#nobody is recognisable at fourteen

[saym0-0]

i imagine they'd be the sort of family to retake family photos however many years later. so heres 14 year old two and three with baby rabbit and spine, and 28 year old two and three with 14 year old rabbit and spine :33

[penny00dreadful]

Rating: G tags: post-breakup, angst, hurt, wedding, happy ending prompt: Love is what makes you brave (@sidekick-hero) For @steddielovemonth AO3

Should he be here?

No.

Was he going to continue to be here for as long as he could take it?

Hell yeah.

Sitting behind the wheel of his stupid expensive car that would have stuck out anywhere else. 

But not here.

Not amongst the BMW’s and Bentleys and limos and wedding cars.

It had been three years.

Three long and fucking lonely as shit years since he’d last seen Steve.

Three years of writing songs about him.

Three years of dodging interviewer questions about who the songs were about.

Three years of the fans creating some nebulous phantom person that all the songs must be about because they all fit together like puzzle pieces if looked at correctly.

Three years since Steve broke his heart.

Eddie wasn’t even really sure what had possessed him to be here right now.

He hadn’t been invited.

But some kind of insane impulse had grabbed him when he’d first gotten into the car fourteen hours ago and it hadn’t left him since.

He needed…

He didn’t know what he needed.

He didn’t know what he expected.

His passenger door opening and a figure sliding into the seat nearly scared the life out of him, so lost in thought and with eyes laser focused on the church doors, he hadn’t noticed anyone approaching.

He was forced to remember again that he was no longer some nobody living in bumfuck nowhere Indiana, he was a somebody, with a fucking penthouse apartment in New York City and an extremely recogniseable look.

Maybe he should have locked the doors.

And maybe he should have dressed down a little before he jumped in the car. Gotten rid of some of the jewellery, covered up the tattoos, tied his hair back, not worn the kind of clothes that always got him noticed in Hawkins in the wrong way. He was more noticeable now more than he ever had been. 

He was the most successful person to ever make it out of this shithole town and the town itself loved to pretend they always encouraged him. 

They advertised it proudly.

Like they hadn’t tried to drown his passions at every opportunity.

But it wasn’t some crazed obsessive fan now staring at him from his passenger seat, dressed in a pair of black slacks and an overly frilly lavender blouse, probably a compromise so she didn’t have to be stuffed into a dress.

Eddie tensed his hands around the wheel while Robin continued to stare at him like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, bewildered more than anything. He supposed that was fair.

There was no reason for him to be here after all.

He’d gotten no hint from Steve that this wasn’t what he wanted, none of the kids had said as much either but…

It just didn’t feel right.

It felt like Steve was falling back into a pattern.

Living the life that had been mapped out for him by society.

Go to school.

Get a good job.

Get married to a nice girl.

Eddie didn’t even know if the person that would be meeting Steve at the end of the aisle in about fifteen minutes was a nice girl.

He didn’t know anything about her at all.

Didn’t know anything about Steve either.

All he knew were the little tidbits the kids would occasionally drop by accident when they would forget they weren’t all one tightly knit group anymore.

Not since Steve shoved him out the door and told him that it wouldn’t work, it could never work.

Eddie suspected Steve had been looking at shadows on a cave wall for so long he had no idea there was a whole world just outside. That they didn’t have to live their lives the way everyone else did.

But there was nothing for it, he couldn’t force Steve to take him back. 

He’d told Eddie he didn’t want him anymore so…

Eddie went and got the life he’d dreamed of since he was a kid. He got the success and the accolades and he was being heard.

But it was empty. It had always been empty.

He had never been able to move on.

Not really.

And now… now he was here.

“Hey Buckley.” Eddie shot her a tight grin. “It’s been a while.”

And it had been. Because along with losing Steve, he’d also lost Robin.

It was understandable, really. 

Robin was Steve’s ride or die and though he’d heard she’d raised holy hell, trying to figure out why Steve had thrown his happiness away, as she herself had said, she was still, first and foremost, Steve’s soulmate.

She would be by his side come hell or high water and though she wasn’t happy with his decision, there was also nothing she could do about it.

Steve was a grown man and he’d made his choice.

“What are you doing here, Eds?” She asked again with so much concern, it was like she was worried Eddie was ripping out his own heart over again just by being here.

Maybe he was.

But he was here now.

He couldn’t leave until it was all over.

“Is he happy?” Eddie asked, rather than answer her question. They both knew why he was there anyway. “Is he happy with Miss… Whatever Her Name Is?”

Robin looked at him for a long time, eyes darting all over his face, chewing on her lip.

She took a big breath in. 

“He’s… content, I think. They both are. I think they’ve both… made themselves content with the situation.”

“Right.” Eddie nodded, tearing his gaze away and staring down at his hands.

He could feel Robin’s eyes boring into the side of his head.

“But not happy.” She said into the silence. “He’s not- I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he was with you.”

Eddie tightened his jaw, tried to blink away the wetness in his eyes.

“Then why did he end it?”

“I think he was scared.” She almost whispered. “I think he didn’t know what to do with it all. There was no rule book to follow.”

“But that’s the best part, Rob.” Eddie sighed out. “There’s no rules for how we’re supposed to live our lives.”

He didn’t turn back to look at her, but he could see her nodding in agreement out of the corner of his eye.

“I think he’s started to realise that too, recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here?” She asked again, no longer willing to put up with his avoidance.

“I don’t know.” He said, mostly honestly. “One last big romantic gesture?”

Robin sighed, a hand on the handle. “Okay, wait here.”

“Hadn’t planned on going anywhere.” He muttered but it was drowned out as she slammed the car door, speed walking her way back to the church where a crowd had begun to gather at the door.

He tried not to let anything like hope bloom in him, he tried to keep any kind of bubble build up and puff him out but it wasn’t that difficult.

Especially when Robin made her way back to the car only a few minutes later, looking far more stressed than she had before and notably, alone.

“So, slight bump in the big romantic gesture plans,” she said, opening the door again but not getting in. “They’re missing.”

“They? Who’s missing?”

“Rita apparently got a call at the hotel before she was supposed to come here and then just disappeared, leaving her engagement ring behind. And then Steve left sometime when we were talking-”

“Left to go where?”

“I don’t know, Edward.” Robin grit out, tensing her fingers around the roof lip but it was more worry than irritation.

“Okay.” Eddie said, shifting the car into gear. “Okay, get in, we’ll go-”

“No. I’m staying here, I need to keep his parents from calling in the National Guard to drag him back by the hair. You go. You know where he is, don’t you?”

Eddie stared at her, opening and closing his mouth until he could finally form his lips around the words “I think so.”

He knew so.

Or at least he hoped he did.

Robin gave him one sharp nod. “Okay.”

She slammed the door closed and turned back to the crowd.

Pulling out of the parking lot of the church, Eddie tried not to panic. 

There wasn’t much distance that Steve could have gone but the idea of him going missing still had his heart constricting, full of what if, what if, what if?

It wasn’t very far, but finding somewhere to pull over at the edge of the forest where his car wouldn’t be suspicious wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

Though it was probably easier now than it had been years ago, since he no longer had the van and his shiny, sleek and expensive car would be glanced over for any bored cop looking to bust someone for drugs.

Not so much of an easy target now, huh Callahan?

He had just pulled his car into a clearing that was somewhat hidden when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket.

He switched the engine off and was halfway out of the car when he froze, finally seeing the number on screen.

It was Steve. It had to be Steve.

He’d recognise that number anywhere, he knew it off by heart but Eddie had changed numbers at least twice in the last three years.

He hadn’t bothered to add Steve back into his contacts, what would be the point?

It would have just been a temptation on drunken lonely nights.

How the fuck did Steve even have his number?

Eddie tapped the answer button before the call could ring out.

His mouth was dry and his heart was in his throat as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Stevie?” He practically breathed, gripping the door so tight he was surprised he didn't dent the metal.

There was a sound from the other end, like a sigh, like relief or a release of tension.

“Eddie.” Steve said and his voice, different as it was through the phone, was the most painful and comforting thing Eddie thought he’d ever heard. It was followed quickly by a sniffle and a quiet, “Hi.”

Eddie had so many things he wanted to ask.

Why are you calling now?

Where are you?

Why did you run?

How do you even have this number?

Instead he just slammed the car door closed and asked softly “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

A sound came down the line, one that sounded suspiciously like a sob, followed by another sniffle.

“Can’t- can’t I just call to see how you are?”

Eddie didn’t answer as he started to tromp his way through the forest, half worried anything he said would just end up with him begging Steve to call him again and again and again.

But Steve seemed to take his silence as stony.

“Yeah, I-” Steve sniffed. “I guess I deserved that.” 

Eddie could practically hear his lip wobbling through the phone and Steve broke down into sobs again.

“Where are you, Stevie?”

“The past.” He muttered out which was as good a confirmation as any that Eddie was heading in the right direction. “I’m- I… I’m sorry to call you right now and you’re out living your life-”

“Are you sober?”

Because it was high stakes at the moment but this was still a lot of emotion for noon.

“Unfortunately.” Steve sighed out and then quietly, so quietly Eddie could barely hear him. “I’m supposed to be getting married today.”

“So I heard.”

It sounded like the air had been punched out of Steve’s chest and the whine he let out after sounded like one of pure pain.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie had to duck under a branch and as a result, nearly tripped over a root in the ground but managed to right himself.

“You’re sorry for supposed to be getting married?”

“I’m sorry you had to find out that way. From- from someone else.”

He came to a stop. 

“Oh.”

Not sorry I’m getting married.

Just sorry I’m not the one who told you I’m getting married.

Which, like, Steve didn’t need to apologise to him for getting married.

They weren’t together.

They weren’t a thing.

They didn’t even talk anymore.

Eddie had no right to that information.

Still.

Didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Eddie.” Steve whimpered out, kicking Eddie back into movement again. “I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.”

“You didn’t fuck up, Stevie, it’s fine.” He sighed, resigned to his fate now. “You can still go back-”

“No, no.” Steve took a large painful breath in. “You don’t understand. I fucked up. I left you. I made you go. How could I do that? Why did I do that? You were- you were the best thing that ever happened to me and I just-”

It sounded like Steve couldn’t speak anymore through hit tears, the raw anguish in his voice making it sound like he couldn’t breathe.

“I pushed you away. I pushed you away. I was so scared and I wanted- I wanted to take it back the second I did it. I wanted to but I couldn’t make myself do it and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry about that, baby. You have to believe me, I’m so sorry.”

The sound of Steve’s sobs were no longer just coming through the phone but were now starting to echo around him from just up ahead and Eddie kept walking.

“I was such a coward. There was no precedent. Nothing in my life was like what I had with you, I didn’t see it anywhere else and I didn’t know what to do. There was just this big vast emptiness in front of me where before there had always been a path, it had always been mapped out, telling me where to go next and I didn’t know what to do about it, I didn’t think it was possible to have-”

Steve cut himself off with another sob and Eddie could see him now, sitting on the dirty forest floor in his brand new designer tux, head bowed into his knees and his back against Skull Rock.

“I’ve made such a mistake, Eddie. I’ve never fucked up like I did with you and if I could take it all back I would. I’d be brave for you, I swear-”

Eddie dropped to his knees in front of him.

“Do you still want to be?”

Steve’s head snapped up so fast he cracked himself hard against the giant rock they used to come to all the time when they were full of young love.

Eddie winced in sympathy but didn’t reach out while Steve stared at him wide eyed, even through the pain.

He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Eddie.” He breathed out, completely disbelieving. “What- wh- what are you-”

“I was at the church.” Eddie said, sitting himself down fully and bringing his own knees up to his chest. “I was… I don’t know what I was doing there. I don’t know what I expected to happen.”

“You…” Steve blinked at him. His face was wet and blotchy and red, his eyes were raw and still swimming and he was still the most beautiful person Eddie had ever laid eyes on. And he was looking at Eddie like he was the most unbelievable thing in the world. “You were there the whole time?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s hands were twitching around his knees, gripping into the fabric of his dress pants and Eddie could tell he wanted to reach out but he wasn’t sure he could handle that yet.

He needed to know.

He needed to be sure.

He didn’t think he’d survive it if he let hope back in only to have it pulled away again.

“What happened?”

Steve’s face scrunched up, like he was trying to push the tears back and he brought his hands up to his face, digging the heels into his eyes.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t go through with it. Rita, she… she- she’s not you. I couldn’t let her live a life with me waiting for me to love her like I still love you because it’ll never happen. I could never love anyone like I still love you. And she… she’s the same, she didn’t want this, she never wanted this but it was what we’d been told to want for so long and… she couldn’t do it either. So we both- we both ran and I want… I want to be brave for you, baby.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his knees and pressed his lips into his skin, silent and thinking.

