#more trauma does not equal better story telling

[jessicalprice]

So I've spent a lot of time untangling Christian exegesis of parables and talking about how the way Christians interpret parables almost always ends up being antisemitic.

But aside from how it makes them think about Jews and Judaism and Jewishness, I also want to talk a bit about how it makes them sympathize more with abusers than with victims.

The easy-to-point-to culprit here is the trilogy of parables that culminates in what most Christians know as the Prodigal Son story.

The common interpretation of these parables is that God does (and therefore Christians should) value a repentant sinner over someone who's never sinned.

The problem here isn't the stories themselves--they're pretty enigmatic as far as their actual meanings--but Luke's gloss:

"Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance."

(Mark says, "So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost," which is very different.

So on its face, in 2023, that's a blatantly dangerous, abuser-supporting belief. What is it like to be a child sexually abused by your youth pastor and to hear that the fact that he hurt you is part of what makes him somehow spiritually "better" than you?

And we can see it play out in the way Kevin M. Young, a popular progressive pastor on Twitter (who describes himself as "post-evangelical" and was the senior pastor at a Quaker congregation) responded to being told one of his tweets was antisemitic, and then jumped in to support a woman who responded by identifying herself as a fan of John Chrysostom (the literal author of "Against the Jews" and the most antisemitic of the Church Fathers, which is saying something).

I'm not going to transcribe the whole thing, because it's not all that important for what I have to say about this, but I am going to call out a few lines:

"The American Christian approach to t'shuvah sees the victim's spirit, character, and speech as equally important to the offenders. I.e. in Christendom, the victim can exceed the sin of the offender simply by their reaction (if it be in sin or acted in a way that is not Spirit led)."

So, to be clear, if someone assaults you, and you don't meekly forgive them in a "Spirit led" way, you're somehow worse than they are.

The uniquely Christian brain rot here is in seeing every sin as an opportunity for forgiveness. After all, if being a repentant sinner gives you a higher spiritual status--if there's more "rejoicing in Heaven" over you--than that of your victim, then you have to sin to get there. It treats other people as props in your salvation journey, not as fellow humans whose suffering matters. (Combine that with the Christian idea that suffering is somehow virtuous in and of itself, and you've got a very toxic recipe. Not only, by abusing others, are you guaranteeing your own value as a repentant sinner, but you're giving your victim the opportunity to ennoble themselves through suffering.)

Of course, a key word here is repentant. Put a pin in that.

These sort of exchanges on Twitter--a Christian being outright genocidal toward Jews, and a supposedly progressive Christian figure jumping in to defend the Christian, with seemingly no ability to comprehend that the Jews in the conversation are human beings who may have their own trauma around violently antisemitic language, with boundless empathy for the Christian abuser and none for the Jewish targets of their abuse--happen frequently and just as frequently leave Jwitter baffled in addition to angry.

Why all this empathy for the abuser and none for the victims?

I think a lot of this comes out of progressive Christian exegesis of parables, which is frequently looking for the radical "twist" to the story.

E.g. in the story of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector, the assumption is that the audience of the time would have empathized with the Pharisee, and thus the twist is to make them empathize with the tax collector. In the story of the Good Samaritan, the assumption is that they would have seen the Samaritan as a threat, and the twist is to make him the hero.

The thinking goes that the audience would have had empathy for certain groups and none for others, so the stories push them to feel that empathy for the latter, and that this was needed to balance the scales, to make sure everyone was receiving love and empathy and care.

Except that this, in modernity, has the effect of simply reversing the roles, not balancing them. The groups that are assumed to be in good social standing get no empathy, even become the implicit villains, and the groups (supposedly, since this is now a Christian-dominant society) traditionally looked down on get all of it.

That might still be a balancing act if the "looked down on" groups were actually marginalized. But in the Christian imagination, that role is filled by sinners in need of Christian grace, not necessarily demographically marginalized groups.

The idea seems to be that the victims are getting sympathy from elsewhere, so it's the Christian's job to make sure the abuser/sinner gets sympathy too.

But I'll point again to that pesky word "repentant."

Ultimately, when it comes to treatment of Jews and Muslims and anyone else who points out that a Christian has in some way harmed them, Christian sympathy goes immediately to the offender before the offender has even expressed any repentance.

The repentant sinner is so much more valuable, at this point, than their victims that they must be preemptively forgiven, that they are more valuable purely because they now have the potential to repent.

And this seems to be lurking under not just how "progressive" pastors act on Twitter, but in a lot of our cultural narratives around, say, college rapists and their futures, around white people who are publicly called out for racist acts, etc.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Careless Words

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Angst. Toxic/abusive relationship dynamics. Mentions of death. Allusions to smut. Word count: ~2.8k

Summary: She has always given her best to Aemond, but they both know he can't say the same. Based on this request.

Author's note: I wanted to explore the darker side of Aemond's personality and how this might manifest itself in a relationship where neither party is particularly healthy in terms of their mindset. This was a cathartic piece for me to write. Lately I've been working through some resurfaced feelings linked to a past relationship that was based entirely around trauma bonding. It may be a triggering read for some, so please approach with caution (and try to remember the story itself is a work of fiction). No gods, no masters, no tag lists. Community labels are for cops. Please block me instead of labelling this, if you find yourself tempted.

Family, Duty, Honor; that is the motto of House Tully, a direct opposition of House Targaryen’s Fire and Blood. If she wasn’t so duty bound to Prince Aemond then she’d find the strength to walk away. If he was a better man he’d let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

She is eight years old when she is sent from Riverrun to King’s Landing. She is to be a ward of House Targaryen, an idea that excites and frightens her in equal measure; she has never been away from her family before and the thought of living in a strange city with people she has never met fills her with uncertainty, yet she is eager for the adventures it will bring.

Her fears are assuaged the moment she arrives in the capital. The sprawling expanse of the city beckons her to explore its winding cobbled streets, the Red Keep is a maze of undiscovered secrets. Naturally curious, she gravitates towards Queen Alicent’s second son, Aemond. He is a quiet, sullen boy, not much older than her, and spends most of his time alone, reading. It is more than apparent to her that he does not get along with his older brother and nephews, and his sister is too lost in her own world to be of any comfort to him.

Aemond clings to her offer of friendship, and the two quickly become inseparable. She basks in the attention he lavishes upon her; sharing his books, learning High Valyrian under his tutelage, dutifully spectating for each of his training sessions in the yard, and accompanying him on his daily visits to the dragonpit - he has yet to claim a dragon, which serves to deepen his fascination of the creatures and drives him to near obsession with desire to have his own. 

Aemond becomes the center of her world, a position which he appears to thrive on. The first time he threatens to take that away from her is on a day that they visit the dragonpit. 

Aegon has lured him there on the pretense that the dragon keepers have discovered an unclaimed mount for him. However, he is humiliated when a pig is led out from the shadows, and he flees, distraught, back to his mother.

He lashes out at her that day, for the first time, when she attempts to comfort him.

“You will have a dragon one day,” She tries to tell him. “Ignore their silly jokes, it doesn’t matter.”

He looks at her with fury in his eyes and she shrinks fearfully away from him. His tone is vile, hateful. “It doesn’t matter to you, because you don’t understand how important dragons are to Targaryens. You are a nobody!”

She weeps bitterly when he storms away from her, it feels like she has lost her only friend in the world. She believes she has trivialised Aemond’s suffering and is ashamed of herself.

When he approaches her the next day, with lemon cakes, a book and a soft “I didn’t mean it”, she is so overjoyed to have Aemond’s attention once more that it doesn’t even occur to her that he hasn’t uttered the word “sorry”, she has him back and that is all that matters. And for a few days afterwards, he treats her with such reverence that she feels foolish for having been upset in the first place.

Aemond is ten when he loses his eye, and he puts on a brave face, though she is certain it is for the benefit of not further upsetting his mother and appearing weak in front of his nephews.

She is proven right the moment they are alone and he turns on her. She wants to support him, to show him she is unafraid of him despite the stitches that now adorn the bloodied ruin where his left eye used to be, but he will not allow that.

“Where were you?!” He shouts at her. “If you’d have been there for me, I’d still have my eye!”

She wants to argue that she could not possibly have known he was going to claim Vhagar, how could she have been there for him when everyone was supposed to be in bed? But the guilt his words inspire eclipse all rationality in her innocent, young mind. She ought to have anticipated him going after a riderless dragon, and been there to help defend him against the attack from his nephews and cousins.

“I’m sorry, Aemond, I’m so sorry.” She cries.

“Sorry will not bring back what I have lost,” He spits angrily. “No matter. I have my dragon now, I do not need you.”

He is lost to her once more, and heartache colours her world where Aemond’s presence used to.

“I didn’t mean it,” He tells her sheepishly, a few days later. “When I am healed, I will take you for a ride on dragonback.”

She does not need an apology, Aemond’s attention and willingness to share something so personal with her are more than enough. For a week after that he makes her feel as though she is the very stars in the night sky, and she basks in his good graces.

On Aemond’s thirteenth name day, she is excited to give him his gift. For weeks she has toiled in secret on a patch for him to cover the scarred side of his face. It is made of delicate black leather and has an intricate green dragon stitched carefully into the fabric. 

She searches for Aemond most of the day and cannot find him. When he does eventually make an appearance he is distant and distracted, not even uttering thanks when she presents him with the patch she has made for him.

“Aegon took me to a pleasure house.” He says morosely, when she asks what’s wrong.

���Oh,” She has trouble hiding the disgust on her face, as she feels sour jealousy spread its way through her. “Why?”

He scowls upon seeing her look of judgment. “Because I grew tired of looking at your ugly face!” He snaps, before storming off.

Her self worth shatters with those words, scattered away on the winds of Aemond’s temper, and yet again she is left to wait for his careless words to become kind, while she grieves his temporary absence.

I did not mean it. And so she forgives him, piecing herself back together with every praise and doting look he offers her. She cares not that he never wears her gift or thanks her for it, it does not matter that he doesn’t say he’s sorry, because when Aemond is kind to her she feels as though she has ascended to the very heavens above.

It is an addictive cycle, and as the years press on, she finds herself craving Aemond’s tempestuous nature in moments of calm, for the love he showers her with afterwards is her only means of reassuring herself that he truly cares for her.

Aemond grows bolder in his mistreatment of her, confident that she is too attached to him to be disloyal. She is one of the few things in his life that he is able to assert full control over and he wields it without a second thought.

Shortly after her sixteenth name day, Aegon attempts to force himself on her. She fights him off and seeks comfort in the only person she can trust; Aemond. Where she expects to find sympathy, however, she is met with scorn and rage-filled jealousy.

“If you did not behave like a whore then Aegon would not do such things. Do you enjoy the attention?”

She shuts herself away in her chambers, the ache in her chest unbearable as her tears soak her pillow.

While Aemond would usually leave it a day or two before seeking her out again, he comes back to her that same evening, telling her he did not mean it as he holds her in his arms. He takes her maidenhead that night, the sharp stinging between her legs, as he pushes forcefully inside of her, soothed by his whisper of “aōhon iksan se ñuhon iksā”. I am yours and you are mine.

As their relationship blossoms into something more romantic, their rifts become more frequent. Aemond always seems to know precisely the combination of words it will take to cut her deepest, yet it is a state she has grown to feel safe in. The blood of the dragon pumps hotly in his veins and as frequently as he inflicts this side of himself upon her, it is always followed by a softness that allows her to believe that he loves her, even if they are words he never says aloud.

When Aemond’s nephews return to King’s Landing his moods become trickier for her to predict. It seems impossible for her not to anger him, and his words are poison to her fragile heart. Yet it always devolves into him assuring her he did not mean it as he fucks her into the mattress, healing every spiteful barb with impassioned touches.

Shortly after King Viserys dies, Aegon is crowned, and everything changes for the worse. His succession is challenged by Viserys’ eldest child, Rhaenyra, and steps must be put into place to secure Aegon’s reign. Aemond is a useful pawn in that process, and his grandsire, Otto, wastes no time in arranging a visit for him to Storm’s End in order to choose which of Lord Borros Baratheon’s daughters he wishes to marry.

Aemond is so matter of fact as he explains this to her, but she feels as though she reacts enough for both of them, struggling to breath as a free falling sensation in the pit of her stomach sends waves of nausea rippling through her.

She knows she is fighting a losing battle before she even opens her mouth to speak, yet she cannot help herself. She is a moth and Aemond is her flame, ever bright and eternal, the very center around which her entire world revolves. Nothing has ever seemed so final though, what pieces will there be to pick up and place back together once he is someone else’s husband?

Standing before him, she juts out her chin defiantly, willing herself not to cry in spite of the lump in her throat and the insistent stinging around the rims of her eyes. “You’re really going to go through with this?”

He sets his jaw, sighing, a visible dismissal of her feelings that makes her ache and wish she had the courage to simply walk away from him. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“What will become of me, of us?” She asks, her voice raising an octave, threatening to crack.

