#mentions of self serving tendencies

[aventurineswife]

could i please request sampo and you choose who else with a dog and human hybrid reader that lives with the character? the reader would have stuff like a cage, squeaky toys, and can the fic just explore what it's like domestically for a night with the character?

The Price of Loyalty

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Dog-Human hybrid!Reader, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Playful Interaction, Humor, Emotional Depth, Found Family, Gentle Themes, Teasing and Banter, Companion Bond.

Warnings: Light manipulation, Minor suggestive language, Emotional depth (brief glimpses into Sampo and Aventurine’s vulnerabilities), Mentions of past trauma, Mentions of self-serving tendencies.

A/N: Damn I'm getting a lot of sampo reqs lately🫣

It had been a long day filled with the usual mischief and deals, but tonight was different. Sampo had returned to his quarters, exhausted but still smiling that signature grin of his. His place was cozy, if not a little cluttered with trinkets and oddities collected from both the Overworld and the Underworld. You, his dog-human hybrid companion, greeted him at the door with an enthusiastic tail wag and a playful bark.

Sampo laughed softly, ruffling your hair as you jumped excitedly. "Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite little troublemaker," he teased, his voice smooth and full of affection. "You’ve been a good one today, haven’t you?"

You barked in response, spinning in a circle as he set his jacket down. There was a familiar jingle as your squeaky toy caught his eye, lying on the floor just beside your small cage—your space, your sanctuary. Sampo had always made sure you had a place to call your own, even though you often preferred to curl up at his feet while he worked.

He flopped onto the couch with a sigh, watching you eagerly as you brought the squeaky toy to him, offering it up like a gift. Sampo smirked, taking the toy and giving it a small squeeze. The squeaking noise filled the room, causing you to jump and bark with delight.

"You always know how to make a man smile, don't you?" he said, his tone light, but there was a subtle warmth behind it.

Despite your playful nature, you could tell Sampo’s mind was still buzzing with his latest dealings. He often hid his true feelings, but you knew him well enough by now to sense when he was burdened by something. You gave him a gentle nudge with your head, your eyes full of concern.

Sampo chuckled softly and leaned back against the couch, resting his hand on your head. "Don’t worry about me, little one. I’m always one step ahead," he reassured, though you didn’t quite buy it.

Later that evening, he threw a blanket over the two of you, as you curled up next to him. Your cage remained open, but it was clear you preferred this quiet moment, lying beside him. Sampo smirked, his usual sly grin softened by the comfort of your company. "You know, sometimes I think you’re the one keeping me grounded," he murmured, though his words were almost too quiet to hear over the sound of your contented breathing.

Aventurine was not the type to show weakness, but there was something about you—a human-dog hybrid—that brought out a gentler side of him. His evening began as it always did, with a reflection on his strategic decisions and the game he was playing with the universe. However, tonight was different. He had a rare quiet moment to himself, with you curled up at his feet as he relaxed on his chaise lounge, the flickering of candlelight casting long shadows in the room.

You had a way of making the atmosphere feel less tense, your presence offering a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. Every now and then, you’d let out a small whimper, nudging his hand with your snout. Aventurine smirked, adjusting his blazer, before leaning down to pet you, fingers running through your fur with practiced care. "A little restless tonight, are we?" he mused.

You responded with a soft whine, your tail wagging slightly as you brought a squeaky toy to his feet. Aventurine raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not particularly surprised by your antics. "I suppose you’re in the mood for some amusement, then," he chuckled, the glint in his eyes never faltering.

As he squeezed the toy, the squeak echoed through the room, and you immediately pounced, trying to catch it with the speed of a predator, your eyes glowing with playful determination. His soft laughter was a rare sound—something that came not from manipulation or strategic amusement but genuine enjoyment. "Such energy," he remarked, shaking his head with a smile that never reached his eyes. "You’re a handful, you know that?"

Later, as the evening deepened, Aventurine reclined on his chair, hands behind his head. You, having tired yourself out from your playful antics, curled up at his feet, letting out a soft sigh as you made yourself comfortable. He glanced down at you, his expression shifting slightly.

"Sometimes I forget how simple life can be," he muttered, almost to himself. His fingers brushed against the delicate band of his wrist, his thoughts drifting before returning to you, curled so contentedly by his side. "You always know how to make the chaos of the world feel far less… chaotic."

Aventurine stretched, standing up to gaze out the window for a moment, and when he turned back, his gaze softened, the ruthless strategist giving way to something gentler, a hint of fondness in his eyes. "Don’t get too comfortable," he added, his tone laced with teasing, "but I suppose I’ll allow you this one night of peace."

The night passed quietly, with you curled up by his feet, and Aventurine content in the subtle companionship you offered. For once, the world outside seemed far less important, and the games of life seemed a little easier to bear with your presence.

[yandereunsolved]

Breath of a Yandere - ,, Yandere Wild headcanons

tw(s): yandere themes, (Wild) multiple mentions of suicidal ideations/suicide & self depreciation

ꨄ︎ Yandere Wild who met you after waking up in the Shrine of Resurrection. You were a lone traveler from Lurelin Village. You traveled countless months, with many others accompanying you at various points on your journey. You had to know the truth. You had to know if it was true. The rumors about the legendary hero fueled your adventures. You feared the worst, but you found him. He didn't awake at first. You spent weeks traveling out of the Shrine only for necessities.

ꨄ︎ He heard a strange voice coming from the darkness and then saw you. You spoke to him with such a reverence that he wasn't accustomed to. He was incredibly cautious and wouldn't allow you near him. That all changed when you offered him some glazed meat. He shoved it down his throat and suddenly you were his closest companion.

ꨄ︎ Words never leave his mouth. You thought at first it was just the surprise of awakening after a hundred years, but no. He just never spoke to you. He spoke with his hands and through his body language. He taught you most of the Hylian sign language that you know. It is probably better that he doesn't speak. You would be disturbed and greatly flattered about the things he thinks about you.

ꨄ︎ He never leaves your side unless you are both put in a life ending situation. He's like a silent but loyal dog. He is always watching your movements and standing guard over you. You have to cuddle with him before he finally allows himself to succumb to sleep.

ꨄ︎ Guardians? You are staying behind. Shrines? You may stand at the entrance as long as there are no monsters around. If there are then he will kill them and then make you wait. The Divine Beasts? Okay, fine— he allows you in all the Divine Beasts except for Vah Naboris. He allows you to ride with Riju but only because she has the Thunder Helm. However, the Ganonblights? On Hylia's name, no. You go back to the entrance and wait there.

ꨄ︎ Ganon himself? You wait. After your entire journey together, he only speaks one word to you. "Wait." He presses himself against you and makes you hide behind one of the castle pillars. There are tears in his eyes and he is shaking. You are his God(dess). He has killed and sacrificed so much. You saved him. You did. He signs to you. "I face Ganon alone. I can't lose you." His hands get shaky. "I love you."

ꨄ︎ That's the first time he ever says he loves you and his yandere tendencies only get worse from there. More possessive. More obsessive. More puppy-like. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. He always has an eye on you and doesn't allow you out of his sight. He would never hurt you, but he'll hurt others for you.

ꨄ︎ After the battle you two embrace each other and he sobs quietly into your chest. He allows you to patch his wounds. It's difficult because he's hanging off of you. Zelda is sitting near you both around the campfire. It's a little a lot awkward because she's seen his entire journey. She has seen his feelings for you blossom. A part of her hurts because she won't have her Link back, but was he ever hers? It was just his duty.

ꨄ︎ His memories may have come back but he only has one person in his heart. That person is you. Zelda wants him to come back as a knight. He signs no. He has to stay near you. He will die without you.

ꨄ︎ He thinks the sweetest and most depraved things in his mind. He is constantly praising you within his mind. He wishes he could speak those words but he can't. So he signs them. He shows them through acts of service. His mind is just a constant track about you. Partially this is because of his knight training. He was trained to protect and serve. He was trained to help the princess. His mind still sometimes slips back into that. It's just you, you, you, danger?, you, you, you.

ꨄ︎ On that note, his trauma is constantly fueling his tendencies and how he sees you as his god(dess). He was a child knight, blames himself for failing to protect everyone before Calamity Ganon gave over, and woke up with zero memories and a mission to save all of Hyrule. You were the first person he met. You were and still are his guide to this world. Sure, you aren't fated to be with him. Sure, it could have been just a mistake— but you are the first person that ever got him. You didn't push him to speak. You took your time in learning how to communicate with him. You respected him not just as the hero but a person.

ꨄ︎ He takes interest in whatever you are interested in. He will go so far as trying to replicate what you are doing. He isn't great at art but he'll do his best to draw what you are doing. He shows it you like an excited little kid. He does little poems as well. They are all about his adoration to you and how much he wants to spend time with you. Sometimes they have some blood splatters on them. Don't think about it too hard.

ꨄ︎ He his naturally cautious when all of these goods things become interrupted with the introduction of The Chain. He is like a frightened animal with his hackles up. He has his mastersword pointed to the strange group. They introduce themselves and he relaxes a little. He stays by your side the entire time and makes sure everyone knows that you are taken by him.

ꨄ︎ It's really, really, really hard for him when you say you want to travel with The Chain. His thought process is like this: heartbreak. My God(dess) wants to be around other Links? Why do they want to put themselves in danger? Why? Why? I have to protect them. I have to. I need them near me. Why do they want to travel? Will they still cook for me and me only...? Or will I have to share? You want to travel to different Hyrules and fight monsters with them? You want to see their Hyrules? What if my Hyrule isn't good enough for you?

ꨄ︎ As much as he hates it— he'd do anything for you. He sets some ground rules though. No letting the others get too close. Stay by his side. Tell him everything. And do not, ever, put yourself in harms way. That has been his number one rule since day one. No getting yourself hurt. That scares him the most. He could live without you, but you are alive. He'd barely be alive but he could live. If you died? He'd kill himself and die right next to you. So when you get a scratch he wants, needs, aches to kill the thing that gave you that scratch.

ꨄ︎ You both begin traveling with The Chain and it goes better then expected. Wild is still the same Wild. He may even be getting a little better. The Chain is a bunch of hims. Wild is doing better in a way. He's gotten close to everyone and now knows some of their secrets. He's quiet and he listens. They are unassuming of him. Even the more cautious ones such as Hyrule, Legend, and Time bring their guard down a little. He rarely communicates with them but you know he is acutely listening. He only really signs to you.

ꨄ︎ So, it's perfect. There are a bunch of hims that stay away from you and protect you. He is getting them to trust him. You are safer than you have ever been. Safe. So safe. And if he needs to kill them for you? He's already got the information on them.

ꨄ︎ Wild always buys you things from the villages you all go to. He runs up to you and shoves them into your hands happily. It's one of the few times you see a smile on his usually stoic face. He absolutely adores buying you matching fits. He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He loves matching with you. He even gets you a sword that mimics the mastersword in style. He teaches you how to wield it and everything.

ꨄ︎ He sabotages the others in The Chain if they try to spend time with you. He'll tell you things about them, dark things that he's learned. He'll write them out to you and slip them into your back pocket, your satchel, your bed roll. He'll make them look stupid in front of you. He might accidentally trip them or outbest them in sparring. He makes sure you see the worst of them and the best of him. He doesn't need words to steal your heart all for himself.

ꨄ︎ He always wakes up early and watches you sleep. He tries to resist your warmth to not fall asleep but it's too much. So he wakes up in the morning before you. He watches silently, unblinkingly. He thinks you look so adorable, so pretty, so handsome. You are even more angelic when you are awake. Your smile could even make Ganon fall to his knees.

ꨄ︎ He either makes breakfast for you or with you. He sits guard while you bathe in the river. He wants to take a peek but he doesn't! He's a loyal man. He's tempted. Very tempted though. He loves watching you do your skincare and getting ready though. His eyes rarely leave you while in eyesight.

ꨄ︎ His habits reach their most overbearing after Sage joins The Chain. His life was going so perfect with you. You got protection and he got you all to himself. Now, there's this new version of him. He is acting so... clingy towards you. He just seems so attached to you. Wild begins to get shooed away when Sage is near. You are all about being near Sage. Saving Sage.

ꨄ︎ He refuses to leave your side, even for a moment. He distances himself from the rest of The Chain. He begins to not eat. He begins to not sleep. He gets very nervous and becomes a wreck. He thinks if he does this to himself you'll love him. You loved him when he was like this before. Is this what you want? Do you want someone that needs you? He needs you more than anyone else. He doesn't see any reason to live anymore without you.

ꨄ︎ Like always, you save him. You save him from that dark place and refuse to leave his side. He cuddles into you and refuses to let you go. You feel guilty and you are worried sick about him. Wild almost died and he refuses to tell you why. You were sparring with Sage and suddenly you heard a sword slash in the woods. Wild stabbed himself in the heart with a sword... If it wasn't for Hyrule he'd be dead.

ꨄ︎ You sobbed for hours over his body and you refused to leave. You still do. You are beginning to succumb to his neediness and overprotective ways. Just like Wild wanted. He just needs to be wanted by you. He just needs your love. He just needs one person who will love him above all else.

ꨄ︎ Wild has you, but at Sage's expense. He's extremely irritated that this little boyfriend of yours is taking you away from him. A few of the other Links have mixed, upset, and possessive feelings as well. However, we'll discuss that another time.

tag list; lmk if you want to be tagged: @screaming-until-god-hears-me

[aphroditelovesu]

Yay! I'm so happy you write for Baldwin IV!!! Could you do general yandere headcanons for him? Thank you!💗

''Nothing is more important to me than you.'' — Baldwin IV.

❝ 📜 — lady l: I got a little excited, but I hope you like it. I've always wanted to write for him and I finally got the chance! Good reading and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of murder, manipulation (sorta of), unhealthy relationships.

❝📜pairing: yandere!king baldwin iv/leper king x gender neutral!reader.

Baldwin had always been shy in his obsession with you, always self-aware of his illness that had left him forever disfigured. He was afraid that you would find him disgusting, that you would hate him and he didn't want that. Baldwin couldn't handle it if you hated him. He wanted to be loved by you, but he was too afraid to talk to you directly for quite some time.

So he remained in the shadows, hidden and longing for you from afar. Even before becoming King, he already dreamed of you and these desires only became more frequent after he became sovereign. He was precocious and maintained a good shape and physical appearance and was optimistic about his illness, but as he grew older he felt increasingly disturbed by the idea of you hating or despising him.

That doesn't mean he ignored you, Baldwin never did that and never will. He can't bear to be away from you, at least not physically, and he can't even go without talking to you. Talking to you was what cheered him up when his mind was consumed by dark thoughts. You were his light.

Baldwin will make sure that once he becomes King, he can ensure that you are well, that you are living well and with the honor, the wealth that you deserve, in his domain. He will do everything in his power to make sure you are eating well and will even go so far as to offer you an official position, if you don't already have one, so he can take care of you.

Although he prefers to stay away so he can also protect you from his illness, that doesn't mean he will allow you to be taken away from him. You may not know it, but you belonged to him. Any love interests or potential suitors/lovers will be quickly and quietly dealt with. Baldwin is not cruel and does not intend to be, but he will become a monster for you.

If he could, Baldwin would marry you, but due to his illness, he is prevented from doing so, so he prefers to keep you close while giving important positions to you or your family. It's a way of ensuring the loyalty of those important to you and having you close by. There are only benefits from his perspective.

Baldwin is remembered and admired for being a competent king who brought prosperity to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, but little is known that the real motivation was you. It was you who held power over him, who influenced him to do anything you wanted. He could become a tyrant if you asked him to. But he feels proud of himself for having met your expectations for his government.

When he has to go out to protect and defend Jerusalem, Baldwin will probably take you with him. He could leave you to take care of State affairs, but he can't bear to be away from you. He is quite clingy although he doesn't always touch you physically, he still needs to be in your presence. It's a constant need, Baldwin feels like a part of his heart withers when he's away from you.

Baldwin may not be able to be with you the way he would like and this has only served to increase his possessive tendencies. He won't allow other people to get too close to you, to steal you from him. Even though you can't officially be his, that doesn't mean he'll let you be someone else's. He will have no problem sending the person who threatens his position in your life to a deadly skirmish, arrest or even executed.

He is neither cruel nor sadistic, but for your sake he will be willing to commit the most heinous crimes just to ensure that you remain by his side. Baldwin needs you like he's never needed anyone before and he knows he'll be destroyed if anything happens to you.

If it were to happen to him, Baldwin will make sure you are safe and protected, perhaps even naming you his Heir. He wouldn't want to leave Earth without you, but he's not selfish enough to want to kill you. He wants you to live a long and happy life, preferably single, even if he's not by your side. He is completely selfless and you will always come first for him. First you and then his duties.

There is nothing he wouldn't do or give to you. Titles, official positions, riches, clothes, jewelry and food in abundance, anything you wanted, he would do it in the blink of an eye. Baldwin trusts you blindly, going so far as to obey your orders on any issue, from food to military matters.

Baldwin IV is a great soft for you and you only. He may seem weak, but that's all he isn't. He is intelligent and knows how to make rational decisions and he will do that with you. Because he loves you, he depends on you and because you are his hope. His light. Don't leave him or Baldwin will go crazy and even go so far as to commit suicide if you abandon him.

You are his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

I've been reading your Erikar posts and I think that they work really well with the idea that moirallegiance really doesn't work the way it's "supposed" to. It's framed in-universe as a very one-sided "stable person pacifies dangerous person" deal, but both Erifef and Gamkar, which are basically platonic ideals of that concept, failed independently because of how unstable that dynamic is -- one person is worn out doing all the emotional labor and the other is not interested in being pacified. Whereas the meowrails, despite also being framed as a "classical" moirallegiance, are much more clearly two-sided, as both parties consistently help, listen to, and advise each other, and the relationship is consequently much stabler and more enduring. I love the way you frame Erikar because it works really well with this by showing both parties taking and giving "pacification" and support in turn, instead of one shouldering all the work.

Yeah! I think this is a good way to talk about something Hussie likes to do that I'm a huge fan of, which is: unreliable narration. This unreliable narration has garnered Hussie the reputation of being a "troll" or even flat-out "wrong" about HS, and I find both of these to be very unfair because the use of unreliable narrator is both deliberate AND thematically fitting.

As part of Homestuck's post-modern stylings (and I mean post-modern in the literature sense, not vis. art, though it has shades of that too), it plays heavily on the ideas of narrator-as-character, author-as-character, metafiction, and we-all-know-it's-a-story-itis. Hussie himself, even in his external commentaries (Formspring, Tumblr, Books, etc.), is fully aware that his additions add to the metatextual texture of the work and change how it's interpreted - that, although his additions technically lie external to the "story" Homestuck is telling, they are also paradoxically part and parcel of that very story.

As a result, they deliberately play a character WRT Homestuck, both in- and out-of-universe, and this character is, by their own admission, buffoonish and oafish. It's really apparent in their book commentary, where they'll sometimes even drop the act, or "realize" they've dropped the act and hurry to put it back on (a standout moment is when he provides a very genuine, honest analysis of Vriska, before going "oh, wait, I forgot, she's literally my wife and has never done anything wrong ever in her life ever"). They also mention how their narrative voice sometimes works antagonistically to the characters, such as when it assures Vriska that she has no choice but to kill Aradia, subtly pushing Vriska towards that option.

Functionally, neither the narrator nor the author (and by that, I mean the caricaturized character of "the author" that Hussie plays) of Homestuck are entities that you can take fully at face value; they need to be challenged and interrogated as much as any other character, have their motives dissected, have their blind spots pointed out.

And why would this need to be the case? Because that's literally one of the main thrusts of Homestuck: malicious entities (in HS's case, LE, Doc Scratch, and Caliborn, who at various times struggle with Hussie for control of the story, before killing him and wresting it away entirely) will attempt to write the narrative. They'll push their version of events, their politics, their biases, their philosophies. They'll try to change the story to suit them and perpetuate their own power and ability to enforce that power. And you can't let them win.