He couldn’t take it if Steve did what he did to him again.

He just couldn’t.

And why did it take Steve getting to this stage for him to decide on what he wanted?

Would it have still happened the same way if Eddie hadn’t come?

Would Steve have cried his heart out here in their spot until he was done talking to Eddie over the phone and gone about the rest of his life?

Would he have let the fear get to him again?

But could Eddie live with himself if he turned this chance down because of his own fear?

It wasn’t even a question.

He’d regret it for the rest of his life.

So he had to choose to be brave too.

He unwrapped his arms from around his knees and spread his legs wider, scooching forward until he had Steve’s curled up body cradled in his.

Steve all but stopped breathing with a dramatic hiccup when he felt Eddie’s legs against his own and when Eddie brought his hands up to encircle Steve’s wrists and pull them away from his face, his eyes were wide and disbelieving.

Eddie pulled Steve’s hands into his chest.

“I need to know you’re sure. I need to know you mean it, okay?”

“I do.” Steve nodded and his words were sure if a little breathy. “I do, Eddie. I promise you. I’ll show you every day. I’ll be brave for you I swear.”

“Because I won’t survive you doing what you did to me again. It nearly killed me the first time, Steve. I can’t go through that again. So you need to be sure.”

Where Steve’s hands were pressed flat against Eddie’s chest, his fingers curled in now, balling up the shirt underneath and holding on tight.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Eddie, I swear to you on… on… Dustin’s mom.”

Despite himself, Eddie felt his face crack into a smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Steve asked, though his own smile was slowly blooming, even as he started crying again.

“Yeah. Okay. Now kiss me like you mean it.”

AO3

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.

[bullet-prooflove]

Birthday Bingo Celebration: Make A Wish - Sean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @emilyjr @toasted-stiletto @icefrye19 @to-grow-in-and-to-love

Trigger Warnings for past abuse - No in depth details - just references

Sean’s birthday has always been a trigger for him. The day he turned fourteen was the day his life was shattered into a thousand pieces. He’s never been able to put them  back together again.

“Make a wish.” His patrol leader had said when he’d climbed into the Sean’s tent that night with a cupcake and a candle. Sean remembers the flicker of the flame highlighting the shadows under his eyes before he blew it out.

“You’re not a boy anymore Sean, you’re a man.” He’d said as his thumb had chased away the smudge of icing from the corner of Sean’s mouth. “Let me show you what men do together in the dark.”

He thinks about that as he studies the newspaper in front of him, staring at the picture of the man who stole his innocence all those years ago. He’s being awarded by the Mayor for his work with at risk youth and it makes Sean want to slit his own throat.

You don’t expect the call from Mitch saying that Sean missed their birthday lunch. They were meant to meet at Sean’s favourite place Café Zidan before hitting the climbing wall for a couple of hours. He hadn’t shown, he hadn’t text, hadn’t called. It’s unusual because the man you love is usually so conscientious.

“I’m worried.” Mitch had told you as you set your keys down on the kitchen table in Sean’s apartment and surveyed the newspaper spread out across the surface. You don’t recognise the face of the man he’s scribbled out with a black pen, you can barely make out his features under the ink. “I’ve checked all us his usual haunts but nobody’s seen him.”

You think back to this morning, the enthusiastic wake up you’d given him before he’d unwrapped your gifts. He’d been happy when you’d left him, playing with the polaroid camera you’d given him, trying to figure out how to load the film. It lies discarded alongside his half empty coffee cup, another sign that something is wrong in his world because Sean is neat, compulsively so. It’s a product of his time at the rehab clinic.

When you do locate him it’s  in the dive bar he used to score in. There’s a shot of tequila sitting in front of him and a haunted look in his eyes. His fingers toy with the glass before he brings it to his lips and throws it down his throat. He sets it down alongside three other empties before he signals the bartender for another.

He doesn’t even look at you when you slip onto the stool alongside of him, he keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the drink that’s being poured out. The bartender raises an eyebrow and you shake your head.

“You ain’t gonna drink, you need to leave.” He tells you, in a voice that sounds like it comes with a 100 a day habit.

“Fine.” You say before gesturing towards the cans of soda tucked away in the fridge behind him. “A lemonade.”

He sets a dirty glass filled with ice down in front of you alongside the can and a bent paper straw. Sean watches as you open the soda before depositing the straw through the ringpull to hold it in place.

“It was the guy in the paper wasn’t it?” You say after a few minutes of silence and Sean’s fingers trace over the ridges of the shot glass in front of him.

“It’s like it just happened.” He tells you, his gaze fixed on the liquid as he swills it around. “I can feel his hands on me, taste him in my mouth…”

He trails off then because he can’t say the rest, he doesn’t need to. You’ve heard the story, you and Mitch are the only ones who have outside of his therapy sessions.

Your hand coming to rest upon his arm, thumb chasing over the scar on the underside, the one that winds up from his wrist all the way  to his elbow. It’s from the first time he tried to kill himself, he tried two more times after that, both O.Ds. Your fingertips stroke a circle over his palm and he closes his eyes, savouring the sensation as it brings him back to the present.

“Let me take you home.” You say gently. “We can curl up together under the blanket in the living room, you can put your head in my lap and I can stroke your hair while we watch Psych.”

He understands what you’re doing, offering him a safe pace, a way back into the life you’ve built together. Start small, baby steps. It’s one of the things they teach you when you’re in recovery.

“I fucked up.” He tells you, gesturing at the row of shot glasses.

“It’s nothing you can’t come back from.” You say, your fingers tracing over the heartline on his palm. “But Sean, what I do need you to do is give me the drugs in your pocket because that’s something you really will regret.”

He looks away from you then, shame flushing across his features as he reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and removes the dime bag. You study it for a second before opening the baggie and depositing the pills into your untouched drink. You hear each one of them fizz as they hit the liquid before you stir them with your straw.

“I didn’t take any.” He tells you, his hand clasping yours once more. “It’s important to me you know that. I wanted to but…”

“I know baby, I do.” You say squeezing his hand, before tilting your head towards the door. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Love Sean? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[good--merits-accumulated]

More Dead Poets headcanons: historical (Belle Époque) edition

Is this just fully self-indulgence now? Yes. (Insert Starship Troopers gif: "I'M DOING MY PART!")

- Todd is the second son of a couturier who prefers writing fairytales about the dresses instead of doing business with them. He often slips away to go play in string quarters in little riverside bistros and sit in on writers' salons. Strictly speaking he doesn't need to sneak as nobody outside his family really knows who he is, but he does it anyway

- Neil is the contrastingly very high-profile son of a government minister who has seen Todd looking uncomfortable at various balls and recognises him one evening playing violin in the corner of a dingy little cafe, because HE'S also been sneaking out

- Charlie is a dilettante and hangs about with artists (to the dismay of his parents) and keeps the gossip rags well stocked. Neil became friends with him at fourteen out of spite for his parents then discovered that they got on extremely well and that was, as they say, that

- Meeks is a student at the newly-formed University of Paris, unfortunately dating these headcanons exactly to 1896. He spends his time working feverishly on investigating radio waves + using them in communication, a discovery he is unfortunately eventually beaten to by Guglielmo Marconi (yeah, the real guy). Meeks keeps up a significant correspondence both with scientific luminaries (on a first name basis with Max Planck somehow???) and the large amount of siblings he's left behind in a village near Drôme, spending all his allowance on ink and foolscap. (Yes, he speaks fluent Provençal!) Pitts is an American classmate (courtesy of his father working in the embassy), and does mysterious things with aniline dyes after classes in the shed at the bottom of his garden. They prudently don't ask

- Chris is one of Todd's father's clients who befriends him after he very succinctly tells her exactly what's wrong with the fabric and colour and silhouette of the dress her fiance ordered for her. Said fiance is Knox, who Chris is marrying not particularly out of anything more than a very lukewarm platonic affection, but more out of a desire to get out, now, and to decide on something, Now. Knox knows this but he's still convinced it will work out (?????). Ginny is Chris' best friend very explicitly disapproving about it the whole time, and half in love with her as well

- Cameron meanwhile is a pencil-pusher at the American embassy (he's French, though, not American) and befriends Knox and then Charlie and then everyone else through strange twists of fate. Secretly reads a lot of dime novels on the sly. Insists he doesn't

- For at least one glorious summer they all get out and go free. Meeks takes them all down to see his family and Neil goes careening down country back lanes on his (new, very handsome) bicycle, with Todd sitting precariously on the handlebars and laughing the whole way. Knox gets a barge ("Where from?" "Well, I came across it tethered, abandoned, just... over there." "Over THERE?" "Yes. What's the problem?" [DISTANT, EXTREMELY HEATED SHOUTING] "Ah, Christ.") and they all end up in the river one way or another. When they get back to Paris the quiet of the countryside has sharpened everything to even harsher brilliance and Charlie pulls them all to visit his artist acquaintances and they go to the bars out of the way where men can be seen with men and the air is thick with smoke enough that nobody can really see each other's faces, and Neil pulls Todd into a clumsy waltz and thinks, this is how it should always have been from the moment that I was born.

[natequarter]

24 and 25 for the history ask?

24: Who do you consider to be one of the most underrated historical figures?

edward vi. henry vii and mary i are rightfully recognised and understood as similarly underrated in comparison to their successors, but they do have their advocates - unlike edward vi. i've encountered a lot of tudor enthusiasts, and nobody ever lists edward as their favourite tudor or favourite historical figure. of course, he died as a child and spent a good half of his reign with limited input into how he ruled, but in his short life he achieved a remarkable amount of change, plenty of which was his own work.

edward's legacy is hugely unfair. he's remembered, for the most part, as a sickly and weak child overpowered by the cruelty of his regents. but this is, in my opinion, a terrible way to view him. he was powerful. he was intelligent. he was raised to rule. he managed to handle his uncle kidnapping him; he helped shape what would have been the future of english protestantism; he began trying to solve the huge amounts of debt that his father and uncle had left him in. the main reason he is not remembered as an efficient king with a powerful and skilled advisor by his side (john dudley may not have been the most consistent person around, but i think his legacy also got fucked over by edward's untimely death) is that he died young. had he lived, he might have fathered an heir, finally secured the tudor succession (a problem which remained essentially unsolved across the entire period), fully established a church of england, reduced the financial problems of henry viii, and perhaps become involved with colonialism across the seas. (not that that's a good thing, but elizabeth i isn't exactly shunned for her involvement in ireland...)

and most of all, edward was human. he was a teenager with his own thoughts and feelings, ranging from his turbulent and tragic relationship with his sister, mary, to his grief over the death of his mother. he was orphaned at the age of nine. two of his uncles were beheaded when he was only eleven and fourteen respectively. he was overcome with sorrow when his friends, the dukes of suffolk, died. he once wrote of mary: 'i love you most.' but at christmas in 1550, they got into a row and made each other cry because they couldn't reconcile their religious beliefs - mary refused to bow to edward's religious changes, and edward was frustrated that mary insisted he was too young to know his own beliefs. he was close friends with lady jane grey, whom he later tried to make his heir. and he was fifteen! he died slowly and painfully, over a period of six months, and he was a teenager who knew that his entire life's work might be undone by his sister. he was stubborn, he was clever, he was deeply religious - all traits for which his sisters and father are well-known, but edward is denied. i want a proper drama focusing on edward's life, and NOT his annoying uncle or elizabeth, stat.

i was going to say something about margaret pole and arthur plantagenet here, but i got sidelined by my love for edward here. arthur was the illegitimate son of edward iv (who, funnily enough, died in the tower of london), and margaret was the daughter of george, duke of clarence, and niece of edward iv. neither of them were particularly important in edward iv or richard iii's reigns, but they later became much more relevant in the tudor era, as relatives of elizabeth of york and then henry viii. under henry viii, arthur was viscount lisle and lord deputy of calais - oddly enough, after his death, his title passed to john dudley, who was his stepson. margaret was mary i's governess, and her family remained staunch supporters of katherine of aragon. despite refusing to accept mary as his heir, henry apparently considered women a legitimate threat to his rule, as he executed margaret in 1541. earlier, he also arrested arthur. arthur was supposed to be released, but he died a few days after being freed, probably from a heart attack. they're the real last plantagenets.

i'll stop there, else this post will end up miles long.