“That is inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. My brother’s succession takes precedence over everything. Marrying one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters helps strengthen his claim to the throne. Listening to your heedless fretting does not.”

She feels heat rise to her cheeks, swallowing back her anguish, attempting to sound fiercer than she feels. “Perhaps I shall decide to marry too then.”

Aemond’s scoff is so subtle it’s almost imperceptible. “Who would marry you? Your virtue is mine, always has been. You’re fortunate I still desire you.”

His tone of voice is so practical, only the slightest hint of irritation giving it an edge. He may as well be addressing a chambermaid who has not made his bed to his liking. She longs to grab him, shake him, beg him to give her any sort of indication that this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting her, because to think that he’d let her go so easily, after all these years, is more than she can stand.

Instead she says nothing, simply watches as he turns to leave, counting down the moments until he returns to her, his words sweet once more and eager to heal the rift between them, just like he always does. She craves the storm and the calm in equal measure, but they are always on Aemond’s terms, never hers.

Three nights later she awakens to him standing at the foot of her bed, dripping wet, eye filled with fear. She takes him into the sheets, fingers carding through his damp hair as he ruts his misery inside of her.

“It was an accident,” He whispers to her tearfully afterwards. “I only meant to scare Lucerys.”

She soothes him to sleep, knowing she ought to feel repulsed by what Aemond has done, but is overwhelmed by the relief of him being just hers once more.

Confusion addles her thoughts the next day when she overhears Aemond tell Otto that he had meant to kill his nephew.

When she asks him about it in private he grips the tops of her arms with such force that she yelps from the pain of it, his face almost murderous with rage as he stares at her. “If you ever utter those words again, I will have your tongue cut out.”

Aemond’s temper has always been fierce, a trait of his that she is forever wary of, however, until now she has never felt afraid of him. At this very moment, Aemond frightens her. He has the capacity to cause her harm, and does not seem to care if he does.

Later he presses featherlight kisses to each of the vivid purple bruises that mark her upper arms. Though he appears remorseful, he does not offer an apology or even an utterance of “I did not mean it.”

“You must not anger me like that again,” He tells her instead.

She simply nods, dread boring a void into the pit of her stomach.

As the war escalates, resulting in the death of Aegon and Helaena’s son, Jaehaerys, and the grievous injury of Aegon, Aemond takes up the mantle of Prince Regent. While Aemond bears the burden of the additional responsibility, she bears the onslaught of his frustrations, becoming a vessel into which he pours his every grievance. The adoration he showers her with after each display of cruelty becomes infrequent to the point that she feels as though she is a hound begging for scraps. Eventually she learns to accept his ire, reasoning he would simply cast her aside and ignore her if he did not care for her.

She is delighted when Aemond insists upon bringing her along to his march upon Harrenhal. She allows herself to believe that his desire to have her at his side is because he is committed to her, that perhaps this means he intends to marry her once the war is over. A voice in the back of her mind reasons it is most likely because he enjoys the control he asserts over her, but she does her best to ignore it.

Jealousy swirls sharply in her gut when she sees the only person that Aemond has spared in his seizing of the castle - a witch named Alys Rivers, a raven haired beauty who he informs her will be of great use to him in helping him to defeat his Uncle Daemon. She swallows down her doubts, attempting to reassure herself that she has nothing to worry about, Aemond has never strayed from her before, why would he now?

She curses herself for ignoring her suspicions when she catches him between the witch’s thighs. She expects herself to grieve, to scream, to cry, to shatter to pieces at his infidelity, but instead a sense of clarity washes over her. For the first time in a decade she wishes to leave Aemond.

No longer does she crave his approval, or long to make amends, a veil has been lifted and finally she sees him for the selfish, spoiled and callous hearted man he truly is. He will never love her, not as she deserves, and she is making a fool of herself to stay by his side while he is openly disrespectful of her and her feelings.

His eye darkens with familiar ill intent when she informs him of her plan to return home.

“Do not be so foolish,” He says condescendingly. “You are behaving irrationally over a minor indiscretion.”

She shakes her head. “I believe this is the first time since I’ve known you that I’ve behaved with any sense at all. I am leaving.”

“Ñuhon iksā,” He tells her. His tone carries none of the soft, loving intent it usually does when he utters this statement, now it is dark and threatening. You are mine.

“Dōre iksan,” She replies simply. I am not.

“You cannot exist without me,” He says with a scowl.

“Watch me,” She counters.

It is not until a few days later, once she has returned home to her family, that the full weight of Aemond’s words begin to sink in. As the wings of Vhagar darken the skies above the Riverlands, she realises that he does not mean he thinks she can’t exist without him, it is that he will not allow her to.

She watches in tense horror as the fiery blaze engulfs her homeland, acrid smoke drawing ever nearer as Aemond’s dragon immolates houses, farmland and forests alike. If he were a better man he’d simply have let her go. Unfortunately for her, nothing in a dragon’s clutches escapes without getting burned.

Read on AO3

More Aemond fics

[bookishjules]

there's a specific paragraph in wottg that's been haunting me since i read it. and i can't keep putting off addressing it in fear of not having the right words to do so, so here we go..

from the lines highlighted in blue and yellow here, two very different stories seem to be being told.

on the one hand, in blue, we have percabeth as we have always known them--in sync. a well-oiled machine of a team that functions better together, drawing from each other's strengths and treating each other as equals. this is how their relationship is supposed to function. we know this from books full of moments when we got to see the development of their relationship, relying on and understanding each other more and more as the years pass by.

in theory, the yellow should support the claim of synchronicity the blue makes (and rightly so according to past books), and ostensibly that seems to be the case. percy as the narrator is just making a silly aside before realizing it doesn't work and shifting back to his original statement, right? but there's an implication here that within the team, the focus is annabeth. she's the only one who belongs there and there's no room for a p or a j or any amount of percy at all.

this doesn't line up with the blue statements at all, because in order for annabeth to be the more important member of the team, the two of them can't be equals, which throws off the balance, disallows synchronicity, and makes collaboration difficult at best. could you say, in a vacuum, that the intention here was what mattered and that the truth lies in that which we, the audience, have known to be true for years? yes, certainly. but the thing is, this paragraph does not exist in a vacuum, and in fact, of the two competing stories, i'm far more inclined to point to the yellow as a better representation of the book surrounding it and the representation of the unit that is percy and annabeth therein.

over and again in wottg we see the uncharacteristic, and pretty much unprecedented, imbalance in their team. from the narration, it's clear that percy holds himself at a lower standing than annabeth, but it's also clear from the story as a whole that annabeth is similarly inclined. percy not only believes he can't do as much as previous books told us he could, but his actions seem to prove that lack of maturity. he relies on annabeth more than he ever has, and not in a cute way. he looks to annabeth to solve all his problems because he doesn't trust himself, and annabeth is doing nothing to show him he should. she's surprised when he has good ideas, surprised when he comforts her, surprised when he does or says anything competent. and percy expects it. it's clear he's pretty much given up trying to solve problems etc., because even when he does manage to accomplish something without annabeth, she tells him he did it wrong or makes fun of him (and again, not in a cute way).

there are so many conversations that could be had here regarding blatant shifts in characterization that have little to do with trauma or codependency, but what i really want to point out is how this book, and the author who wrote it, really doesn't seem to understand or properly represent just how big of an effect these changes in the characters seem to be having on their relationship with one another. if a layman were to read wottg, i can't imagine they could read this paragraph and believe the lines in blue. because it's simply not true for this iteration of percy and annabeth.

just as it can be understood how well percy and annabeth worked together by being shown how much they respected and trusted one another throughout pjo, it must also be understood that the dramatic imbalance in authority and intelligence being shown in wottg hold a similar weight of truth, no matter what the narrative otherwise states, or how insistent it is in telling us that nothing has changed in percy and annabeth's relationship. just because the author wants it to be true, and wants his reader to believe what they are being told, does not erase the very real actions of the character throughout the book.

[whateverisbeautiful]

There was so much joy in Richonne’s reunion an TOWL did a great job showing the interplay of complex trauma and fear. What do you think will be the biggest challenges or adjustments for Rick, Michonne and their children now that they are reunited?

Great question! I gave it some thought for each of the family members and this is what I can see being their notable challenges and adjustments ⬇️💗:

Rick:

There are a few things I can see Rick wrestling with and having to navigate now that he’s home. One that first comes to mind is that Rick will probably be dealing with the challenge of seeing how close his kids feel to other adults who actually got to witness them grow up. I can envision exchanges Rick has with people in the group where they might want to tell him stories about RJ and Judith when they were younger and I can see those stories making Rick really smile while also making his heart break that he wasn’t there.

I feel like it will be this conflicting thing where Rick feels so grateful to people like King Ezekiel, Jerry, and Daryl (once they’re reunited) for looking out for his kids, while also knowing it stings that RJ and Judith know these men better than they know him and maybe even have more of a natural inclination to turn to these men as trusted figures at first.

Like if King Ezekiel was their guardian for however long between the TWD series finale and TOWL, I can see there being moments in the beginning of the Grimes being reunited where maybe RJ innocently thinks to seek out the king’s help before Rick's.

The good thing is I think it won’t take long before RJ and Judith develop a trusted tight bond with Rick to where they feel not just equally but more comfortable with their dad than they do with the other adults who helped take care of them while Richonne was away. And one of the many golden qualities of both Rick and Michonne is they both are good at doing something productive with their feelings. And so Rick wouldn't sulk over the time he missed, he'd make a real effort to learn all he could about his children both from RJ and Judith themselves and the people who know them so that he can be the best dad he can be to them and establish a genuine closeness.

Michonne:

I think a challenge for Michonne might be navigating how much her kids have grown and evolved while she was gone and how their interests and maturity have changed. There might be fun things they loved to do together before she set off to find Rick that Judith and RJ feel too old for now. At their ages, kids change so much in a year so I can see it being tough to know her babies did a lot of growing up in her absence.

After being away from them, I’m sure she’ll want to spend as much time as possible with them and fortunately, Rick and Michonne made it back at a time when RJ and Judith weren’t yet in that teen phase where being around your parents is “lame.�� They’ll get to have that valuable family time and make childhood memories with the kids, but it'll be an adjustment to see the kids only become more and more independent. Michonne was really good at knowing how to talk to Carl when he was a tween/teen and prepping Judith and RJ for the real world while maintaining their childhood, so I think she’ll navigate RJ and Judith getting older well, while also forever viewing them as her babies.

I always got the sense that Michonne really does see RJ as her little baby no matter how big he gets, and I feel like that’s an area where Rick will be helpful because I feel like he’ll help guide through RJ’s evolution from a little boy to a man. Even tho of course RJ has time cuz he's not even double digits yet. 😊

A big positive adjustment for Michonne - she’ll no longer be raising two kids alone. When it comes to raising the kids, I feel like discipline will be an interesting thing for Rick and Michonne, and the kids to navigate at first because it’s always an important part of raising children but Rick will be so new to the kids and they’ll be so much more familiar with Michonne’s discipline. They’ll have to figure out how Rick fits into that when it comes to discipline, but the way Michonne and Rick are a well-oiled machine in any role, I think they’ll figure it out in the best way and strike a great healthy balance as parents to RJ and Judith. 

Judith & RJ:

For the kids, I think the biggest adjustment will of course be having their father actively in their lives and navigating what the family dynamic is now that they’re being raised by two parents. (At the start, Judith and RJ will also probably have to get used to Rick staring at them in awe at times. 😋) I think similar to what I touched on about Rick, they’ll have to adjust to having Rick as the go-to male figure in their lives.

Also, something new they’ll be getting used to is their mom being not only a mother but a wife. I think that’ll be a good adjustment tho. I think they’ll really love getting to see their mom happy and cared for by their dad.

As Judith and RJ get older over the years, who they become and how they’re similar and different from their parents would be interesting to see. In my mind, RJ becomes especially similar to Rick, and Judith becomes especially similar to Michonne. And then I’m really curious what that transition from minor to adult is like in that world. Like I don’t know much about the Commonwealth and if they have things like college but when Judith arrives at those college ages I wonder if she’ll want to move out or at least experience something away from home.