Hussie-as-a-character/narrator himself is not particularly malicious, and, as the narrative prompt serving as Caliborn's guide, is even ultimately sympathetic, expressing that kids need to grow up and mature, achieve self-actualization, emotional catharsis, etc.

However, as a result of his oafishness, he has a tendency to play to the characters' worst instincts, to pick favorites among the cast. The most blatant example of this is his "love" of Vriska, which - contrary to popular opinion - isn't "real". Hussie is not actually in love with Vriska; the whole thing started because - due to misogyny - people accused Hussie of only giving Vriska so much plot relevance because he was literally in love with her. Why else would a female character with an unpleasant personality be allowed to be important, amirite? And Hussie clearly thought that this whole thing was so ridiculous that he 100% leaned into it as a joke. I'm not here to litigate whether or not it was appropriate to do so, just to point out that Hussie's "love" of Vriska was always an artifice - an aspect of Hussie-as-character that he played up to highlight the fact that Hussie-as-character is an unreliable buffoon, and, by extension, that Vriska is not blameless and perfect.

Since this is the Eridan blog, I'd be remiss not to talk about him. Hussie's commentary towards Eridan is especially fascinating to me, because Eridan is one of he characters Hussie-as-character is biased against, in a similar way as he's biased in Vriska's favor. Thus, his attitude towards Eridan is very dismissive, both in the book commentary AND in the comic itself. "Gamzee: Indulge emotional theatrics" and "Jade: Answer this douche bag" come to mind. He also spends the vast majority of the Act 5 Act 2 book mocking Eridan for being sad and alone, with nobody to care about him and nobody who listens to his problems.

Now, the reason I call this fascinating is twofold: the first is that his commentary in the Act 5 Act 1 book has a WILDLY different tone: while he's still biased in Eridan's disfavor, he outright calls Eridan a "good character" alongside Nepeta, and offers genuine insight into his characterization and the powers of Hope - comparing him at one point to Dave if Dave took a much darker path.

So when his attitude changes from "he's a shithead, but fairly complex, I guess" to "he's a loser idiot that nobody likes LMAOOOO", you're supposed to notice that! You're supposed to question that, to wonder why he has a change of heart, why he's suddenly so dismissive of a character he was genuinely writing whole paragraphs about before.

And the answer is multifaceted:

He's playing up his buffoonish character, to let you know that he's about to be wrong as hell. Every time Hussie starts really amping up the Hussie-as-character persona, you're about to be in for an opinion that SHOULD NOT be taken at face value.

He's reflecting a common fandom opinion, because one of his favorite things to do as an unreliable narrator is to speak on behalf of another character or entity, highlighting the biases and blind spots in play - in this case, the audience's. Again, he's about to be wrong as hell, so he's doing this specifically to indicate that the audience members who believe this are also wrong as hell.

Act 5 Act 2 is when we get the one conversation in all of Homestuck where somebody (Karkat) cares about Eridan and takes his problems seriously. During this part of the story, Hussie goes COMPLETELY silent. This is incredibly out of character, as he usually can't shut up, and the commentary is usually dense, packed with words, without pause. Compare:

In those blocks of silence are contained the conversation Eridan has with Karkat where Karkat literally tells him "I know it's hard being you" and that Nepeta's rejection of him wasn't a negative reflection of him. In other words, Karkat cares about Eridan and takes him seriously, COMPLETELY contradicting Hussie-as-character's assertions that nobody does, so utterly that Hussie-as-character has to completely shut up during that entire sequence because he has no way of reconciling his stance with the evidence presented.

Now, Hussie-as-an-actual-person is completely aware of what they're doing, or else they couldn't do stuff like this so consistently and so precisely. So I want to be very, very clear that this is not Hussie "not understanding his own story" or whatever BS the fandom likes to say in order to cast Hussie as the villain. This is masterful usage of unreliable narrator, like, I'm genuinely impressed.

By acting a clown and insisting that nobody likes or cares about Eridan, the audience is MEANT to glean from the text:

That Karkat is clearly an exception, and he quite likes and cares about Eridan,

That those who are dismissive towards Eridan and treat him purely as an object of ridicule are Wrong as Hell,

That maybe it's not a good thing for us - both audience, author, and characters - to be so quick to judge and dismiss others just because they're annoying and nasty - that doing so can have dire consequences, as we see with how Eridan's story plays out.

And I'm not kidding when I say that we have to be constantly fucking vigilant, that there's very, very little that can be purely taken at face value. Not long after this is one of Karkat's memos, where he attempts to warn his past friends about all the murders, only to dismiss past!Gamzee by saying that current!Gamzee going crazy murderclown "barely even concerns [him]." Hussie then notes in the commentary - and not for the first time - that Karkat has a Problem(TM) with not seeing past/future versions of people as contiguous with their current selves, which he does as a defense mechanism so as not to confront his own feelings of shame and self-loathing. Hussie then proceeds not to comment on the following:

CCG: YOU ARE DEAD TO ME CCG: PAST YOU, PRESENT YOU, FUTURE YOU CCG: AND ABOVE ALL, UGLY SCARFNECKED DOUCHEBAG HIPSTER YOU CCG: WAIT I FORGOT, ALL OF THE YOUS ARE THAT YOU

Hmmm... interesting. I wonder why Hussie points out one of Karkat's running character traits, just to "forget" to notice when an exception happens directly after? I'll let this one be an exercise for the class.

So to tie it all back to your ask: why is the exposition on troll romance done the way it is? What are the narrator's motives? Hussie even outright states in the commentary that Kanaya/Tavros/Vriska, which is used as an example of an auspicetism, isn't even a real auspicetism, as Kanaya feels no need to commit to it, and at most is putting out mixed signals - it's just used as an example because it's the closest thing we've seen.

Well, the answer I've arrived at, personally, is that the troll romance explanation is as flawed as it is because the narrator is taking on Karkat's point of view. A movie poster on Karkat's wall, the troll version of Serendipity, is used and namedropped as the ultimate expression of meeting your soul mate in every quadrant - as well as the assertion that "every" troll believes that there ARE destined soul mates for every quadrant, which Karkat definitely believes, but isn't a sentiment necessarily shared by everybody else. Moreover, the explanation ends with a tirade about how Karkat tried to explain quadrants to John, who didn't get it because "he's an idiot".

I'm not saying that Karkat is literally narrating here, just to be clear - I'm saying that the narrator (Hussie-as-character) is relaying factual information as processed through the lens of Karkat's biases, and, as a result, we can't take the explanation at 100% face value (though we can't discount it as entirely untrue, either). It's not so much that "real" moirail pairs work because they're doing moirallegiance "wrong," but that Karkat's view of moirallegiance is simplistic, idealized, and flawed, and we see this play out when he's bitter about his breakup with Gamzee because Gamzee stops "needing" him to keep him calm, even after Karkat has failed to be kept calm by Gamzee in return.

The more I look into Homestuck, the more that I'm genuinely impressed by the way it handles its writing. I hope this was interesting to everyone, too. I feel a little like I'm peeling back a curtain, or opening up a clock to reveal all the little cogs and wheels.

No, you can't trust Hussie as the narrator, but that's on purpose, and it's on purpose because why do we trust narrators? Why do we assume people telling a story are unbiased, benevolent, and have no ulterior motives? Why do we let idiots, assholes, predators, and monsters get away with their version of the truth, when a little scrutiny will have the whole ruse fall apart? Why do we let people tell us not to care about other people, why do we let them tell us that it's okay to be cruel to acceptible targets, why do we let them go unexamined?

And how about the stories we tell ourselves?

[gothsuguru]

Request: Getou feels bad for secretly liking Gojo’s gf and making excuses to touch her.

the enormity of my desire disgusts me

contents: f!reader, one-sided love, obsession, cursing, touching (not unwanted but the intention is unbeknownst to reader as geto makes it a point to always want physical contact w them), mentions of self-destructive behaviors, guilt, & delusions. w.c: ~ 2.3k

a/n: hi! tysm for requesting :’) this is my first ever request/first time writing so please bear w me & i hope you enjoy! constructive criticism is totally welcome! <3

guilt creeps up suguru’s throat like a slithering serpent.

it crawls around the base of his tongue, writhing farther down, embedding its fangs into the flesh of his throat. a raw, mangled, bloody mess left in its wake.

remorse, witnessing the disarray that guilt’s plight leaves, frantically tries to discern where a home can be made. perhaps it can dance along his ribcage. pirouetting across his bones until it reaches a bloody cavern where it can dwell within a hole burrowed deep inside suguru’s heart.

maybe all of this despair can be washed away… a desire to cleanse his palate & purge his feelings away persists, yet he doesn’t allow himself the reprieve.

instead, he decides to swallow his shame down like a bitter whiskey, relishing in the thorn-like pin prickles. the harsh amber reflecting in his fatigued, glassy eyes.

the ache serves as a reminder.

suguru figures that the sharp gnawing pain that spikes his heart & torments his throat is the very least he deserves.

his therapist did say he had a tendency to wallow in his self-destructive thoughts. delude himself & cyclically make bad choices which turned into bad habits. but what’s another bad decision to him? a pyromaniac to his very core; suguru would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy playing with fire.

allowing himself a moment of respite, he fishes out a cigarette he stole out of shoko’s purse from the left pocket of his leather jacket. a silver heart-shaped vivienne westwood lighter in the right. he takes it out, rolling it softly in his warm palm, lackadaisically playing with the switch. imagining the cold metal were your cold hands instead, his own seeking to offer up warmth for your comfort. he gazes softly at the flame; flickering on and off. on and off. on and off. a burning fire reflected in his eyes. a burning desire razing his heart.

the whole world in the palm of his hands — the heart you presented to him.

(a gift from you to him — you begged him to quit smoking, it was bad for his health and you wanted him to be there in the future as best man at yours & satoru’s wedding. with a tight-lipped smile & crinkled eyes, he said he would.

always the deceiver.

you lit up, gaze softening while telling him to specifically use this lighter to light up the teakwood candle you bought him for his birthday. his smile turned fond, eyes crinkled softly with genuine mirth & adoration, he said he would. and he did.

always the sentimentalist.)

bringing the cigarette to his lips, he exhales a puff of smoke, allowing his low-lidded gaze to flit across the room. the warm lights illuminating the grungy bar, a favorite of nanami’s & shoko’s.

he reminisces on the days where both of you would talk for hours. from deep conversations about space, morality, your futures & pasts, to asking each other about what food you’d eat for eternity (cold zaru soba noodles for him, any form of potato for you), savory or sweet (both of you chose savory — suguru relishes in the fact that he has a connection with you on this), & if you two would still be best friends if the other one was a worm (both of you answered yes — you’d build a terrarium where wormguru could play & suguru would keep you in his pocket not caring if he’d be dubbed the weirdly hot worm-man.) from the serious to the silly, suguru felt his chest bloom with tender warmth. from the bottom of his heart, he knows that in this world and any others, he could truly be himself with you.

a soft sigh escapes him, a small smile gracing his face thinking about his memories with you. calling the bartender over for another drink after he downs his whiskey, he drawls out, “give me somethin’ sweet.”

he turns back around to the crowd of strangers, unintentionally smiling. he finds a few pretty boys & girls gawking at him, hyping themselves and each other up to go talk to him. he sees a few more pretty boys & girls looking away from his intense gaze, too shy to go up to him, praying instead that he’ll go to them.

the grin that previously took residence on his face falters. he finds himself upset that they’d think his smile was reserved for any one of them. none of them pique his interest per usual, & he hopes that the bags underneath his eyes, his myriad of piercings & tattoos, chipped black nail polish, and overall resting bitch face will stop anyone from coming near him.

(he knows it won’t. people often went after suguru and not satoru. he was always more caring, more in tune with his emotions with an air of magnetic mystique, unlike his brash, loud, & arrogant counterpart.)

suguru intakes a sharp breath, surprising himself with the haughty & bitter thought against his best friend, quickly washing it down with a sweet daiquiri hoping to honey the words in both his throat & mind, while simultaneously praying that it would soothe his heart.

slightly more alert, his gaze wanders around the room again. tired eyes widening slightly, lighting up greatly when he sees you.

there you were in all of your glory.

sitting leisurely, a leg swung upon the other, arm resting over the back of the tattered red vinyl couch, the very same one you both had countless conversations on. how were you so effortlessly cool? you could do anything and suguru would revel in it — drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

and like a moth, he found himself gliding across the bar towards you, his feet moving faster than his brain. his body demanding that it be near you, that it be graced with your presence. with a flick of his ring-clad fingers, his cigarette is crushed underneath his black boots. a piece of strawberry gum is popped inside his mouth along with another reapplication of vanilla lip balm to his lips to make sure that you knew they were soft to the touch.

with his heart beating ridiculously fast, he takes a deep breath before he stands in front of you, your perfume enveloping his senses making him slightly delirious from how delectable you smell. he prays that the blush dusting his cheeks fools you into thinking that he just drank too much; that it’s not because of you peering up at him through your lashes with your pretty eyes that are now affectionately directed towards his own.

“yo! suguru! long time no see!” you wave as you get up to greet him, a massive grin overtaking your face, eyes almost crinkled shut because you’re so excited to see one of your best friends.

without warning, suguru envelops you into a tight hug. his left hand placed against your lower back while his right hand cradles your head against his chest, your cheek pressing against his beating heart. suguru places his chin on the top of your head, craning his face slightly to get a whiff of your shampoo, ghosting a faint kiss on your hair that he knows you don’t feel, relishing in this moment with you. for a few seconds he can pretend… he deserves that much at least, he figures.

he could stay holding you in his arms forever, your body pressed up against his, protecting you from everything & everyone bad in this world, shielding you from predatory eyes around the bar. fucking wolves, the lot of them — suguru contemptuously thinks. it’s a good thing you’re here in his arms, suguru muses, confident in his ability to keep you safe.

as quickly as that thought dashes through his brain, you pull away. not wanting to alarm you with his panic that you’d leave him, a tight grip stays around your waist, forcing you to sit back down. he positions himself right next to you, his thighs touching your own, his right arm draped across your shoulder.

something that you can consider friendly.

something that he can consider more than that.

affectionate, no matter which way you take it.

“it’s been a while.” a fond smile beams across his face, bright amber eyes desperately glazing over your face. you’re so close to him and he’s so attentive to you, he imagines that the boy across the bar must think you both look like a couple. the pleasure suguru derives from that thought is second to none. you do look like you’d be his. he’s certain that he looks like he’d be yours, if his devoted nature is anything to go by.

he takes a a few strands of your hair, twirling them slightly around his fingers. “what are you doing here anyways? i wish i saw you before, we could’ve hung out!” suguru teasingly pouts, lips slightly jutted out, his eyes twinkling with playful mirth.

“tell me about it,” you playfully whine. “thankfully i just got here so we have plenty of time to hang out! don’t worry, i’ll make up for it so you can forgive me.”

“you never have to apologize for anything.” seriousness takes over his tone. suguru doesn’t want you to ever feel bad, even as a joke. not wanting to make you uncomfortable with his tense energy, he eases up his features and winks, “don’t worry your pretty little head about it, i’ll let you off the hook this time.”

you bark out a laugh which makes him elated, glad that he was able to make you smile. “sugu, you’re way too sweet! and ooh — you asked what i was doing here! toru wanted to chill out here for a bit, said if he didn’t get to drink a virgin piña colada right this second he’d faint.” you gaze around the bar, muttering under your breath, “he should be on his way here soon…”

right… satoru.

suguru feels his mouth get dry by the second, a venomous pang of guilt daggers his heart. his eye twitches along with his fingers, wondering if he should take his arm off of you.

if satoru saw this would he just consider it friendly touching? would he think that suguru was trying to make the moves on you? would he scream in his face about how can his best friend stab him in the back this way? the bitter taste of betrayal coats suguru’s tongue like a curse, and before he can do anything about it, a big SMACK! on his shoulder wakes him out of his trance.

“SUGUUUUUUUU! I MISSED YOUUUUUUU!” satoru bursts out onto the scene loudly, holding both your & suguru’s shoulders from behind the couch, bringing you two towards each other in a massive hug. with satoru’s face in the middle, smooshing both of your & suguru’s cheeks against his, suguru can’t help but feel a gnawing sense of shame.

satoru, affectionate as ever, kisses you both on the cheek. snowy hair ruffling with his actions, aquamarine eyes twinkling as bright as starlight, white eyelashes fluttering against the pink blush hued upon his soft cheeks. from here, suguru can see the light dusting of freckles on satoru’s nose, & the lightest sheen of gloss on his pink lips. no doubt from kissing you before he got here.

a twisted part of suguru is thankful for the kiss on the cheek, your glossy residue imprinted on his skin. an indirect kiss, he muses.

“sorry it took so long, i had to park so far away. hope you didn’t miss me too much, angel.” satoru pecks you on the cheek again, cheekily stealing an upside down kiss on the lips from you while he’s at it.

“no worries baby, i had sugu to keep me company.” you smile wide, eyes softening as satoru smoothes down your hair.

suguru forgot.

satoru trusts him with his entire life. with you.

the loud, brash, arrogant, self-centered boy suguru knew as a teen had grown up. cleaning up his act the moment he met you. enamored with your beauty, kindness, & personable nature — satoru fell deeply in love. he was still loud, but only to proclaim his love on the rooftops for you. he was brash at times but never with you. his arrogance was also truly never unfounded, he was just that confident in his own self and in the relationship he could have with you. suguru still thinks satoru can be self-centered at times, but never about you.

satoru puts you forward in every single aspect of his life — devoted. loyal. faithful. unbelievably constant with his love & adoration for you. your perfect other half.

your true soulmate.

you’re his one and only. and he’s yours.

“satoru! it’s been a while.” suguru prays the loud music can cover up the slight crack in his voice. he can feel his throat constricting like a python, he coughs to clear it, wanting to rid himself of the strangling feeling. he does what he does best in that moment: putting on a facade. a tight-lipped smile along with crinkled eyes graces his features, and he hopes that both you & satoru mistake it for pure happiness.

“you good, man?” satoru tilts his head like a puppy, looking at him questioningly. you do the same, concern clouding your beautiful eyes. he’s terrified that you both could see right through him.

“yeah.” suguru whispers quietly.

the ache that torments his throat & spikes his heart serves as a reminder.

he puts his warm hand over your cold ones in a comforting gesture. for who would it bring solace? he doesn’t know. at this point in time, he can’t bring himself to care. “just the summer heat.”

he brushes his thigh against yours once again, fiddling with your fingers softly. he figures he can allow himself this.

glancing into your eyes, his reflection stares back him.

he accepts that living with this ache of shame & this disgusting sense of desire is the very least someone like him deserves.

he figures he should allow it to devour him.

[sugarandspicewriting]

The World We Knew (Over and Over)

Summary: You are a musician serving the royal family in the golden kingdom. You follow thistle as he descends into madness.

Warnings: 1.6k words. Thistle gets a little toxic as the fic progresses. Mentions of Thistle's self harm tendencies. Angst ending :(

A/N: You've heard of enemies to lovers now get ready for lovers to not really enemies but the vibes are off now. I don't actually know if Thistle had to leave the castle to learn magic I but for the sake of the fic he did.

It all began with giggles trailing after you through the palace halls.

Your acceptance into the King's court had been unceremonious; your parents had served the royal family as musicians, and from a young age, it had been your dream to join them in performing. Prince Delgal took a particular liking to your music, often calling for your performances. Yet, it seemed someone else was more eager to hear you play.

"What do you want to hear from her, Thistle?" Delgal teased, his eyes twinkling mischievously as they landed on the elf always by his side. Thistle would invariably blush, stammering in response, "You called her! I can’t tell her what to do!"

You were familiar with Thistle, often spotting him in the prince's company. Sometimes, he would even smile and wave at you before retreating, dragging a laughing Delgal along with him.