25: Who is the most overrated historical figure, in your opinion?

stalin. elizabeth i. other people who weren't involved in colonialism, probably. oh yes! anne boleyn. we have all heard of anne boleyn, we get it, she was a person who existed. the actual woman anne boleyn seems really interesting, but unfortunately it gets buried under leagues of people more interested in either her romance with henry viii (boring) or people who simply wish to one-up those who aren't interested in her specific area of history. i am genuinely fascinated by henry viii, but i'm exhausted by the constant emphasis on anne boleyn this, elizabeth i that. i'm not interested in them!! i don't care!! but they're everywhere and fans of anne boleyn seem to feel oppressed for caring about an incredibly popular historical figure. not that anne wasn't treated with a lot of cruelty by henry viii and a lot of catholics both at the time and after the fact, but is there any historical figure except maybe her daughter who saturates all things tudor? i doubt it

(link)

[innytoes]

25 and Willex (bonus points if the child/dog/friend is Reggie?) (If you're still taking prompts for this 😁)

Every year for Halloween, Willie went back to the group home where he'd stayed to volunteer to take the kids trick or treating. Not only was it a way of giving back - of assuaging the guilt he sometimes felt, wondering why Caleb had picked a chaotic, messy fourteen year old over any of the sweeter, smaller kids - but it was amazing fun too.

He got to dress up, run around with a bunch of kids, and also maybe keep a list of houses to come back and egg later, if they were weird or stuck up about 'those group home kids begging for candy'.

Besides, being 18 at the Hollywood Ghost Club on Halloween sucked. It wasn't even like he could use his fake ID, the bartenders all knew him. And Caleb was super strict about stuff like that during business hours. So he helped out at the group home, and then went to the staff party at the Club the day after, when they were closed and nobody cared too much about whether or not a certain son of the owner swiped a Bloodtini. Or skated off the railing. Or tried to dunk the green grilled cheeses in the chocolate fountain.

And okay, so maybe this year his costume was a little obscure, but he'd procrastinated getting anything, so he ended up raiding Caleb's old costumes from his 'I did other stuff on Broadway too you know' closet, and some of his own, and a trip to the dollar store, and he was pretty pleased with himself.

Except clearly someone recognised him.

"OH MY GOD, ZEKE ZILLIONS SPACE COWBOY?" someone across the street screamed, before dragging someone by the arm over to them.

"See, I told you he was a real character," Willie told the four nine year olds he was chaperoning. They rolled their eyes at him.

"Oh my god oh my god," A boy about his age said. He was dressed up as a zombie, though for some reason he was also carrying a wok. His friend was also a zombie, but had on a long pink wig, giant fake pearls, and a pink dress. He had great legs. "Zeke Zillions Space Cowboy was my absolute favourite cartoon as a kid. Can I please get a picture? Pretty please?"

"Sure can, Pard'ner," he said in his best Zeke Zillions impression, and the guy straight up went 'EEEEeee' like he was an early twothousands internet fangirl. After his friend took a bunch of pictures, he thanked the kids for their patience.

"By the way, number 42 is handing out full-sized candy bars," ZomBarbie said.

Throughout the night, every time they crossed paths (ZomBarbie and the Wokking Dead were accompanied by a witch, Kurt Cobain, and a tiny ghost buster), they'd wave at each other, as his fan shouted out a 'HI ZEKE!'. Eventually they ended up at the same house, waiting for the kids to get back.

"Sorry about Reggie," ZomBarbie said. "He's um, kind of a fanboy for that show. Like, writes-fanfiction-and-goes-to-obscure-fan-meet-ups kind of fan. I think you just made his year."

"That's okay, I'm glad someone remembers good old Zeke," Willie said. He was definitely going sleuthing on AO3 later. He wondered what the ships were. "The show meant a lot to me as a kid, what with the obvious queer-coding." Hopefully, a cute boy in a dress would understand that.

"Yeah," ZomBarbie said. "My parents didn't allow me to watch it. Too worried I'd turn out 'fruity'." He motioned to himself. "Clearly they succeeded," he said sarcastically.

"You do really pull off that dress, though," Willie said, waggling his eyebrows. His zombie friend went adorably flustered, from what he could tell under the zombie makeup.

Before he could flirt any more, the kids came back, complaining about how this house was handing out toothbrushes and toothpaste. "Can you put them on the list, Willie?" one of them, the girl dressed as Coraline, asked.

"Handing out toothbrushes is kind of dorky, but not an egg-able offense," Willie told her. "We reserve that for bigots and assholes."

"You have a list?" ZomBarbie asked, as they walked to the next house. His kids and the little Ghost Buster were comparing notes, it seemed, pointing at different houses.

"Yeah, lot of people in this fancy-pants neighbourhood don't take kindly to poor foster kids showing up," Willie said darkly.

"Carlos said something about that white house with the American Flag outside complaining about him going back to his own neighbourhood," the witch said darkly. "We live two blocks from here."

Willie glared, and made a note of it. "You wanna join me?" he asked, mostly to ZomBarbie, but quickly looking away at the rest of the group.

"My tía would kill me," the witch said, before smiling slyly. "But I'm sure Alex wouldn't mind going."

ZomBarbie spluttered a little, but managed to squeak out a little 'okay!'

Jackpot.

Behind him, he heard the guy's friend sigh happily. "And once again, Zeke Zillions saves the day, dispenses justice to evil doers, and captures hearts."

[tendertenebrosity]

This is an odd piece that I mostly wrote to explore Ciaran's family and upbringing a bit. Who even are these people that Ciaran sold his soul for, etc. Ciaran's story so far can be found here. Mind the tags.

The first job I went out on with my father and his crew, the summer after we moved down south into town, was clearing land for some wealthy family who’d newly moved out of the capital. Henley, the name was.

It was pretty neglected land, overgrown with brush and saplings and fully grown trees right up to the eaves of the big house that would probably be really fancy once it had been taken care of properly. I was working near there - tying branches and whippy green wood into bundles to carry them away - when I noticed him.

Leaning over the half-rotten wooden railing of the balcony on the second floor, he was dressed in such good clothes it took me a second to notice that he was about my age or a little younger; a young fifteen or an old fourteen, maybe.

He was watching us work - or, well, not me actually; his gaze was fixed on the men with hatchets a little further away from the house. I straightened up, wincing and stretching my back, and wondered what it was he found so intriguing about Lin and Maric clearing the brush. Was he that bored out here?

I glanced over my shoulder. Maric had taken his shirt off.

Oh. I realised what it was that he was so fixated on, and what that meant, at about the same time he noticed me watching him.

If he was embarrassed to be caught staring, he didn’t show it. He transferred his cool, intent gaze to me.

Abruptly nervous, I shrugged. I flicked my eyes to Maric, back to him; and tried to contrive a grin that said: hey, I get it. Fair enough.

I did get it, actually; Maric was one of the few younger people around here that wasn’t related to me, so I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t spent a little time looking at him myself. As of last month he was extremely happily married to my cousin Shari, though.

The well-dressed boy’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. Greatly daring - oh man am I going to look stupid if I’ve misunderstood things - I winked at him and turned away.

-

“The garden I wanted to show you is just around here,” Jon said, a little loudly, a little obviously fake - although there was nobody to hear him. We’d left the rest of the crew under one of the trees Jon’s father had decreed would be allowed to stay, staying out of the worst of the midday heat while they finished lunch.

He gave me a conspiratorial look and I grinned, stupidly, trying not to be too dazzled by the sun on his hair and on his very white shirt and pale jacket. I followed him around the side of the shed the crew and I had just finished building last week.

I wondered if, jokes aside, there really was a garden - I wouldn’t have minded seeing it, wouldn’t have minded watching Jon’s face and hands as he talked about it - but once we were in the cool shade of the building he reached out and snagged my wrist, and then before I could think twice we were standing nose to nose up against the wall.

I was suddenly very conscious of the fact that I’d been working all morning, had dirt under my fingernails and ground into my elbows even though I’d washed up for lunch, that my shirt was still saturated with sweat across my back. I probably smelled, too. Surely any second Jon would notice and wrinkle his nose, and then I might need to change my name, buy a ticket on the next coach, and put on a fake moustache to not be recognised while I left the country.

I wondered if it was possible to kiss someone with your hands behind your back.

“Why are you doing that with your hands?” Jon demanded. He batted one of them out of the air playfully from where I had been hovering it. “Am I made of glass suddenly? You weren’t this shy last week.”

“Well - well, your jacket is so nice,” I protested. Heat flared across my cheeks. “It’s white. And I’m all dirty, I don’t want to mess up your nice clothes…”

“Old gods, you are adorable,” Jon laughed.

I tried to laugh off the fluttering feeling in my stomach, tried to tease him in return. “Why are you out in the grounds in good clothes, do you - ”

“Just come back from lessons. Shh.”

And then he put his hands on my chest, and stretched up a little because he was shorter than me, and kissed me. Which was an effective way of shushing me, I had to admit, because I stopped thinking about his clothes or my clothes or the dirt on my elbows or basically anything else.

I didn’t think we were there that long - surely it couldn’t have been longer than a minute or so? But when a loud and angry voice split the air, my first guilty thought was that I had misjudged the time and was late. We had sprung apart - a second of delay because Jon’s hand had curled around my waist and needed to be disentangled - before I realised to my horror that the voice didn’t sound like any of my people.

“Oh, no,” Jon said, and his face was so tight and frightened that I was distracted by a moment of worry for him. The person marching angrily across the broken ground towards us was Jon’s father. I’d seen him several times since starting the job; he’d only ever spoken to my dad.

“Mr - Mr Henley, sir,” I stammered. Maybe I should shut up and let Jon do the talking - but Jon was backing away from me, as if trying to put distance between us as fast as possible, hands brushing down his jacket to straighten it. “I - ”

“What the hells do you think you’re doing?” Henley snarled - his face a furious mask. I thought the question was directed at Jon, not me, which was why I was surprised when Henley reached us and the first thing he did was reach out and grab a fistful of my shirt.

He hit me across the face; not lightly, either, with the back of his hand. I had my hands half-raised instinctively to defend myself, but luckily I realised what a breathtakingly bad idea what would be before I did anything.

Instead I just reeled, my face burning and my ear ringing. I got my feet underneath myself and tried to tug my shirt out of his hand. “Sir! Sir, please!”

“Damn Caresi trash, this time?” he demanded of Jon. He didn’t let go; he twisted the handful of shirt he held and shook it like a terrier with a rat. “You decided to dig in the gutters for this one just to aggravate me, didn’t you?”

Jon flinched and gave me an appalled look. “Father, I - ”

The noise had brought half the crew coming to see what the fuss was; the men who came around the corner first froze and melted back.

The person who came around the corner next was my dad.

I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me.

He took a moment to take in the situation, brows down low over his eyes. I couldn’t meet them; I yanked at my shirt again, fruitlessly. My face was hot and stinging; the slap had happened before anybody else was here, but could Dad tell? I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want any of the men over there - my relatives and their friends and people I’d worked with for weeks - to know Henley had just slapped me.

“Mister Henley,” Dad said sharply. “Let go of my son, please.”

“Your son, is it?” Henley yanked my shirt as he turned around and I stumbled, only just avoiding falling flat on my face. He didn’t let go. “Well, mister Adarie, maybe you can tell me what your son is doing taking mine back behind outbuildings, with their filthy hands practically down each other’s pants? Is your son a two-copper whore?”

“Father,” Jon said, but he wasn’t as shocked by this as everybody else was; rather he was ramrod-straight and pale. The rest of the crew was milling around behind Dad now and a little murmur went through them. I burned.

“Ciaran,” Dad said. His voice was very level. “Is this true?”

I pulled on my shirt wildly, and managed to get it out of Henley’s grip. I backed away out of his reach. “No, it’s not!” I said, and my voice cracked, humiliated tears springing to my eyes. “I only - we only - it was just a kiss. That’s all! Don’t make it - he makes it sound like -”

Henley made a scoffing noise, disgusted.

He makes it sound so… so low and dirty, I wanted to say. It wasn’t. And it wasn’t - like that. I didn’t even unbutton his shirt. But you might have wanted to. But I didn’t! And even if I had - !

Dad looked at me for a long second and my stomach plummeted; I couldn’t bear the thought that it was disappointment or even disgust that made him take so long to say anything. “You know you’re here to work, Ciaran,” he said. “Should you have been working?”

“No,” I protested. I sniffed desperately and tried to force the tears away. “No, Dad, I - it was the midday break. I’m working, I’m not slacking off…”

Maric, hanging back behind my father’s shoulder, coughed. “That - that is true,” he said, and his eyes were sympathetic when he glanced at me. “We had stopped for midday. There wasn’t anything he should have been doing.”