I can see both Judith and her parents wanting as much time together as possible after being apart for so long, but whenever that time comes to leave the nest I’d be curious how they all navigate that. I think it would be so special for Rick and Michonne to see their kids grow into well-adjusted happy thriving adults, especially after Carl and Andre's childhoods were cut short. And above all, I think the Grimes will definitely be a family that stays close-knit no matter where life takes them going forward. 👌🏽😊

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 6, Mouse Trapped

Now it's Mouse's turn in the hot seat after she is captured by Kortac. But, what if getting away is actually the worst thing that could happen?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care, misogynistic comments

AN: Hello everyone! Wow, life has been a straight up doozy. Unfortunately, I ended up having to leave where I was because it was not safe and my whole life went on pause for a good 8 months while I was at my previous place. I just wanted to let everyone know how much this community means to me. At my absolute worst, believing I deserved the ways in which I was being hurt, I would look at all the lovely things people have said about my writing. I just wanted to take a moment to say, no one should be hit by a partner under any circumstance. If they tell you it was an accident, it was not if it happens multiple times, especially not if it happens repeatedly in the same way. It's hard to see when you're in it, but I promise you deserve better. No one should have to face public humiliation for how they dress from a partner. No one should be told that their trauma is inconvenient by a partner. If your partner ever says "I do not respect you, I don't even like you," please do not stay to try and make it work. Nothing you do can be enough for those people, but every single one of you liking/sharing/commenting/enjoying this story has shown me that I am enough. I am now safe, in my own apartment, free from that experience. And I want you to know, you all gave me an incredible amount of strength in ways I will never be able to repay you, so I may as well just update the damn story! But enough about me, lets get back to it! This chapter has been in editing for a literal year (whoops!). I hope the length, the angst, and the next two chapters make up for it!

Prev | Pt. 6, Mouse Trapped | 5.1k words | Next

The heavy footfalls echoing closer to her position in the compound throb in time with the blood pooling in Mouse’s wrists bound above her head. She hears them approaching with a certain determination that she’s sure unlike the dozens of other sets, these are determined to reach her. It’s only been three hours inside this dark-lit room in a KorTac black site. Her stakeouts are, at minimum, twice as long. Even so, her contorting muscles ache as she awaits her interrogator with bated breath and low hopes.

She’s gotten out of a lot of things over the years, getting into even more than she can remember. Everyone’s luck runs out, she won’t hold her breath this time. The footsteps stalk ever closer, and every nerve in her body alights in pure prey instinct. She wants to gnaw and chew and bite and scratch at whatever comes through that door, she wants to run or crawl or flee with every fiber of her being. She takes a desperate shuddering breath in and an equally labored breath out as the thundering steps stop somewhere behind her.

She must seem unaffected. Unfrightened. Uncaring. If she has any hope of getting one over on her captor. She will not even entertain the thought that she will get tortured.

The door behind her opens after a series of three, heavy, multi-spring locks, are undone. She can pick them later with the multitool she’s kept on her person, strapped on a hidden thigh garter beneath her pants. Each key has 7 pins, 21 pins total. She can crack one in 15 seconds if she’s smart about it. Locks will take under a minute total, adding that to the 23 seconds that it will take to undo her gear to get to the pick it-

The figure behind her does not move to get closer to her. Instead, it looms ominously behind her. The air in the room gains an otherworldly oppressiveness like the devil himself has just frozen her to her spot in the ninth layer of hell. Suddenly, she feels arctic cold as the locks all slide back into their places.

Trapped. She thinks, chewing at the inside of her lip.

The hulking mass behind her only takes one full step, and its back is now nearly flush with hers. Its head is somewhere much higher than her own. She feels the warmth of another person and she has to fight her animal instincts to get closer to it and beg for salvation. 

The figure takes an inordinate amount of time inspecting her holdings, crouching, craning, but never touching, around her confines. She studies the black wall in front of her with serious intent to remain composed. Its uniform smells distinctly of over-sanitation masking any human scent- likely the wearer so often got into bloodbaths that repeated cleanings have made the thing over-saturated with bleach. 

She lets out a stutter of breath when one massive hand reaches down to her shoulder. Despite her clothing and the tac gloves, the touch burns and she wants more.

“Guten abend. Wie get est ihnen?” König asks softly.

Only fucking König would ask how a captured prisoner was doing like he was asking his dinner date how her day was. 

I’m doing fucking shit, thanks for asking, King. She thinks.

He gets closer, bending down and nearly resting his chin on the opposing shoulder to where his hand dwarfs her entire shoulder blade. He is so close if she were to turn her head, she could nuzzle into the soft fabric of the hood that covers his face and spills onto her form. He is so close, that she can smell the remains of a cherry-flavored cigarette on his breath hidden behind the freshness of stringent aftershave and tea-tree hair oil above the nauseating smell of bleach from his uniform. He is so close she could bite his fingers and taste some of his blo-

“I asked you how you were doing, Maus.” He whispers her name with a false sweetness that makes her stomach flip. She steadies her traitorous heart with a fake huff.

“Hmm,” She hums, tossing her head playfully to the side where his hand is. Her cheek nearly rests on the course fabric of its covering. “I’d be doin’ much better not tied to the goddamn ceiling.”

She expects a sharp backhand for that one, or at the very least an amused refusal. To her infinite surprise, neither happens. The giant devil on her shoulder lets out a gentle chuckle and retracts his body, but not after a gentle squeeze to the sore muscles between her neck and arm.

“But of course, Fürstin.” He says, voice sweet as honey and laced with a smile she can taste behind the hood. She feels a massive hand tenderly embrace itself around her right wrist and she hears the hollow cla-chck of a knife being unsheathed. She stops studying the wall just in time to catch the glint of a knife cutting the paracord used to affix her to the metal hook above her head. He brings the 3 odd feet of now limp rope, along with her hand, to her left hand, but before he does anything “Lean back a little,” he says, and she does. She stops leaning back when her ass hits his thigh and she shudders with just how desperately fucked she is. He ties her right wrist to her still-hanging left wrist, both now not entirely above her head.

He tugs on his handiwork, and seemingly satisfied, he reaches down to put his arm without the knife in the crook behind her knees. He stills experimentally, anticipation practically dripping from his now motionless fingers. “Are you going to be a good girl?” He purrs, holding the knife tantalizingly close to the rope from which she is still hanging. She lets out an indignant puff of air.

“Only one way to find out, my majesty…” She purrs back.

She can feel his diaphragm rumble with a jovial ‘Mhmm’ that fades into a satisfied laugh in response. 

In one fluid motion, he cuts the remaining chord and she falls into his waiting arm. With the same grace she so admires on the battlefield, he swoops her into his arms in a bridal carry. She gasps tucked into his warm body. Yet again, his body shakes when he laughs at her little outburst. Her face flushes and once again as he gets onto his knees and gently deposits her onto the ground. 

The cold concrete of the floor digs through her tac pants as she sits sideways, König sits cross-legged in front of her. Her tied wrists lay in front of her body. She tries to catch her breath. He looks at her with some emotion she’s never seen in his eyes before, pupils dilated leaving only a thin, icy ring clinging to the bloodshot white. In the dimly lit room, she fails to catch her breath. 

He sighs looking at her hands. He puts his own up, palms to her as though promising a frightened prey animal he means no harm before he can pluck it from its trap. 

Without a word, he takes her bound hands in his and gently rubs at the purple flesh. 

And like a fool who believes in God, she unfurls her fisted hands into open palms facing the stars she cannot see as if in prayer. She doubts God could hear, or care for, her prayers in this futile box of a room with eyes on her the color of God, or at least a cloudless December sky.

If she’s praying by opening a vulnerability to him, it seems König prays back, the way he cradles her hands like he’s sculpting her out of clay. She’s infinitely thankful for his combat gloves in this intimate moment, full-on contact would be all too much to bear in this awful circumstance. His eyes smile as he regards their hands, a satisfied rumble somewhere in the front of his chest as the normal color returns to her flesh. 

“You need to be more careful, mein mauschen.” He says, looking at her like a prince looks at the portrait of a long-kidnapped princess. He regards her with the same care as a boy, growing up in a castle, deciding the portrait of a local maid girl, long locked up in a tower, will one day be his bride. His tone is whistful and tacitly anxious. Despite this, the implication of a smile does not leave his paradoxically fire-hot ice-blue eyes. 

She is more than capable as a soldier, as a tactician, as a sniper. She has gotten into and out of traps just like this one before, and really, when Gromsko needed cover to patch Reyes up in the field, she didn’t really think about going to help. Out of her depth, she still ran at the chance to abandon her post in the hopes of helping others, a decision that had her snatched and thrown into this little box with the thing she both runs from and to in equal measure. 

If it were anyone else, she would yell and spit and cuss about how she can do it. She’s done it on her own. She’s a sniper for Christ’s sake! She’s supposed to do it on her own, she doesn’t need any pity cover. She’s capable. She doesn’t need some surly giant telling her what to do. 

“I’m sorry.” Is what Mouse says. 

Because it’s not anyone else. 

It’s König.

König, who has risked his life to save hers more times than she can count. König who tells her awful jokes in the dead of her shift to cheer her up. König who prays in the shape of her callsign gauged into soft birch wood. König who has never once doubted her abilities as a tactician and a sniper or talked down to her for it. König who keeps her company from far away and promises to always come back. 

König who looks at her like she is worth the world, König who treats her like a princess more than an enemy soldier. 

König, who she’s set free from this exact position before. König, who may just be her knight in shining armor. König, whose hands have yet to leave her wrists in his quiet supplication, fingers whispering apologies for what others have done. 

“Nein.” He tuts, voice soft and reverent, hands now retreating from hers. “I am sorry,” he confidently, if quietly, declares, eyes still affixed to her battered flesh like his stare could undo any damage done. “I should not have let them capture you. It is my fault.”

He’s not her keeper. He’s not her knight in shining armor. Hell, he’s not even her fucking comrade, he’s on the other side of this pointless war and he’s got the nerve to apologize and take blame for her situation? She wants to rip the words out of his mouth, angry and sorrowful all at once that he’s taken any responsibility for her well-being. 

Instead of the things she wants to shout at him, she stays quiet. She knows better than to correct her captor, all too aware of the distinct power dynamic in the little interrogation room she’s in. This is still war. He is still her captor. There is nothing to be done here. 

She sighs. 

“Don’t do anything stupid on my behalf.” She whispers, a sad smile tugging at the corner of her lips, like a trapped animal begging a child not to get attached in case the glue is too strong. After everything, she’s gotten quite the soft spot for the man, she would hate to get his hands messy while trying to free her. (Despite the fact that he’s done so, many times before.) 

He chuckles, eyes everywhere but hers. He’s begun to rap-tappa-tap at his thighs with his fingers, a tell she’s come to notice is his way of thinking while anxious. 

“It is too late for that.” Their eyes meet and at once she understands. 

Because I know you’d do the same for me, her own words echo in her head. She swallows building trepidation rising in her chest like the tide. Just how is he planning on keeping true to such a promise? 

“This is quite the mood shift from the last time we saw each other,” she gives a pitiful little giggle to him. At once his eyes alight with some sort of silent battle, a war of wills is waged in an instant. Ice-cold-fever-hot eyes narrow menacingly at her. 

“I hate seeing you trapped.” He says, and her heart, whatever doesn’t reside in his chest already, lodges itself thick and pulsing in her throat. Mouse blinks away confused tears, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeved shoulders. 

She has nothing to say to that. She thinks about the tears she cried in the shower when she realized his mark in her was fading. She thinks about warming her cold fingers pressed into her thighs all night, imagining instead he was warming her hands. She thinks about his teeth proudly displayed on her neck. She thinks about his hands holding her down. She thinks about the solid expanse of his chest as he promises her the world. She counts every joke he’s ever told her like the faithful count prayer beads. She clings to this idea of him like fog clings to a mountainside, ever-present and yet intangible. 

She throws these ideas deep buried into her subconscious, trying desperately to call any sense to mind. Fear settles back into the forefront of her mind, confusion taking a backseat. She worries about how to get out of here- without König getting harmed. 

“What’s the plan?” She whispers. 

“What? Not going to talk me out of it?” He laughs voice thick with sad irony. 

“I’m not looking a gift- soldier? In the mouth.” She sighs. 

He looks thoughtfully down at her hands and wrists that he’s still holding. He pulls in a rough breath and it hisses out through his teeth. 

“You’re in luck. It’s a shift change. It’ll be…” he lets go of her hands and fully stands. He peers down at her through tragically thick, romantic lashes, he’s very nearly almost charming the way he regards her from on high. Almost being the key term as his stare turns cold and he squints down at her. “Messy.” He settles on. “If you’re coming, don’t delay now.” He holds out a hand to help her up. 

And what choice does she really have? Stuck in this room, always minutes away from death, with only one plan of even halfway reasonable escape- she takes his hand. 

And they dash.

This is not a thought-out affair like Mouse’s rescue of Konig had been. This is quick, it’s sloppy, and it’s not really romantic. He’s tugging hard on her arm doing his best to make her keep his pace as they dash through empty hallways- occasionally taking an unorthodox passageway to, maybe?, avoid camera surveillance. Konig doesn’t say anything as they twist and turn through the labyrinth, he just picks her up or seizes her shoulders if he wants her to stop. To his credit, it works, and ice-cold adrenaline runs through her spine every time he grabs her with enough force to hurt her if he just wanted to. 

But he doesn’t, doesn’t hurt her, doesn’t get sloppy so they get caught, doesn’t do a damned thing except run with her hand in his through the dim hallways, lit exclusively with blood red signs denoting “EXIT”, “ARMORY”, “M-D BA-“ (apparently KorTac does not give enough of a shit about the med bay sign to have it replaced), and anything else worthy of note- which is to say just about jack and shit, respectively. 