And so, the persistent snickers of the prince and his elfin companion became a soundtrack to your days within the castle.

—--------------------

When Thistle finds a rare moment to slip away, he often visits your room at night. Despite the openness of your feelings for each other, he remains bashful and reserved. He twists his braid nervously until you understand he wants you to undo it for him.

 While you brush his hair, you observe the pieces of him that have found their way to your space. His lyre, propped up in a corner, a silent witness to the melodies he plays for you. Spare hair ties scattered around, remnants of his occasional absent-minded gestures. The bandages you bought were placed on the dresser for when he bites his thumb too hard in his worry for the Prince. His upcoming wedding seems to weigh heavily on his mind. Sometimes you wish he would ease his worries, if only for a moment.

But in this quiet moment, he’s slumped in your lap, and you take the chance to place his hair on one side of his head and brush your lips to his ear. He doesn’t respond but you see both his ears turn crimson, and you stifle a laugh. Better to not make him grumpy.

—-----------------

The wedding is tomorrow and Thistle can’t seem to find any peace. 

You could tell by the way he’s been darting around all day, obsessing over every detail. Still, it surprises you when he appears at your door in the dead of night, a trembling candle in his hand. The flickering flame casts shadows on his anxious face. You watch the flame sway in the air for a moment before looking at his face. 

Without a word, you draw him inside and envelop him in your arms. He murmurs something about security concerns into the curve of your neck, and you stroke his hair soothingly, hushing his worries.

Gently, you take the candle from him and put it on the nightstand, then drag him over to your bed and help him down on the mattress. He flopped down and you crawled over him to get to the other side of the bed. 

“You can stay here tonight. I love you.” you say softly.

As usual, he didn't say it back, but you were willing to wait. 

You blow out the candle, casting the room back into darkness.

Barely a minute passes ,and you feel him crawl over to you and wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your hair. It’s a rare display of vulnerability from him, a testament to the weight of his concerns.

You place your hands over his, gently rubbing your thumb over his skin. “I love you too,” he whispers into the quiet darkness.

—--------------------------------

Things are different now.

Prince Delgal ascends to the throne after his father's tragic death, and he insists that Thistle learn magic to protect him. 

The only reason you got to wish him goodbye is because you walked in his room to find him 

"You're leaving already?" you ask quietly, unable to mask the concern in your voice.

"The sooner I leave, the better. When I return, I'll be able to keep Delgal safe," Thistle replies, his tone strained with determination.

"And you. You too," he adds after a pause, as though remembering your presence.

You feel like an afterthought, overshadowed by the weight of the recent events and the king's legacy. Uncertain of what to say, you watch silently as Thistle finishes packing.

When he grabs his bag and heads towards the castle exit, he doesn't invite you to follow. But you do, driven by an unspoken need to be near him, to understand what he's going through.

Before he leaves you manage to get one last hug from him. It’s the first time he’s touched you in weeks.

“You’ll write to me?” You ask. Mercifully he loosely wraps his arm around your waist.

“Of course.” Thistle replies, though his voice lacks its usual warmth.

He parts with you and his farewell to Delgal is filled with concern and lingering goodbyes. You pretend not to notice the underlying tension, the unraveling edges of his composure.

—----------------------------

Everything is different when he comes back. 

He smiles more than he was but something is strange about it.You get to see him more, but nights that were once filled with soft touches and words are filled with one sided conversation about magic and the dungeon under the kingdom. He fidgets incessantly, unable to sit still long enough for you to even brush his hair. His words about power and protection wash over you, their meaning lost, but the intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine. 

Still, he's here. He cares enough to share his thoughts, not just about the King's safety, but about everything that consumes his mind. Despite the concerned glances exchanged between you and Delgal at the dinner table, despite the moments when his grip on your arms tightens uncomfortably during his rants, you smile and nod, supportive of his ideas.

When he eventually leaves your side, you find yourself tracing the crescent-shaped marks on your skin left by his fingers. You remember the days when he would look away before summoning the courage to hold your hand.

—------------------------

You could leave the room if you really wanted to; no one would stop you. But the fear in Yaad’s eyes would always draw you back.

It had been ages since Thistle’s last visit, taking a momentary break on his fruitless search for Delgal. No one expected you to remain locked within the castle for eternity. In his absence, you were granted momentary freedom around the kingdom. Yet, straying from his expectations risked unsettling him. Not being where he would expect you to be when he came back could prove disastrous.

You picked at the Minotaur meat brought to your room, a gesture more habitual than necessary. Like the kingdom’s residents, you no longer needed sustenance. Yaad had arranged this meal at the request of recent visitors, hopeful they might end the reign of the Mad Mage.

The Mad Mage hardly sounded like a fitting name for the Thistle you once knew. Yet, time had woven madness into his every thought and action.When he had locked you all in the dungeon and cursed you with immortality you hardly recognized him The same eyes that once captivated you with warmth now held a terror you couldn’t bear to face. Thistle was the Lord of the dungeon, and he would forever keep you trapped in his perfect kingdom like rats in a cage. 

He would visit as he did in youth—sitting in your lap, requesting hair fixes, strumming his lyre in fleeting moments of joy, or sobbing in your embrace, tormented by Delgal’s absence. 

The villagers never got to see this side of him- the emotional side. It was never a side he was keen on sharing with most people. It used to make you feel special.

A familiar bell chimed, a gift from Thistle before he resumed his search for Delgal—a bell signaling his return to the realm.

As the bell on the wall rang, its faint chime echoing through the cold stone chamber, Thistle's return stirred a mix of emotions in you. You watched the heavy door creak open, revealing his figure silhouetted against the dim torchlight of the corridor beyond. 

"Thistle," you greeted softly, the name tasting bitter on your tongue yet wrapped in the sweetness of memories long past.

"I've returned," he murmured, his voice a fragile thread of the man he once was.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. His touch, when he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, was gentle yet tinged with an unsettling intensity. In that moment, you saw glimpses of the Thistle you had loved, a soul now lost in the labyrinth of his own making.

"I've missed you," he whispered, his voice cracking with a raw vulnerability that pierced through the shadows of the room.

And though the weight of his madness bore down upon your heart, you found solace in the fragments of his former self that still lingered. You reached out, hesitantly at first, and took his hand in yours. It was cold and trembling, a stark reminder of all that had been lost between you.

As the bell's echo faded into the silence, you knew that despite the darkness that had consumed him, a part of Thistle remained tethered to you. Locked in this eternal dance of captivity and fleeting connection, you found a fragile kind of peace in the depths of his broken mind.

[biggesthomuradefender]

homura akemi & birds: black swans, crows, & ravens (analysis)

i feel like i've noticed that homura has some interesting similarities/coincidences (?) w birds, specifically crows, ravens, and black swans. and since i haven't seen anyone rly mention it yet, i decided i might as well and have a crack at it :)

i hope you enjoy !!

- black swans.

now, the easiest comparison u can make first is the fact that homura's entire devil outfit seems to be made entirely out of dark feathers, or at least replicating the appearance of them. she even has wings made of black feathers and bone (i had no idea the white part was bone, deadass thought that was just for aesthetic purposes only. isn't that cool and morbid as hell???) as well.

i feel like this is a very obvious reference to the black swan from swan lake, aka odile, often presented as odette's (the white swan, aka madoka/ultimate madoka in this scenario) double or opposite, causing them to create yin and yang together.

(an image of the black swan, aka odile, and the white swan, aka odette, from the 2010 "black swan" movie)

homura believes herself to be the devil, the very embodiment of all that is evil, wicked, unlovable, etc. bc of her very black-and-white mindset caused by repeated trauma; this makes her the opposite of madoka in her eyes, who embodies hope, love, selfishness, etc.

just as odette's outfit is pure white, so is ultimate madoka's attire.

on top of that, when i did some research on black swans, and there is apparently a metaphor called the "black swan theory" that characterizes an event that has a huge outcome, occurs as a surprise, and often used incorrectly when someone wants to or tries to rationalize/make sense of their actions after they know the outcome of them.

in a more broad sense, it can be used to highlight or represent how we have the tendency to underestimate or overlook the possibility of events that are unpredictable and rare.

sounds exactly like devil homura, doesn't it? her taking the power of the law of cycles (or at least part of it) was a huge shock to everyone, including the audience, and the way she tries to (incorrectly) rationalize her actions by proclaiming herself the devil and all that is evil and cruel after she has done it, when that clearly isn’t true.

the term itself comes from the idea that people thought that all swans were white, so when black swans were discovered, it challenged their beliefs.

kinda like how homura believes herself to be/calls herself the devil, even though she is technically a goddess, like ultimate madoka is. referring to/seeing herself as a goddess in any capacity would surely challenge her black-and-white mindset, bc how could she be anything like madoka when she's oh-so-terrible and madoka is anything but?

- crows.

in different cultures, crows symbolically represent transformation, death and the afterlife, fortune telling and the prophecy (such as warnings and good omens), intelligence. even more so, seeing a crow in your dream is apparently a sign of change that is coming into your life.

without saying much else, you can probably see the similarities to homura very easily. not only did she transform into a supposed "devil", but she also had a transformation when she went from moemura, aka her glasses and braids self, to the more cold, closed-off persona and demeanor she portrays.

homura is clearly very intelligent, and she served as the embodiment of a warning and a good omen since her introduction, albeit quite ominously and cryptically. her constant warnings and protection towards madoka and her telling madoka the truth about who she is and what her goals are in ep. 10 are both parts of what directly allows madoka to make the ultimate wish and sacrifice she made in ep. 12 to begin with, besides the fact that she was directly affecting madoka's karmic destiny.

not to mention, madoka had a dream about homura the night before she transferred to her class, and her life promptly changed tremendously right after that.

when the research about crows i researched mentioned death and the afterlife, i instantly thought of homulily's design.

- ravems.

ravens basically say the same thing !! but unlike crows, the research.i found mentions that ravens have symbolic connections to the spiritual and moral world, and be able to move across them as messengers.

ironically enough, homura's clara dolls, which represent the way she sees herself, call themselves the "troupe of the mortal world"... very interesting.

even more so... doesn't homura's hair kind of look like dark bird wings because of how they're parted due to her constantly wearing braids before moving them, especially when it blows in the wind? (i sadly don't have any gifs of that but hopefully, you know what i'm talking abt lol)

look at how even more bird-like and dramatic it becomes when she's devil homura.

before

and after

anyways, that's my analysis !! hope u guys enjoyed and thanks for reading :)

[hidedino]

my dissection of q!fit and q!pac's love languages how they lead to q!fit's insecurities.

pac's love language is gift giving. we could've observed this since the day of their first unofficial date when he'd given a rose to fit, albeit the whole idea was prompted by richas. but as their relationship had progressed, pac started showing this tendency more by himself. he kept confirming to fit that he was free to come and take anything from his storage system and also seemed happier than ever when fit had given him the wand he'd accidentally broken or the trident he didn't own until that point. even during the days leading up to the the confession pac was clearly very excited about fit giving him his leftover egg quest cookies and food on multiple occasions. and of course, there was the prison when pac kept giving fit roses or food items whenever he saw him. pac loves showing people how much he loves them by giving them items which he carefully chooses. he also feels overjoyed whenever he receives anything from fit, no matter what its value is because to him those gifts are the biggest affirmation of fit's love for him. and this is where fit's problem arrises.

fit's love language are positive affirmations. of course, he always gives a lot of support to all his friends, but even more so to pac. you can watch segments of compilations which are just 10 clips of fit shouting out every possible compliment at pac during a fight. he always throws in some whenever he hears pac self-deprecating himself or whenever he gets a chance to.

and then pac throws compliments back at him and suddenly he panics and laughts it off. because fit isn't used to receiving any positive affirmations and it pulls out his instincts of guarding himself from vulnerabilities. he becomes embarrassed and shy and turns them back at pac instead of accepting them.

so why does it seem like fit spends so much time by gathering and putting thought into every gift for pac when that isn't even his main love language? insecurities.

because he loves pac more than he loves himself. so he feeds into pac's love language like the amazing partner he is, but doesn't allow himself to let pac do the same.

one thing that had really struck me yesterday was how fit had mentioned he felt bad for not having given pac better gifts than pac got for him. he sees himself unworthy of pac's love because he feels like he can't prove to both himself and pac that he's good enough for him. he's unable to admit to himself that he doesn't need to compete for pac's love and that anything he does for pac only serves to make pac fall further in love with him.

so yes, sure, pac himself is quite insecure and fit is a great match for him in this regard as he naturally seeks to give him unprompted reassurance. but are we talking enough about fit's facade and how his emotional repression is still affecting him?

[annihilatorz]

When you say Andre was a misogynist prick, where do you get this from? I'm not trying to argue lol, I just don't remember him saying anything sexist in the film. but I also haven't watched it in a while. I think I remember him calling people bitches, though I don't think that's sexist. I am just interested in your POV!

ANDRE KRIEGMAN AND MISOGYNY

This is all a really over the top and unnecessary analysis of Andre as a character, understand that it’s all my personal perspective of him. Sorry for the confusion on that one post lol.

And yes you are right, Andre doesn’t directly make misogynistic remarks, BUT he has internalised misogyny.

In my eyes Andre comes across as internally misogynistic or at the very least, arrogantly dismissive of women.

Andre and vulnerability:

Andre mentions being “tormented” by people at school, this tells us others see him as vulnerable and weak, an easy target.

We see in the tapes that feelings of vulnerability (a stereotypical feminine feeling) seems to drive Andre to perpetuate some aggression, he gets riled up and seems to feel the need to convince himself that he is “going to be God”, he is not weak.

He has a strong discomfort with vulnerability and a near obsession with being seen as a God, a dictator, a man of power are all signs of his misogynistic tendencies.

Rachael and Cal’s conversation:

Rachael’s conversation with Cal in the graveyard is where she mentioned that she sees Andre as “the leader” of the two guys which I assume is likely because of the tough, “hyper masculine” persona he projects.

His aggression or dismissiveness toward people that Rachael tells Cal about may serve as a possible defence mechanism against the traits he fears most, emotional expression or perceived weakness.

I will keep repeating it.

Andre does not want to be weak.

He is sick of being seen weak and being treated as weak.

This attitude definitely stems from a form of self-loathing tied to his internal belief that traits of emotional (and physical) weakness are undesirable or inferior.

Rachael describes Andre as “offbeat” and “strange,” and her discomfort around him may stem from, yes, the internalised misogyny.

Jc Penney shirt:

I wanted to add this as a way to show Andre’s masculinity was definitely challenged, giving an explanation for his internalised misogyny.

The slur is used weaponise and undermine a person’s masculinity, this has clearly deeply affected him as he still remembers it and is still riled up about it.

This could have been a starting point for when he started to build up his macho facade.

She also notes his anger and hatred, which could easily be interpreted as having misogynistic undertones, particularly when directed at her.

I also want to bring this up:

Cal’s joke about filming “girls’ asses,” for Andre while funny, is lowkey a deeper issue of objectification, suggesting that Andre (and perhaps Cal as well) reduces women to mere objects of desire.

It’s worth remembering that Andre’s character is partially inspired by Eric Harris, a very misogynistic person 👍

[cripplecharacters]

Hello, I'm writing a character that is autistic. I'm autistic and white (afab) and my character is black (amab), can I use my own experience with autism as a "draftc for his character? If not, what can I do to make the writing feel correct/original?

(sry if I made any grammar mistakes, I'm not a native speaker)

Hi asker,

Ultimately, autism is both race- and sex- and gender- neutral. Symptoms and traits are not going to vary drastically because of any of the above things.

So yes, you can use your own experience as a basis for your character. What you'd need to pay more attention to is the responses of other people to your character and the culture that they're being raised in.

For example, black disabled people are treated especially heinously by law enforcement, so if you were going to include anything about that, a little black kid might be taught as much as possible by his family to be careful around cops and develop a script and to not stim around them. Masking and not stimming in a case like this isn't a case of hiding your true self, it's about protecting your life and safety. And yet, this doesn't actually have anything to do with this character's autism being any different than a little white boy his age. Just that it is treated differently.

And, like any character of color, the only way to make them isn't just to make them live the same life culturally than a white person and then change the color of their skin. Researching about their culture and including bits of that in their life is important – things like food, values, hairstyles, cultural events, holidays, and such.

I want to add that the assigned genders of your characters don't matter as much as you think they might. I know it's common to refer to 'female/girl autism' on the internet as its own separate beast, but there isn't really a material difference in symptoms and traits. Some traits will be seen differently socially by others, like with race, and people might be treated differently depending on their sex about how they behave, but the behaviors themselves are not divided nicely on a gender line or anything like that. That misconception, really, is just born from misogyny, sexism, and societal expectations, not from autism itself being different.

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

Hello,

mod Sparrow covered the actual question, so I'll mention the AGAB part.

There is no sexual dimorphism related to hormones, genitals, or chromosomes in autism. The severity of a person's symptoms or how they experience them is unrelated to any kind of sex characteristic, nor to a past decision made on the basis of at-the-time appearance of the person's external genitals, which is what AGAB is.

The "girl/boy autism" is a sexist dichotomy that is completely made up and presents girls as inherently less disabled by their autism. It erases the severely disabled girls and women who do have autism and shows "girl autism" as more manageable and pro-social than "boy autism" which is impossible to control and anti-social. That's nonsense and the same kind of erasure of women as in every other minority.

The only real difference that is based on gender is how it's socially treated by others, just like mod Sparrow mentioned. Men's autistic symptoms are generally considered more acceptable than they would be if they belonged to a woman, even if the symptom is exactly the same. If a man shows autistic tendencies, he can be considered "intriguing and unique", but if a woman did the same, she would be "off-putting and weird".

This, however, obviously isn't based on what the person's AGAB was. A transgender woman's autistic behavior won't be seen the same way a cisgender man's behavior would be. It will in fact put her under more scrutiny than a cis woman would be under, not less. AGAB is a past event that serves no function in this question, nor in most contexts. AGAB doesn't answer for gender, presentation, chromosomes, hormone dominance, organs, functionality of these organs, or anything else other than what someone arbitrarily said about a newborn. Categorizing people based on what gender they were assigned at birth - rather than any present characteristic - is bioessentialism.

I know this is not an answer to the ask, but please question what a past evaluation of the character's genitals would inform here that their actual gender wouldn't.

mod Sasza

[literatureloverx]

One of the things I find curious about Fyodor is that in the latest bsd guidebook, he describes himself as the color white like his hometown's snow. Fyodor still remembers his hometown, after all he's gone through and after all this time. And he describes himself as the color white like its snow. That with his character's disconnect from people, makes me very excited for when Asagiri decides to reveal his character's backstory. Of course he probably means snow in a more way of "purity" than sentimentalism for his hometown itself but omg he mentions his hometown which is something enough. Not "like snow" which would convey purity enough but "like the snow from my hometown". Maybe it's because he found his faith there? Maybe he just wants to pay respect to where he was birthed? Idk but there's much to theorize. What are your thoughts?

-🎪 anon

I agree, 🎪-anon!♥️

I don’t know if it’s because he found his faith there, but I think that is very likely and seems reasonable.

However, I also believe he was born into a religious family to begin with. I’ve thought through other aspects as well. Let me break it down for you:

Purity and Fyodor’s inner moral code:

Fyodor describing himself as the color white, especially like the snow from his hometown, speaks volumes. It hints at his complex inner moral code—he engages in dark actions under the belief that they serve a greater good.

This idea of “purity” contrasts sharply with his behavior. But does it?

In my humble opinion, he is well aware that what he does is evil, but his inner moral depiction is influenced by Machiavellian tendencies.

He does whatever he needs to do to cleanse humanity of their sins. Therefore, his actions reflect Machiavellian principles.

In short: the ends justify the means (The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli).

I’m imagining it like this: God has given him the enormous power of being immortal—never truly able to die.

