Carmen is content with turning up the heat in increments, because in her mind there is no doubt, she is already the victor. As Joe continually shoves her away, she answers: "The harder I get bumped the more of me bounces." She’s surprising, simultaneously amusing and unapologetic.

Instead of relenting in fear when Joe grabs her in a fit of jealousy, Carmen ferociously fights to be released from his clutches punctuating her need for freedom. She is not acting out as a means of manipulation, although clearly, she knows how to manipulate. This particular response is created out of authentic self-preservation and she possesses the audaciousness to be a woman who is the master of her own soul, regardless of her lover's emotion. Of course, naturally, Joe becomes obsessively caught in Carmen’s beguiling web, where his passion is so overwhelming it results in murder. But, Carmen's outright refusal to be possessed within itself is her power and depending on perspective, may also be her pitfall.

Although she was a vocalist, like much of the cast, Dandridge was not able to meet the demands of the film's operatic hue. Dandridge took great strains to make the dubbed vocals of Marilyn Horne as seamless as possible, mimicking Horne’s breath work.

The NAACP was originally opposed to an all-Black cast as the organization rallied for integration. The controversy of CARMEN JONES truly lay in the lead’s overt sexuality. Carmen obeys her primitive nature, wafting where her emotions lead, and as a result the script was gone over with a fine-tooth comb prior to filming for review by the Hays Office. Dandridge was the first Black woman to appear on the cover of Life magazine, and by the time the film was in production she was viewed by black and white audiences alike (albeit taboo for a white audience) as a bonafied sex symbol. Still, Dandridge faced inevitable racial truths. When once threatening to swim at the all-white hotel which she headlined, suddenly the pool required draining.

Dandridge's performance in CARMEN JONES garnered a Best Actress Oscar nomination, the first for a Black individual. Despite her loss to Grace Kelly, the community saw her nomination alone as a hard earned and long-suffering triumph. After her achievement for CARMEN JONES, demand for her performances grew. Dandridge was booked in illustrious venues including the Empire Room in New York’s Waldorf Astoria Hotel; however, her movie career began to flail on Preminger’s advice to turn down multiple roles offered to her that he perceived as below her Oscar nominee stance. It would be a three-year stint until she would once again return to film, garnering a Golden Globe nomination for PORGY AND BESS (‘59). Over the course of her life, Dandridge would turn to alcohol and prescription medications to fill the void of her failed sometimes abusive relationships and intimate struggles. Her life came to a tragic end at the age of 42 as a result of an overdose.

There was an extraordinary capacity within Dandridge, of which CARMEN JONES only allowed us a glimpse. It is true, Dandridge’s beauty and sex appeal opened doors enjoyed by Black artists to date. It is also true that the racial constraints of the day measurably blocked Dandridge as well as other minority performers of the era. But when I look at Dandridge, I see a woman who despite her pristine beauty, her elegant poise her sexual appeal, or throngs of fans that loved her, much like many of other enviable starlets we can easily name, simply did not love herself enough, and that, is the most unfortunate tragedy of all.