What feels like miles of corridors passes her in quiet seconds- flashes of what her mind could construe as pictures and memories whirl by, her only true anchor to know where she’s been and where she will be in the direction that Konig pulls her through the labrynth. 

He breathes as heavy as an ox when they come to a hallway cut-out in front of a little station where a lone man plays solitaire on the table. He casually picks at his teeth with a knife as he thumbs through his discard pile, nonchalant to the peril he will certainly be in should Konig decide to take exception with the man. 

Konig pushes Mouse’s shoulders down so that she’s kneeling, and her bones hit the floor with a heavy clack. Konig shouts “Was is das?” as he yanks her up roughly. The man at the table discards his cards and rushes up, coincidentally leaving his knife on the table. 

Betrayed? He’s fucking betraying me? Mouse’s mind races as she tries to think of a single reason Konig would abandon her in the hands of another man, one that sees her as a prisoner no less, and she has half the mind to bite his dick off where she stands in incensed anger. She’s too dumbstruck to even attempt a fight when Konig takes the rope she’d 

“Lieutenant. I caught this one escaping.” Konig states sternly to the man who comes over to check the now kneeling Mouse. 

The unnamed man looks her over, the arms of a behemoth holding her down, and he graces her with a sardonic grin. 

Prey,

Prey,

Prey, 

I am prey. 

“Oh, so it’s this one… If I remember correctly,” the man says, laughing over her trembling form, “she’s quite the war prize.” König’s grip on her shoulders, holding her prone on the cold concrete, tightens just a little.

“She got out of her confines, I’m moving her.” He says with all the authority of a man given the mandate of heaven.

“Say, Colonel,” the man speaks, and Mouse only registers for half a second that is König’s rank before she meets his gaze. Only his eyes are visible from his plain baklava. They look hungry, but not quite the same way König’s ice-cold eyes receive her image. He looks at her like he’s planning on taking one bite. König’s breath stutters as the man comes closer and attempts to touch her face. König yanks her up before he gets the chance, hands pinned behind her back. 

“Could I convince you to give me, oh say, I don’t know… half an hour with her? I can’t imagine the ransom or intel would be worth any more than her cu-”

Mouse promptly headbutts the man square in the nose, and blood sprays on the nearest wall as she fights out of König’s grip to get a better chance at knocking the man unconscious. He reaches for a throwing knife somewhere in his pocket and he brandishes the blade towards her face and she almost entirely dodges the quick glint of silver aimed at her neck. She feels a shallow cut on her cheek but she doesn’t stop thrashing. He sputters with rage and tries to say something but only frothed red liquid comes out of his mouth. König laughs mercilessly, still restraining her fighting against his grip, kicking and screaming in barbaric rage at the audacity of this man. Without missing a beat, König grabs the man’s hand with the wildly swinging knife and she hears the acrid cra-ckkk of bone splintering in flesh. He screams in pain and his eyes well with tears streaming down his bloodied mouth.

“She bites.” Is all König says before he plunges the man’s knife between his ribs. He drops the knife and grabs her hand, fingers sticky and intertwined. He looks at her with the most romantic sincerity imaginable, cold eyes smiling after just having killed a man over her honor. 

The blood everywhere is almost killing the mood.

The key word is almost and suddenly Mouse is thankful that König’s strides are twice the length of hers because she doesn’t have time to consider the way his thumb gently strokes her hand. The way he was all too happy to kill a man for even considering hurting her. The way his frigid stare thaws for a moment when he looks back at her, suddenly warm like a sunny afternoon in May, enveloping her body like a soft bed of straw, safely tucked away in someone’s barn.

They escape through some back exit and he holds her up by the hips as she scrambles over the chainlink fence with all the skill of a veteran climber. Before she can chastise him for what is obviously a bit more of an amorous touch than is necessary, she hears gunfire behind her as her feet hit the ground on the other side of the fence. Three shots, then one from König, and silence. 

He scales the wall and hits the ground with a slight grunt. She can’t hear what he says, the ringing in her ears (whether from the gunshots or his close presence) obscures it, but she gets the memo as he grabs her hand again. They run for what feels like another 2 miles through as the world alights around them. The leaves on the forest floor go from grey to beautiful shades of thousands of different coffees, all with differing amounts of milk to the taste of their owners. The evergreen trees gradually grow greener and greener with every passing moment.

She hears a little twig crack and she stops dead in her tracks. König stops, too. 

The coo of a solitary mourning dove sounds. The creature looks at the two starcrossed escapees with an odd knowing before it takes off from the ground, leaves scattering behind its tailwind.

And suddenly, the world takes its first breath in pale, premorning light.

And it’s quiet.

“We’re even, now.” She says, standing in the forest outside of the base. She breathes in the smell of rotting leaves and blood and gunpowder with more thanks than she ever has in her life. 

König doesn’t respond. In the morning sunlight, he studies her with a renewed vigor. His worried gaze settles on a bleeding cut on her cheek, the one dripping into her mouth ever so slightly. She licks at the blood idly, his eyes widen and he looks away hurriedly. 

He gives an anxious sigh and a curt soldier’s nod. 

She watches him with her own newfound sense of dismay as he rifles around his pockets for something. 

She stops breathing.

Her heart slides clean out of her chest when he presents the minuscule thing in his massive hand. He holds his- no, her- whetstone to her, in a flat palm facing upwards. 

Her breath does not return to her lungs even when her eyes prickle with tears. 

Is he saying goodbye?

What little she can see of König’s face furrows more desperately as she stares down at the offending gift like it was a decapitated rat that the cat brought in. 

“It’s yours.” Is the explanation he lands on after an eternity of silence. The sun is rising, nothing is certain, they cannot be using whatever fleeting seconds they have wasted on goodbyes. He must know this, he stares at her nearly ready to get on his knees and beg her- for what? She doesn’t know. She thought he would beg for her but the key to that hope died in the shape of that little pouch that holds her soul in it. 

“No. It’s yours.” No, I’m yours. Her weak voice wavers, like a leaf fluttering about until it inevitably hits the ground. 

She doesn’t give him the time to think out whatever stupid thing he wants to for allowing her to get hurt as she launches herself around his shoulders. 

König nearly stumbles backward as her arms wrap around his neck. On instinct, he grabs at her sides to hold her up in the air and prevent them from crashing back into the earth. Even if he weren’t, she’s sure she’d feel like she was floating, locked in a warm embrace like a scar holds the memory of a cut. 

She loves him more than she can stand, and as ever cruel and ever-giving Fortune would have it, he is more than happy to hold her up. She clings to him as she clings to the trees she climbs for her vantage points. In the rising sky, she remembers the ravine. She wants to forever be caught in his eyes but not his arms, because she does not know how she will ever be warm again without his embrace. She wants to scream and hit him and cut his chest open instead of pulling away, she wants to enact violence on his person for daring to make her love him, for his audacity in caring for her, for his everything. It would be so much easier if he didn’t care if one of them died if she didn’t have to think about what came next. 

She shakes with fury. 

She is so sick of following orders. Of listening to men telling her what to do. Of re-tracing the line between duty and desire. Of contextualizing and rationalizing everything she does on the axis of “me” and “my orders” 

But most of all, she’s miserable that she can’t break out of her battle line no matter how hard she tries. She wants König to just tell her to stay, to give her the order so she doesn’t have to decide if she wants it, and all the implication of what that means for her fucked up obsession with him. She wants the easy out, she doesn’t want the blame. She wants him to figure it out. She wants him to tell her to stay. 

He says nothing, he just breathes deeply, like she is air and like she matters to keep tethered to him. Like there’s anything worthy in her. Like she’s important. It only makes her angrier to think he’s so gentle when she wants to tear through his flesh and climb inside his rib cage instead of being forced to say goodbye. 

She gives one last shuddering breath before she unwinds her sore hands from the anchor of his strong shoulders. 

“You’ve saved me,” she whispers, wrenching her way out of his equally mournful grasp. He shudders, holding her tighter. 

“No, you’ve saved me,” he whispers back into her ear. She doesn’t know what that means but she figures she doesn’t want to know when his massive hand finds the weak spot between her neck and shoulder and starts soothing little circles into it. She thrashes violently against the little spell he scries into her skin. She wants to stay. She wants to go. She wants him. She wants to be wanted by him. She doesn’t know what to do with a heart full of foreign wants and no direct orders to follow, so she thrashes out of his grip with all the ferocity of a mouse about to snap its neck getting out of a trap. 

After a moment more of thrashing, he drops her to the ground. 

Her fingers linger in his as she untwists her body from his, dancing away in the dying leaves. Their hands are connected even after the embrace. His warmth haunts her the same way the cold side of the bed haunts a widow, his eyes sting the same way a rusty cut does. 

With the last of her willpower, she finally takes herself from him but the look he gives her makes her sure he understands: she could never go anywhere that doesn’t end with him. She gave him the whetstone that sharpened the knife that gave her the scar, and now some part of her will always be a result of his action. The blood loss isn’t helping her scattered thoughts and she’s only reminded of her worn-out physical condition when more blood leaks into her waiting mouth, soft lips parted and waiting for him to say something, anything. 

“Promise you’ll find me?” She asks, soft and fragile, waiting for the world she’s placed on his shoulders to shrug to the ground and shatter into millions of pieces. 

“Always, Mäuschen.” He replies, quiet and reverent, like he doesn’t know how he’s going to make it work, but equally cannot imagine a world in which it doesn’t. 

She runs back to her base in the early morning light, sprinting like a nymph on a war-hunt through the trees, escaping an ill-fated encounter with an undesired suitor. Except it’s quite the opposite, she feels her heart beak with every hollow footstep she makes, unparalleled by his own sprinting after her. 

She runs away, but her heart stays in his pocket, in the shape of a little whetstone. 

She cries the whole way back. When she collapses on her bed after her debrief she imagines his hands messaging hers (and other things…) and his arms pressing her to him like he might fall apart the second he lets go. She thinks about the smell of him- like salty sweat and spruce aftershave and stinging tea tree. She bundles herself into the covers and prays that when she wakes up, she will have wound herself into his embrace and not just some discarded cloth around her body and separating her legs.

Her bed is impossibly big, and she wakes from it all hours of the night, hands not able to reach its edges like they never have before. The sheets are a paradoxical limbo of desperation: simultaneously as cold as a glacier and hotter than a forest fire. She dreams she’s stuck in a burning house until the roof caves from the animated flames and a blizzard pummels her into the wreckage. 

From the nothing, two massive hands grip at her fragile sides and hold her up. She stills in the protective grasp of something the size of a mountain, it whispers the sound of a radio in her ear. She sinks into it and wakes gasping, only to realize she’s been asleep for not even half an hour and the dream repeats when she wrestles whatever fitful rest she can out of the nighttime. Each time she wakes up, tears stream down her cheeks. 

She cries. 

Because she’s not home. She will never be home, not if he’s not there. 

Mouse is free to do anything she pleases. Unbound, untrapped, and unburdened, in theory, nothing hinders her. 

In reality, she’s already dead somewhere in the trap of cold blue eyes, sharp knives, and strong arms.

It does not matter that she has been the one chased. Now there is nowhere he could ever go without the largest part of her carried with him.

Tag list: @kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird

[windstir]

rosemarine is as much of a victim as gilbert is, a more outright one i'd say. the way auguste threatens gilbert (a kid who has been targeted by him and groomed for his entire life) is VERY different to the way he threatens rosemarine (an adult, 18 at the beginning, i'd say around 21 AT MOST by the time kazeki ends. auguste got a proper hold of him at 15, before that he was only odd towards rose)

auguste establishes the power dynamics between those two in very different ways, for instance he uses his "love" towards gilbert as a double edged sword. if he's not "loving" him gilbert perishes and is kept trapped because it makes him crave the toxicity even more. that's why serge's presence was so dangerous, because teaching gilbert safety meant he's properly going to realize "this is wrong, this needs to stop" ... which he already knew, he said it himself ("do you think i let you fuck me because i wanted to? i did it because i didn't have other options") but he doesn't know how to stop it, so he lets it happen and romanticizes the situation, he knows and he knew from day 1 that auguste was a dangerous man, but he clung onto him because he was all he had.

meanwhile, rosemarine gets a more threatening version of this treatment. auguste speaks to him as an equal (almost) when he's not mad, but when he is he yells and lashes out, and threatens to get close, which he knows rosemarine hates (unlike gilbert who is the complete opposite) and uses it against him.