Dad looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end all he did was sigh. “Come here,” he said.

I went to do as he said, miserable - but Henley stepped in front and put an arm out. I could’ve got around him, maybe, but I didn’t want to push him and make things worse, so I just stood there like an idiot.

“You seem to have the misapprehension that I’m most concerned about his work,” Henley said, low and furious. “Frankly I don’t care. He could be the best man you have and three times as fast as any of the rest, and I’d still want his hide.”

My stomach dropped; I could feel heat burning in my cheeks but the rest of me went cold. Maric looked alarmed; a muttered conversation went on behind Dad’s back between a few of my cousins. Dad gave me one quick glance, his brow creased, before turning his attention to Henley.

“Ah… sir,” he said. “Hang on, now. There’s no call for that kind of talk... Ciaran’s barely fifteen...”

“No?” I couldn’t see Henley’s face, but I could hear the venom in his voice. The distance between me and Dad seemed to lengthen; suddenly everybody else was way over there, and I was trapped behind Henley and Jon. “You don’t think so? You think I ought to let him creep around corrupting my son, doing whatever - ”

“Don’t be stupid, Father,” Jon interrupted, heated. “If anybody has grounds to claim that it’s Adarie, since -”

“You’ll hold your tongue,” Henley snapped. “We’ll discuss what happens with you later.”

“Look,” Dad said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, hang on. Mr Henley… this…it’s unfortunate, and I’m sorry, but let’s not make it more than it is. I apologise for his behaviour. But he’s just a boy. There’s no harm done. There’s no suggestion he’s made your son do anything he didn’t want, is there?”

“No,” Jon said, before his father could answer. He flicked a quick glance at me that I couldn’t read, and then looked to my dad with a mulish expression. “It was my idea. I talked your son into it.”

“Well, then - well, then. They’re just kids,” Dad said. “More heart than sense. No harm done.” As if he said it often enough Henley would believe it. He made what I thought was an attempt at a rueful fellow-feeling smile. “We were all boys once, weren’t we? Eh?”

“Not in the sense that you seem to mean, no,” Henley said, coldly. “I can’t say I was. Perhaps that you think so…. Explains some things.”

Dad shook his head. “Listen, I don’t think it’s good to have this out in public for everyone to gawk at. Let’s - let’s move on, and talk about this later, and let everyone get back to work. Ciaran’ll go. I’ll talk to him - you can talk to your boy.”

“I don’t think it’s talk either of them needs,” Henley said, but he seemed to have tired of the conversation; maybe he didn’t like the reminder that this was happening in public, either? He gave me a look like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe, and stepped to one side. “Fine. We’ll discuss this and the future of the project in my office this afternoon, Adarie. Get back to what I’m supposedly paying you all for.”

I edged along the wall of the shed to get around him, giving him as wide a berth as the poisonous snake he reminded me of. Once I reached Dad’s side I turned around.

Jon was standing at his father’s side, mirroring us; his stance was stiff and there was something very deliberate about the way he held his chin tipped up. I swiped a hand over my face - it was wet and my nose was running, so that was revolting, that was a really dignified way to end this.

“Of course. Ciaran - apologise to Mr Henley, and young master Henley,” Dad said. “And then you’ll have to walk home.”

Apologise to Mr Henley? I would rather have eaten glass, in that second. The words, but, Dad, hovered on my lips, but one look at Jon and his father made me swallow them painfully.

I looked at the ground. “I’m - I’m very sorry for the trouble,” I managed to force out. “Sir. Please forgive me.” In my head I directed it at Jon, because I was sorry to Jon. Sorry because I’d obviously gotten him in trouble; sorry I hadn’t kept a closer eye out for people coming.

Henley sneered at my apology, but he was already turning away. Jon followed him without looking at me, and that hurt, too, unexpectedly.

“Thank Ena,” somebody murmured from Dad’s other side; probably Maric. Somebody else behind him laughed. And maybe I was just really upset and not thinking straight, maybe they meant it as nervousness and relief, but it didn’t feel like it.

“Ciaran, what were you thinking?” Dad demanded, and went to touch my face; to turn it and look at where Henley had smacked me, probably. The anger in his voice made my stomach seize up all over again. “I never thought that you were this -”

I pushed his hand away, ducking my head. “What, are you going to hit me now, too?” I asked, and my voice was all over the place, high and tearful. Of course he was disappointed. Of course he didn’t want to think of me like that.

He looked shocked. His hand dropped. “Ciaran!”

Why does everybody have to be here? Bad enough Dad and Maric! But fucking everyone?

“Can we do this later? You s-said go home, I’m going,” I said, turning away with one hand held up over my eyes in the vain hope that people would stop looking at my face and just let me get out of here.

“All right, later,” I heard Dad say as I went blindly through the ranks of the crew.

-

Later, I lay on my bed upstairs in the house we shared with my Uncle Cob and his family.

The rest of the family was home. I could hear them downstairs, talking over dinner; but I couldn’t make out what they were saying, which was probably a good thing, frankly. My stomach rumbled, but I wasn’t going down there, possibly ever again.

I heard the stairway creak as somebody came upstairs. The door eased open.

“Go away,” I said into the pillow.

“Hey,” Bren said, softly. “It’s only me, Ciaran. Can I sit down?”

I sniffled. Bren wouldn’t be so bad. Bren hadn’t been there, today, he hadn’t seen it - he worked in a factory, not with my dad’s crew. Then again, people had undoubtedly told him, and I couldn’t decide if that was worse. I wouldn’t have privacy up here for very long anyway; my cousin and my brother would be up at bedtime and I’d have to either look them in the eyes or pretend to be asleep already.

Bren took my silence for agreement, shut the door, and came to sit on the bed beside me. The wooden frame creaked. He didn’t try to touch me.

“Your dad sent me up here to have a bit of a talk with you,” he said. No big surprise there. He was the youngest of them, and seemed to have all of the skill with words my dad and my uncle Cob never picked up. “He told me about what happened at the worksite today.”

“So you heard that I’m a two-copper whore,” I said viciously into the pillow. “I guess everybody knows that by now, don’t they?”

I heard him draw in a wincing breath. “Nobody should have called you that, Ciaran,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

I rolled over to stare at the ceiling. “He called me Caresi trash, too,” I said. “That bit was before Dad arrived. Said Jon was after people ‘from the gutter’.”

Bren rubbed a hand through his hair, looking awkward. “Yeah, you’ll… you’ll find that in this part of the country. It’s just not normally that openly put,” he said. “I doubt your dad would be surprised to hear it. Henley sounds like a piece of work.”

“Then why’d Dad take the job?” I asked. “Why’d he offer us the job? If he’s that…?”

Bren sighed. “Ah, if only we could be that picky.”

I stared at the ceiling with my hands twisting in my shirt. “Do we… still have the job?” I wasn’t stupid. We needed that job. If I’d lost it for us…

“Yes,” Bren said. “It’s almost done, as I understand it, everyone will grit their teeth and put up with each other for another couple of weeks. It’s not worth finding another crew for what’s left.”

He turned around to look at me very seriously. “Look, you - you know your dad loves you to bits, Ciaran,” he said gently. “We all do. If he was - stern, today, it’s not because you made him angry. It’s because he was scared for you.”

I avoided Bren’s gaze, turning my head to stare at the wall.

I hadn’t been fair, this afternoon, to ask if he was going to hit me - that was probably part of why Bren was here and he wasn’t. I’d surprised and maybe even hurt him. My father might be gruff and difficult to talk to, but he’d never been that kind of man. It would probably take doing something actually criminal or violent or both before I’d be afraid anybody under this roof would hit me.

But that wasn’t what I’d been afraid of, really.

“I think,” I managed to say, “I think he is angry. Why wouldn’t he be angry?” Angry was not the word that was buzzing about in my head, like a fly trapped behind a windowpane. Angry wasn’t what I was afraid of.

“Yes, but not like - ” Bren waved his hands in a fruitless gesture. “Ciaran, you did something foolish today, not - not something morally wrong, or something your dad thinks is dirty, or something he’s going to think less of you for. He would never - there’s nothing you could do to make us love you less, Ciaran, not a thing, and certainly not something like this.”

Think less of me. Yeah, those were words you could use to describe it, that look of revulsion in Henley’s eyes. Did I think that Dad would look at me like that?

“Mmn,” I said past a lump in my throat.

“The whole - boys, girls, doesn’t matter,” Bren said. He smacked his knee lightly for emphasis as he spoke. “As long as you - as long as you’re treating people right and acting with integrity, it doesn’t matter at all.”

Acting with integrity. Only my uncle Bren could say a phrase like that and have it come out naturally, like he said it every day. “It matters sometimes,” I said - and, to my horror, my voice was going all wobbly again. “It matters to - ”

“It matters to miserable horse’s asses like Henley,” Bren said firmly. “Nobody you should care about. If anybody in this family or the work crew has a stupid opinion about it, you come and tell me.” Oh no. Oh, no, that would not be happening at all, no matter how many stupid opinions anybody has. “Your ma and dad aren’t… This is outside of their experience. They don’t really know how to talk about it, which is why I’m here and not them. But none of us care, and they want to make sure you know that.”

I sniffled, swiped a hand over my eyes. “Okay.” I pushed myself up to sit up, my back against the wall behind me. “So. So Dad just thinks I’m a fucking idiot who embarrassed him in front of the client. He just thinks I ruined the whole fucking job. He just thinks I can’t be trusted to - to - ”

I could just about see Bren wincing at the language, and deciding not to pull me up on it. Well if you can say horse’s ass, I can say fuck, can’t I?

“You didn’t ruin it,” he said patiently. “It’s awkward, the working relationship has soured, but like I said, this guy has been a piece of work from the start so I don’t think there was a lot there to damage.” He sighed. “But, yeah. You made things uncomfortable for him. I think you know what you did was stupid, and you know why. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled, staring at my knees. If Jon had been a girl, I suppose it wouldn’t have gone much better. Caresi trash. “Shouldn’t - shouldn’t let, that stuff, into work stuff. I know.”

I did know - but - well, how often could I expect to meet other people like me? Nice-looking boys who thought I was worth paying attention to? When was that ever going to happen again?

“Uh huh,” he said. “It was a bad judgement call. He’s not going to stop loving you for those, either, thank God or none of us would love anybody anymore in this family.”

That made me smile, which I guess he’d probably intended.

“So that’s about all your dad wanted me to say to you, I think,” he said, clapping his hands together. “The next part is from me.”

“Um. Okay?”

He held his hands steepled in front of his face for a moment, and I could see him sorting out words in his head. “I had this talk with a few of the girls at one point,” he said. “It’s fundamentally not that different.”

I was a little alarmed. “Bren, I’m not a girl…”

“No, and that means there’s a few things you don’t need to worry about,” he agreed. “I’m not expecting you to come home pregnant. But, Ciaran, please bear this in mind for any escapades you might get into in the future. Do not get involved with rich boys or rich men.”

This was not what I’d been expecting. “Huh?”

“Rich men that are employing you are a bad idea for reasons you’ve figured out already, I think, but all of them are trouble,” he said. “Even be careful about boys that maybe aren’t all that rich but aren’t Caresi.”

“That’s not fair,” I protested. “I know lots of non-Caresi people who are -”

“It’s not about them being bad people necessarily, kiddo, it’s about power,” Bren said. He lifted a hand in the air to gesture. “It’s about… if things go bad, like they could have today, who gets left with the consequences and who doesn’t? Who can ruin whose life if they want to? Who can go to the authorities and be believed?”

I frowned. “I mean, honestly? Today? I think Jon got left with the consequences.” I would bet anything that right now Jon was not getting a gentle talk from his favourite uncle about how loved he was, despite making very embarrassing and possibly expensive mistakes.

Bren sighed. “Jon, is that his name? All right. Yeah, Jon’s probably having problems with his family, but not - not the kind of thing I’m talking about. Ciaran, you - your dad was scared today.”

I bit my lip. I knew that.

“If he hadn’t happened to be on site that day,” Bren continued, “Or if Henley hadn’t been able to be talked down - he could have hurt you badly and there wouldn’t be much any of us could have done about it, before or after. What are we going to do, go to the police and tell them this rich landowner had our kid beaten? The police would laugh.”

I wrapped my arms around my knees. “I know. I know.”

Bren reached out and rubbed my shoulder. “Maric told me Jon seemed like a good kid. Took the blame, if Henley was going to lay blame?”