God also gifted him with an intelligence that is above any other human being.

This means he must be someone important.

This means he is meant to be the rightful hand of God, tasked with creating a world that is worthy of God’s beauty.

Therefore, he wishes to help God’s creations, cleansing them and this sinful world of all their sins.

This is one reason why he says that he likes all humanity equally. Because he really does.

They are all the same to him—fools who could do better. Fools that could be worthy of God’s perfect world.

What fascinates me the most about him is that, even though he is doing all of this out of pure self-assurance and his own complex inner moral compass, he still claims that he is doing it for the whole world. And I believe he does.

I can totally see this being his ultimate end in the future.

His Hometown and it’s significance for him:

By referencing his hometown, he reveals a more humane side to himself.

If you haven't already, l'd recommend you read THIS and THIS posts of mine, where I explained very clearly how I perceive Fyodor's humane side.

It shows that he yearns for connection and perhaps misses the simplicity and innocence of his past.

This duality makes him such a fascinating character, caught between his dark pursuits and the remnants of his humanity.

Imagine feeling like, or even knowing that you're "the chosen one," only to end up isolated, dehumanized, and lonely, with nothing to hold onto but your belief in your God.

You can't die, because the only way for you to do so is by your own hands, which is considered the greatest sin.

You can't die. Not until you take your own life.

How deep must his religious beliefs run for him to be this dedicated to his goal, mentally able to endure and live for hundreds, maybe thousands of years?

This made me so emotional. I want to give him a hug. My precious love.♥️

[drewharrisonwriter]

Life Well Loved

Status: One Shot, Complete

Summary: Dieter Bravo’s life proves that plans are overrated—and he’s never been more right about not having one.

Word Count: 12.9k words -- I KNOW! (In Monica Geller's voice)

A/N: Am I having a Dieter brain rot? Why yes, yes, I am. I know I should be writing the next chapter of Lifeline, but here we are. This story contains themes of pregnancy and navigating unexpected life changes, with emotionally intense scenes that touch on topics like potential pregnancy termination, personal doubts, and fears. Though it's mostly fluff, the narrative leans toward a hopeful and supportive direction but explores the complexities of relationships and personal growth. Because hey, it's Dieter!

Warnings: Allusion to abortion, brief mentions of substance use (past), discussions of anxiety and self-doubt, public scrutiny/social media negativity, mentions of past parental loss, minor family tensions, and emotional conversations around pregnancy. Please read with care if these subjects are sensitive for you.

P.S. My laptop, which served me well for 5 years, just gave out. With grad school, the recent loss of my stepdad, and ongoing medical bills, finances are tight. I’m currently managing writing commissions and my dissertation from my phone, which is okay but really challenging. If you can help with a donation or by commissioning some of my writing, it would mean the world to me. Just send me a message 💜 Thank you from the bottom of my heart for any support you can offer. 💜🙏🏻

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

Dieter Bravo never thought he’d end up married, let alone to his best friend. It wasn’t the kind of love story he had planned for himself, but then again, Dieter’s plans were usually an afterthought to his impulsive nature. He met her—his wife, the love of his life—years ago at a book signing. He’d been dragged there by a friend who swore her mystery novels were like something straight out of an Agatha Christie thriller, but with a modern, edgier twist.

“Come on, man. Just try something new,” his friend had nudged, practically shoving Dieter into the crowded bookstore. “She’s hot and her books are actually good. Not that you’d know.”

Dieter rolled his eyes but followed, pretending not to care. He didn’t read much beyond scripts, but when he saw her—standing there all wide-eyed and charming behind the signing table, chatting easily with fans—he was hooked. She had this warmth about her, a smile that reached her eyes, and a way of making everyone feel like they were the only person in the room.

When it was his turn in line, Dieter cleared his throat, a little unsure of what to say. “So, uh, is it true you based your killer on your ex?” he asked, flashing her his signature smirk.

She looked up, amused. “Only the charming parts. The murderous tendencies are purely fictional.”

Dieter chuckled, genuinely entertained. “Good to know. I’ll keep my charming side in check.”

She laughed, and Dieter swore he could listen to that sound all day. But the moment passed quickly, and they parted ways, the brief exchange lingering in Dieter’s mind longer than he’d like to admit.

They didn’t reconnect until months later when Dieter landed the role of a lifetime in the film adaptation of one of her books. He played the brooding lead, a role he was born to play, and she was on set every day, consulting on the story she knew better than anyone.

“Bravo!” she called out one afternoon, waving the script in the air as he finished a scene. “I think you missed a line, but you definitely nailed the smirk.”

“Missed the line? Nah, I made it better,” Dieter shot back, strutting over with that effortless confidence of his. “Besides, isn’t the lead supposed to be mysterious and broody? I’m just adding layers.”

She rolled her eyes, smiling. “Layers of bullshit, maybe.”

Their banter was easy, and soon, late nights spent in hotel bars became their thing. They’d laugh over terrible room service and even worse dialogue changes, often rewriting entire scenes together between drinks.

“Do you think the audience is gonna buy this twist?” Dieter asked one night, his brow furrowed as he scribbled on a napkin. “It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“It’s a mystery, Bravo. It’s supposed to be dramatic,” she said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “Besides, you’re the one bringing it to life. If anyone can sell it, it’s you.”

Over the years, their friendship grew deeper. Dieter adored her—not just for her talent, but for the way she saw right through him. She didn’t care about the Hollywood persona; she cared about the guy who struggled with his lines, laughed too loudly, and occasionally got lost in his own head. And it was clear to anyone who knew him that she was the only one who truly got him.

“Why do you even stick around?” Dieter asked one night, half-drunk and more vulnerable than he intended. They were sitting on the balcony of some hotel in Vancouver, the city lights flickering below them, empty glasses scattered between them.

She looked over at him, surprised at the question but not at the insecurity behind it. “You’re kidding, right? Who else is gonna put up with my obsessive rewriting of everything?”

Dieter smirked, but the self-deprecation was still there, hovering. “I’m serious, baby. You’ve seen me at my worst. Hell, you’ve probably seen me at my best, and let’s be real, there’s not a whole lot of difference.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was affection in the gesture. “Come on, Dee. You think I don’t know who you are? I’ve watched you screw up a million times and still pull it off somehow. You’re not as hopeless as you think.”

“Yeah, but it’s all smoke and mirrors,” he muttered, leaning back and staring at the city. “I’m just this mess pretending to be a movie star. And people buy it, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the act.”

She leaned closer, her smile gentle but knowing. “You’re not acting, Dee. This is you—chaotic, brilliant, all over the place. And somehow it works. That’s why people love you. It’s why I love you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sure, but it’s not exactly the stuff that makes for a stable life. I can’t even commit to a weekly gym routine, let alone… you know, anything permanent.”

“Well, it’s good you know that about yourself,” she said, her tone more serious now. “But just because you’re not ready for all that doesn’t mean you’re a failure. You’ve built this crazy, messy, amazing life, and you’ve done it on your terms.”

Dieter glanced at her, the sincerity in her eyes almost too much to bear. “But it’s still just a mess, right? Like, I don’t know how to be the guy who settles down, who has the white picket fence and the kids. It’s not in me.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make you any less,” she pointed out, nudging his knee with hers. “You’re the guy who shows up when it counts, who makes people laugh when they need it, who cares more than he lets on. And that’s enough, Dee. It really is.”

Dieter stared at her, his expression softening. “You make it sound like I’m not totally screwing everything up.”

“Because you’re not,” she said simply, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “You’re doing what works for you, and that’s more than most people can say. So don’t be so hard on yourself, okay?”

They sat in a comfortable silence, the kind that comes from knowing each other inside and out. Dieter wasn’t sure if he could ever really change, but with her by his side, he felt like maybe he didn’t need to.

The media loved to ask when Dieter Bravo, Hollywood’s lovable mess, was going to settle down. He always laughed it off, brushing it aside with jokes and his trademark self-deprecation. “Settle down?” he’d scoff to reporters, flashing that crooked grin. “Have kids? I can barely take care of myself. I mean, who’s gonna look after the baby when I’m off in Cabo or Amsterdam on a bender?”

He was always open about not wanting to be tied down, convinced that marriage and fatherhood were responsibilities he’d inevitably screw up just like everything else. Deep down, he didn’t think he was cut out for it. Not the commitment, not the kids—none of it. And yet, every time he thought about those nights spent talking with her, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he could be more than the sum of his fears.

The truth was, Dieter loved being around kids, especially when visiting his favorite charities—arts programs, hospitals, anywhere that needed his presence to brighten the day. He had a soft spot for the kids who showed up at his movie premieres with homemade signs and for the shy ones who peeked out from behind their parents at hospital visits, their eyes lighting up at the sight of a real-life movie star. He’d spend hours signing autographs, posing for pictures, and handing out gifts. But wanting that momentary joy and having it every day were two entirely different things, and he didn’t think he was built for the kind of life that meant forever.

Then there was Vegas. It was one of those wild weekends that only Dieter and his friends could pull off, the kind that started with a simple plan and spiraled into chaos before anyone could catch their breath. They were there to celebrate a friend’s birthday—a milestone that felt more like a warning than a celebration to Dieter, who had spent the better part of the year dodging questions about settling down and growing up.

The night was a blur of neon lights, overpriced drinks, and the kind of reckless energy that only Vegas could inspire. Dieter and his best friend were deep into their third round of shots at some tacky but charming casino bar, laughing so hard their sides hurt. The conversation was easy, like it always was, jumping from half-remembered movie quotes to bad relationship stories that only got funnier with every shot.

“Remember when you two were drunk off margaritas and swore you’d get married if you were still single at 35?” one of their friends blurted out, pointing at Dieter and her with a tipsy grin. “Well, look at that—clock’s ticking, you two.”

“Oh please, they’d kill each other in a week,” another friend chimed in, rolling their eyes dramatically. “But hey, at least the headlines would be great.”

Dieter leaned back, smirking. “You think she’d kill me? I’m charming as hell.”

She snorted, leaning in closer to Dieter. “Charming? Sure, Dee, if charming means spilling three drinks and forgetting your lines.”

“Oh, you love it, don’t lie,” Dieter shot back, nudging her shoulder playfully.

Their friends egged them on, throwing out half-baked marriage advice between sips of whatever was in their glasses. “Just make sure you don’t pull a Ross and say the wrong name at the altar,” one joked, and they all burst into laughter, doubling over as the drinks kept flowing.

“Hey, I can pronounce her name just fine,” Dieter retorted, raising his glass to her. “What do you say, baby? You and me, Vegas style.”

“Wel…we’re way past 35 now…” she said, still smiling but now with a hint of mischief, “technically, we missed our window… so might as well make good on that old pact, right?”

Dieter stared at her, the room spinning slightly as he tried to read between the lines. They were supposed to be just friends, right? But it didn’t feel like a joke anymore, not when she looked at him like that. And for once, he didn’t want to think it through. He didn’t want to second-guess it or talk himself out of it like he usually did.

“Fuck it,” Dieter said, grinning wider than he had in months. “Let’s do it. You and me, baby. Let’s get hitched.”

Their friends erupted in cheers, half-shocked, half-encouraging, but it didn’t matter. They were drunk on cheap tequila and the reckless abandon of the Vegas Strip, where anything seemed possible. Before Dieter knew it, they were stumbling into a tacky little chapel off the main drag, the kind with neon hearts and an Elvis impersonator in the back who’d seen one too many late-night weddings.

The ceremony was a blur. Dieter remembered laughing so hard that he nearly dropped the ring—some gaudy, oversized thing they’d bought from a souvenir shop on the way over—and the way she squeezed his hand so tightly he could feel her nerves mixing with his own. There were no big speeches or dramatic declarations of love, just a lot of giggling, whispered jokes, and the kind of easy joy that felt like it belonged to them and them alone.

“Do you, Dieter Bravo, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the Elvis officiant drawled, barely keeping it together.

Dieter glanced at her, still half-expecting her to back out at the last second. But she was looking at him, eyes full of that familiar mix of sarcasm and something deeper that he’d never quite put a name to. “I do,” he said, and for once, it didn’t feel like a lie.

“And do you, sweetheart, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?” Elvis asked, already cracking a grin.

She squeezed Dieter’s hand, barely containing her laughter. “Hell yeah, I do.”

Elvis squinted, pausing dramatically. “Are you sure? Divorces are expensive. Trust me, I’ve had three.”

Their friends howled from the pews, tossing out quips. “Yeah, blink twice if you need an escape plan!” one of them shouted, while another chimed in, “You’re stuck with him now, good luck!”

Dieter threw his arm around her, laughing so hard his sides hurt. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m the best terrible decision you’ll ever make.”

She leaned in, grinning. “Guess we’re both screwed then.”

They kissed, and it was messy and off-center, but it felt right. It was the kind of kiss that was more about the laughter and less about the perfection of the moment, which was exactly how Dieter liked it. When they pulled apart, he was breathless, and she was glowing in a way that made the whole crazy, impulsive thing feel like the best decision he’d ever made.

They walked out of that chapel with matching rings and a new reality that neither of them fully understood but were more than willing to figure out together. And in true Dieter fashion, they celebrated the only way they knew how—by grabbing greasy burgers at an all-night diner and gambling away the rest of the night like newlyweds who couldn’t care less about what tomorrow would bring.

For once in his life, Dieter didn’t feel like he was running from anything. He was running toward something—toward her—and it felt like the only thing that made sense.

–

The first few months of marriage were an unpredictable whirlwind, much like the wedding itself. There were no grand changes, no dramatic shifts—just more of the same easy companionship they’d always had, now with the added humor of “Mrs. Bravo” peppered into their banter. They spent mornings in Dieter’s cluttered kitchen, arguing over the best way to make coffee while stumbling over each other in pajamas that never quite matched. Evenings were spent curled up on the couch, watching bad movies and stealing kisses during the credits like lovesick teenagers.

Their friends couldn’t get enough of it, either. The tabloids had gone wild over the news—Dieter Bravo, Hollywood’s most notorious bachelor, suddenly married to his long-time friend in a drunken Vegas escapade. Headlines like “Bravo’s Big Gamble” and “Hollywood’s Wildest Newlyweds” splashed across every gossip rag in the country. But Dieter and his wife took it in stride, shrugging off the noise and focusing on what actually mattered: them.

His family had been just as surprised but in the best way. They had welcomed her with open arms from the very first time she and Dieter had visited together. His mom had pulled her into a tight hug at the door, immediately peppering her with questions about her books and telling her how she had a shelf dedicated to them in the living room. Dieter’s siblings loved her, too—his sister often roping her into baking sessions in the kitchen, laughing over old stories about Dieter’s childhood antics that usually ended with him covered in mud or glitter or some combination of both.

It wasn’t long before she became a staple in their family gatherings, fitting in as if she’d always been there. Sunday dinners at the Bravo house turned into her favorite ritual. She’d help Dieter’s mom in the kitchen, rolling out dough for pies while swapping recipes and stories. Dieter’s nieces and nephews adored her, crowding around to hear tales of mystery and adventure, eyes wide as she brought her characters to life with every word.

“Can you tell us the one about the detective who finds the secret tunnel again?” one of his nephews had asked during Thanksgiving, tugging at her sleeve.

She smiled, glancing at Dieter, who was sitting at the head of the table, grinning like an idiot. “Only if you promise to help me figure out what’s at the end of it,” she teased, ruffling his hair.

His father, a retired fertility expert who had always been the more reserved member of the family, quickly warmed up to her, too. They’d sit on the porch during long afternoons, sipping coffee and talking about life, books, and the occasional scientific trivia that she found endlessly fascinating. He appreciated her wit, her genuine interest in everyone around her, and the way she always seemed to make his son smile.

As the year rolled by, the Bravo family embraced her more and more, and she felt a sense of belonging she hadn’t expected. She was no longer just Dieter’s wife; she was a daughter-in-law, a sister, and an aunt. She was family.

So when Christmas rolled around again, she was eager to be back at the Bravo household, despite feeling under the weather. She’d been sick for nearly two weeks, and Dieter had been worried. She barely ate, surviving mostly on pesto chicken paninis and iced coffee—the only things she could keep down. Still, she was excited to see his family, to bask in the warmth of his mother’s home-cooked meals and his sister-in-law’s desserts. She was looking forward to being surrounded by people who loved her as much as she loved them.

The moment they stepped through the front door, Dieter’s mom engulfed her in a hug, commenting on how thin she looked, and his sister immediately dragged her into the kitchen, insisting on making her favorite cookies. Dieter watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame with a smile. She fit here—so naturally, so effortlessly—that it almost made him forget how odd it all still felt to be someone’s husband. But then she’d look at him across the room, with that same smile she’d had since the bar in Vegas, and it felt right.

But as they settled into the cozy familiarity of his childhood home, Dieter’s father began to notice something. It wasn’t just that she looked tired—there was something else. A subtle glow to her skin, the way her eyes would soften when she looked at Dieter, the quiet but unmistakable aversions to certain foods she normally loved. When she grimaced at the sight of his wife’s famous lasagna and instead picked at a simple salad, he raised an eyebrow. He had seen it before, four times with his own wife, and the theory formed in his mind almost instantly.

It was the little things: how she leaned into Dieter when she thought no one was looking, resting her head on his shoulder like she couldn’t quite keep herself upright; the way her laughter was softer, tinged with something almost nervous. She hadn’t touched a drop of wine the entire evening, claiming she wasn’t in the mood, which was unlike her—especially when Dieter’s mom brought out her favorite bottle from the cellar.

Dieter’s dad observed quietly, piecing together the signs with a mix of curiosity and growing certainty. He knew better than to jump to conclusions, but every instinct told him that there was more to her recent sickness than a simple bug.

–

Later that evening, after dinner, Dieter and his father found themselves outside on the patio. The chill in the air was biting, and Dieter’s breath formed little puffs of smoke as he lit a cigarette, the faint glow of the ember flickering in the dark. He offered one to his dad, who simply shook his head, declining as usual. They settled into an easy silence, the kind that came from years of shared moments like these, watching the yard stretch out before them, dotted with twinkling Christmas lights that cast a warm, festive glow over the familiar landscape.

Dieter took a long drag, savoring the brief buzz of nicotine, and leaned back in his chair. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that always made him think too much, but tonight he welcomed it. He glanced sideways at his dad, whose face was half-lit by the soft glow of the porch light, lost in thought as he nursed his coffee.

“You know, son,” his father said finally, breaking the silence, “I couldn’t help but notice something about her tonight.”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? Like what?”

His father hesitated, his expression thoughtful as he swirled the coffee in his mug. “She’s been feeling under the weather, hasn’t she? Seems a bit off.”

Dieter nodded, taking another drag and blowing out the smoke in a slow stream. “Yeah, she’s been sick for a couple of weeks. Picky about food, which isn’t like her. She’s basically living on those pesto chicken paninis. She can’t keep much else down.”

His father chuckled softly, the sound low and knowing, like he was recalling something long ago. “Huh. That’s interesting. Reminds me of your mom back in the day.”

Dieter frowned, glancing over at him. “What do you mean?”

There was a pause, and his father’s eyes stayed fixed on the yard, lost in a memory that Dieter couldn’t quite place. Finally, he spoke, his tone careful, almost gentle. “Have you considered she might be pregnant?”

Dieter’s reaction was instant—he snorted, nearly choking on his cigarette smoke as he laughed it off, but the sound was more nervous than amused. “Pregnant? Nah, no way. She’s got an IUD. Besides, we’ve been careful.”

His father smiled, but it wasn’t condescending. It was the kind of smile that spoke of experience, of having lived through more than one surprise in his lifetime. “IUDs aren’t foolproof, son. Nothing is. And I’ve seen those signs before. Aversions, fatigue, the way she looked at food tonight… I saw it with your mother every time she was pregnant.”

Dieter’s laugh faded, replaced by an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the ends as his mind raced. “You’re serious?”