Auguste isn't smart (HELL a lot of people knew about his awful treatment towards gilbert when gilbert was a CHILD, but they never did anything to stop it), he literally just goes through life doing whatever the hell he wants and hurting whoever prevents him from reaching whatever goal he has, he doesn't hide it, he doesn't pretend to be a good person, he doesn't do shit he just goes up to the principal and goes "yeah let gilbert do whatever i'll pay you man", he goes up to rose and goes "don't intervene in the gilbert issue, just make sure he doesn't die or something idk", he kisses gilbert on school grounds, he offers himself as a future husband for angeline (11 by the time she appears again, serge is 14-15)

he does WHATEVER he wants WHEREVER he wants, he doesn't gaf, he's not smart, he isolates gilbert and keeps him in an environment that equally validates his own treatment. usually in stories about child abuse someone (an adult) knows and tries to stop it, sometimes they succeed, sometimes they don't, but in kazeki EVERYONE LETS THINGS HAPPEN. and the cycle continues.

abuse culture thrives in silence (auguste's peers), bystander effect (everyone in laconblade), enablers (rosemarine, the principal) and refusing to break the cycle despite being scared (auguste abuses rose → rose enables gilbert's abuse rather than speaking up against auguste → gilbert assaults carl ... carl doesn't continue this cycle, but indirectly contributes to everything by being a bystandar ... HOWEVER he cannot be 100% blamed since he's a child. he's scared, he blames himself, he doesn't want to tell anyone because of His Own Can Of Worms -which someone else with a more religious background could probably explain better-)

gilbert is at the bottom of the chain, and he has normalized this abusive behavior SO much that he doesn't really see it as something inherently bad. to him, this is another thing people do, he has never known normalcy, so when he assaults carl to "assert dominance" over him and taunts him, he's just repeating the things people did/do to him.

it's kinda like when children exposed to violence in the home (ANY sort of violence, whether it's directed to them -csa, physical abuse, emotional abuse- or indirect -seeing a parent get abused-) play with toys violently and reenact their trauma through play (there's a proper term for this, i currently can't remember, but it's used in play therapy to try and decipher what's up with a child too young to voice their worries and woes!)

anyway uhm

this is just word vomit, sorry.

[tommygrace]

I'll never stop thinking about how Grace deserves better and should have been kept alive. She could have been so interesting but the writers failed her.

Grace is honestly an example of a woman getting fridged.

I noticed that in general, most of the women that are not Tommy's family (Grace, Lizzie, May, etc), their characters mostly revolve around him. There isn't much about their side of the story and their character development.

I get that Tommy is the protagonist and the show takes place in the 1920s, but still.

(Am quite tired right now so this may not make a lot of sense)

Completely agree with you. Grace had a lot of potential, and her story was very interesting. And yes, all the women are only there to show a part of Tommy. When he is in love and happy, when he is toxic and miserable. Even Ada, in the last seasons, didn't even have her own story, a shame, she was another of my favorites.

But also think that, apart from Polly and Ada, Grace is the one who had the most character development, and the only one with her own story. She started out as a traumatized woman, full of hate who wants revenge for her father's death, which is why she is an undercover spy. But upon meeting Tommy, she begins to fall in love with him, and that is when her internal struggle begins, and she begins to open her eyes, realizing that nothing is black or white, the police are not as good and the gangs are not as bad.

She falls in love with the vulnerable part of Tommy, she is not attracted to the bad boy like May, or the powerful and rich one like Lizzie. What attracts her is his soft side, and they have a connection through their traumas. When she decides which side she is going to choose, is when she saves Tommy, and then makes a deal with her boss, to save Tommy and his family, but is betrayed by her own boss. She says that her hatred and desire for revenge is no longer there. She tells Tommy to start a life together somewhere else.

S2 is a woman, who has already overcome her trauma, but her life is still tragic, being married to a man she does not love, and wants to be with another man but in the end, making mistakes yes, like every human being, she decides to fight for what she wants, a life with the love of her life and her baby.

Already in S3, we see a happy and in love woman, living the life she always wanted, with the love of her life and her son. We see her more relaxed, happy, joking more often until her life ends in a tragic way. But she had much more development than all the other women combined.

Because Grace grew, evolved, made mistakes but she tried to correct them and do the right thing. And she never blames others for her mistakes.

May can't be said much, because she wasn't even a character, but rather was created to add more drama to Tommy and Grace's story.

But I think that the writer failed Lizzie a lot, since she did not evolve or grow, she did not have much character development. She only evolved economically, in status, prostitute-secretary-wife of a politician but she remained the same since S1, she made many mistakes and always blamed others. She never took responsibility for her own decisions. And in the end, she was able to get out of that toxic relationship, but always blaming Tommy, when she is also equally guilty that the marriage didn't work out.

[mimymomo]

It’s truly astounding how the people belittling Fearne’s feelings and growth the most are Fearne fans themselves.

Fearne/Ashley made it explicitly clear that she didn’t want the shard. She stated that it multiple times and went even further to explain that it scared her and TOLD ASHTON that she believed they should take it. They willingly went along with Ashton’s plan because she believed it was the right thing to do but as time went on, she grew more and more concerned but still believed in Ashton who kept telling her it it would be okay, downplayed the consequences (saying his death would be a funny story to tell and that’s all as if them dying wouldn’t be horrible and affect Fearne/the others because they genuinely can’t believe that his life is worth that pain) and said that she promised him.

Fearne said multiple times that Ashton didn’t manipulate her. Ashton wasn’t hiding their intentions from her — he told her the plan, they knew (some of) the risks and Fearne said she went along with it because she thought it was the right move. You’d think Ashton had a gun to her head by the way the fandom is talking about the whole thing!

Yes Ashton was pushing and they never should have kept Fearne from telling the group the truth but she made her choice and it was a bad one out of love and care (and no Ashton did not manipulate her feelings/attraction to them to convince her: Ashton did not and still does not know the full extent of what Fearne felt towards them and when he kissed her, she had already agreed to the ritual and the kiss only made her really second guess).

Now am I saying that she’s equally culpable as Ashton? NO!

Am I saying she owes Ashton an apology? GOD NO! And thank god Ashton told her she didn’t owe them anything, he put her in such a bad situation and that was 95% on them. THEY FUCKED UP BAD AND DESERVED ALL THE TONGUE LASHINGS THEY GOT!

But the way the fandom presents the issue is as if Ashton was this maniacal, evil manipulator who preyed on Fearne solely because she was too good to say no instead of viewing the whole situation as it really is: a man who is fucked up asking someone they trust to join in on their stupidity without fully realizing how much danger, trauma and suffering he is going to put her through.

We can acknowledge that Fearne made a mistake by being complicit and used Ashton plans with the shard to justify (run from) her not having to take it due to her own personal beliefs and fears and use that acknowledgment to further show her growth as a person who will never let herself get thrusted back into that position again. That she can’t blindly trust and follow someone’s self destructive path if it’s gonna lead to her being hurt. This is a good thing! Let Fearne learn and grow from this! That’s what the whole Chetney discussion is about: no one’s blaming her, Ashley’s not dodging anything or protecting Taliesin/Ashton — this is Fearne being honest, taking agency, calling out her actions and growing.

Fearne messed up and was complicit in going along with the plan AND she has every right to be upset with Ashton for what they did and she deserved her apology are two statements that can (and should) coexist!

I’m so tired of people vilifying Ashton and making him come off as this terrible and evil individual when that’s not what this was. They aren’t. And then saying that he was throwing a pity party when in reality they’re coming to the realization that his behavior is his own fault and they can’t keep running and blaming others for the actions he takes and then apologizing and taking responsibility and ownership for what happened and saying they want to be better in the future.

The same fandom that worships the ground Percy steps on despite all the bs he put VM through, actually tried to argue that Essek — a character who due to his own hubris stole a priceless and ancient artifact that was essential to his country’s religious identity and nearly started a whole ass war — wasn’t a war criminal because the Geneva Conventions didn’t exist in Exandria (yes this actually happened to me at one point), seems to be unable to handle Ashton without any sort of empathy or understanding. A character who has been mentioned to be broken (physically mentally and emotionally) with crippling self worth issues who needs to be better in not only how they show they care, but in loving and caring for himself.

These past 2 episodes were so good but gosh some of the reactions have been aggravating

(Maybe I would accept people saying Ashton was manipulative more if they weren’t demonizing him in the same breath and acting as if they’re only only questionable bad egg in Bells Hells…)

[cinemaocd]

Clickbait-y article says the thing missing in MATL was Johane Williamson, the voice of a woman closer to Cromwell's age who was his equal in station. The best we get is Lady Shelton, played by Lucy Russel, who while not as old as Saskia Reeves, she is at least in the ballpark as a Gen Xer. Her part in the book is as Cromwell's confidant and they have a flirtation, similar I think to his flirtation with Mary Boleyn, though it is much more pals who stay up half the night drinking and gossiping and causing Rafe Sadler to wonder if they were having sex. The article conveniently leaves this character out, though the author may not have read the books. I think it's too bad that we've had so much flashback and slow mo and padding when we could have had a couple of fire side chats with Lady Shelton.

Nor does the article mention Harriet Walter who plays Lady pole. Harriet Walter has only had one scene so far but it was a doozy. It feels like we just really rushed through the 900+ page novel, especially the back third. I hold out hopes for some childhood memories at least in the final episode, but much of what made me love The Mirror and the Light, was in that back third.

Of course, you can't expect that everyone tuning into the show will have read the books and they may wonder: what happened to what happened to Johane? She died off screen and was never mentioned and that sucks actually. It's a basic failure of the novel tbh because though he and Johane broke up they were still in the same family. They had been close and then they cut themselves off from one another, but that doesn't mean that he wouldn't be impacted by her death. It was a wasted opportunity on Mantel's part for her name to be completely lost forgotten, especially as Cromwell registers Mary Boleyn's marriage and then death in Bring up the Bodies.

Johane is one of my favorite characters in Wolf Hall and the lack of a satisfactory conclusion to Cromwell's relationship with her has always annoyed me which led me to attempt to try to write one in my Wolf Hall AU. This is entirely the failure of Mantel not to include her at all, but it would have been easy. You know Cromwell literally says "everyone I wanted to tell was dead" it would have been easy to think about Johane and what she would say. And such a scene would be easy to adapt because he could have a conversation with Lady Shelton that reminds him of something he said to Johane about "conversations you shouldn't have" and how you could have a quick beat of a flashback to Johane.

There is something that shuts down in Cromwell that just completely walls it off. Not only does Johane's death and complete disappearance from his consciousness and life go unnoticed, you realize that you really never see Cromwell processing emotion unless it's something from the past. And the past he lives in BEFORE Johane. To be honest it's his childhood trauma, that has been missing so far from this season and It's at the heart of his difficulty with his son and why he has never moved past Wolsey and his guilt over the manner in which they parted. I hold out hope that it will be at least touched on in the finale but the window on that is closing fast.

The series has amped up Cromwell's emotions for the dramatization. For example, Cromwell is shown outside the room where Jane is dying, weeping in front of half the court, shouting about how he would have managed her lying in better had he married her when he had the chance. In the book, Cromwell thinks this in the privacy of his study. It makes sense that this Cromwell is more emotional because of the medium. The series had the chance to enhance this by including a conversation about Johane and bringing in more of Lady Shelton and Lady Pole.

I think Mantel made a deliberate choice to center on the younger women in the story. In part because that who was really dominating at court. There is that lovely beat when Cromwell looks at the new ladies being presented to court and says they seem a little too young, but Lady Rochford says they are the same age but he is getting older. There is the sense that he is being past by and he is increasingly unhinged by the little flirtations and situations he's continually thrown into in the novels.

There is a kind of low comedy/high tragedy to Cromwell's love life that is undeniably appealing to the makers of costume dramas. To me though, I'd rather see a focus on his familial relationships and his the re-emergence of his past trauma and how that is a blinding light in the second half of the book that is one of the main reasons for his break-down at a crucial moment politically.

[mybelovedwoo]

Long Journey - Chapter 11: In the Lion's Den

Life hurts a lot, that's just how it is. At least that is what Destiny thought, living a life where living hurts more than dying. But one day everything changes when an unexpected guest appears. What does this long journey hide behind? Will it be worth it to be alive again?

"Sailors tell stories, Pirates make legends!"

ateez pirate au, fluff, angst, smut

??? x named reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: violence, fighting, guns and weaponry, blood injuries, trauma, smut, sa, pa, abuse specific to this chapter: violence, fighting, cannon fight, nudity

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Destiny was led through the dark, narrow corridors of Captain Black's ship, the Iron Reaper. The air was thick with the scent of salt and sweat, mingling with the faint, acrid odor of gunpowder. Each step she took felt heavier than the last, the reality of her situation settling in like a cold, oppressive weight on her shoulders.

As they reached a small, dimly lit cabin, one of Captain Black's men pushed her inside. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing ominously in the confined space. Destiny took a deep breath, steadying herself. She had made this choice, and now she had to live with it. The cramped quarters were a stark contrast to the openness of the deck she was used to, making her feel more trapped than ever.

Back on the Treasure, the atmosphere was equally tense. Hongjoong pored over the map, every line and marking analyzed with meticulous detail. Seonghwa and Yeosang stood nearby, their eyes flickering between the map and their captain.

"What's our next move, Captain?" Seonghwa asked, his voice a low murmur.