“Yeah,” I said. “He did.” And I’d… made trouble for him, and then left him. It didn’t feel good. Even knowing that there was nothing I could have done about… any of it. “It wasn’t all his idea. It was both of us.”

“Well, I’m glad he’s a good kid,” Bren said gently, “Because if he thought it’d help his position with his father, he could pretty easily have lied and said it was just your idea.”

“But it doesn’t matter whose…”

“I know,” Bren said. “You’re right. But… people get funny about this, Ciaran, the girls get it worse than boys usually. I know you’ve heard people talking. It’s always got to be somebody’s fault. And if you’re…” he hesitated. “There’s nothing wrong with how you are. You have nothing to be ashamed of. But the world won’t always be fair to you.”

Underneath us I could hear the sounds of dishes clattering, people starting to come up the stairs. Sounded like I’d made Bren miss dinner, too.

“No,” I said, looking down at my knees. “I guess I know that.”

“To society at large, someone like Jon?” Bren said. “His reputation and livelihood and well-being is more important than yours is. And it’s very easy for him to hurt you. Even if he never would hurt you, he could. That’s what I’m talking about.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking tired. “You’re young, and I know this is a lot to think about. I don’t mean to depress you, or frighten you, or any of that. I just… I don’t want you to walk into situations where you don’t have power because somebody tells you it doesn’t matter or that love will fix it. It does, and it won’t.”

I wasn’t sure I understood the future that Bren was picturing for me, that this was advice he needed to give me. It seemed like it only applied to a narrow circumstance that wasn’t likely to happen again.

But the rest of it, I got. The world won’t be fair to you, so be careful who you trust.

“All right,” I said, trying to smile. “I’ll be careful, Uncle Bren. I promise.”

“Good lad,” he said, giving me a one-armed hug. “Now, I think they’ve saved you some food. Why don’t we head down and see?”

[theworldisquietheretooquiet]

Nobody knows my lover is buried underground

AO3 1802 words

I wrote this for @dorcuartholweek! It is angsty, canon compliant, and about grief.

"Where is the hope he instilled in you?” He gestures wildly at the plaque. “Has it gone in so few years, from one that lasted fourteen in the pits of the Iron Hell?”

Túrin and Gwindor are united in their grief for Beleg, but not in much else.

It is a year exactly since Beleg’s death and Túrin and Gwindor stand in a back room of Nargothrond. It is one of the rare places in the city where sunlight creeps in past stone. Filtering through a window in the high ceiling, the golden rays of late summer illuminate the plaque and Túrin breathes out softly.

Carved into the stone tablet is his name.

BELEG CÚTHALION

The light dances across his hand as Túrin reaches out and traces the runes.

“To honour his memory, I thought we could come here, each year, on the day. Place gifts or speak words or stand in silence; it matters not how we spend the time. Yet I would like to spend it thinking of him.” Gwindor’s voice is quiet and Túrin can feel his gaze on the back of his head.

He closes his eyes and even then, the golden light finds a way in. It was so dark when Beleg died, and it has not gone away since. That terrible blackness of confusion and grief is there every time he sleeps. Or blinks. He is always there, in many ways; on the slopes of Tar-Nu-Fuin, with his lover’s blood on his hands. He can never truly leave.

He opens his eyes when he hears the soft clink of metal on stone. Gwindor steps back from where he has placed a small dagger on the floor before the wall bearing the plaque.

“Beleg gave that to me as I followed him through peril, back towards the dreaded place from which I fled. Never did I think I would return one step in that direction, yet his words gave to me the courage and hope I had lost.”

Túrin stares at it. The he leaves without a word.

It does not take him long to find the scrap of leather, but he spends more time than he is truly conscious of looking at it in his hands, one foot over the threshold of his room.

Gwindor is still waiting calmly when he returns.

It seems strangely small next to the dagger, on the floor.

Beleg had had many such strands of leather for binding and braiding his hair. This one had dropped to the floor of the Echad and Túrin had picked it up, intending to give it back to him. It was still in his pocket when the orcs took him.

The light shines on the objects and Túrin’s throat is very tight.

It has been two years since Beleg’s death. He showed Gwindor the wood carving a few days ago, as they confirmed they would come to the room again this year.

The Elf had not understood what the carved symbol signified, and Túrin had struggled to explain it to him, growing frustrated as he could not remember his mother’s words. He had first seen the horizontal line with a circle centred below on a rock by Nen Lalaith. His sister was burned, not buried, to avoid contagion, but his Aunt Rían had told him that the marker must still be placed somewhere. ‘To protect the dead on their journey from this world and to give us strength in our grief.’

He waits for Gwindor to put down a small bag of dried hyacinth petals, their faded purple colour still just recognisable.

He rests the small wood carving on the floor beside it. It was done in secret, as he deeply did not wish to explain its purpose and even less its meaning to any more Elves.

He moves his right hand from shoulder to shoulder, drawing it across his collarbone, then makes a fist over his heart, mirroring the lines etched into the wood.

Morwen’s voice echoes in his ears: ‘Andreth told me we began to do this gesture as soon as we crossed Ered Luin. It is a sign to remind us of the strength of our people and what we overcame. The line is the mountains, the darkness we escaped from once and will do again; the fist, the heart and power of our folk.’

Beleg was no Man, and his soul needs no protection. It is in the dominion of the Valar themselves now if their stories are true.

But as Túrin stands there, focusing on keeping his breathing even, he stares at the symbol until it burns into his eyes, and he tells himself he comes from a people who are masters of grief. He will survive this feeling. He will.

Túrin touches his left shoulder, draws his hand across to the right, and makes a fist over his heart.

It has been three years since Beleg’s death. The room smells lightly of the lavender cakes Gwindor has brought, and Túrin breathes in deeply. This year he has no offering, yet his body and mind are weary. Long has he laboured, ever since the weather turned and he realised what he had to say.

As he speaks the words aloud and they fill the small room, it is clear his craft is lacking. They are unpolished, and his voice is hoarse, unsure, stammering in a way it has not done so since he was a small child.

But he says them.

“I love you. I love you, Beleg. Thank you for saving me. Not just – thank you for all the times you saved me, body and soul. Perhaps it would have been a better ending if you had not done so, that final time. If we had died together, or if you had outlived me as you always should have. You do not deserve to be a midpoint in my story. You are – you are the centre of it, Beleg. I hope you knew that.

I love you. And I am sorry. I am – so very sorry.” 

It has been four years since Beleg’s death. Túrin had not been entirely sure Gwindor would come and indeed he does not enter the room until the hour is late. He has not been present at council meetings since all voices but his called for war.

When Túrin places down an arrow that had passed clean through an orc’s skull, he glances at Gwindor and sees his eyes are shadowed, his mouth set in a grim line as he looks at it.

He makes no offering but speaks. “Be healed in the Halls of Waiting and receive Nienna’s pity. May you tell the Valar of our suffering and let them hear you and relent.”

Túrin scoffs.

It has been five years since Beleg’s death. Gwindor is already there when Túrin arrives, a necklace of small green stones resting on the floor. The Elf is standing, looking at the plaque.

“That is a fair gift, my friend.”

Gwindor makes no answer, and his expression is cold.

Túrin sighs and bends down, reaching into his bag to bring out the cloth.

The fine threads catch the light as he sets the embroidery down. Finduilas’ work is intricate beyond words, the leaves she has wrought shimmer every shade of green imaginable.

He smiles. It brings to his mind now as it had when she had given it to him, how Doriath’s tree canopy would look from below, as he and Beleg lay on the soft grass.

“Does she know this is how you make use of her skill?”

Túrin’s face darkens, but the anger passes swiftly, pity settling in as he sees the pain in Gwindor’s eyes.

“She would take great joy in creating a piece for you, I am sure. Why, you should ask her to, such beauty will help escape the sadness in which you still tarry.”

Gwindor only shakes his head. “I will ask her for nought, it would not be fair.”

Túrin watches him leave and frowns.

It has been six years since Beleg’s death. The room is very dark when Túrin arrives, his Mannish eyes must squint to find Gwindor’s shadow.

He had not been sure if he would come at all. His days are endlessly busy now, with strategy meetings, accounts of supplies, and war-making. He has brought no offering; the blood which has coated Gurthang repeatedly this year seems sometimes the only gift that would truly honour the dead.

And if these recent reports are true, if the final battle is soon to be at hand – well, no greater deed could there be done in Beleg’s name.

Túrin looks down at the tunic Gwindor has placed before the plaque. Its colour is hard to distinguish in the low light, but it is a far larger size than would fit the Elf beside him, even in what Túrin imagines was his great stature before his capture.

They both stand there, utterly silent for many long minutes, and Túrin is close to leaving, he has nothing left to say to his friend, no words he can conjure that will make a difference, when Gwindor speaks.

“I will fight. When the Elves of Nargothrond ride out for the last time, Gwindor, son of Guilin, will go.”

The words are hard and rough, and it takes a few moments for them to truly sink into Túrin’s mind. But as he understands, the grief and the wrath rise like a wave.

“Do not be so foolish. You have not the strength to wield arms. Do not – intentionally throw your life away because you are angry at me, because you grieve her. Where is the hope he instilled in you?” He gestures wildly at the plaque. “Has it gone in so few years, from one that lasted fourteen in the pits of the Iron Hell?”

When Gwindor laughs it is an ugly sound, and the awful blackness spills from it. He makes no other answer.

Túrin’s head begins to throb, and the words pass his lips without examination.

“You should not fight. You must not. Stay and protect the people, protect –

“There is nobody left to save.” Gwindor’s voice is ragged.

“They are all dead, Túrin. This is a city of corpses. Perhaps it always was. Have you not noticed the darkness, my friend? Our doom has found us, and we cannot see for how close it presses. It is over.”

Do not call me that name, he wants to cry, but he knows it will only make Gwindor laugh in that terrible way again.

“You should not speak so. While the maiden of Nargothrond still lives, this city will not fall.”

Gwindor’s breath catches, and he turns away.

“Of her, of her… I can only hope… Oh, Finduilas.” He begins to weep and leaves.

Túrin turns back towards the stone and presses his palm against Beleg’s name.

He does not let himself think about whether or not they will return next year.

He tries not to see the blood seeping from his hands and the way it pools in the carved letters.

If you want to see what I meant the symbol on the wood carving to look like, here's my very simple drawing of it!

[ravenmold]

Pretty Please tell me about "idk man ……. Pirate au" 🥺🥺🥺

Hey PaniC 😌❤️

Surprising absolutely nobody, this is a pirate au for sterek that was inspired by the first season of OFMD. I think specifically that episode where they infiltrated the bougie party of snobby nobles 😂 I started it in March of 2023, literal months before I even found out Mattfoggy and back then every idea I had was sterek.

It's 1300 words but they're all following the more traditional raven structure: little bits of scenes and quotes and ideas and notes to myself so that I can capture the Vibes™. There's really nothing coherent about my writings but I'll share a lil snippet so you can judge it, and then afterwards the plot summary I have so far.

Derek has conflicting feelings about stowaways. Pirates deal with them often, as it’s the easiest way for convicts to escape the immediate vicinity, and pirates avoid law enforcement by design, so it’s an almost logical agreement – except for the fact that most stowaways steal your food, loot, gunpowder, and wouldn’t hesitate to kill a crew member if their safety was threatened. Overall, a loose cannon, and most pirates agree that they’re best dealt with by the sea itself.

Maybe it was because he was a stowaway himself, as a young boy, hiding among crates for a week straight on a horrible smelling supply ship, that he can’t seem to be quite so hard on them. Maybe it’s the fact that when he sees this one, Boyd dragging him about by the scruff of his collar, young face covered in grime and cheekbones stark from malnourishment, he’s reminded instantly of his own voyage to the unknown back in his boyhood. Maybe it’s because of the utter insanity of long months at sea that his next words are, unthinkingly, unprompted, “There you are, lad. Got lost, did you?"

Boyd's eyebrows shoot up.

---

“Derek.” “Don’t call me that.” “It is your name, is it not? Or do you prefer Captain?” “Would you quiet down! If you want to give me away, I prefer you take me directly to the Commander, instead of someone overhearing you and alarming the guards. At least then I’d have some semblance of dignity.” The young man snickers, unexpectedly. “You’re not at all like I remember you.” Derek can’t believe he’s having this conversation. “Yes, well, you were what, a mere lad of ten? And I was so new to captaincy. It would have been more of an insult if you thought I remained the same.” “I was fourteen, and it wasn’t that long ago. I just—I thought. I remember you more … grumbly. You were tired all the time. You sighed a lot.” He has to keep himself from sighing right now, it would only cause the man to laugh more. His disguise is already precarious as it is. “Perhaps you would recall that I had a lot to manage at the time. A rival who attacked my ship. A first mate injured in the process. A stowaway that I had to make a plan with?”