“Look, I’m not saying she is,” his father said, raising his hands in a small gesture of surrender. “But I’ve been around this long enough to know the signs when I see them. I’m just saying, it’s possible.”

Dieter stared out at the yard, the once comforting sight now blurred by the thoughts colliding in his mind. He tried to dismiss it, to chalk it up to his dad’s habit of overanalyzing things. But suddenly, every little moment from the past few weeks replayed in his head like a reel he couldn’t pause: the way she’d cried over soup earlier that evening, overwhelmed by finally finding something she could eat; the quiet, tired smiles; the sudden need to rest her head on his shoulder whenever she got the chance. Dieter had brushed it off as just a rough patch—nothing serious, nothing that couldn’t be fixed with rest and time.

But now, hearing his father say it out loud, it all started to click. The missed meals, the strange cravings, her emotional reactions to things that normally wouldn’t faze her. It was like putting together a puzzle he didn’t even know he was working on.

“What do I do if you’re right?” Dieter finally asked, his voice low, tinged with a mix of fear and something else he couldn’t quite name.

His father took another sip of his coffee, considering his son carefully. “You talk to her. Find out for sure. And whatever the outcome, you handle it together. That’s what this is, Dieter. Marriage, family—it's not about knowing every answer. It’s about facing it together, no matter how unexpected it is.”

Dieter nodded, though his mind was still reeling. He didn’t know if he was ready for what his father was suggesting, but one thing was clear: he needed to talk to her. His dad’s words hung heavy in the cold night air, and suddenly, the easygoing world Dieter had grown comfortable in felt a little less certain. 

–

That night, back in their room at Dieter’s parents’ house, the tension lingered like a thick fog. They were staying for the weekend, and though the familiarity of the guest room usually felt comforting, tonight it felt like the walls were closing in. Dieter sprawled out on the bed, flipping through channels on the TV without really watching. His mind was a mess of half-formed thoughts, circling back to the conversation with his father, and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at him.

She was curled up next to him, absorbed in her Kindle, but every so often, Dieter noticed her shifting slightly, like she couldn’t quite get comfortable. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out how to bring up what was weighing on him without sounding like he’d lost his mind.

“So, funny story,” Dieter started, forcing a lightness into his tone that he didn’t feel. “My dad has this theory. He thinks you might be pregnant.”

She looked up from her Kindle, her brow furrowing as she processed his words. “What? Where’d that come from?”

“Yeah, I know,” Dieter laughed, though it sounded more nervous than amused. He fidgeted with the remote, clicking through channels too fast to see what was on. “He’s been watching you tonight, noticing stuff. You know, the food aversions and all that. He said something about it reminding him of when my mom was pregnant.”

She blinked, staring at him like she wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious. “That’s… random. I mean, it’s just paninis and iced coffee. And I’ve been stressed, that’s all. I mean, I have an IUD.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told him,” Dieter said, shrugging. “I told him it’s not possible, right? But he kept going on about how those things aren’t foolproof and—”

She cut him off, her laugh sharp and a little shaky. “No, yeah, of course. It’s just… I mean, we’ve been careful. I thought…”

Dieter raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk crossing his lips. “Careful? Are we really?” He gave her a knowing look, recalling their many reckless moments. “I mean, I lost count of the times we said, ‘eh, what’s the worst that could happen?’”

She groaned, burying her face in her hands, but she couldn’t hide the grin peeking through. “Oh God, don’t remind me. You said it’d be fine because ‘science, baby!’”

“Yeah, classic me,” Dieter laughed, feeling the tension break just a little. “Maybe our ‘science’ needs some workshopping.”

They chuckled, genuinely amused by their own recklessness. For a moment, it felt like any other night, just the two of them joking around like they always did. But then the laughter faded, and the unspoken possibility lingered, nudging at the back of their minds.

Dieter hesitated, then set the remote down, his voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable tone. “IUDs aren’t a hundred percent, you know.”

She didn’t say anything right away, her eyes locked on him as if searching for some reassurance he couldn’t quite give. Finally, she set her Kindle aside, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Do you think… do you think he’s right?”

The question hung in the air, too big to ignore, and neither of them moved. Dieter rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. “I don’t know, baby. But we could… find out.”

She nodded, her breath hitching slightly, and they didn’t wait to talk themselves out of it. The drive to the pharmacy was tense and quiet, but the nervous energy turned into something almost comical when they got inside. Dieter, trying to look inconspicuous in his cap and mask, accidentally grabbed a COVID test from the shelf and tossed it in the basket without looking.

She glanced at it, biting back a laugh. “Dee, unless you’re worried I’ve got a pandemic brewing, I think you grabbed the wrong kind of test.”

“What?” He squinted at the box, his eyes widening. “Oh, shit. I just saw ‘test’ and panicked. Could you imagine? ‘Congratulations, you’re… COVID positive!’”

They both snorted, trying to suppress their laughter as they swapped it out for a pile of pregnancy tests. “At least we’re wearing masks,” she quipped, trying to hide her nerves behind the humor.

Dieter nodded, their masks pulling at their grins as they paid quickly and slipped back out into the night. Back in their room, she took the tests into Dieter’s private bathroom, thankful she didn’t have to make the awkward walk down the hallway past his nephews, who were still glued to the PlayStation. Dieter paced the room, his anxiety growing with every passing second. He could hear the faint sounds of her moving in the bathroom—running water, the crinkle of plastic, the sound of her soft sighs—and each noise sent a jolt of unease through him.

He ran his hands through his hair, messing it up even more, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. What if his dad was right? What if they were really about to become parents? He didn’t know how to do this—any of it. He wasn’t cut out to be a dad. Hell, he could barely take care of himself most days. But then he thought about her, about the way she used to talk about wanting a family, back in the early days of their friendship, years before they got married. She’d share those dreams in the quiet moments when they were lying in bed, late at night, her voice soft and wistful as she painted a picture of a life she wanted someday—one with kids, a messy house full of love, and mornings that started with chaos and ended with bedtime stories.

He hadn’t heard her talk about it in a long time, not since they’d crossed the line from best friends to whatever it was they’d become now. They hadn’t really discussed it after they got married, like the possibility had just been a footnote in their drunken Vegas vows, not something real. But Dieter knew she probably still wanted it, that deep down, those dreams hadn’t gone away, just tucked themselves into a quieter part of her heart.

And now, for the first time, Dieter let himself admit what he’d been denying all along—he wanted it, too. He tried to fight it, tried to tell himself he was still the same guy who didn’t want to be tied down, but the truth was, he’d settled down the moment he said “I do.” And now… he’s sure he’s ready to dream of that life, too. The one where they weren’t just figuring things out as they went but actually working towards something together, as husband and wife, as mom and dad.

Finally, the bathroom door creaked open, and she stepped out, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly. She didn’t have to say anything; Dieter could see the truth in her eyes. Without a word, he followed her into the bathroom, and there they were, lined up on the counter: five pregnancy tests, each one showing two clear lines.

Positive. All of them.

Dieter stared at the tests, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find something, anything, to say. He could hear her breathing beside him, shallow and uneven, and he knew her heart was pounding just as hard as his. She swallowed, her eyes fixed on the tests as if they might change if she stared long enough.

She finally broke the silence, her voice small but steady. “It’s okay, Dieter. You don’t have to worry about it. I’ll… I’ll take care of it.”

–

Her words snapped Dieter back to reality, his brows furrowing as he tried to grasp what she meant. He watched her walk past him out of the bathroom, her movements brisk and determined, but there was a tremble in her step that made his stomach drop. She went straight to the dresser, grabbing her phone with a familiar sense of purpose. Dieter followed, his confusion mounting as she dialed a number with shaky hands.

“What are you doing?” Dieter asked, his voice edged with growing alarm. “Who are you calling in the middle of the night?”

She glanced at him but didn’t answer directly. “It’s fine, Dee. I’m going to take care of it.”

The line clicked, and a familiar voice filled the silence—one of her friends, an OB-GYN Dieter had met several times at dinner parties and gatherings. “Hey, I’m sorry to call so late,” she said into the phone, her voice tight but controlled. “I need another favor.”

Dieter’s heart sank as he heard the gasp on the other end. The doctor’s voice wavered, filled with concern. “Are you sure? I mean… are you really sure about this?”

Dieter watched her, still trying to catch up, but he could hear the tension in the doctor’s voice and the weight of what was being asked. She glanced at him, her eyes meeting his, and in that moment, Dieter felt like the ground was slipping out from under him. “I’m sure,” she said quietly. “I’ll wait for the prescription in the morning.”

She ended the call and set the phone down, her hand trembling. Dieter felt his shock morphing into a hot, simmering anger, his chest tightening as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. “What?” he asked, his voice rising, desperate to believe he’d misheard. “What prescription? Prenatal vitamins?” He was trying to hold onto some hope, clinging to the possibility that this wasn’t what it seemed, that she wasn’t about to make a decision without him. But deep down, he knew.

She sighed, biting her lower lip, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in her throat. Dieter could see her knees wobble, and before he could process it, she was leaning against the side table, her legs barely holding her up. He rushed to her, guiding her gently to the bed and kneeling before her, his anger wavering as he saw the look in her eyes.

Tears streamed down her face, silent and relentless, and Dieter realized it was the first time he’d seen her cry in years. Not since her father had passed, not even when she’d broken up with someone he knew she had loved deeply. She was always so strong, so composed, but now she was trembling, and all she could manage were soft, broken apologies. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she repeated it over and over. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Dieter’s anger melted away, replaced by a sharp pain that pierced his chest. He reached up, cupping her face gently, wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “Hey, hey, calm down, okay? Just… baby, please… can you tell me what that was all about?”

She nodded, her breath hitching as she tried to collect herself. The silence between them was tense, heavy with unspoken fears and the weight of what was happening. Finally, she spoke, her voice small and wavering. “I know you don’t want kids, Dieter. I’ve known that from the start, and I respect that. I love you so much, and I know I don’t say it often, but I do. I love the life we have together. And I didn’t… I didn’t want to ruin that.”

Dieter listened, the words sinking in, but every syllable felt like a sting. “You’re not ruining anything, baby,” he said, his voice softer now but still edged with confusion and hurt. “But you didn’t even… I mean, we didn’t even talk about it.”

She looked down, her tears falling faster now. “I was afraid to. You’ve always been so clear, and I didn’t want to make you feel trapped. I know kids were never part of the plan. I didn’t want to put that on you.”

Dieter took a deep breath, his mind still reeling, but he tried to keep his voice steady. “You’re not–Jesus…I understand why you feel this way baby…” he said gently, squeezing her hands. “And I’m sorry we never talked about it before, not even once. I know I said I didn’t want kids, and I thought that was it. But… then…” He sighed deeply… “W-we should at least talk about it before you go and get that prescription in the morning.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and glistening with tears, clearly caught between fear and guilt. “Dieter, I—”

“No, listen,” he interrupted softly, his tone calm but firm. “I want you to know that whatever you decide, I’ll support you. I’ll stand by you no matter what. But I need to know that if you go through with this, it’s because you want to, not because you think it’s what I want. I respect you, and I love you. And yeah, maybe I’ve always been afraid of having kids, but I also know you’ve wanted this. I’ve known for years, and I’m sorry we’ve never talked about it since getting married. But maybe… maybe now’s the time we should.”

She shook her head, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. “I don’t want to pop our bubble, Dieter. I’ve spent so long thinking that if I brought this up, it would be too much for you. You’ve said it before—kids are overwhelming, right? And I get it. Hell, the thought of it overwhelms me, too. But it’s different for you. I didn’t want to lose you. I love you so much, Dee. I love what we have. And I was scared that… that if I bring it up, it would drive you away.”

Dieter’s heart ached as he watched her, the weight of her words sinking in. “Baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “But you can’t just… handle this alone. Not for me.”

She took a shaky breath, the truth finally spilling out in the soft, halting words she’d kept buried. “That’s why I got the IUD. A few months after we got married… after I found out I was pregnant. You were away in London for that shoot, and I was alone. And I—” She paused, choking back a sob as she struggled to get the words out. “I panicked. I was terrified of what it would mean for us, for you, for everything. So, I… I took care of it. I didn’t want to burden you with it, and I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Dieter’s face went pale, his expression shifting from shock to something more profound—hurt, confusion, and an aching sadness that he didn’t quite know how to process. His hold on her hands went slack. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t known. While he was away, filming scenes and living the life he thought he wanted, she had been here, facing a reality that should have been theirs to share.

“You—” Dieter started, standing up, trying to say something but the words caught in his throat. “You did that… without telling me?”

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t know how to tell you, Dee. You were gone, and I was scared. I didn’t want you to feel trapped or forced into something you never wanted. I thought it was better that way.”

Dieter’s mind raced as he tried to grasp what she was saying. He ran a hand down his face, cupping his mouth as he took in a long drag of air. The anger he’d felt earlier had melted into something more painful, something that cut deeper than he expected. He’d never wanted this, but now, faced with the reality that they’d lost something before it had even begun, Dieter felt a profound sense of grief for what could have been—and for what he still had a chance to fight for.

He swallowed hard, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I wish you’d told me. I wish you hadn’t gone through all that alone. I know I’m not perfect, and I know I’ve said a lot of shit about not wanting kids, but… I want you. And if you want this—if you want us to have this—then I want it, too. But you have to be sure. This isn’t just about me. It’s us, and we can’t keep pretending it’s not.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but all she saw was the man who had always been there, even when they hadn’t known what the hell they were doing. Dieter knelt before her, his hands steady on her knees, offering her the quiet reassurance she’d been afraid to ask for. They were scared, both of them, but for the first time, it felt like they were scared together.

A heavy silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. She stared down at her trembling hands, struggling to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. Finally, she broke the quiet, her voice small and cracking under the strain. “I understand if you want a divorce, Dieter.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks again, and she looked up at him, and he could feel and see the pain and resignation in them. “I’d give it to you, you know. If that’s what it takes for you to live your truth. If it means you get to live the life you always wanted—not something complicated by a kid and a wife.”

Dieter’s breath caught in his throat, and he shook his head, trying to grasp the gravity of what she was saying. “What? No… what are you talking about? Divorce? That’s not—”

“I don’t want to trap you, Dee,” she interrupted, her voice quivering. “I never wanted you to feel stuck. At least if we divorce, I get to keep my baby, and you get to live your life. We both get what we want.” She said it with a heartbreaking kind of finality, her gaze dropping as though she couldn’t bear to look at him.

Hearing her say “her baby” like that shattered something inside Dieter. He could feel his chest tighten as his emotions boiled over, hot tears streaming down his face. “You think that’s what I want?” he whispered, his voice breaking as he tried to keep it down. They were still in his parents’ house, and he didn’t want anyone hearing this, but he couldn’t keep the hurt out of his words. “You think I want to live some half-assed life without you? Without… our baby?”

She flinched at his words, torn between the guilt and the love she still felt for him. “Dieter, you’ve always said—”

“I know what I’ve said!” Dieter snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself. He pressed a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to break free. “God, I’ve been so fucked up. So caught up in what I thought I wanted, what I told everyone I didn’t want. I never… I never told you how much I love you. How much I need you. And now you’re willing to sacrifice everything because of me? Because I’m too much of a mess to communicate? That’s not fair, baby. That’s on me.”

She looked away, blinking back tears as she tried to keep her voice steady. “It’s not about blame, Dieter. I can’t live with the guilt of not giving you the chance to have the life you deserve. I’d rather… I’d rather set you free than see you stuck in something you don’t want. I love you too much for that.”

Dieter shook his head, his shoulders slumping as the enormity of her words hit him. He didn’t know how to make her understand. “But I don’t want to be free,” he said, almost pleading. “I don’t want any of this without you. I’ve spent my whole life running from everything—commitment, responsibility, you name it. But not you. Not us. You… you made me realize I could be more than that.”

She listened, her heart breaking with every word. “I don’t want to be unfair, Dee. I’ve spent so long dreaming about this—about being a mom. And I know kids were never part of your dream, and I just… I don’t want to take that from you.”

Dieter wiped his eyes, his voice hoarse and desperate. “You’re not taking anything from me. Please, don’t do this. Don’t make decisions for me. You’ve always been my partner, my equal… baby, you make me want to be a better person… whatever the hell that looks like…”

She let out a shaky laugh through her tears, reaching up to cup his face. “I just… I didn’t want to pop our bubble. It’s been so perfect, even with all the chaos. And the thought of losing that, of losing you in such a way… it scares me more than anything.”

Dieter’s sobs turned to quiet laughter, a broken sound that mirrored the bittersweetness of the moment. “You think I’m not scared? I’ve been scared of fucking everything my whole life, and you were the one person who made me think I didn’t have to be. You’re my team, baby. We’re a damn good one. And I know that if we have this kid… our kid… we’d be amazing parents, too.”

She looked at him, her tears finally slowing, replaced by a fragile smile that made Dieter’s heartache. “I just don’t want to be unfair,” she whispered, her voice soft but sincere.

“You’re not being unfair,” Dieter said, his tone tender but firm. “Please, just… reconsider. Our relationship, our marriage… our baby. Let’s figure it out together. No more guessing what the other person wants.”

She nodded, her eyes locking with his, and for the first time since the night had started, she felt a glimmer of hope. They were both terrified, still reeling from everything that had come to light, but at least now, they were facing it together, no more secrets, no more hiding. Just the two of them and the uncertain but hopeful future with a baby they were ready to build.

–

The next morning was Christmas, and despite the whirlwind of emotions that had unfolded the night before, Dieter and his wife had decided to keep their news to themselves for now. It was too early—too new, too precious, and far too complicated to try to explain just yet. They put on their best smiles, exchanged gifts with his family, and managed to get through the morning without giving anything away.

As soon as they left his parents’ house, they headed straight to her OB-GYN’s office. Dieter squeezed her hand in the waiting room, both of them tense but trying to stay calm. When the doctor finally confirmed the news—they were eight weeks along—it felt both real and surreal at the same time. They were both relieved and overwhelmed, knowing it was still too early to tell anyone, too early for announcements, but their hearts were already full of the possibility.

Back at their house, Dieter immediately started making little changes, moving things around and insisting on turning one of the guest rooms into a nursery. “This room gets the best light,” he said, gesturing animatedly as they stood in the empty space, still filled with random furniture and boxes they hadn’t sorted through. “We can do a crib over here, maybe a rocking chair by the window… Oh, and I saw this thing on Pinterest—don’t laugh—about these little wall decals, like stars and moons. We could do a whole sky theme.”

She watched him, leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t even know you had a Pinterest account.”

Dieter turned, shrugging sheepishly. “What? I like my aesthetics.”

She laughed, her heart swelling at the sight of him so invested. It was like watching a kid with a new project, and she couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. “You’re really into this, huh?”

He looked at her, eyes sparkling with an excitement that was infectious. “Yeah, I am. What’s so funny?”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Nothing, it’s just… I never thought I’d see the day when Dieter Bravo is this excited about becoming a dad.”

Dieter’s expression softened, and he crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her. “Well, get used to it, baby. I’m all in.”

As the days passed, they began to settle into this new phase of their life together, their once spontaneous and free-spirited existence slowly evolving without them even realizing it. They had always been people of the moment, living day to day with little thought of what came next. Before, their conversations rarely drifted beyond the present—they were about last-minute weekend trips, late-night takeout, or whatever wild idea Dieter would come up with next. The future was never really on the table, not in a serious way. They thrived on spontaneity, on the freedom of not being tied down by plans or expectations.

But now, there was a subtle but undeniable shift in the air between them. It wasn’t something they talked about directly, but rather something that quietly settled in, like a warm, comforting blanket. Their conversations began to naturally drift into what was coming, not just what was happening now. They found themselves talking about baby names over breakfast, Dieter suggesting offbeat, quirky names that made her laugh while she countered with more classic choices that she’d always dreamed of, being the writer that she is and her love for literature.