Hongjoong's jaw clenched. "We need to find a way to get her back. This map is worthless if we lose Destiny."

Yeosang nodded, his mind already working through possible strategies. "We should gather as much information about Captain Black's ship and crew. There has to be a weakness we can exploit."

Meanwhile, San stood at the edge of the deck, staring out at the Iron Reaper. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white. Mingi approached him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll get her back," Mingi said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "We can't let them keep her."

San nodded, his eyes never leaving the ship. "I know. And when we do, I'll make sure they regret ever laying a hand on her."

-

Wooyoung sat alone in a corner of the galley, his head in his hands. He had found out about Destiny's situation when the crew returned to the ship, and the news had hit him like a punch to the gut. He felt helpless, trapped by his past and his own fears.

"I can't keep running from this," he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. "I have to do better. I have to save her."

He stood up, a newfound resolve hardening his features. Wooyoung made his way to Hongjoong, determination etched into every step.

"Captain," he said, his voice steady. "I want to be part of the rescue mission. I need to make this right."

Hongjoong looked at him, a mixture of surprise and respect in his eyes. "Are you sure, Wooyoung? This isn't going to be easy."

Wooyoung nodded. "I'm sure. I owe her that much. It's time I acted."

Hongjoong placed a hand on Wooyoung's shoulder, nodding in agreement. "Alright. We'll need everyone at their best for this."

-

Back in her cabin, Destiny sat on the narrow bunk, her mind racing. She couldn't help but wonder what Seonghwa would do in her situation. She pulled out the dagger Seonghwa had given her, its blade glinting faintly in the dim light.

"What would Seonghwa do?" she thought, picturing his calm, steady demeanor. He had always been her rock, his unwavering confidence a source of strength for her. She could almost hear his voice, encouraging her to stay strong, to keep fighting.

Seonghwa wouldn't panic. He would assess the situation, find a way to turn it to his advantage. Destiny held the dagger close, her resolve hardening. She needed to channel that same calm determination, to think clearly and stay focused.

"I'm not a captive," she whispered to herself, her grip tightening on the dagger's hilt. "I'm a survivor."

The hours dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. Finally, the door creaked open, and one of Black's men entered, his leering grin sending a shiver down her spine.

"Captain wants to see you," he said, motioning for her to follow.

She stood up, tucking the dagger into her boot. As they made their way through the ship, Destiny steeled herself, ready to face whatever came next.

Captain Black's quarters were lavish compared to the rest of the ship, filled with treasures from countless raids. He sat behind a large wooden desk, his piercing gaze fixed on her as she entered.

"So, the brave little bird has come to roost," he sneered. "I must say, you have more guts than most of my crew."

Destiny met his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. "What do you want from me?"

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "We'll see about that."

Destiny's eyes narrowed, her resolve unshaken. "You underestimate me, Captain. You have no idea what I'm capable of."

He leaned forward, the cruel smile never leaving his face. "Brave words. Let's see if your actions match."

As Black turned his attention to a map spread out on his desk, Destiny saw her chance. She subtly shifted her weight, ready to pull out the dagger hidden in her boot. She needed to distract him first, to buy herself just enough time.

"I wonder," she said, her voice steady, "how many of your men would follow you if they knew the truth about El Dorado. About what you've sacrificed for a legend."

Black's eyes flickered with anger, and he stood up, towering over her. "You think you can undermine me with words? I've dealt with bigger threats than you, girl."

Destiny's heart pounded as she slowly reached for the dagger, her fingers grazing the hilt. "Maybe. But you've never faced anyone like me."

Just as she was about to draw the dagger, Black's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. "Nice try," he snarled, his grip like iron. "But you'll find I'm not so easily fooled."

He twisted her arm, forcing her to drop the dagger. It clattered to the floor, and he shoved her against the wall, his face inches from hers. "You think you're clever, don't you? I'll show you just how wrong you are."

Destiny struggled against his grip, panic rising in her chest. As Black's intentions became horrifyingly clear, a deafening explosion rocked the ship. The walls trembled, and the sound of splintering wood filled the air.

Black's eyes widened in shock, and he released Destiny, stumbling back. "What the—?"

Another cannonball hit, shaking the ship violently. Destiny's heart leaped with hope. "Hongjoong," she whispered.

The sounds of battle erupted outside the cabin—shouts, gunfire, and the clash of steel. Black's crew was caught off guard, scrambling to respond to the sudden attack.

Destiny seized the moment. She kicked the dagger towards her, scooping it up as she bolted for the door. Black lunged after her, but she managed to slip out, racing down the corridor.

The ship was in chaos. Flames flickered along the deck, smoke billowing into the sky. Destiny dodged through the confusion, making her way towards the main deck. She had to find her crewmates, to let them know she was alive.

On the Treasure, Hongjoong stood at the helm, barking orders. "Keep firing! We need to breach their defenses!"

San and Mingi were among the boarding party, their faces set with grim determination. They had one goal: rescue Destiny and take down Captain Black.

As Destiny emerged onto the deck, she spotted San and Mingi fighting their way through Black's crew. Her heart soared with relief. "San! Mingi!"

San's head snapped around at the sound of her voice. "Destiny!" He fought his way towards her, his eyes blazing with fury and relief.

Mingi covered his back, his sword flashing in the sunlight. "Get to her, San! We've got this!"

Destiny ran to meet San, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "San, I—"

"Thank God you're okay," he said, his voice rough with emotion. He glanced around, his expression hardening. "We need to get you out of here."

Just then, Captain Black burst onto the deck, his face contorted with rage. "You think you can just take her from me?" he bellowed.

San stepped in front of Destiny, his sword raised. "What do you want from her?" he demanded, his confusion mirroring Destiny's own.

Black's sneer deepened. "She's paying her father's debts. She's going to be my wife."

Destiny's blood ran cold at his words, and she could feel San's fury boiling over. "Over my dead body," San growled.

Black's cruel smile widened. "That can be arranged."

Before he could advance, another cannonball struck the ship, sending debris flying. Hongjoong and the rest of the crew pressed their attack, creating an opening for their escape.

"Go!" Hongjoong shouted from the Treasure. "We've got them on the run!"

San grabbed Destiny's hand, pulling her towards the edge of the ship. "Come on!"

They leaped across the gap between the ships, landing on the deck of the Treasure. Mingi followed close behind, covering their retreat. As they reached the relative safety of their own ship, the crew rallied around them, cheering.

Destiny's legs gave out, and she sank to the deck, overwhelmed with relief. San knelt beside her, his face softening. "You're safe now."

She looked up at him, tears of gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you, San. Thank you all."

Hongjoong approached, his expression fierce but relieved. "We don't leave our own behind. Ever."

As the Treasure sailed away from the burning wreck of the Iron Reaper, Destiny realized just how far she had come. She wasn't alone anymore. She had a family, a crew that would risk everything for her. And she would do the same for them.

-

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the deck of the Treasure. The crew was busy securing the ship, but a sense of relief and quiet triumph hung in the air. Destiny leaned against the railing, watching the waves lap against the hull. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Wooyoung standing beside her.

"I heard how you helped with the rescue, with the cannons," she said softly. "Thank you, Wooyoung. I owe you my life."

Wooyoung smiled, though his eyes held a hint of lingering sadness. "You don't owe me anything, Destiny. If anything, I owe you."

She frowned slightly, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

He sighed, looking out at the sunset. "Being part of this crew, getting to know you... It's helped me more than you can imagine. You've helped me start to heal from everything I've been through, all the things I've done."

Destiny felt a surge of emotion. "I never realized... Wooyoung, I'm glad you're finding some peace. You deserve it."

He gave her a grateful look. "So do you. You've been through so much, and yet you keep fighting. It's inspiring."

As they stood there, a comfortable silence settled between them. It was Wooyoung who broke it, sensing the presence of someone approaching. He turned to see San walking up, his expression unreadable.

"I'll leave you two to talk," Wooyoung said, giving Destiny's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before walking away.

San came to stand next to her, his eyes following Wooyoung as he disappeared below deck. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice gentle.

Destiny sighed, looking out at the darkening sea. "I've been better. But I'm alive, thanks to all of you."

San nodded, his face softening. "We couldn't have done it without you, either. You were brave today, Destiny."

She turned to face him, her eyes searching his. "I had to be. But San, I was so scared."

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers. "We all were. But we faced it together. That's what matters."

Destiny felt a lump in her throat. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come for me. I thought... I thought I'd never see any of you again."

San's eyes softened further, filled with an intensity that made her heart ache. "We'll always come for you, Destiny. Always."

She felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "San, I'm sorry for what I said. For doubting you. For everything."

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "We all said things we didn't mean. What's important is that we're here now, together."

Destiny looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just want to be strong enough to help. To not be a burden."

San gently lifted her chin, making her meet his gaze. "You are strong, Destiny. Stronger than you know. And you're not a burden. You're one of us."

She felt a tear escape, rolling down her cheek. San wiped it away with his thumb, his touch warm and comforting. "Thank you," she whispered.

San gave her a reassuring smile. "The crew is gathering on the deck to celebrate our victory. You should join us."

Destiny managed a small smile. "I think I'd like that."

San nodded, taking her hand gently. "Come on, let's go."

Together, they walked towards the main deck where the rest of the crew was already starting to gather. The atmosphere was markedly different from earlier in the day—lighter, more relaxed. Lanterns had been hung, casting a warm glow across the deck. Someone had started a fire in a small brazier, and the smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air.

Hongjoong stood at the center of the group, a mug of ale in his hand, his face illuminated by the flickering light. He raised his mug as Destiny and San approached. "To Destiny, our brave and determined crewmate," he announced, his voice carrying over the chatter. "Without her, we wouldn't have made it this far."

A cheer went up from the crew, and Destiny felt a surge of warmth and belonging. She looked around at their faces, seeing not just comrades but friends, allies who had risked everything for her.

Jongho, who had been relatively quiet throughout the celebration, suddenly spoke up, his voice carrying a hint of mischief. "We should officially initiate Destiny. We have a tradition that every new crewmate has to do."

A few of the crewmates exchanged glances, some looking a bit uncertain. Yeosang, always the voice of reason, was the first to voice his concerns. "She's been through a lot today, Jongho. And besides, out of respect... she's a girl."

Destiny, feeling the need to prove herself and solidify her place among them, stepped forward, her chin held high. "I want to do it. I want to be part of this crew, this family."

Jongho grinned, clearly pleased by her response. "That's the spirit! It's nothing too crazy, just a bit of fun to welcome you properly."

Hongjoong, who had been watching the exchange with a thoughtful expression, finally nodded. "Alright, if Destiny's willing, then let's proceed."

Destiny squared her shoulders, ready to face whatever challenge they had in store for her. She was expecting something like steering the ship or perhaps a small physical test. Instead, Jongho's grin widened mischievously.

"How about a skinny dip in the water?" he suggested. "It's been a tradition of ours since the beginning."

San's eyes widened in surprise and clear disapproval. "Jongho, seriously?"

But Destiny, determined to prove herself and feeling a rush of adrenaline, nodded. "Alright, I'll do it."

Hongjoong looked at her with a mix of surprise and admiration. "You don't have to—"

"It's fine," Destiny interrupted with a confident smile. "A tradition is a tradition."

The crew gathered at the edge of the deck, respectfully turning their backs to give her privacy. Destiny quickly shed her clothes, feeling the cool night air against her skin. Taking a deep breath, she approached the edge of the ship and, without hesitation, dove into the dark water below.

The splash signaled her entry, and the crew turned back around, cheering and applauding her bravery. Hongjoong and Jongho exchanged approving glances, while San kept his eyes on the water, concern etched on his face.

Destiny surfaced, grinning as she swam back to the ship. "That wasn't so bad!"

Jongho laughed. "Welcome aboard, Destiny. You're one of us now."

-

taglist: @dinossaurz @tiredlittlevirgo @everythingboutkpop @abibliolife @k-zuzu @ateezswonderland

[wishcamper]

loving acovav and your family systems posts, it puts into words and pulls together so many problems that exist within the ic and relationships in the book xx

though i just have to say it absolutely KILLS me that sjm somehow accidently created such interesting and complex character dynamics (even though there is still a fair amount of inconsistency)

Thank you so much! I was glad to find I wasn’t alone in being baffled/infuriated by the books lol

I think sjm does have the ability to identify the conditions for conflict, but kind of all of us do. Blending families can be hard, involved power struggles. Entering a new world creates cognitive dissonance and grief. People react to trauma differently, and don’t always understand others’ reactions. Romance inside a friend group creates tension. These are things we all know if you think for a moment. But her weakness is that she’s often bad at predicting how people would react to these conflicts, and she definitely doesn’t understand why and how people change.