---

“You were after something tonight, weren’t you? Had your charm turned all the way up. Nary an eye could keep away from you.” Stiles’ smile was all curling contentment, the cat that got the cream. “So it worked?” He practically purred. Derek crinkled his nose. “I’m not sure why you’re asking me. I didn’t see you leave with anyone, if that’s what you wanted. But you must not be too sorry if you’re smiling like that.”

And this is the working summary I wrote down for myself:

Stiles had always known what he wanted, since he was a boy hiding on a pirate ship. Had he gotten it? Well, not quite the way he’d wanted. But he was a patient man, and he knew the tides always came back. Derek showed mercy to a stowaway once, in his first year as a pirate captain, and he’s been paying for it ever since.

😂 so what's my plot here???

Well, young pirate captain Derek encounters a stowaway on his ship, and instead of making him walk the plank like he knows he should, he pretends that he hired the boy.

The boy leaves at the next port and they part ways as unlikely friends. Years later, Derek recognises him at a masquerade ball that he's infiltrating and has to try and bribe Stiles to keep quiet. The only bribe Stiles will accept at all is to go work for Derek on his boat again, so at the end of the night Stiles tags along when Derek goes back.

After this I don't remember if they go on more adventures and if Derek just finds out why Stiles is so happy to be coming with him - because he'd developed a crush on Derek years back and when he'd heard about Derek's plan to infiltrate the ball, he concocted his own plan to join in. Also there's some other details I never straightened out properly, like the reason Stiles was a stowaway, and uhm............other things happen in the fic too. But you get the gist 😌 self indulgent pirate shenanigans 😂

....i should watch season 1 of OFMD again, maybe I'd be inspired to continue on it.

[astralbooks]

Transmogrify! edited by g. haron davis

Read: 22/04/2023 - 27/04/2023

Rating: 3/5

Rep: trans protagonists (mainly non-binary)

CW: transphobia, misgendering, fantasy violence, body horror, discussion of suicide, deaths of family members

Review:

This is an anthology of fourteen short stories by transgender authors about transgender characters that involve magic in some way!

As is the case with pretty much any anthology you come across, some of the stories in here were better than others. My personal favourites were Mason Deaver’s Genderella, a mostly contemporary retelling of Cinderella featuring a trans girl teenager as the protagonist, Cam Montgomery’s Bend The Truth, Break It Too, featuring a cursed non-binary shopkeeper who cannot leave their shop and is constantly having to fight off possession, and Dove Salvatierra’s Espejismos, about a Latinx person in what seems to be a post-apocalyptic world who’s struggling to both survive in his family home and to reckon with his late father’s expectations of him.

A lot of these stories felt samey, though. You’d think with the freedom to write anything so long as the main characters are trans and there’s magic involved there’d be a little more variety, but no. A lot of these stories are set in a world where women do magic type A and men do magic type B and our brave non-binary protagonist has to argue their case to be allowed to do magic A/B/A+B/C (delete as applicable) and it got a bit tiring after a while. One story with this plot would’ve been enough. The point of an anthology is to have lots of different stories along a similar theme (in this case, transness and magic as a whole) but this started to feel like the same story again and again with different set dressings, and as a non-binary reader frankly it got depressing very quickly. I was hoping for a little more trans magic and not as much transphobia.

If a story wasn’t about a non-binary kid having to fight to be allowed to participate in things, then it was probably about a magic school in some capacity. I do understand why contributors wanted to write about magic schools. A story involving a magic school that centres transgender characters is something of a targeted screw you at a certain once beloved children’s author. But, again, there were a lot of stories involving a magic school, and the only one that seemed to have anything interesting to say was the one told from the perspective of the school itself, which, I’ve now double checked, is the one written by A.R. Capetta and Cory McCarthy, and their ability to do something actually interesting is likely unsurprising.

There were very few transfem characters throughout this anthology. Out of fourteen stories, a grand total of only one features a trans girl main character. There’s another with a trans girl love interest, but she’s not the protagonist. Unless I’ve missed something major, that’s it. The overwhelming majority of protagonists in this anthology are non-binary, there are a couple of trans boys, and there is a single trans girl. This is an issue! I’m non-binary. I recognise that non-binary characters are underrepresented. But trans women are also underrepresented, if not more so, and them being so noticeably absent from this anthology is not a great look. This anthology is claiming to depict a wide range of trans experiences. If that’s really the case, you’d expect there to be more trans girls than there are.

This anthology has come under fire recently for not having any trans women or transfem contributors. It’s true that demanding people be entirely open about any queer identities they may align with isn’t a good thing to be doing. Nobody should be forced out of the closet and in many cases it can be genuinely unsafe for people to come out. However, every single contributing author is already openly transgender in some way, making this something of a flimsy defence in this case. To put it charitably, not making sure to include at least one openly transfem contributor to this trans anthology was a mistake, and it’s one that I hope won’t be made again.

In all, this anthology was fine. I liked some stories more than I liked others, which is typical for anthologies! But its claim to include a diverse range of trans experiences when it very plainly does not sours my feelings on it by a lot. In isolation, I wouldn’t even mind the majority of the stories being about non-binary characters provided there were also multiple stories about other varieties of transness, but there aren’t. The lack of stories about trans girls, and the last of transfem contributors, are glaring omissions that are probably indicative of wider issues in the publishing industry as a whole.

Thank you to HarperTeen for sending me an arc in return for an honest review.

[bottleofscapa]

Sarah and Nick (Part 1.2)

The best friend’s little sister

This is a story I wrote together with another author, originally in German. I got their permission to publish it here. It is written from the perspective of Sarah (my co-authors part) and Nick (my Part). Please excuse any translation mistakes and sometimes less than perfect phrasing, English is my second language.

This is all fantasy.

Content warning: CNC, manipulation, age play, bimbofication, free use

Nick:

I don’t even Register climbing the stairs to Ben’s room, because my head only revolves around you. To be exact, I’m thinking: “was that Sarah?” I mean, of course you were, but you changed so much. I think, last time I saw you, you were maybe fourteen or fifteen. Now you should be seventeen or eighteen, either way, you are barely recognisable.

It takes the full force of my will to banish those thoughts. “I will not think about Ben’s sister that way!”, I scold myself.

Then we arrive in Ben’s room. It barely changed since my last visit, but he was hardly home the past 6 years. If he didn’t have a pipe burst in his apartment, neither of us would be staying with his parents.

“You want a beer?”, he asks bored.

“Sure”, I answer laughing.

“Wait, maybe you should greet my parents first. You know, putting up a brave face in front of them.”

“Good idea”, I reply unenthusiasticly.

We quickly throw my stuff into the upstairs guest room, which is located next to Ben’s old room, before we go back down to the ground floor. Maxwell and Carola are already standing in the living room. Putting up the best fake smile I can muster, I walk towards them, extending my arm, shaking Carola’s Hand First, then Maxwell’s, while I thank them over and over again for allowing me to stay in there home for a few days.

Sarah:

Even at Pia’s place, my thoughts are still circling around you. And when she starts making plans for this evening, I quickly interject, that I can’t come. “Come on, why not”, Pia whines.

“Because I want to see Nick again”, would be the right answer, but instead I tell her, that we have guests over.

“Come on, just sneak out later in the evening”, she tries to convince me.

“I’m really sorry, I can’t. But we will do something tomorrow. I promise!”, I try to comfort her.

“Okay, then we will go to Michael’s party. Everyone will be there!”

“For sure!”, I say and she’s grinning again.

“Do you think, your brother will come as well?”, Pia asks, trying to sound as casual as possible, while she’s turning the pages of some magazine to avoid looking into my eyes. Annoyed I’m rolling my eyes. It has been like that ever since I turned fourteen or fifteen. All my friends crush on my older brother, even though he changes girlfriends more often than underwear.

“I hope, he doesn’t”, I answer truthfully. Because when he’s coming to a party I will be treated like a lepper. Not that anybody would dare flirting with me anyway, but when Ben is close by, nobody would touch me with a ten foot pole. And that sucks! He’s allowed to screw anything that moves, but if I do anything more, than holding hands, or kissing a boy on the cheek….. But apart from that, Ben and I get along pretty well and I know, that he will always be there for me, when I need him.

“Well, I hope he will come”, Pia remarks dreamily, but a stern look from me stops her from raving about my brother.

We chit and chat about everything that comes to our mind, paint our toe nails (Pia in red, mine in blue), get the spontaneous idea to bake some cupcakes and just enjoy hanging out with each other. In the late afternoon I sweep the flour off my shorts and delicately lick the the topping from my fingers before I drive home with boxes full of chocolate, vanilla and blueberry cupcakes.

“Oh my god, Sarah! You’re looking awful”, my mother greets me shocked, “what’s that in your hair?”

“It’s just flour”, I try calming her down, “I will take a quick shower and then I’m off for my tennis lesson.” At the moment, she’s especially tiring. I have to be perfect all the time. Even, when I don’t want to. I quickly put the cupcakes in the refrigerator and take my shower. Atleast I can use the tennis lesson to let out all pent up anger.

Nick:

In the meantime, Ben and I arrived at our third beer, while we are sitting in lawnc hairs and watching the waves roll onto the beach.

“Do you want to go out this evening?”, he asks lazily.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ve got a job interview tomorrow at seven. And the bus is gonna take me at least one and half hours. I really wanna get that job, man! That company’s doing exactly what I like. Building automation, smart homes, all that good stuff. I don’t wanna end in a job, where I have to break open walls and lay cables all the time.”

“That’s fair. But tomorrow evening, you are coming with us! Michael is throwing a party. But we might have to dress you up a bit”, Ben says, while inspecting my baggy jeans and washed out shirt.

“Don’t worry, man”, I laugh, “I still have some pearls hidden in my backpack!”

Over the next two hours, Ben brings me up to speed on everything that happened since I vanished last year. After that, we go back inside and I eat a few quick sandwiches, before I go upstairs to prepare myself for bed. Looking at his expensive watch, that shows nine o’clock, Ben remarks: “oh boy, you are growing old.”

Back in the guest room, I take off my shirt, throw a towel over my shoulder, grab my toilet bag and go towards the bathroom. Just as I’m about to grab the door handle, the door swings open and you’re standing in front of me, only wearing a large towel.

“Oh, hello Sarah” I greet you awkwardly. I can’t believe, that I would ever be at a lack of words, standing in front of a beautiful, semi-nude woman…… but you are Bens sister!

[captainclickycat]

So since Jacqueline Wilson came up earlier, I actually read Love Lessons (which as far as I can work out is still one of her most controversial books which even a lot of her diehard fans feel like she dropped the ball on) a few months ago and now I suppose I’m having Thoughts on it several years after release.

Like, I can see completely why people were freaked out by it. The whole thing with the twentysomething teacher starting a relationship with a fourteen-year-old kid wasn’t treated positively per se, but the use of the protagonist’s pov made it feel like the presentation was closer to some kind of soap opera tragic romance than something the audience was meant to be alarmed or disgusted by. I feel like Wilson was definitely putting too much expectation on the young target audience to read between the lines there.

This could have been remedied by having even one adult sit the girl down and say “this shouldn’t be happening, and it’s not your fault.” But that doesn’t happen because of a particular key detail, which is that every adult in this book is awful.

Prudence’s dad is awful, her teachers are awful (even the ones who don’t groom teenagers) and many of them seem to take this weird perverse delight in bullying kids (not to mention the headteacher who essentially victim-blames the girl and manipulates her into taking responsibility for everything.) Her mother is… admittedly not so much awful as a bit overbearing and in a bad situation herself due to being under her abusive husband’s thumb the whole time, and is at least becoming more assertive and standing up for her kids towards the end of the book, but this does little to mitigate the awfulness of every other significant adult character.

Prudence doesn’t get any support or any real indication that what her teacher is doing is wrong because there are no reasonable authority figures she can turn to who have her best interests at heart. You can hardly blame the kid for developing a crush on literally the only grownup in her life who bothers to show her any kindness (at least on a surface level) and doesn’t talk down to her.