Dieter would randomly pull out his phone to show her baby gear he’d found online, everything from the practical to the absurdly adorable. “Look at this stroller, baby. It’s got all-terrain wheels! Imagine us taking the kid hiking. Okay, maybe not hiking, but, you know… walking down a slightly uneven sidewalk.”

She’d laugh, watching him with a kind of fondness that was new, soft, and overwhelming. She’d catch him in the nursery sometimes, hunched over with a tape measure, making notes and sketches of where things should go. He was planning—actually planning—and it warmed her in a way she couldn’t quite describe.

One afternoon, she found him kneeling on the floor, surrounded by paint samples and wallpaper swatches, muttering to himself about whether to go with the pale blue or the pastel purple. “I don’t know, do you think clouds are too cliché? What if we did something more abstract? Like a sky, but, like, artsy. You know, like, dreamland stuff.”

She leaned against the doorframe, a smile playing at her lips. “Dieter Bravo, debating interior design for a nursery. Who would’ve thought?”

He looked up, his grin boyish and bright. “I know, right? Next, I’ll be on HGTV. ‘Bravo’s Baby Rooms.’ It’ll be a hit.”

She rolled her eyes, but her heart swelled with something deeper. They were still them, still the same pair who’d decided to get married on a whim in Vegas, who’d spent years living in the moment and rarely looking ahead. But now, the future wasn’t something scary or overwhelming. It was something they were building together, brick by brick, conversation by conversation.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments, she would find herself lying awake at night, her hand resting on the small swell of her belly, feeling the gentle flutters of life within her. Dieter would be next to her, snoring softly, and she’d just listen, soaking in the warmth of their home. She realized then how much had changed between them—how they’d gone from two people floating through life, clinging to the present, to a couple that was starting to dream together. 

It wasn’t just about the baby, though that was the catalyst. It was the way their whole world had shifted, gently guiding them toward a future that felt bright and full of possibility.

Their once spontaneous, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants relationship was evolving into something richer, something that made space for plans and hopes. She’d catch Dieter browsing parenting books or obsessively researching the best baby monitors, and each time, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of love she hadn’t quite known before.

It wasn’t forced or awkward; it was the most natural thing in the world, like breathing. They were still the same Dieter and his wife, the quirky mystery novel writer—impulsive, playful, unorthodox in every way—but now, their lives together carried an undercurrent of something… warmer, softer, and a little more planned than usual. 

One evening, she was curled up on the couch, cozy under a thick, soft blanket, her Kindle in one hand and the other resting gently on the small but noticeable bump of her belly. She’d grown accustomed to the comforting weight of her growing child. Dieter strolled in from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of popcorn, and dropped onto the couch beside her with a contented sigh.

“You look way too comfortable,” she teased, nudging him playfully with her foot, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched him sink into the cushions like he belonged there.

“I am,” Dieter said, settling in beside her and resting his head against her shoulder. He let out a contented sigh, his eyes drifting down to her bump, and his hand found hers, resting warmly over the swell of her belly. “I love this. I love everything about this.”

She chuckled, her fingers absentmindedly tracing soft circles on her belly, feeling the little flutters of movement beneath her skin. “You always loved kids, Dee. I know that. I just… I never thought I’d live to see the day when you’d actually be a dad.”

Dieter’s smile softened, and tears welled in his eyes as he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her chest. She could feel the quiet, vulnerable sobs shaking his shoulders, and it melted her heart. “You’re making my deepest, darkest dreams come true, baby,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by her warmth, words spilling out with raw sincerity.

She laughed, tilting her head back as she ruffled his hair affectionately. “I thought your deepest, darkest dreams that I made come true involved a strap-on, Bravo.”

Dieter snorted, lifting his head just enough to flash her a cheeky grin. Without missing a beat, he buried his face into her chest, playfully motorboating her. She squealed, swatting at his head as they both dissolved into laughter, tangled together on the couch.

“God, you’re such a perv,” she giggled, half-heartedly pushing him away even though she was laughing too hard to mean it.

He finally pulled back, grinning unapologetically as he reached up and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing playfully. “Honk honk,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but unable to keep a straight face. “Dieter, you’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he said, still chuckling as he leaned in to kiss her softly. 

“I love you, mama.” He whispered against her mouth. 

–

As days turned into weeks, they found themselves back at the doctor’s office for the 20-week scan. The drive there was tense, filled with nervous silence and half-hearted attempts at small talk that did little to mask their growing anxiety. Dieter’s usually easygoing demeanor was replaced with restless energy, and she could feel it radiating off him as they sat in the waiting room, both of them on edge.

She sat nervously beside him, her leg bouncing up and down as she stared at the outdated magazines scattered on the table in front of them. Dieter glanced over, noticing the jittery movement. He nudged her lightly with his elbow, offering a crooked smile. “Babe, you’re bouncing your leg like you’re tweaking. Seriously, I’ve been around a lot of meth heads, and you’re giving me flashbacks.”

She snorted, covering her mouth as a burst of laughter escaped, her nerves momentarily easing. “I can’t help it, okay? This is… I’m freaking out.”

Dieter reached over, his fingers lacing through hers as he squeezed gently. “I get it, but you gotta chill. You’re acting like you’re on something, and trust me, I know that vibe.” He gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. “You’ve gotta stop reading all those Reddit posts. They’re nothing but horror stories.”

She nodded, though she still looked pale, her eyes flicking around the room as if searching for something to distract herself. “I know, I just… I can’t help it. I’ve read too many stories about 20-week scans going wrong. What if something’s wrong, Dieter? I don’t think I can handle it.”

Dieter leaned in closer, brushing a kiss against her temple. “Hey, nothing’s wrong. Our kid’s strong. Just like you. Baby’s gonna be fine, okay? Let’s just breathe.”

They were finally called into the scan room, and the doctor greeted them with a warm smile, chatting casually as she prepared the machine. “How are we feeling today? Ready to see this little one?” she asked, her voice calm and reassuring as she applied the cool gel to her belly. Dieter stood by her side, holding her hand tightly, both of them staring at the monitor with bated breath.

The doctor moved the wand over her stomach, her brows knitting slightly as she searched the screen, waiting for a heartbeat. At first, there was nothing—just static silence, the absence of that familiar, rhythmic thump that they both so desperately wanted to hear. The doctor adjusted the wand, repositioning and angling it slightly, her expression remaining neutral but focused.

Dieter could feel his wife’s grip tighten, her fingers digging into his, and he squeezed back, his own heart pounding. “Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with fear.

The doctor glanced at them, her smile reassuring but a little strained. “Sometimes the baby’s in a tricky position so it’s hard to get the heartbeat. Let’s just give it a moment.” She moved the wand again, her eyes flicking between the screen and her belly as she pressed a bit harder, trying to get a better view.

But the silence lingered, and the tension in the room grew thicker. Dieter could feel his pulse racing, his mind going a mile a minute. He tried to keep calm, tried to joke, but his voice came out strained. 

“Kid’s already messing with us, huh? Definitely takes after me.”

It falls flat, and he frowns deeper. 

The doctor’s brows furrowed as she moved the wand slowly, deliberately, the silence stretching on until it was almost unbearable. “Come on, little one,” she murmured under her breath, adjusting the machine again.

She glanced at Dieter and his wife, reading the fear on their faces. “I know it’s nerve-wracking, but try not to panic. This happens sometimes.” The words were meant to soothe, but each passing second felt like an eternity, and Dieter felt like the walls were closing in.

Suddenly, the doctor paused, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh—hold on. I think I forgot to turn on the sound.” She reached over and pressed a button on the machine, and instantly, the room filled with the steady, reassuring thump of their baby’s heartbeat, clear and strong.

Dieter and his wife both let out a collective sigh of relief, laughing shakily as the tension broke. “Oh my god,” she breathed, her head falling back against the table as she squeezed Dieter’s hand. “You just shaved ten years off my life.”

The doctor chuckled, her face apologetic. “I’m so sorry about that. It happens more often than you’d think.” She moved the wand slightly, showing them their baby on the screen. “There we go. Heartbeat is strong, and baby looks perfect.”

Dieter let out a shaky laugh, wiping at his eyes as he glanced at his wife. “Kid’s already got us on edge. I guess that’s just payback for all the years I’ve been a handful.”

They all shared a brief, much-needed laugh, the tension slowly melting away. But the doctor’s expression turned a bit more serious as she continued to move the wand, examining the screen with careful precision. She began marking key areas on the screen, capturing images and making notes as she went. “Now, remember, this is your 20-week scan,” she said, her tone gentle but factual. “This is an important one because it’s when we check for congenital anomalies. We’ll be looking closely at your baby’s organs and development to make sure everything is on track.”

Dieter and his wife nodded, their earlier relief tempered by the weight of what the doctor was saying. This wasn’t just about hearing the heartbeat; it was about seeing if their baby was healthy, if everything was developing the way it should. The room fell quiet again, the soft whir of the machine the only sound as the doctor carefully scanned each part of their baby’s tiny body, capturing and saving images to review.

“We’re looking at the brain and skull,” the doctor explained, pointing to the image on the screen as she took a snapshot. “The structures look well-formed, and everything is measuring normally.” She moved the wand again, pausing over the baby’s chest and marking the image. “And here’s the heart. We’re checking for proper function, looking at the chambers and blood flow. So far, everything looks great.”

Dieter squeezed his wife’s hand, the feeling of both awe and anxiety filling the cavity of his chest. Every tiny movement on the screen felt monumental, every word from the doctor a lifeline. The doctor continued, showing them the spine, the kidneys, the limbs—every detail scrutinized with care and captured for documentation.

“And here’s the stomach and the diaphragm. We’re looking for normal positioning and function,” she said, moving methodically, her voice steady and calm. “All good signs here.” She took another image, marking it on the screen with a series of measurements.

Dieter’s wife squeezed his hand, her eyes locked on the screen, watching their baby’s tiny fingers flex and curl. “Is that… is that the baby’s hand?” she asked, her voice soft, filled with wonder.

“Yes, it is,” the doctor smiled, zooming in on the tiny hand and capturing the image. “Five fingers, all accounted for.”

They watched in silence, their emotions swinging from relief to fear and back again with every scan of the baby’s developing organs. The doctor’s voice was steady, reassuring them as she checked for any signs of congenital anomalies. Each confirmation that everything was normal felt like a small victory, a breath they didn’t realize they were holding.

“Everything looks normal and healthy,” the doctor finally said, pulling back and saving the last image. “Your baby is developing beautifully.”

Dieter and his wife both let out breaths they hadn’t realized they were holding, their hands still clasped tightly together. It wasn’t just relief—it was gratitude, to the doctor and the universe, for keeping their little bun healthy. 

They thanked the doctor, their voices filled with a concoction of relief, exhaustion, and overwhelming joy. As they left the office, they felt lighter, buoyed by the knowledge that their baby was safe and thriving. There’s only one thing for them to do now: start telling their family and friends. 

–

“You okay?” Dieter asked, his voice gentle as they pulled into his parents’ driveway. The house looked warm and welcoming, draped in fairy lights that twinkled against the evening sky, but she couldn’t quite shake the tightness in her chest.

She nodded, but it was automatic, her mind racing with thoughts she hadn’t fully processed, and her tears just started spilling like clockwork. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… it’s a lot, you know? Your parents are going to be so happy, and I—I don’t have that anymore. I don’t have anyone to tell.” She tried to laugh it off, her voice catching slightly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “God, listen to me. I’m such a mess. It’s probably just hormones.”

Dieter squeezed her hand, his expression softening. He knew how much she missed her dad, how his absence lingered in moments like these. “It’s not just hormones, baby,” he said gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You’re allowed to feel this. I wish your dad was here, too. I think about it all the time—how proud he’d be, how he’d probably be spoiling you right now.”

She let out a shaky breath, “It’s stupid, but it just hit me today, you know? Like, he was the only family I had, and now… I guess I thought I was past all this. But it’s different now. This is so big, and I feel like I’m missing that piece.”

Dieter pulled her hand up, kissing her knuckles softly. “It’s not stupid. And you’re not without parents completely. My parents love you—hell, they might love you more than they love me. They text you more than they text me, anyway.”

She let out a laugh, and it felt good, a brief moment of lightness breaking through the weight in her chest. “They do, don’t they? They’re always sending me recipes, cute cat and dog vides, and asking for book recommendations. Meanwhile, you get the ‘how’s your liver?’ texts.”

Dieter grinned, happy to see her smile even through tears. “Exactly. Trust me, they’re going to be over the moon about this. You’re their family, too. And yeah, it’s big—it’s bigger than anything we’ve done—but you don’t have to carry that alone. My parents, they’re gonna be here, every annoying, loving step of the way.”

She squeezed his hand, feeling a little more grounded. “Thanks, babe. I needed that.”

Dieter nodded, his own emotions bubbling under the surface. He knew how hard this was for her, and he wanted to make sure she never felt like she was alone in this. “Hey, we’re in this together. And we’re about to make their year, so let’s go in there and give them something to celebrate.”

They stepped out of the car, hand in hand, and walked up to the front door. She adjusted her coat, feeling the weight of the moment settle in her chest, but Dieter squeezed her hand reassuringly. They’d been parked for a while, gathering themselves, and now it was time. Dieter knocked, and within seconds, the door swung open.

Dieter’s mother stood there, her expression a mix of concern and relief. “Oh, there you are! We were starting to get worried—you’ve been sitting out there for ages. I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Everything’s fine,” Dieter assured her, giving her a quick hug. “We were just… talking.”

His mom nodded, though she kept glancing between them, still a little uncertain. “It’s so good to see you two! Come in, come in.”

Dieter’s father was in the living room, setting out coffee and cookies on the table. He looked up, grinning in his usual dry way. “Hey, you two. What’s this? I thought you’d be busy writing another bestseller or maybe dragging Dieter around to get some culture.”

Dieter laughed, shaking his head. “Well, it’s not that, but it’s something just as good.”

His wife exchanged a quick look with him, her nerves sparking up again. Dieter, sensing her hesitation, gave her an encouraging smile and gently reached up to help her with her coat. As he slipped it off her shoulders, he draped it neatly over the back of the couch, revealing the gentle curve of her growing bump.

His parents’ eyes widened, and for a second, they both just stared, taking it in. Dieter’s mom’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. “Oh my gosh… are you…?”

Dieter’s wife nodded, her voice trembling with a mix of nerves and joy. “We’re having a baby. I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, there was only stunned silence, and then his mom let out a joyous cry, rushing forward to hug her. “Oh, sweetheart! This is the most wonderful news! Look at you—how far along are you? I can’t believe it!”

Dieter’s dad, who usually kept his emotions under wraps, pulled Dieter into a hug, his voice thick with pride. “Son, this is incredible. I can’t tell you how happy I am for you. I’m not sure if you remember this, but there was a time when I wasn’t sure you’d ever get your life together, let alone settle down.”

Dieter blinked, caught off guard by his dad’s words. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.” He hesitated, swallowing hard before speaking again. “I know I’ve been a mess, but… I’m really excited about this. I want to do it right.”

His father clapped him on the shoulder, his expression warm. “You’ve already done right by me. You’ve grown up, Dieter, more than I ever thought possible. And now you’re going to be a dad. I couldn’t be prouder.”

They all settled into the living room, Dieter’s mom already buzzing with plans. “Okay, so tell me everything! When’s the due date? How are you feeling? Have you thought about names yet? We have to start planning—oh, and the nursery! We’ll need to paint, get a crib—”

Dieter held up his hands, laughing. “Mom, slow down. You’re going to choke yourself on your own saliva with how fast you’re going. One thing at a time.”

She laughed, waving him off but nodding. “Okay, okay. But this is just… it’s all so exciting. I’ve been waiting for this day for so long, and now it’s finally happening.”

Dieter’s wife smiled, feeling the warmth of Dieter’s mom’s excitement wash over her. “Thank you. Really, I’m so glad we get to share this with you. It’s been a lot to take in, but having you both here means the world.”

Dieter’s mom squeezed her hand, her eyes filled with emotion. “You’re not without parents completely, you know that, right? You’ve got us now. We’re going to be right here with you, every crazy, wonderful moment.”

She nodded, fighting back tears. “I’m so grateful for that. You have no idea.”

Dieter’s dad leaned in, his voice quieter but no less heartfelt. “And I mean it, Dieter. I see the way you are with her, how much you’ve grown. You’ve got this, both of you. And I know you’re going to be amazing parents.”

As they continued to talk, laugh, and make plans, one thing stood out among them– they knew there was so much ahead—so many unknowns, so many firsts—but for now, it was enough to just be together and celebrate this beautiful news.

–

After spending a few hours basking in the joy and warmth of Dieter’s parents, they knew the next step was sharing the news with the rest of the world. It felt like another hurdle, one they were both eager and anxious to jump. They drove back home, feeling the weight of their secret beginning to lift. 

Once they were settled on their couch, they knew it was time to tell Dieter’s manager. Dieter pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, glancing over at his wife. “Ready?”

She nodded, though a nervous flutter still twisted in her stomach. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Dieter hit the call button, putting it on speaker. His manager picked up on the second ring, his voice chipper and businesslike. “Dieter, my man! What’s up? You ready to talk about the next big project? We’ve got offers coming in like crazy.”

Dieter laughed, exchanging a look with his wife. “Hey, uh, about that… we’ve got something to tell you. It’s kind of a big deal.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and then his manager’s voice dropped, curious and cautious. “Oh God, are you in trouble again? Do I need to get a lawyer on the line?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Dieter said quickly, his grin wide. “Actually, it’s the opposite of trouble.”

His wife jumped in, smiling as she spoke. “We’re having a baby.”

The line went quiet for a beat, and then his manager erupted in a cheer. “What? Oh my God! Are you serious? This is amazing! Bravo’s having a baby! You two, this is incredible.”

They laughed, feeling the enthusiasm radiating through the phone. “Yeah, we’re serious,” Dieter said. “We’re excited, and we wanted to let you know before it goes public.”

His manager was still buzzing, the excitement palpable. “You’re going to break the internet with this. But listen, you’ve got to be prepared. This is going to be huge news—your fans, the media, everyone’s going to go nuts. Some good, some bad, you know how it is. But honestly, this is the best news I’ve heard all year.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, exchanging congratulations and discussing the logistics of managing the media frenzy that would inevitably follow. Once they hung up, Dieter turned to her, his eyes bright. “You ready to tell the world?”

She nodded, and together, they crafted a simple but heartfelt post for social media. They chose a candid photo taken that morning, with Dieter’s hand resting protectively over her small bump, both of them smiling with unfiltered joy. The caption read: Our greatest adventure yet. Baby Bravo coming soon.

They hit ‘share,’ and within moments, the post began to explode. Likes, comments, and shares flooded in at a speed that was almost overwhelming. Messages of congratulations poured in from friends, fans, and fellow celebrities. The overwhelming support was heartwarming, and they found themselves caught up in the happiness of it all.

But as the notifications kept coming, there were, of course, some that stung. Dieter scrolled through, his brow furrowing at the inevitable wave of negativity from the corners of his fanbase that couldn’t handle change.

“She’s probably just using him for fame. Classic.”

“Guess Dieter’s fun days are officially over.”

“He doesn’t deserve this. What about all the times he said he didn’t want kids?”

Dieter sighed, shaking his head as he turned off the screen. “I knew there’d be some backlash, but damn. People can be ruthless.”

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her own emotions in check. “I mean, I expected some of it, but it still hurts. I just thought… I don’t know, that people would be happy for us.”

Dieter pulled her into his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, don’t let them get to you. They don’t know us. They don’t know what we’ve been through to get here. This is our moment, not theirs.”

She nodded, leaning into his comfort. “I know, it’s just… I guess I didn’t expect people to be so… mean. I thought this would be different.”