On the whole, the “themes” she explores are pretty universal. That’s why her premises have so much potential but don’t go anywhere emotionally satisfying. And universal stories are satisfying, that’s why we tell them over and over a la the Hero’s Journey. ACOTAR is Beauty and the Beast. ACOSF is essentially The Taming of the Shrew with more push-ups. But where a different telling like 10 Things I Hate About You says something new about that story- that we are more than stereotypes and can find authentic connections when we transcend them - her conclusions are straight up weird. Like, ACOSF says: be who everyone wants you to be and life gets better. Uh?? In what world is that a hopeful takeaway??

That’s why even her own characters seem out of character, because the inciting events and the reactions they elicit don’t make sense half the time. I think it’s because she doesn’t have equal compassion for her characters (some none at all) so the ones she likes get every motivation for their actions upheld as worthwhile, and the ones she doesn’t like are either two dimensional or have to suck up to the characters she likes for redemption. But she doesn’t recognize that this communicates something, even if it’s unintentional. It’s like she doesn’t realize there’s a subconscious story underneath the surface one, that we can see her thought process through the choices she makes AND the ones she doesn’t.

I know she’s talked about how she puts a lot of her own experience into the books and I think that shows but mostly through her internal and external biases, unfortunately. She only ever affirms her own beliefs through the text, and ultimately says something obvious or straight up distasteful without meaning to (I hope). Other people have detailed her misogyny more thoroughly than I can here, but the disdain for her female characters is so obvious. And that’s not even starting on the racism. There’s a very clear thread of personal responsibility that ignores all the systemic, identity, and cultural factors that make us feel, think, and behave in certain ways.

All this is to say: agree, it’s so annoying because it’s like she had all the ingredients for a cake and somehow made a pizza instead because she likes it more. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t know how you got from there to here Sarah, and you seem happy but I still want cake!

Anyway, thank you for the ask, and letting me indulge in affronted literary criticism, which is my favorite thing to do 🤓

[roguetelepaths]

someone in a discord server I'm not in anymore asked me ages ago why I think that Changelings having been and continuing to be victims of persecution is important to the narrative. you don't have to believe that the Voice of the Link was telling the truth about pre-Dominion Changeling history, but it's my opinion that it makes a better story when you do.

image text is under the readmore

Resident Goo Today at 11:18 PM okay. you asked, here we feckin' go. I broke discord's character limit while writing this because apparently when you get me on this subject I do not stop

trauma takes center stage in the narratives of so many characters in DS9. the loss of his wife for Sisko, the occupation for Kira, Julian's augmentation and the essential death of his childhood self, Garak's childhood of abuse and brutal training in the Obsidian Order, everything Mora did to Odo, etc etc.

in the first episode, we are shown that trauma is a form of time distortion. it is Not Linear. when a person goes through that kind of pain, a part of them remains stuck in that moment, and they return to it again and again long after it's passed.

enter the Founders. we are told, from the beginning, that they have withdrawn from the universe and built the elaborate system of safeguards and deterrents we know as the Dominion for the explicit purpose of being left alone. the reason, we are told, is because they were once hunted, hated, and feared.

(I feel the need to state here that if they were colonizers for the sole purpose of being colonizers, we would see them taking a much more hands-on role in the extraction of resources and the direct control of their colonies' affairs, but they seem content to rule as distant, even mythic figures. they aren't leaders. they're a symbol. the power they actually have is the power granted to a symbol. honestly, they have no reason to be colonizers at all. they don't need land, they don't need food, they don't really need resources. trauma is the only conceivable reason for them to do what they've done.)

(I also feel the need to mention the way the Link works on a mechanical level. when a Changeling is in the Link, time does not pass. one can spend days or presumably longer in the Link and have no idea how long they've been in there. this is important.)

it is very rare for a Founder to leave the Link. there are probably many, many Founders who have not left since the Dominion was established. if you consider that the Link is inherently a form of psychological time fuckery, a large portion of the Link remembers the days in which Changelings were persecuted as if those days were, like, a week ago, tops. They literally Exist Here because they are biologically in a state in which time does not progress the way it does for solids. and this trauma is affecting everyone and everything around them because of the drastic lengths that they have gone to in order to protect themselves. they are inflicting equal amounts of trauma on the Vorta, on the Jem'Hadar, on their subjects, etc etc, because they are afraid and locked in a mentality where everything is a threat, because the only evidence they have found is evidence that says yes, everything is.

tl;dr it's about cycles of violence, it's about social wounds treated as social wars, it's about how to tell hypervigilance from reality in a world that actually does want you dead, it's about sympathizing with Bad Survivors, it's about choosing between the familiarity of fear and the danger of hope. and those themes are important to me

[artist-issues]

i know you are in your Wish Criticism and Analysis Era (love to see it, very interesting takes!!), but i was wondering if you could spare some thought as to why you thought that the moral/lesson of Encanto was not great? in my eyes, it was always mostly about forgiving and moving past generational trauma... even if the movie didn't fully execute on that hah

I can try! I haven't gone over it in my brain in a while. Sometimes answering questions helps me verbally do it, though.

I guess I should clarify. The message in Encanto isn't outright evil...it's just a little tricky to try and teach in the story that they used, without also saying a bunch of stuff that is problematic. I'll try to explain.

The main point in Encanto seems to be something like: "You don't have to be perfect: just being yourself is special enough."

Easy enough. When anyone in the Madrigal family tries to meet Abuela's super-high standards, it turns out to be hurtful. The more Pepita holds her emotions in, the more tense and stressed she gets. The more Luisa tries to carry, the more tense and stressed she gets.

But the problem is, the movie so often gets TOO CLOSE to portraying the opposite of "just being yourself is special enough" as "give your life for others." It tiptoes too close toward the "self-focus is beneficial" line.

The Madrigal family occupation, the thing Abuela is pushing them all too hard to do, is not something bad. She wants them to use their gifts to help others. But Abuela is a (sympathetic) antagonist in the movie.

And it's explained. You feel for her. She apologizes and there's forgiveness, like you said--I'm just saying, it's tiptoeing up to a line that isn't always the most responsible line to show to kids, in a kids' movie. Kids do not generally need help questioning whether or not their parents are being too controlling, or too pushy, or wanting too much--kids usually already lean too far in that direction on their own.

But like. The problem is, there's an equal-opposite lesson each of the character could learn that I think is better for kids, when they're kids.

Pepita should be free to feel, genuinely --> yeah, but Pepita also shouldn't let her emotions get so out of control that they hurt others.

Luisa shouldn't be expected to carry every family burden --> No, but in general it's a good thing to "bear one another's burdens in love" and do whatever you can to help, even if it's heavy.

Isabella shouldn't have to act happy & pretty constantly, and marry for the good of others --> Of course not, but it is good to be able to find joy and act genuinely joyful in all circumstances.

Mirabel shouldn't have to have the same level of accomplishments and abilities as everyone else in order to feel loved --> No, she shouldn't at all, but also, it is never a good idea to say to yourself "there's no room for improvement in me because I'm already enough and perfect; no flaws that need apologizing for or changing."

Abuela shouldn't focus so much on controlling what her family does even if it's for their own good --> No, absolutely not, but in general, an older woman who guides and teaches her family on how to selflessly serve others is considered wise, not controlling.

Bruno shouldn't have to only tell people what they want to hear to be accepted --> no, obviously not, but he shouldn't be so constantly negative that he's causing everyone around him to be anxious (I know that simplifying it because he had a literal power to explain the future and they asked him to, but I'm talking about the lessons kids could glean.)

And that's my main beef (it's not even that big a beef; I thought Encanto was so well-done.) My main beef is that it's a movie kids will be influenced by, but the themes and lessons are really more helpful for an audience of college or even high-school-aged people. People who are old enough to have that level of discernment to say:

"Yeah, it's good that Abuela is trying to teach her family to be selfless and safe, but she goes too far by being fearful and controlling; yeah, it's good to control your emotions, but not if you go so far that you're not allowed to be vulnerable at all; yeah, it's good to want to help others by lending your strength to share their loads, but not if you go so far that you get your sense of worth from your success; yeah, it's good to stay positive and be a light to others, but not if you go too far and become a faker; yeah, it's good to be able to recognize your flaws, but not if you get your sense of worth from making up for them."

Those are the sort of sub-lessons Encanto teaches: "don't make decisions based out of fear (fear that you're losing your worth, your identity, your loved ones, your future, the love of others.)"

I'm just saying, kids aren't going to be able to pick those sub-lessons out as easily. What will probably stick with them is the idea of grandmother = wrong; spending your life helping others = stressed and losing your superpowers etc.

But ultimately, it's a movie with a lot of heart, and this idea of grace and unconditional love, so it is not a big mistake or a loss or anywhere near what I'd rank Turning Red and Wish. It's just a little...reckless for a kid's movie. 🤷‍♀️

[eruhamster]

Hi....! If you don't mind, can I ask, who are your top 7 favorite romantic relationship's couples in books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series/etc (can be canon or non-canon) and your top 10 favorite characters ever from any media? Why do you love them all? Thanks if you want to answer....

THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO WRITE!!! Thank you! I spent like an hour and a half writing. I thknk that these answers would vary from day to day but at least the top couple answers for each have been pretty consistent.

It is skewed from me recently reading tons of BL...

Favorite relationships:

1. Gutsca/Guts and Casca from Berserk: This one has a stranglehold on me I don't think really fades. I think it's the one M/F couple that truly feels equal without it being sidelined. Guts and Casca know each other's pain more than anyone else and accept each other for who they are, fully. They would both do anything for the other even if the other doesn't know it. They hurt each other but it isn't toxic; they are actively trying to get better together, and help the other get better. They fall apart when they're separated, and yet at the same time the narrative refuses to let them be together. It's painful but you can really feel their devotion to each other. And unlike other M/F, there isn't some kind of feeling of a power imbalance. Guts isn't Casca's owner. In fact, he's depicted more of her loyal dog. He has no control over her, and he knows that due to her trauma, there's things he as a man cannot do for her, so he steps aside and allows the women in her life to assist her. She was his first step toward breaking from toxic masculinity and understanding women not as an other species, but as other people. He treats her as an equal. Not a thing he owns, not a child. Even when she is catatonic and acting like a toddler, he treats her the same as anyone deserves to be treated. He has demons just like she does, but even at his worst you can tell he respects her deeply and doesn't ever want to wrong her. It's breathtaking to me. It's so rare in media to see a relationship like theirs. It's why I can't give up on Berserk even with Miura's death. I need to see them succeed.

2. Bongchun and Soongap from Bongchon Bride: I think this is still my all-time favorite romance story. For a million reasons outside the main couple. Read Bongchon Bride if you have time, it's beautiful. But yeah; I like two genres of romance pretty evenly- noncon stuff and romances where people fit together like puzzle pieces. And they're the latter. No matter how Soongap thinks he's not truly married to Bongchun, they are 100% married. They act exactly as a marriage should be. There is no selfishness between them; they always think of what is best for them together, as a team. They lift each other up and fill the others' shortcomings. They heal each other and comfort each other and keep each other safe and out of trouble. A lot of romances will have a sort of one-sided romance where one person is the giver and one person is the receiver; not with sex, but in general. One person has all the wealth, power, emotional stability, etc, and the other is essentially pampered. This manhwa starts out like that but Soongap is not the kind of person to take without giving. He isn't just a trophy or a toy for Bongchun, he fits himself into his life and makes Bongchun's life substancially easier. He helps him come out of his hermit shell, he makes things for him, he takes care of his mother, he handles the finances and bartering, and he lends Bongchun his advice and warnings, which helps Bongchun when he is so naive and lacks Soongap's critical thinking skills. They fit together like puzzle pieces. :)

3. Hee-ryang and Yeonjo from Steel Under Silk: These two are sort of like the anti-Bongchun/Soongap. You can see how perfect they are for each other. They think very, very similarly. They get along so well when things are going good because they're so similar to each other. In a different universe, they would make a conniving power couple that could take on anything. But instead, they're stuck in a situation where they're both miserable and refuse to allow themselves happiness because that would hurt their pride too much, and their pride is all they have. There's this feeling that if they were in opposite scenarios, they'd end up doing exactly the same as the other did. So it feels equally toxic and heartbreaking instead of other noncon stories like it where it's an abuser and an abusee. They can hurt each other so deeply because they're mentally on equal playing fields, and because technically Yeonjo was the initiator of all of this. Hee-ryang was going to buy him out of slavery. Yeonjo at every step of the way has gotten himself into a situation to crush Hee-ryang's heart to pieces, and that's why it ends up spiraling and why Hee-ryang goes for really deep-hitting insults like saying that Yeonjo's body 'betrays' him and loves sex. He says stuff that Yeonjo told him in confidence just to hurt him because he's got nothing else and because he feels the same way about himself; he had to use his body to survive too, but in a way that left him littered in scars. I know if they can turn from each other to a single villain, they can be a strong team because they clearly understand each other so deeply.