And in some ways you can kind of see the intended message there. There are plenty of adults in the real world who don’t have kids’ best interests at heart, after all, and “you can’t always rely on authority figures” is depressingly true to life a lot of the time, as is, I’d imagine, “overly-sheltered kids with no kind or reliable authority figures or positive relationships with the adults in their lives may be more susceptible to grooming and have a harder time recognising inappropriate behaviour and red flags.” So it gets those things across pretty well if you’re reading as an adult with an informed outsider’s perspective. But considering that the book’s going to be read by young teenagers and possibly even younger kids, it probably should have been made a lot clearer.

The trouble is that the book just kind of… ends on this note. Things seem to be getting a little better for the protagonist, but she’s still shouldered with the blame despite being the victim in all this, and she still doesn’t understand that this twentysomething guy should never have been pursuing a teenager. So the takeaway just sort of ends up being “sometimes there’s really nobody you can rely on, so what are you gonna do” with nothing to really mitigate that. Which… again, considering the target audience, it probably would have benefitted from some kind of disclaimer after the story and a list of helplines or something.

[a-wendellandwild-fan]

My "Wendell and Wild" Oc's #1

The template can be found in here!

Character Chart

Character’s full name.

Betsy Chantelle.

Reason or meaning of name.

Betsy is a feminine name of Hebrew origin. A variation on the Hebrew name Bethia, Betsy means "daughter" and "worshipper of God", while not really having a meaning if it's a last name, the meaning of the name Chantelle is "Singer", "To sing" or "Song".

Character’s nickname.

“Cherry”.

Reason for nickname.

It's a nickname given by her deceased grandmother due to her fascination to the fruit with the same name.

Birth date.

August 8, the International Cat Day.

Physical appearance

Age.

She's fourteen ( 14 ) years old.

How old does he/she appear.

She appears to be a little bit older than she actually is, which causes a few troubles here and there for her, but overall, not really a big issue.

Weight.

68 kg.

Height.

163 cm.

Body build.

Endomorph.

Shape of face.

Round.

Eye color.

While she was born with brown eyes at birth, something happened when she was four years old; an incident of sorts. While her right eye is of an unusual shade of pink, the reason why she doesn't show her left eye isn't exactly because she thinks it's ugly; rather, it's for protection. It's color is a dark shade of purple, and instead of a pupil, there's something black in it, like stains, that resemble the face of a skull. That mark can easily be recognised as "The Hellmaiden Mark".

Glasses or contacts.

Glasses, but only when she's with her phone for a long time or just reading.

Skin tone.

Light olive skin.

Distinguishing marks.

Besides her forementioned eye, she has a birth mark on her left arm, almost resembling a heart. She got that from her father, who has a similar mark on his shoulder.

Predominant features.

Her quite abundant hair, and the way she dresses is the way everyone recognizes her.

Hair color.

Her natural hair color was a dark chocolate brown, but she did dye it a while ago, and it's now in a red-orange shade.

Type of hair.

Very curly hair.

Hairstyle.

She usually lets her hair down all the time, unless she's in school, that's when she's seen with a pony tail.

Voice.

She barely talks, but when she does, it's almost a soft whisper, so it's difficult for others to really make out what her usual voice tone is like. To be honest, her tone is soft and has a bit of a shy tone, but still, everyone would be surprised just how loud she can be, depending on the situation.

Overall attractiveness.

While she isn't exactly the most attractive girl in the world, it's safe to say she's just a little bit average. Still, she kind of stands out because of her almost unusual features and the contrast it does in a place like Rust Bank.

Physical disabilities.

Cherry has chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), but thankfully, she's taking it better than others thanks to the medicine and treatment.

Usual fashion of dress.

Cherry dressing style can be quite the variety, but it's always a "calm" type of style. Feminine, Vintage, those types of style, mostly out of comfort. But, to recognize her in a crowd, you should look at the wild-haired girl with pastel colours.

Favorite outfit.

Oh, it's an old style she took after her mother: A long, pastel pink skirt with a pastel green turtleneck and a pink, soft coat. She usually wears boots or fancy shoes with that outfit.

Unfortunately, she only has winter and autumn to wear that outfit.

Jewelry or accessories.

Nothing extravagant, just her mother's family necklace and a hair clip given to her by her demon.

Personality.

Good personality traits.

Cherry is patient, insanely so. She can actually be so gentle and careful with everything around her, since she's able to put herself in other people's shoes. She's also capable of helping other in almost anything, only when it's quite the emergency.

But, thankfully for her, she has also learned how to take no shit from nobody. A work in progress, but still noticeable.

Bad personality traits.

She's definitely way too forgiving, and it's hard for her to put her foot down without help. She also has the tendency to try and deal with things alone, even if it's out of her control.

The reason behind her forgiving nature comes from her "treat others how you want to be treated" mindset, and while it's not a bad sort of thing to go by on the daily, it can be like an auto-destruction button when taken to the extreme.

Mood character is most often in.

Betsy is always in a cheerful mood which can be contagious and helpful in most cases. She does have her bad days, though, but she doesn't let anyone see through her.

Sense of humor.

She literally doesn't know how to tell good jokes, she's like the embodiment of the female version of Dad Jokes™.

Character’s greatest joy in life.

Besides anything and everything cherry-related? Well, there's nothing better than to cuddle against your feline-like demon on a cold winter night.

Character’s greatest fear, and why?

Cherry fears bugs to the point it takes all her might to just not faint or run away screaming, specially worms.

She's been bullied until her bond with Wahnsinn got a bit stronger, and one of those many events had bugs involved. Those kids made her eat them. It was horrible.

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?

It's no joke when I tell you that Wahnsinn and Betsy need each other. The single thought of losing her demon forever makes her skin crawl horribly, and could have nightmares about it. He's the only family she has left, and losing him would cause her to go into a deep depressive episode, the worst one yet.

Character is most at ease when:

She's at ease once one of Wahnsinn's orders are done for the day, and she's able to relax with him in her bedroom. She's also at ease when she's surrounded by her friends, especially Kat, since she feels they understand each other the most to a certain level.

Most ill at ease when:

When she's in a social event with a great number of people, and she knows absolutely nobody. It's worse when she's being watched.

Enraged when:

It's difficult for Cherry to get angry, but pushing the right buttons, and you might as well meet a killing machine. She was enraged when Wahnsinn almost got captured by Manberg, and she almost got to kill him if it wasn't for Helley.

Someone threatening one of the people she cares about might be enough for her to already give a nasty stare. Just thinking what might happen if that ever gets physical... Betsy shudders at the thought.

Depressed or sad when:

Her mother's passing came along with Betsy's birthday, so she's usually really down that time of the year. She barely eats or sleeps.

She has a few sad moments when she sees herself in the mirror, not because of her body, but because all trace of anything physical that could reassemble her mother is long gone.

Priorities.

She has her priorities straight: Live a normal life, Hellmaiden or not. And she's been doing pretty good at doing that so far!

Life philosophy:

“Kill with kindness, it might be your best weapon.”

If granted one wish, what it would be, and why?

Cherry has one desire: Know more about her mother's past and family. It's a pretty simple wish, in her humble opinion. And honestly, it's nothing really impossible.

Character’s soft spot:

When she's upset, nothing like a bowl filled with cherries and animal videos can lift her spirits. Of course, Wahnsinn is her soft spot, along with Sister Helley.

Is this soft spot obvious to others?

Painfully so. Its just so easy for her to stop being upset with something or someone.

Greatest strength.

Surprisingly, her physical strength is quite her best strength. Anyone that doesn't know her would be surprised when they see her carry around at least four, maybe five classmates around.

Greatest vulnerability or weakness.

While she's quite smart, she's naive. So, your could say her willing trust is her weakness.

Biggest regret.

She regrets one fight in particular she had with Wahnsinn. They both said things they shouldn't and that they know weren't true, but that night still haunts her to death.

Minor regret.

She should have go to that Beerfest in Germany. SHE SHOULD HAVE GO-

Biggest accomplishment.

With Wahnsinn's help, her biggest accomplishment is her three year mark without any unhealthy coping mechanisms, nor habits, nor anything. She started having a rational sleeping schedule, a healthy diet, and her grades haven't dropped since then. Honestly, she's proud of that.

Minor accomplishment.

She once ate a whole tart in one go as a bet. She's proud of herself for that!

Past failures she would be embarrassed to have people know about, and why?

Uhg, nobody has to know about her temper tantrums when she was younger (her therapist told her those were actually hysterical outbursts due to all her negative feelings coming all at once, but Betsy actually thinks she was just being a brat). Her failed attempt to understand her feelings better when she was younger makes her want to smash her head against the wall.

She's also ashamed of her lack of understanding when it comes for history. It's so easy, she can't understand why she doesn't seem to be able to wrap her head around most topics.

Character’s darkest secret.

Besides the fact that she's a Hellmaiden, Cherry's dark secret is that she's been making some experiments with Wahnsinn. All just so Wahnsinn could go to the Underworld and back without any summoning needed. Of course, nobody else but a few must know, especially Manberg.

Does anyone else know?

Thankfully, only Helley, Raul and Kat, along with Wendell and Wild. They're the ones she trusts the most.

Goals.

She honestly doesn't have any important goal in mind, other than try and live a normal life... Or, well, as normal as it can get.

Drives and motivations.

At first it was all just to be better. She didn't think herself as enough, and it came to the point that she'd end up injuring herself.

Now? Most of it is all outta pure pettiness.

Immediate goals.

Improve her French skills because she still sounds like an agonising whale.

Long term goals.

Her long term goal is just trying to get enough money, so when the time comes, she can go and live in a little cabin her mother left her in Austria.

How the character plans to accomplish these goals.

When she's not studying, she works for a few bars next town as a bartender. How she travels back and forth so fast, that's a secret.

How other characters will be affected.

Well, it's no lie that others will be saddened by her departure. It could also be a let down for some people, but it's her decision.

Past.

Hometown.

Before moving to Rust Bank, she lived in Detroit, Michigan.

Type of childhood.

She had... a weird childhood, to call it something nice. When her mother died, her grandmother took care of her until she passed when she was four. Then, when nobody else wanted to take her in, a man came, and had proof that he knew her mother quite well.

Pets.

She didn't have any pets through her childhood, but she had friends that had pets, so she sees the appeal.

First memory.

Her first memory... Well, the only thing she remembers about her whole family; She was in a room, alone, yet she could hear screaming next door. Lots of people fighting, trying to give her from one family or person to another like a drag doll nobody wanted. And she didn't understand what was going on back then...

Most important childhood memory, and why?

The night eight days she ran away from home after a fight with Wahnsinn. She was just wondering around the city, freezing and hungry, but still with resentment boiling inside of her. Wahnsinn found her and was following her around, and she knew. She got inside a church so she could be left alone, but that didn't seem to work when he sat next to her in one of the first benches.

“... I'm sorry.”

He said that out loud, and even if she didn't want to talk to him, she was tired.

“I shouldn't have screamed... And nothing about what I said is true.”

“You hate me. You made that clear.”

“I don't hate you... I just wish I could give you what your mother would have.”

“But she's dead, and she's not coming back, and we should have learned that a long, long time ago, Wahnsinn!” She screamed, getting up and facing him. Her face was fully scratched and her lips turned blue because of the cold. “And if I wasn't your Hellmaiden, I would give you your freedom back, but I can't. And I'm sorry, ok?! I'm sorry you're stuck here with me, and I'm sorry that I just couldn't pretend I don't exist around you! And I'm so sorry that I just can't—”

The sight of him letting pink, bright tears fall off his face cut her off, and she just gave up that night. As much as she wanted to stay mad at him, she couldn't...

“Wahnsinn, you're crying...”

There was silence.

“... I'm so sorry, Betsy.”

“...I'm sorry, too.”

They went home together that night, and they decided to look for family counseling the next day.

Childhood hero.

God, every single movie character she loved as a child. It was a hellish time.

Dream job.

She wanted to be the president, because she thought she could do a better job then most. Of course, she no longer thinks that.

Education.

She attended a local elementary school before moving to Rust Bank. Nothing crazy... if it wasn't for the amount of women that were after her "brother".

Religion.

She was and still is an atheist, but since RBC was the only high-school available in Rust Bank-

Finances.

Thankfully, her and Wahnsinn are way better now than they were when she was younger. What kind of job did he pick in Rust Bank, though, she never knows.

Present.

Current location.

Rust Bank, a little ghost town that's slowly coming back to life... And where weird stuff happens all the time.

Currently living with.

She currently lives with Wahnsinn inside RBC. Obviously, most people just don't know that a demon is between their walls... But, hey, he's quiet enough so people don't notice him.

Pets.

... Does Gabby Goat counts as a pet, or...?

Religion.

Still an atheist. But appearances must be kept, don't they?

Occupation.