Dieter kissed her temple, his touch gentle. “Some people will never be happy, babe. But look at all the love we’ve got here.” He pulled up the comments from their closest friends, the ones who knew them beyond the headlines. Messages of support, love, and shared joy filled the screen, reminding them of the people who truly mattered.

“Look at this one,” Dieter said, reading aloud. “‘I always knew you’d be the best parents. Baby Bravo is lucky to have you both.’” He smiled, scrolling down. “And this one—‘I’m so proud of you guys. Can’t wait to meet the little one.’”

She smiled, letting the warmth of those messages push away the sting of the negativity. “I guess we have to focus on that, huh?”

“Exactly,” Dieter said, squeezing her close. “This is our family. Our life. And no one gets to take that away from us.”

They spent the rest of the evening curled up together, ignoring the noise of the outside world and focusing on the love that poured in from those who truly understood. Their phones continued to buzz, and the news spread quickly, but for now, it was just the two of them, dreaming about their future with the baby they were already so deeply in love with.

A few weeks had passed since their announcement, and life had begun to settle into a new kind of normal. 

They were still receiving messages of congratulations, along with the occasional snarky comment, but the love outweighed the negativity by miles. 

Dieter and his wife had embraced this next phase with open hearts, pouring over baby books, setting up the nursery, and spending quiet moments together, dreaming about the future.

One night, as they sat in the nursery—still half-finished, with paint samples and swatches scattered everywhere—Dieter was busy assembling a crib, grumbling softly as he fumbled with the instructions. His wife sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him with a soft smile, one hand resting on her belly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for your dad to help with that?” she teased, noting his intense focus and the stray bolts lying around.

Dieter looked up, smirking. “Nah, I’ve got it. Besides, I’ve got to prove I can put something together that’s not going to collapse on us. I mean, it’s literally a crib. If I can do this, I can do anything.”

She laughed, watching as he finally managed to fit the pieces together, looking far too proud of himself. He stood back, admiring his handiwork before turning to her, his smile broad and genuine. “See? Told you I’d figure it out.”

She patted the spot beside her on the floor, and he sat down, pulling her into his side. They sat there quietly for a moment, both gazing at the crib—the first tangible piece of their new life together.

“Can you believe this is happening?” she murmured, her voice soft with wonder. “Sometimes it still feels like a dream.”

Dieter nodded, his hand drifting to rest over her bump. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been in a lot of weird dreams, but this… this is the best one. And it’s real.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat against her cheek. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?”

He turned to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “We already are, baby. And it’s only going to get better.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in the promise of what was to come—messy, beautiful, and entirely theirs.

[hard-core-super-star]

kissing in the crossfire [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x anti-hero!reader

summary: you and kate are better off apart. unfortunately, you can't stay away from each other long enough to realize some puzzle pieces aren't meant to fit together.

warnings: mentions of blood + injuries; so much bickering; sprinkles of important backstory stuff; kate and R are exes and it's complicated; technically angst but there's humor :) [kate does aim her bow at R though so...yeah]

wordcount: 1.9k

a/n: GUESS WHO'S BACK AFTER SAYING THEY WERE BACK AND THEN DISAPPEARING PRACTICALLY ALL MONTH? ...did you guess right? anywho, this is a long-awaited request made by 🧞‍♀️ anon a LONG while ago. i...got a little carried away with this so do with that information what you will. i'll probably come back with some fluff to make up for this later. anyway, hope you enjoy, sending you love <3

* * * * * * *

“You can’t be serious.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to go, Bishop.” You offer her a smile from your spot on her kitchen counter. “By the way, you should probably hide your spare key somewhere else, that plant is too obvious.”

She opens her mouth, ready to say something witty back, but she stops once she fully notices your appearance. The torn-up clothes, the bruises scattered across your face, the blood trailing from your busted lip. She crosses the space between you in an instant, concern written all over her features despite how hard she tries to hide it.

“What happened?” 

“Had an unfortunate run-in with some old friends of ours,” you explain. “I think they’re still holding a grudge.”

She sighs but you can't tell if it's because of your injuries or the ones you've inflicted tonight. “Stay right there. I’ll be right back.”

“Where else would I go?” you reply, the slightest hint of sarcasm in your tone.

Kate either doesn't hear you or pretends not to in favor of walking away to find her first-aid kit. You could tell her most of the blood on your clothes isn't yours but that would only serve to start up the same old argument with her. 

An argument that cost you the only healthy relationship you've ever had.

Although, in your defense, it’s not like the archer is entirely blameless for what happened…not that she’d ever admit that out loud when it’s so much easier to blame all your mutual problems on your lack of self-restraint.

“How bad is it?” Her voice brings you out of your thoughts but, unfortunately for you, your reality is just as bad as the memories attached to those blue eyes.

You shrug. “I’ve had better days.”

“Yeah, no kidding, idiot.”

It’s impossible to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at her words even if you know there’s nothing but concern under her sarcasm. Concern that’s evident in the way she approaches you, soft and hesitant and nothing like the impulsive archer you know her to be.

It’s exactly the care you want, the care you need. You need Kate like the oxygen you breathe but you can’t bring yourself to let your walls down again. Maybe it’s stupid or petty or maybe you just like arguing with her a bit too much.

“You’re a terrible nurse,” you complain as she stands between your legs, a silent question shining in the depths of her eyes.

You send the smallest of nods her way despite how ridiculous her nervousness is. You’ve had more intimate moments than this and yet she lifts your shirt out of the way with the shakiest hands you’ve ever seen. You’d make fun of her if you weren’t just as nervous as she is right now.

It's the kind of nervousness that comes with the vulnerability you can't show around anyone else. 

You've always had to be the strong one. The fast one. The one with unrelenting fists and an even more unrelenting sense of duty, whether that duty falls on the right side of the law or not. But Kate’s always been the one that looks through all of that…except your tendency to sort problems out with your fists.

You flinch when she drags an antiseptic wipe over the small gash across your stomach. “What happened to the warning?” You grumble, pretending like you can’t see the small smile that spreads along her face.

“You seemed too spaced out to need one.”

“So charming, no wonder all the girls throw themselves at you when you walk by.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s not like you have an empty bed every night either.”

You know what she means but you can’t stop yourself from making fun of her. There are few things in the world that bring you as much joy as watching Kate trip over her own words.

“Are you calling me a whore, Bishop?” All it takes is a subtle raise of your eyebrow to send the brunette into a flustered ramble.

“What? No! Of course not- I mean, not that there’s anything, um, wrong with that, but-”

The sound of your uncontrollable laughter manages to stop her before she digs herself into a bigger hole. The laughter shakes your entire body and you both have to try really hard to ignore the way her hands brush against your skin every time you make those small movements. 

Not so long ago, she would have taken the opportunity to wrap her arms around you and pull you close. Today, she merely watches you laugh at her with the rosiest cheeks you’ve seen lately.

“You’re an asshole,” she says, rolling her eyes before going back to patching you up.

Although, her version of  “patching you up” pretty much only involves disinfecting the area and wrapping some gauze around your waist. She’s learned a lot from Clint but she’s still absolutely clueless when it comes to these things. Which forces you to question why you’re even here in the first place…except you don’t want to accept the answer.

She finishes her work on your stomach without another witty comment despite how badly she wants to point out how badly you flinch every time she moves. Instead of doing that, she settles her attention on your face. Mainly your bleeding lip and bruised jaw.

“Hold still.” Her whispered words are the only warning you get before she takes your face in her hands. You flinch and let out a soft groan when her fingers brush said bruise but you don’t move away. You’re captivated by those soft blue eyes despite how badly you wish you weren’t.

“Kate.” You don’t mean to say her name but it slips out before you can stop it. “You don't have to. You…you’ve done enough. I should go.”

“You’re still bleeding,” she says as if that’s enough of a reason.

And maybe it would be.

But there’s too much baggage between you for that.

“And whose fault is that?”

You don’t know why you say it, you just know you’re still hurt and that soft look on her face isn’t helping you accept the past. What happened isn’t really her fault, you know that. Accidents happen all the time in your line of business but she promised she would be there.

And she wasn’t.  

And now you have two less family members and an unbelievable amount of people who want Kate’s head delivered to them in a box.

Kate Bishop single-handedly ruined your life by being the idiotic fool you love more than anything. But love doesn’t fit anywhere on your list of responsibilities. At least not anymore.

“y/n,” she sighs. “Let me help. Let me fix it.”

For a second, it sounds like she’s begging you to stay. To ignore the past and the many reasons why you should walk out that door and never talk to her again.

Her shaky hands pull you closer to her, drawing you in toward her sad eyes and parted lips. All you can do is watch, rendered speechless by her mere existence and the hammering of your heart as it tries to escape your chest.

It’s not until her mouth is mere inches away from yours that you manage to escape her spell. 

“You can’t fix this.”

That’s the only warning you give her before you shrug her hands off your face and rise to your feet. You pretend you can’t see the thin layer of tears that gathers in her eyes as you force yourself to walk away.

It’s not until you slam her front door behind you that she breaks down. 

And maybe you do too but you’ll never let her know that.

Needless to say, you spend the next few days miserable and irritable as hell. Which means you’re quick to accept the first job that gets thrown your way…without reading the entire folder filled with important information.

You only know who your target is and where he’ll be…with special security, courtesy of the Young Avengers.

Turns out, reading the entirety of the folders you’re given is a good idea, who would’ve thought, right?

Things fall apart almost as soon as they start due to you getting too into your own head about things and messing up your perfectly crafted plan, resulting in more than a few punches to the jaw and missed gunshots. Your target attempts to flee onto the roof and you’re quick to follow after him, leaving a huge scene in the lobby of the fanciest building you’ve ever been in.

You make it onto the roof in record time, ready to chase after your target but of course, when have things ever been easy?

“y/n!”

You groan, cursing Kate’s awful timing. “Do we have to do this right now?”

The answer comes in the form of an arrow whizzing right past your ear. 

Your shock morphs into anger in no less than five seconds, forcing you to forget your mission in favor of yelling at the idiotic archer you can’t help but still love. It’s more than obvious to you that Kate’s just trying to waste your time but you’ve never been one to walk away from an argument with her.

“Did you just shoot one of your stupid arrows at me?” You turn around to face her, quickly realizing she’s still aiming at you, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration while she watches you. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell are you doing?” She responds. “Do you know who you’re working for?”

“You already know the answer to that,” you say while barely suppressing the urge to roll your eyes at her.

“Then you know exactly what I’m doing.”

Kate’s focus is unbreakable. She pays no mind to anything but her perfectly aimed bow and your reactions. The stray hairs that have fallen out of her ponytail are completely ignored, only serving to capture her and her natural perfection, the one that’s filled with chaos and stubbornness and a fire that’s unlike anything you’ve ever known.

You’re more than used to that fire…you’ve just never had it directed at you in the shape of a sharp arrow aimed right at your face.

If you were anyone else, maybe someone gentle or someone patient, or maybe someone not weighed down by so much trauma, you’d do the right thing and talk to the archer like an adult. But you’re not anyone else. You’re someone who thinks better with their fists than with their head.

And for a split second, you almost treat Kate like she’s anyone else other than the one person you’ve always loved.

“You’re-” 

Your complaint gets cut short the second she lets her arrow fly.

It finds its target a few inches away from your feet and if Kate were to look hard enough, she’d find the real fear that’s started to slip into your features. “Don’t move.”

You swallow down the urge to spit out a snarky response at her face.

“Are you seriously going to shoot me?”

The seconds that go by are unbearable. You can hear the wind and the tension it carries between the two of you, you can make out the sound of New York traffic on the streets below, and if you focus hard enough, you can even hear Kate’s heavy breathing. 

What you don’t hear, though, is an answer.

[thatguywhodoesstuff]

What about you? What about the Warhammer Chaos gods interests you?

Alright, sorry for the late response, but here’s a point by point rundown on my thoughts on the various Chaos Gods and Chaos as a whole:

Khorne————————

The big man of Chaos and the one (besides Gork and Mork) that is benefiting and reveling the most from the constant battles and wars being waged throughout the franchise. In my opinion, the Lord of Blood’s main appeal to me is his simplicity. He knows what he wants and what he expects of his followers, and while at face value this makes him seem like little else than a blunt instrument, just how raw and utterly human the sensation of overwhelming and all consuming anger is both terrifying and compelling, especially in how it plays into and with Khorne also focusing on a traditional, albeit heavily blood soaked, concept of honor.

Tzeentch—————————

Ah yes, the Changer of Ways, Tzeentch is a tricky one on practically all levels. I will admit Tzeentch isn’t a personal favorite of mine, but I am a big fan of how the various domains he covers overlap and interact, such as showing the dual nature of desiring change which isn’t intrinsically good or bad, the danger of recklessly seeking knowledge, and not to mention the blinding effect unchecked ambition has on people. I can honestly get behind Tzeentch, his followers, and the nebulous, ever changing goals on paper, but the fact there isn’t much in the way of defined parameters regarding what Tzeentch draws power from is a bit of a turnoff.

Nurgle———————

Now we come upon my undisputed favorite amongst the Chaos pantheon. Grandfather Nurgle has a rather personal place in my heart as ever since I was young I’ve struggled with anxiety and fears regarding matters of death, pain, filth, sickness, and feelings of depression. See, when I first got into the Warhammer franchise, I found myself drawn to the Plaguelord and his followers as I felt strangely seen in them.

As for in-universe reasons, I find the paradoxical nature of Nurgle and his followers very intriguing. How this god of death also holds dominion over a twisted form of life. How he expresses his own twisted brand of love by “blessing” whole worlds with nightmarish blights. How his acolytes are all twisted & diseased pseudo corpses that are free of pain & fear of death as they shamble forward across the battlefield. I suppose the best way I can describe my feelings for Nurgle and his grandkids is that I find them sickeningly sweet.

Slaanesh——————

Okay, so I’ll admit Slaanesh honestly unnerves me as someone with obsessive tendencies. Aside from the more… obvious aspects of She Who Thirsts and her followers, what always interested me regarding Slaanesh was the personal connection and enmity it has with the Elvish/Aeldari factions. I will say, I do have one major gripe with how the Slaanesh faction is presented almost strictly in a carnal manner in WH40k and wish they would take more from the more widespread concepts of obsession and overindulgence they have been using in Age of Sigmar.

Malal/Malice———————————

Ah yes, the oft forgotten son of Chaos (and Games Workshop). I don’t have much else to say other than I find the overall aesthetic and concept of a faction that embodies the tendency of Chaos to turn inwards and self destruct to be absolutely phenomenal. 11/11, I really wish we would get more regarding this infrequently mentioned and not completely canon Chaos god and faction.

The Horned Rat—————————————

He’s the self serving god of a race of psychotic rat-men hooked on radioactive moon cheese that literally feeds on desperation and desires little else than to despoil literally everything, which led to him just inserting himself into the empty space left in the Chaos pantheon by Slaanesh’s imprisonment. What’s not to love about him and his manic followers in all the different and innovative ways they manage to manifest their depravity?

Hashut/Vashtorr————

Alright, I’ll admit I don’t have a whole lot to say about Hashut, but I thought I’d discuss these two together given their whole focus on the evils born of unchecked innovation and industrialism. Now, I will say I do find Hashut managing to corrupt and radicalize a whole group of dwarfs into their own subfaction with the promise of better materials/conditions to work with and the ability to wield conventional magic (albeit at a price) rather impressive, having basically carved out his own niche separate from the Primordial Four.

As for Vashtorr, I’m really interested in how the story regarding his quest to become a Fifth Chaos god will unfold, especially given how he’s aligned with the Black Legion, and while its clear that someone is going to get screwed over in that particular partnership, especially since it’s currently unclear who the unlucky party is going to be when that time comes. I also find it very interesting how Vashtorr more or less takes the opposite route of Hashut and instead has ingratiated himself to the Primordial Four via the manufacturing of Daemon Engines, while also being mostly untouchable in the greater scope of the Great Game.

Misc. Other Chaos Gods—

There isn’t much to say about the other Chaos gods as they are either yet to manifest or non-canon. I will say the idea of the Emperor of Mankind being a likely candidate of becoming the Fifth Chaos god is something I absolutely love and wish was more fleshed out aside from the rare references to the Dark King and the Star Child. I mean, common, it’s just so poetic that the man that spent thousands upon thousands of years busting his hump trying to elevate humanity and protect them from the forces of Chaos becoming just like the very beings he sought to starve and extinguish with his Imperial Truth and possibly condemning mankind, if not the entirety of existence, just like Slaanesh condemned the Aeldari. I get it’s something on such a massive scale that it’s just not feasible to properly tackle without massive effort on Games Workshop’s part, but it’s still something fascinating to explore.

Also, shout-out to the non-canon Necoho the Doubter and Zuvassin the Undoer for literally being the Renegade Chaos gods of atheism and plans going awry respectively.

Chaos Undivided—————

I suppose to answer the question of what draws me to Chaos is the fact it’s a dark mirror of the rawest, truest parts of humanity. It’s a corruptive force literally born from the minds of mortals and true to human nature, people try to rationalize it, direct it, wield it, only to invariably fail and fall deeper into its clutches. Chaos comes in so many forms and in some there are shades of good, yet it’s all clouded by the horrors it brings. It’s like an exploration of the human condition and yet, at the same time Chaos is in a way a literal man made hell, and that fact just fascinates me on a near morbid level.

I’m sorry that this was such a long read, but I hope this answered your question.

[melliae]

Regarding the last Arcana in Persona 3

For those that are curious, this post serves as a clarification on the somewhat misunderstood final battle and all that happened in there… as well as a revision of the atrociously written imgur I created some years ago. It also contains some minor spoilers from other gamers, but hopefully nothing major.

Now, with that said, let’s begin with the first mention of the Universe in P3: Edogawa’s explanation of the major arcanas.

“この“愚者”から始まり“宇宙”で終わる22枚の大アルカナは... 番号順に一つの連続した物語になっていて、 それ自身が人間の成長過程を表しています。人間の苦難や、変節、成功... 文字通り、 人生の線図があります。カードがそれぞれ、人が人になるため、必要な要素をあらわしてんですねえ。大事ですから、22枚のカードを一つ一つ見てみましょうか。 [...] そして最後の“宇宙”。やがてたどりつく、あなた自身の場所です。”

“Beginning with the 'Fool' and ending with the “Universe”, the 22 major arcanas are one continuous story in numerical order, which itself represents the process of human development. The hardships, betrayals and successes of humans… Literally, they are a diagram of life. Each card represents the necessary elements for a person to become an individual. Since they’re that important, let's look at each of the 22 cards, shall we? [...] At last, it’s the Universe. It’s your own place that you’ll eventually reach.”

As you can see, the explanation in japanese is somewhat different from the one we got in the english version of both FES and Portable:

“Beginning with "The Fool" and ending with "The World"... they tell a story in numerical order that is a metaphor of an individual's journey through life. Each Major Arcana represents a stage on that journey... an experience that the individual must incorporate to realize his oneness. They are all important, so let's take a look at each of the 22 cards, one by one. [...] The final card is The World, which represents the individual's full awareness of his place in the world.”

Though, despite being worded differently, both explanations refer to the same fundamental process: the journey of individuation. This concept belongs to the branch of psychology founded by Carl Jung, analytical psychology, from which almost all ideas of the series come from (i.e., Shadow, Persona, Demons, etc. I recommend watching Edogawa’s extras on P4G), and it's defined as the “development of consciousness out of the original state of identity”, integrating the contents of the personal and collective unconscious with the goal of attaining psychological healing and unity, thus achieving or at least getting close to the archetype known as the Self, which is nothing but the totality of the psychic contents and processes of an individual – everything.