4. HuaLian/Hua Cheng and Xie Lian from Heaven Official's Blessing: This one's hard on the mind since I've been on a kick for this series but it's more of that puzzle piece thing. Hua Cheng is only the rich, powerful man he is because Xie Lian believed in him. He was part of the reason Xie Lian went through 800 years of suffering, but Xie Lian never once thought of it that way. Never in all those books did he ever regret saving that little boy. He only wonders what happened to him. And when he finds out that that little boy was Hua Cheng all along, he isn't upset. Because all Xie Lian ever wanted in his life, the thing he lacked even as the pampered crown prince of that perfect kingdom, was a person who understood him, including his faults, and still believed in and accepted him. His parents didn't understand him, even if they loved him unconditionally. Feng Xin cared for and believed in him but could not accept his faults and ultimately left when Xie Lian told him to. Mu Qing understood his faults but was so petty that he misunderstood and twisted his intentions and fucked off when things got bad. Hua Cheng believes in Xie Lian strongly enough to not budge even when Xie Lian is at his absolute worst. He only leaves Xie Lian through no fault of his own. Because he knows Xie Lian needs someone. Just one person. To be there and believe in him, like Xie Lian was the one person to believe in him.

5. Beefleaf/He Xuan and Shi Qingxuan from Heaven Official's Blessing: A more doomed version of Hualian. They get along like two peas in a pod. As much as He Xuan tries to act like he hates SQX, you can tell he doesn't. He keeps him safe and throws joking jabs in ways only a friend does. He Xuan is a good actor but there's no reason for him to act that was as long as he did. And even at the end of the story, when he's trying to appear as Hua Cheng, he treats SQX the same way. Because it wasn't an act. He genuinely cares for SQX, even despite everything. But he is such s resentful ghost who sits atop a mountain of bodies and still has the fucked up mindset of a hungry ghost, so he can't let it all go. He can't. He hurts SQX by killing his brother, who deeply wronged him. He feels he had to. For his family. And yet he still carries SQX back to the capital, where SQX loved to go. And drops him off safely, and without changing his fate. And keeps his distance. But SQX does not seem to hate He Xuan. He knows his brother wronged him deeply. He knows he doesn't deserve godhood, so he doesn't want it. Even before his brother is killed he was dead-set on ditching godhood when he found out the truth. His brother had to tie him to a bed and sedate him to stop him. And even after it all, he makes sure Xie Lian does not wrongly blame He Xuan for things he didn't do. He takes responsibility for the situation he ended up in. And while he's afraid, as the coward he is, when he realizes He Xuan is there again, he doesn't react badly. He wants to ask him something. But he's gone before he can. I'd like to think when the story ends, they do rekindle their friendship, and maybe become more. There's time for it. And SQX is a cultivator, and a good one. He could continue cultivating and live a long, long life, even without godhood. There's time.

6. Sylhan and Gjord from Antidote: This manhwa is still ongoing but so far I've really enjoyed their dynamic and I think they'll end up a favorite. There is a power imbalance here but ot wasn't always this way. You get glimmers of it from talk of the past and Sylhan's occasional dreams. As Lord Khallak he was a genius who was good at what he was, which is why Gjord, a king of a people that hate Khallak, has devoted himself entirely to Sylhan. He accepts Sylhan even at his worst, unconditionally, and is clearly doing his absolute best to work in the shadows to give Sylhan the life he deserves after he was wronged by people who hate them. I'm eager to see more because you can tell they were that puzzle piece kind of relationship with how Gjord tells him how they used to argue all the time over political and governmental things, and how Sylhan used to be very strong-willed. Sylhan is weak and confused now, but you can get glimmers of the past. Reminds me of wedding vows. In sickness and in health.

7. I don't know that I have a very specific 7. This probably fluctuates with time. But I'll point out the one I've liked and am still mad about being sidelined; No Name and Jihwa from Painter of the Night. They're complete opposites but their personalities seem reversed. You would think that twinky, soft-hearted son of a nobleman would be the more gentle one, but it's the nameless criminal. No Name takes all the abuse Jihwa throws at him and just does not care and responds kindly in turn; he pulls his hand away from his face when he's chewing his nails raw, he drapes him with robes when he's cold, he gives him advice, he drops by and warns Jihwa and then saves Jihwa's life. They feel to me like a curly-haired, yippy little pomeranian and a big, tired wolf. To be honest, I would have preferred a story with them as the main couple. They're far more interesting. And they act this way even when they don't actually care for each other yet, by the author's own words. There's some kind of natural pull there.

Favorite characters:

1. Casca - I could go on for ages about her character. Anyone who insults Berserk is a moron. Casca is handled phenomenally. She is a woman with trauma and people who care about her enough to try and help her through it. She is not treated as a fridge, she is a main character as much as Guts is, and her trauma is not magically solved. It's even acknowledged that Guts is centered in her trauma and it's other women that help her the most. But she still cares about that man, and appreciates both what he did for her, and what he didn't do - what he understood he could not do.

2. Sansa - A girl dealt a bad hand who doesn't have to become 'masculine' to fight back like you usually see in fiction(including ASOIAF itself with characters like Arya). I think any girl who was in a bad situation can relate to her.

3. Miquella - God-twink who is not evil no matter what Twitter tries to make you believe. He genuinely wanted to fix his mother's warcrimes and make things better for everyone. He cared too deeply and that was his downfall, as to become a god you have to remove that caring part of you. I like to think the Grace leads you to him to kill him specifically because he is the ultimate threat to the Greater Will, far more than Ranni, and could have legitimately ushered in an age of peace and prosperity.

4. Kaji - The one character who had any sense in Evangelion who is largely ignored. He cared deeply, deeply about Misato even when Misato was too fucked up mentally to accept him, and he fought for what he believed in. He isn't the kind of character to just let things be.

5. Bulma - Obsessed. She's smart but she's also stupid and she is the worst person to exist on the planet. I know she is all kinds of isms and wouls be insufferable IRL. Compells me though

6. Hange - She's been a constant even though I don't like AoT anymore and hate the ending. A genius who cares deeply about things. The anime flanderized her.

7. Shi Qingxuan - Obsessed with how unapologetically flamboyant he is while also just being the most generous and common sense person in the story behind Xie Lian. He was somehow consistently the only one with his brain attached and would call others out on their stupidity - and was always correct.

8. Yamcha - He was hot in the original, before Toriyama made a laughing stock of him. Also, I gotta say I'm obsessed with the sort of long-haired, tan-skinned, silly, muscular guy that's obsessed with love that you see in stories every now and then. Yamcha, Sokka, the main character of Golden Boy, the wolfy boy tertiary character from Inuyasha, Casey from TMNT, etc. That kind of guy.

9. Bada from Dreadful Night - I love green-haired, long-haired boys with no-nonsense personalities.

10. Gwyndolin - Man, I am obsessed with that design.

[lainalit]

hey, about your sjm's abelism against lucien, i'd just like to say i 100% agree!! i'd like to point at other abelist things in sjm's writing and i apologize in advance bc this might be long.

as a disabled person, yeah sjm is pretty fuckin abelist, unintentional or not. tower of dawn's disability storyline starts out as ehh to downright awful as it employs the abelist fantasy trope of *~magical healing*~. although chaol comes to accept disability and others who are disabled by the end (which is good!), he gets fully healed :/ also yrene's treatment of him in the beginning was atrocious. telling him to stand up even though he couldn't?? it read like an abusive medical care worker

on acotar-related things, i disliked how feyre's father is depicted as useless until his death, where he "finally does something" buuut it ends with him dying. if someone is ill enough that they cannot do anything, calling them useless and then killing them when they save the day gives me the ICK.

finally, the way nesta's mental health was handled was abelist (same could be said with feyre and tamlin in their own ways) sjm cannot depict PTSD/trauma consistently or, hell, equally between her characters. her knowledge of this disorder seems so misinformed, either that or she purposefully cherry picked qualities, which is an awful way to portray any disorder. nesta's """healing""" in acosf was absolutely miserable. sorry not sorry but i don't think getting dicked down, chocolate, and meditation will help anyone get better from literal Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!! it's giving a middle aged white woman telling my disabled ass "have you tried yoga?"

anyway, sorry about my rant 😭 as someone who liked sjm as teen during early tog and acotar book 1, i am. very bitter sometimes.

Hi,

It is definitely good to get a perspective from someone who has a disability rather than from someone like me who is ablebodied and only has family members who are disabled, so my perspective is limited in that regard, so thanks for your views on the matter.

I hadn't read ToG yet, so I can't judge if it's ableist or not, but if it's true, like you said with the whole magic healing, then that's pretty bad, especially if she has no knowledge or even personal relations with topics like paralysis. The thing is magic healing in itself; I don't hate so much. It makes sense in a fantasy setting to maybe have advanced healing abilities, but to outright make a character who is disabled to completely heal and have no side effects or struggles later on is such bullshit, and this trope should die out as it is right now.

The problem with Papa Archeron I have is that he is a nonexistent character till the end. I don't know why sarah even bothered to write him in the story; he hasn't even gotten a name.

Also, his health problems are so vaguely described that I often forgot that he had any, and the fact that he is a deadbeat makes it even more atrocious that she portrays a man with physical and mental health problems as such an unlikeable throwaway character.

Don't get me started on Nesta. I hated every second of Acosf; everybody was constantly dogpilling on her, and for what?

Did she have problems and made mistakes? absolutly, but why is the inner circle (besides elain and feyre) in nestas business? Like,  nobody besides her sisters truly cared for her and wanted her to get better; they just wanted her powers and making her amiable so she could sit with them on their stupid dinner table and fondle rhysass ballsack.

The fact that they know to some extent that mental health problems existed in the night court since we got the library with the sa survivors, but the ic couldn't fathom to maybe just ask some healer what the best course of action for nesta is since she obviously struggles, is so baffling to me.

But since SJM thinks hiking/ training= therapy, I'm not surprised by anything anymore.

Don't worry, rants here are always welcome💙

[lukabrina-viperhound]

Never Love An Anchor - Prologue:

Luka Couffaine was drowning. months of plotting and rallying and carefully preparing, all gone down the great blue ocean, along with his body and soon, his soul.

and just as he is about to accept his fate, while closing his eyes and ceasing his struggle to stay afloat, he catches a glimpse of brilliant orange and shimmering teal, swimming his way quickly.

He awoke to a gorgeous face haloed by the glaring sun, with too many questions and not enough air in his lungs to ask any of them, he began coughing up saltwater.

“Oh, oh my. Are you alright? I'm not sure humans are supposed to do that. Not that I’ve really drowned any myself to know for sure…” The gorgeous face spoke with an equally lovely voice. So lovely, in fact, that it took Luka a second to process the disturbing nature of the sentence.

“What-“ he had to cough and heave and cough again before continuing breathlessly. “What are you?” But the question was redundant. He was saved from drowning by a beautiful woman with a melodious voice who, by her own admission, was expected to drown humans. something she herself was not.

His savior was a siren.

“Calm down, sailor. If I wanted you dead then I wouldn't have bothered saving you, now would I?” the beautiful siren reassured him.

“That’s not nearly as hopeful a sentiment as you believe it to be. After all, what could a siren want with a man that she keeps him alive for?” Luka found himself arguing against his favor in his anxiety.

“The only hunger I wish to satiate with you, sailor - “ the siren leaned in close with the top half of her body, honeyed voice laced with a dangerous edge, closing in on his waist and allowing the suggestive nature of her words to linger for only a moment before innocently submerging her body back in the water and completing her sentence, “is my curiosity!”

“Curiosity? Of what kind?” Luka asked, suspicious and still a bit flustered.

“Oh, just the healthy, intellectual kind.” She explained readily, smirking subtly at having riled him up so successfully over nothing. The other sirens thought her a boring prude, but she just made a sailor blush! “A seafaring man such as yourself, one I found drowning no less, surely has some stories to tell?” She finished her explanation, phrasing the ending more like an invitation, perhaps a request.

What could she say? She loved unraveling a good mystery.

“And what exactly is in it for me if I tell you my whole sad story? You getting entertainment at the expense of me reliving my trauma hardly sounds like a fair trade.” Luka shot back, now slightly more at ease despite his better judgment and bantering freely.

“What? Does my excellent companionship not suffice? You do realize I could've just left once I rescued you and you'd be all alone here for who knows how long. As I've said, I'm no human expert, but even I know you don't do well in isolation.” Her words had a teasing edge to them, something about her tone letting him know that leaving him behind and alone was never an option for her. He found himself feeling just as curious about her as she was about him.

“Be that as it may, I still feel like this isn't an equal exchange. So what if we came to an agreement?” Making a deal with any sort of magical creature was dangerous business, but the siren was right about one thing. It's not like he was going anywhere anytime soon, so he might as well take a chance.

Sabrina's smile widened in excitement and her tail splashed around in the water. “I'm listening…”

“Ask me a question about myself, and I will endeavor to answer to the best of my ability. Then, I ask you one of my many questions and you give me some much-needed answers about yourself. Does that sound acceptable?”

“hmmm… well, sailor, you drive a hard bargain. But I believe you've got yourself a deal!”

Art by the wonderful @the-lavender-creator who helped inspire this fic, along with this song;