It’s no brainer to compare such process with the Fool’s journey used in the modern trilogy, with several of Jung’s students and scholars establishing the relation:

“Like paintings, these Trumps are so-called projections holders, meaning simply that they are hooks to catch the imagination. Speaking psychologically, projection is an unconscious, autonomous process whereby we first see in the persons, objects, and happenings in our environments those tendencies, characteristics, potentials and shortcomings that really belong to us. We people the exterior world with the witches and princesses, devils and heroes of the drama buried in our own depths.” - Jung and Tarot: An Archetypal Journey, Sallie Nichols.

Such is one example, and there are many more if you look at the section of literature regarding Jung’s theory and tarot, which fits wonderfully with the japanese explanation. However, the english one isn’t wrong by any means, since such a description still fits with how Jung explained the process of individuation:

“The unio mentalis, then, in psychological as well as in alchemical language, means knowledge of oneself. In contradistinction to the modern prejudice that self-knowledge is nothing but a knowledge of the ego, the alchemists regarded the self as a substance incommensurable with the ego, hidden in the body, and identical with the image of God. This view fully accords with the Indian idea of purusha-atman. The psychic preparation of the magisterium as described by Dorn is therefore an attempt, uninfluenced by the East, to bring about a union of opposites in accordance with the great Eastern philosophies, and to establish for this purpose a principle freed from the opposites and similar to the atman or tao. Dorn called this the substantia coelestis, which today we would describe as a transcendental principle. This “unum” is nirdvandva (free from the opposites), like the atman (self).” - Mysterium Coniunctionis

The process of individuation, due to its integration of the collective unconscious or collective memory of all life, it’s equal to the mythological process of cosmic union or henosis: becoming one with the cosmos’ underlying nature. This means the Universe, as the end point of the Fool’s journey, is the embodiment of the universe as a whole, which is referenced in-game

“Hmm... I see nothing in you... It seems you no longer need your fortune told... All potentials are within you... You can go anywhere, become anything... The universe is within you... And you are within the universe... You and the universe are one and the same... That is my belief…” - Fortune Teller, P3

It’s important to note the same Fortune Teller, in a previous prediction, also identified the World as an equivalent to the Universe, meaning the english translation isn’t entirely wrong (and that all I’ve written applies to the World too). Furthermore, we have this explanation on Edogawa’s part:

“Now, one of the most important ideas of Kabbalah is the Tree of Life, formed of the ten Sefirot. Most illustrations depict it as a chart shaped like a tree. The 10 stages represented by the Sefirot… and the 22 paths connecting them represent the stages of Creation God formed from his own self, as well as the direction in which humanity should evolve. Where did we come from? Where are we going? These answers lie in the Sefirot. [...] By the way, did you all notice that I said there were 22 paths? Yes, that's right. The same number as the Major Arcana I spoke about earlier.”

The tree of life is one of the most common symbols of western (and jewish) mysticism, commonly syncretized with the 22 major arcanas to create a sort of system that allows people to rejoin the ineffable godhead – called Ein Sof (funnily enough) – at the root of everything. That’s to say, it’s another symbol of individuation, with even Jung interpreting the tree itself, with no connection to tarot, as such:

“The figure of Tifereth belongs to the Sefiroth system, which is conceived to be a tree. Tifereth occupies the middle position. Adam Kadmon is either the whole tree or is thought of as the mediator between the supreme authority, En Soph, and the Sefiroth. The black Shulamite in our text corresponds to Malchuth as a widow, who awaits union with Tifereth and hence the restoration of the original wholeness. [...] In the Cabalistic view Adam Kadmon is not merely the universal soul or, psychologically, the “self,” but is himself the process of transformation, its division into three or four parts (trimeria or tetrameria).” - Mysterium Coniunctionis.

This means that, in jungian terms, the tree of life (which is equal to the archetypal man in jewish esoteric thought) is both a symbol of the process and of the result at the same time, strengthening the cosmic and personal nature of the major arcanas within the series, being symbols of the individual soul’s journey and of aspects of the world at large. Naturally, the Universe, as the culmination and integration of all arcanas, is nothing but the very own archetypal tree and man embodied, the potentiality of life realized as Aleister Crowley described it, the founder of Thelema and creator of the Thoth Tarot from where the Universe comes:

“In the card itself there is consequently a glyph of the completion of the Great Work in its highest sense, exactly as the Atu of the Fool symbolizes its beginning. The Fool is the negative issuing into manifestation; the Universe is that manifestation, its purpose accomplished, ready to return. The twenty cards that lie between these two exhibit the Great Work and its agents in various stages. The image of the Universe in this sense is accordingly that of a maiden, the final letter of Tetragrammaton.” - Book of Thoth.

As the final arcana, the Universe is also the end of existence and its meaning. It’s the full realization of the primordial nothingness that the Ein Sof is, not through being anything in particular but through being everything that has existed and exists, thus truly being nothing. Naturally, this aspect of the Universe is also referenced in P3, though in the movies this time:

“You have acquired the answer, I presume? [...] Right now, you just might arrive at the Answer to Life. [...] Are you aware? An arcana is an entity that reveals one’s entire life. Those who have taken possession of them, and said to have truly lived, are able to arrive at the Answer.” - Elizabeth

It’s very obvious the answer that Makoto and Kotone arrived at is the meaning of life and existence itself, of the unconscious godhead that created the world (i.e., the arcanas and humanity) from its essence. Such an understanding can only be born from the full integration of the archetypes that compose the universe (i.e., the human experience), which means becoming one with it – the individual soul merging with the anima mundi.

“As a result of the complete detachment of all affective ties to the object, there is necessarily formed in the inner self an equivalent of objective reality, or a complete identity of inside and outside, which is technically described as tat tvam asi (that art thou). The fusion of the self with its relations to the object produces the identity of the self (atman) with the essence of the world (i.e., with the relations of subject to object).” - Psychological Types.

This is also mentioned by Igor during the Universe’s scene, though it was mistranslated as “space” when the original was “宇宙”, which was used by Edogawa to refer to the thelemite Universe. In that scene, Igor also described the card as “全ての始まりの力であり、そして、全てを終える力でもあります”, or “the power of the beginning of all, and the power the will end it all”, referencing the nature of the Universe as the embodiment of the ineffable creator and its final realization – the union of opposites that characterizes the Self.

“The archetype of the self has, functionally, the significance of a ruler of the inner world, i.e., of the collective unconscious. The self, as a symbol of wholeness, is a coincidentia oppositorum, and therefore contains light and darkness simultaneously.” - Symbols of Transformation.

“When it represents a complexio oppositorum, a union of opposites, it can also appear as a united duality, [...] Empirically, therefore, the self appears as a play of light and shadow, although conceived as a totality and unity in which the opposites are united” - Psychological Types

“Hmm... I feel a strange aura around you... In my mind, I see visions... People's past, present, and future... For most people, I see clearly, and far ahead... But you are different... Your future is filled with both blinding light and stagnant shadow... I can see but a small portion... What lies beyond that is shrouded in mystery.” - Fortune Teller, P3

By nature then, the power of the Universe may not necessarily refer to only the physical one, but to its psychological analogous as well: the collective unconscious. This is supported by Elizabeth’s route in Arena, where the japanese version refers to the collective unconscious as “内なる宇宙” or “inner universe”, a term both used in the P3 Club Book, in the protagonist’s profile, and in the very own description of the Great Seal: “内なる宇宙を開放し、死の母星ニュクスを封印する力” (“Release the inner universe, the power to seal the mother planet of Death, Nyx”).

However, calling the collective unconscious an “(inner) universe” isn’t exclusive to P3, because P2 did it as well. Firstly, the party in IS collectively confused the Sea with “宇宙” in the japanese version (I wouldn’t say it’s mistranslated in english however, just that the nuance is lost), and then Virochana came in Tatsuya’s Scenario saying the following:

“Thy reflection on the water’s surface: that is thy Brahman, the truth of the universe, which is in turn thine Atman. Thou thyself art the universe, and thine self is itself the light that illuminates the soul.”

Due to his nature as an archetype, Virochana is speaking purely symbolically here, referencing only a psychological reality and not a physical one, and since Jung understood the Atman and Brahman as symbols of the Self, further explanation is not needed. And by that matter, the following section, the one with the archetype of Buddha, doesn’t contradict that conclusion, since Jung also acknowledges buddhahood as another symbol of the Self.

“Hence in its scientific usage the term “self” refers neither to Christ nor to the Buddha but to the totality of the figures that are its equivalent, and each of these figures is a symbol of the self.” - Psychology and Alchemy.

And I don’t think I’ve to delve into Philemon’s whole schtick about humanity understanding its “purpose” or, in japanese, “存在意義” – the “meaning of [its] existence”. Tatsuya’s Scenario doubles down on that, with Philemon’s avatar, Nodens, literally saying humanity should try to understand the meaning of why life exists, with the option of denying the meaning of life giving you Death cards. The writers aren’t really that subtle in trying to say Makoto’s/Kotone’s “answer to life” is the “meaning of existence” stated by Philemon.

So all in all, this means the Universe is the collective unconscious itself. Not a fragment of it, or just holding a part of its power, but ALL of it. And at the same time, it’s also the full realization of it, the dispersal of all unconsciousness and primitiveness into an harmonic whole that knows itself, equal in every sense to the incarnation and realization of the Ein Sof within the tree of life. It’s the archetype of all humanity (i.e., the source of the previously mentioned Adam Kadmon) and life, their potentiality and meaning, their purpose.

“Not only do things appear personified as human beings, but the macrocosm personifies itself as a man too. ‘The whole of nature converges in man as in a centre, and one participates in the other, and man has not unjustly concluded that the material of the philosophical stone may be found everywhere.’”- Alchemical Studies

“This place called Kadath Mandala is constructed in the shape of a hexagram, containing an older pentagram emblem. The hexagram represents the vast macrocosm of space and the pentagram is a symbol of the microcosm known as humanity.” - Cat Lieutenant General Zula, Gone Without Trace, Tatsuya’s Scenario.

That’s why Igor was so surprised at someone achieving the Universe. That’s why he said that “nothing is beyond your reach”. Because the Universe is the “godhead”, the collective and unconscious soul of life, finally realized. The manifestation of what once created a future out of a certain death… out of what can be better described as the primordial nothingness that precedes creation

“I see nothing... No... What I see is nothingness... It is the void... But do not lose heart... Emptiness is not necessarily the end... The void is infinite... As is the universe... Whether this marks an end to all things, or a beginning... It is in your hands…” – Fortune Teller, P3

If the Universe is the full realization of life and the collective unconscious, then “Nyx” can be understood as its origin, as pure unconsciousness, neither stagnant nor chaotic, but both at the same time. Such universality is actually supported by the developers themselves, with Soejiro even stating the following in regards to Tartarus:

“This was drawn with the notion that the higher you climb in Tartarus, the deeper you delve into the subconscious. It also reflects the fact that Tartarus and the Shadows are one in the same since they both represent the human psyche.” - Art of Persona 3

And it’s important to keep in mind Tartarus has seven blocks: Thebel, Arqa, Yabbashah, Tziah, Harabah, Adamah… and Eretz, its rooftop. Each name is derived from one of the seven earths Adam wandered after being expelled from the Garden according to jewish folklore, meaning each block represents a more primitive and ancient layer of the unconscious until the origin of humanity, the Garden of Eden, beyond Eretz is reached... Beyond the first earth and upmost floor of Tartarus, within Nyx’s own body. And I genuinely don’t think I’ve to explain the significance of the Star Eater’s core being a golden egg in this context, when such an object is common through a majority of creation myths.

Even more, returning to the tree of life, we have to look at the P3 x P4 World Analyze (transcriptions kindly uploaded by Elle-P), which states that every block of Tartarus also symbolizes the different sephirot of the tree, with the whole tower representing the body of the godhead being hanged upside-down. In particular, Eretz is said to represent Binah, Chokmah and Kether, the three highest sephirot, meaning that Nyx’s body exists beyond the tree of life itself, and only the Ein Sof exists beyond it…

(Well, the Ain and Ain Soph Aur exist beyond as well, but they aren’t that important)

Now, I could go on about the symbolism of Nyx and the protagonists, but that would only keep supporting what I’ve written so far, that the Star Eater may indeed be the most primitive, oldest form of the collective unconscious, being the anima mundi or “light” that shattered at the beginning of time to allow the creation of the universe (i.e., life and consciousness). “She” is the Sophia turned into demiurge that must be rescued by its own creation – by itself.

Then, the final confrontation between the protagonists and Nyx isn’t only for the sake of present life, but also for all that has existed previously and its legacy, even Nyx itself. It’s the affirmation of life’s meaning and purpose against what once was and wishes to return to… and what must be ultimately confronted. It’s both the separation from everything that has happened, and its acceptance and forgiveness. That’s why the Universe can’t really go against Nyx, because they are the same, and thus the arcana must accept it.

In a certain way, it would explain the protagonists’ sacrifices and improve even more their development: after a life of repressing (and likely yearning for many things), when they confront what essentially is what everyone yearns for at some level… they let it go. They let themselves be filled by everyone’s wishes and hopes, and finally understand their relation to all of it, their value and meaning. They understand what they have in front of them and what it wishes for, and they accept it as well, for that’s what they are too - it’s a complete mirror for them and all of humanity.

The protagonists understand everything and how it bonds with itself - they understand themselves.

[vampireistic]

AVENTURINE CHARACTER ANALYSIS

★ with some aventio analysis too !

CW: this is aventurine we’re speaking about so; mentions of suicide, gambling, massive spoilers

ps. i’m a massive dumbass that still to this day doesn’t fully understand the penacony lore so i’ll most definitely miss things out, my bad.

Watching everyone around you die out while you are forced into living because of a God blessing you with their rainy tears really presents the duality between a blessing and a curse. Really makes you wonder if luck even existed or does experiencing constant suffering and finding a string of hope make you blind to the true nature of your condition. Are you truly fortunate, or are you merely trapped in a cycle of endless grief masked by moments of fleeting hope?

CHARACTER DESIGN

Aventurine’a design is a reflection of who he is; wealthy, confident, flamboyant and so on and so forth. More importantly, though, his design is meant to reflect his desire to be seen as well as his use as just a mere pawn. His design and character are very reminiscent that of peacocks (a design choice rather common with characters who gamble) — peacocks are known and praised for their distinctive beauty as well as their worth.

This also means that they’re a massive target for collectors meant to serve as a person’s trophy; a similar way as to how Aventurine is quite literally a slave, his extravagance meant to pale his vulnerability. This Sigonian trophy has now become a pawn for the Stonehearts (IPC), his design is almost like a branding for him (even more so than the actual mark on his neck), it’s a reminder that he’s going to forever remain someone else’s property. The collar around his neck is meant to serve as a similar reminder.

His lavish design could be seen as a way to distract from his lack of freedom. The more extravagant he appears, the more people focus on his outer beauty rather than the fact that he is, essentially, a prisoner.

HIS TRAUMA / LORE

Aventurine’s relationship with his family has always intrigued me. He absolutely loved them to his core, and they loved him completely back in turn; sounds rather perfect, right? But I can’t help but feel like them drilling into his head that he was the gem of their home, that he would bring them to victory even as a sole survivor — he was their lucky charm. Sure, at the time it probably didn’t mean too much since he was a child and understood that these were words said in desperate times, but now as he’s older? Those words haunt him once again — I mean, it’s literally one of the many reasons he has survivors guilt.

It was actually a little difficult to categorise Aventurine into an attachment style (a template for how a child will most likely act like in the future) because his relationship with his family isn’t really shown all too specifically, or at least specifically enough to understand how he truly feels about them. All I can go off of is his devotion, therefore I can vaguely assume he would have an avoidant attachment style.

Given the way he was treated as someone “treasured” or “superior”, Aventurine has developed avoidant tendencies as a way to cope with the pressure and isolation of his status. He might distance himself emotionally from others, preferring to maintain a facade of independence and self-reliance rather than risk vulnerability.

"Maybe luck won't be on your side this time, and the bill for all your past good fortune will come due."

Finally, the person in front of him turns around. The distant skyscraper reflects a kaleidoscope of colors like an opal stone, while a music box plays on its own.

"But isn't that what you've been longing for?"

────────────────────────

This man is quite literally so suicidal. Pretty obvious, I think anyone could pick that up from the fact he outwardly admits in the Penacony quest that he “attempted multiple times” in the dream world, which of course led to nothing. He’s so desperate, weak, and afraid. He’ll try anything even if he knows the final outcome is more than likely futile.

As soon as he’s allowed a little bit of freedom, his first instinct is to off himself. Perhaps that’s also just a showcase that he cannot handle the idea of his own autonomy and that’s unfortunately quite common with victims of abuse; when given freedom, they don’t understand what to do with it. It’s like freeing an orphaned deer from an animal trade…whats it’s use now that it doesn’t have anyone controlling it?

Aventurine’s duality may be a form of dissociation, a psychological coping mechanism where he separates his true self from the persona he has been forced to adopt. The “peacock” persona becomes a mask that he wears, allowing him to navigate a world where he is constantly objectified and used.

However, despite his innate survivors guilt and this want for an escape, he refuses to actually die without trying to avenge his home.

────────────────────────

Immediately after gaining a sense of agency and somewhat power, he seeks for some form of closure. He’s obviously still very determined, in this way, he’s regaining that form of liberty by using his new role to his advantage despite it clearly weighing the IPC down (that alone is purposeful, he’s a pawn for them because it’s also convenient for him).

RELATIONSHIPS (slash aventio :3)

Now I utterly hate Jade — to me, she feels like a very lazily written antagonist/villainous character, and even if she had good aspects to her, it’s completely overshadowed by the fact she’s clearly marketed as just another “dom mommy” (believe me i cringed there too). One thing I’ll praise her for is the relationship she creates with the other Stoneheart’s members — it’s disgustingly manipulative and I love it.

To Jade, Aventurine and Topaz are two sides of the same coin, similar yet vastly different. Both of them are of course beneficial to the IPC, yet if a moment arose to be replaced, she wouldn’t hesitate to backstab Aventurine over Topaz, he’s a speck of dirt on their shoulders and too much of a burden.

More specifically; the only way Jade cares For Aventurine is the same way you’d care for a weapon, you wouldn’t want it to get damaged but there’s always the option to replace it if it does. Have you seen that post where it, to simplify, stated “love but in the way a wolf loves the sheep it herds”, that’s basically the entire dynamic between all the Stoneheart’s, however it’s evident Aventurine is a black lamb.

Outside of Aventurine’s acquaintances of convenience born purely from the notion of gaining something in return, Aventurine truly has one person who’s willing to stick to his dumbassery through thick and thin: Dr Ratio.

Firstly, these two clearly mimic the dynamic between Kaveh and Alhaitham and I find myself slowly just loving their trope even more heavily — a man who thrives off the intangible for the sake of success with a man who’s entire life focuses on logic, reason and book smarts. Throughout the entire segment where the pair are about to meet with Sunday and commit to the most dramatic ass lion king esque betrayal scene, Dr Ratio is cautious. He has to make this betrayal look real, so he maintains this facade of indifference with all the quips and comments Aventurine says.

He does everything for the sake of Aventurine. This man quite literally can’t look at Aventurine after he plays the part of a betrayer because he can’t imagine himself actually doing such a thing. Does he trust Aventurine? Yeah, sure, but he still leaves Aventurine with a heartfelt note that he specified he should read in his last moments:

“Do stay I alive. I wish you the best of luck.”

Dr Ratio is one of the first people to acknowledge Aventurine’s vulnerability and doesn’t exploit it, instead choosing to console him. In a way, it’s actually a little sweet that Dr Ratio thought of a scenario where Aventurine’s godly luck ran out, it shows he views him as a person who’s gained the knowledge he has, and not just a pawn who’s been polished into a gem.

cute dividers: strangergraphics

art: amosprinz

this is a little less analytical and more so rambly than i would’ve preferred, but i also just wanted to give people the opportunity to yap and talk about aventurine and the penacony lore in general. feel free to share whatever thoughts you have on this d(^_^o)