As mentioned before, she works here and there for a few bars in the nearby towns. But with Rust Bank coming back to life, who knows, she might find a better job in here.

Finances.

Acceptable, to be honest. Her and the feline-like demon are saving money for a house.

Family.

Mother and her relationship with her.

Her mother was Angelina Chantelle. For obvious and forementioned reasons, they don't really have a relationship.

Father and her relationship with him.

His name? She doesn't remember is she doesn't see it in paper: Alexander Street, an american...

Siblings and her relationship with them.

She only has half siblings from her sperm donor's side, and even then, she doesn't even remember their faces.

Other important family members.

Her grandmother, Julie Anderson, who passed away.

Favorites.

Color.

She doesn't have an single favourite color, but she loves any pastel palette.

Least favorite color.

Hmm... Yellow is that color. She likes it, but not that much.

Music.

With her grandmother's influence, she's a oldies music lover. It calms her when she's stressed or trying to concentrate.

Food.

Besides the obvious and forementioned fruits (cherries), Betsy is definitely a meat lover. Her favourite meal would be hamburgers.

Literature.

She loves any sort of mystery novel. Thrillers are her favourite, too.

Form of entertainment.

Reading, drawing and sometimes watching movies. But her favourite? Teasing her very own, big bad demon about the fact that not only he purrs, but that he just loves it when she scratches his neck.

It always ends up with him growling and pouting. And her? Laughing at her hands content.

Expressions.

She doesn't really have any favourite.

Mode of transportation.

On top of Wahnsinn's back, flying on top of the cities.

Most prized possession.

As mentioned before, it is her mother's family necklace; made out of silver, with a lapis lazuli in the middle of it. And a hair clip given to her by her demon... It's Wahnsinn's first gift to her.

Habits.

Hobbies.

Plays a musical instrument?

Reading, just to pass the time when she's bored. Or drawing, when she's feeling inspired.

Nope, not at all.

Plays a sport?

Well, she works out and plays volleyball when it's summer and has free time.

How she would spend a rainy day.

Cuddling against her big, room-sized demon cat while watching movies, eating snacks or just napping.

Spending habits.

Smokes.

She doesn't really have any, since she knows when something is really important and needs to be bought or not.

That being said, when she sees something she really, really likes, all she needs to do is to see the price and see if it's worth it or not.

Absolutely not.

Drinks.

She'd rather drink water, or maybe an energy drink, but nothing with alcohol.

Other drugs.

No.

What does she do too much of?

She bites her nails off when she's nervous, and she does that an awful lot.

What does she do too little of?

She doesn't rest enough, she doesn't exactly knows how to relax herself in a conscious way.

Extremely skilled at.

Getting it from her mother, she's very good at dancing and singing, even if she doesn't really see it that way.

Extremely unskilled at.

Knitting is a nightmare to her, no matter how many times she reads her grandmother's instructions.

Nervous tics.

As previously said, the main tic would be biting her nails, and she'd also bounce her legs rapidly.

Usual body posture.

When she sleeps, she looks like a corpse that way.

She has a few: Blinking a lot when dumbfounded, rubbing her nose when uncomfortable, clenching her claw when about to throw hands. When she's concentrated or just in a good mood, she hums a cheerful song to herself.

Mannerisms.

Peculiarities.

Always wearing her "jewellery", even in casual outings.

Traits.

Optimist or pessimist?

She always tries her best to be an optimistic person.

Introvert or extrovert?

Introvert, but tries to go out as much as she could.

Daredevil or cautious?

Oh, Betsy tries to be cautious in every situation. Unless, of course, said situation is way past the point of being "cautious".

Logical or emotional?

As much as she hates to admit it, she's the emotional type. She really tries not to, but... Yeah.

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?

Methodical and neat, of course. While she doesn't mind a little mess from others, she can't accept it when it comes to herself.

Prefers working or relaxing?

Yes.

Confident or unsure of herself?

She's definitely the unsure type. Her confidence isn't exactly the best, but at least it's been improving.

Animal lover?

Absolutely. If she could, she would have every single stray animal she sees.

Self-perception.

How she feels about herself.

Cherry doesn't really feel... OK with herself? Yeah, maybe that's the best word to describe it. She feels something about her it's off at times.

One word the character would use to describe self.

She hesitates when trying to say it. Still, the word it's always the same.

“The word would be... lucky.”

One paragraph description of how the character would describe self.

She feels... like she's being watched, like someone is watching over her and her demon.

What does the character consider her best personality trait?

Her patience, since everyone acknowledged it before. She's also quite proud of her creativity.

What does the character consider her worst personality trait?

Like said before, she can't really stand her naive nature, or just how passive she is. While she's trying to fix it, it still slips from time to time.

What does the character consider her best physical characteristic?

Her hair. She actually feels like a princess with it, and she's proud that she actually learned how to take care of it.

What does the character consider her worst physical characteristic?

Her body is a big problem, no matter just how much she tries to just see the positive sides of it. She hardly wears clothing that let's her body show.

How does the character think others perceive her.

Oh, boy. She tries not to think about it. When that little question pops into her head, it usually ends up with her feeling blue, even if she knows that's not true.

What would the character most like to change about herself.

Cherry would like to change a lot of things about her personality: The way she trusts people so easily, the way she doubts herself so much, the way she just bottles everything up when her negative emotions take over...

There's lots of things that she learned that she'd love to destroy from her memory.

Relationship with others.

Opinion of other people in general.

“Oh, I think everyone deserves a chance to be better, and therefore deserve kindness!

But I've also learned that the suffering of my enemies might give me the satisfaction of God!”

Does the character hide her true opinions and emotions from others?

She only does that with one person, but other than that, she doesn't really hide her feelings about anyone else.

Person character most hates.

She didn't feel anything about Manberg... until she found his collection of demons. She had to fight the urge to snatch one of those jars and run away with Wahnsinn. She never felt so much hate towards one person as she did with Manberg. Imprisonment just... didn't sit right with her.

Unfortunately, now she forces herself to pretend she didn't see a thing, and that she doesn't want to throw Manberg off a cliff... Wahnsinn's idea, not hers.

Best friend(s).

Kat Elliot, Raul Cocolotl, and a few other kids in the school and out of it.

Love interest(s).

None.

Person character goes to for advice.

Wahnsinn and Sister Helley are the two people Betsy trusts the most. They're both really open-minded, and seem to know their surroundings even better than her.

Person character feels responsible for/takes care of.

She used to feel like that when Wahnsinn and her had a rocky relationship. Thankfully, that doesn't happen anymore.

Person character feels shy or awkward around.

Oh, she's definitely shy around Sister Helley. It's not because she's intimidating nor anything like that, but because she doesn't really know how to act around someone as powerful (in the best sense of the word) as her.

Person character openly admires.

Kat Elliot and Raul Cocolotl, no doubt about that for even a second. They're both so different to what Rust Bank has to offer, she's actually glad they're there. Besides, it's thanks to Raul she got into drawing!

Person character secretly admires.

She admires Kat Elliot from a distance. After all, it's not every day

Most important person in character’s life before story starts.

Her maternal grandmother, before she passed away. Back then, her relationship with Wahnsinn was almost like they were complete strangers. They knew each other, but that was it.

After story starts.

Slowly but surely, Wahnsinn and the people in her new school, Rust Bank Catholic, became the most important people in her life. She has a new beginning in there, and while it's scary, at least she's not alone any longer.

Her relationship with Wahnsinn improved the more time they spent together. It takes time but eventually, the older Cherry grows, the better they got along.

[norbiegrafton]

when discussing the prospect of a school reunion with lucerys, the topic of axell royce had come into conversation. it'll be fine, norbie had said. we are all adults here. it won't be like at school. after all, they were both men grown now. the petty squabbles of the schoolyard days were best left there.

one look. all it took was one look to verify how deeply mistaken he had been. there had been no mellowing in axell as he had grown older - in fact, there was something even worse about the way he looked at him. it was an expression that was familiar. he had seen it often in their days as pupils here, and he had quite forgotten just how it made him feel. small, weak, and utterly powerless.

it should have been easy to step around him, to not allow his hulking frame to prevent him from returning to the party, but finding his initial path blocked, norbie found himself freezing, blinking up at axell. he had been tall back then - perhaps the years had shrank him in his memory, or perhaps he had grown taller still. norbie could not be sure. either way, the gesture was still every bit as intimidating as it had been when he was fourteen years old.

stay, axell bid him, but norbie didn't want to. he cast a longing look at the door, as though willing someone to come through it, but there was nobody sweeping to his rescue, the cold of the evening keeping them securely indoors where he should be. and so, slowly, hesitantly, norbie turned his gaze to axell, trying to ignore the way the hand on his shoulder grasped him a little too tightly. he could no longer leave, even if he legs decided to start working again.

"nothing you'd find interesting, i'm sure," he worked hard to keep the tremor from his own voice, but it still sounded strained. devoid of his usual friendly eagerness, it was a voice norbie barely recognised. "unless you've developed a sudden interest in architecture. then you might." was he rambling? it certainly felt like he was.

norbie was not a particularly brave man. he lacked all of his brother's bravado, and physicality. the mention of luc, however, awakened a protective instinct norbie did not know he had. he raised his chin, looking axell directly in the eyes when he spoke again. "i don't think that's necessary," he said, coolly. "but i'll be sure to send him your regards."

.

there was a look an animal had when it first spotted its prey—a flash of recognition in its eyes. each creature was different. lions, bears, hawks. but that moment of instinctual focus was universal. a predatory thrill mingling with the anticipation of their next meal or entertainment.

for axell royce, that look had settled onto his face as he zeroed in on his target.

a twisted joy curled at the edges of his lips, fueled by the excitement of the impending encounter. he couldn’t help himself. he never could. but seeing little norbie standing there now, looking just as pathetic as he had back in school, brought something raw to the surface. it was as if a dormant instinct had awakened inside him—the urge to crush whatever fragile happiness norbie had managed to build.

he had spotted norbie earlier, wandering around the reunion with his boyfriend and a small group of friends. the sight had stirred something in axell, something dark and spiteful, an inexplicable need to ruin what he saw. even if only for tonight.

axell's large frame loomed in front of norbie, blocking his path back to the door as he stepped in front of him—just like he used to do in school. but now, axell was bigger, more muscle-bound, with the harsh edges of his once-boyish cruelty now sharpened into something more dangerous. any trace of hesitation he might have had in the past had been eroded over time.

“no, no, stay, norbie,” axell drawled, the smirk on his face widening as he watched norbie’s feeble attempt to find an excuse to leave. he placed a heavy hand on norbie’s shoulder, squeezing just enough to remind him of the power imbalance. “we should catch up. what have you been up to?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock interest. “i saw you and your little boyfriend. so sweet that you two are still together after all this time,” he added, his tone laced with sarcasm. “i should catch up with luc. it’s been a minute since i’ve seen him.”

the implication in axell's words hung in the air like a threat, the smirk on his face never wavering as he watched norbie squirm under his gaze. the game had begun, and axell was relishing every moment of it.

[pynkhues]

What do you think about Naomi? Does she actually really care about Kendall or is it all the drugs and fun?

I actually love Naomi, and I think she does care about Kendall, but I think - - mmm, I think it's sort of a complicated care? I'm not sure if I'm going to articulate this very well, haha, but I think it's complicated because it's rooted in a high degree of projection on both of their parts. They see a version of themselves in each other, and it creates this really interesting dynamic where I think they want to protect each other in the way nobody's ever really protected them.

It's made their relationship really insular and frequently childlike – gosh, even putting aside Kendall's birthday party, they were going to go to the zoo together, they run screaming through Nan's backyard, Naomi gets him the 'wrong' present, and Kendall effectively lets Logan say Naomi's a bad influence on him. They're teenagers in a way no other relationship on this show is, and they're that way because they're a relationship built on a foundation of parallel trauma.

They're not charged on attraction, games and mentorship like Roman and Gerri, or a purchased intimacy like Connor and Willa, nor are they built off a desire for security, partnership and ambition like Shiv and Tom. I don't even think they're rooted in genuine, exhausted love like I think Kendall and Rava are.

Kendall and Naomi are two extremely damaged people who have been traumatised by family legacy and addiction, and found in each other not a mirror, but rather a sort of echo. They feel each other's fragility, because it's one they recognise in themselves, so when they come together, it's with this blend of enabling and protectiveness and self-loathing that, more often than not, makes them both fourteen again.

I tend to come back to the Tern Haven episode a lot in this sense, because the show really clearly establishes that Naomi and Kendall are kind of kindred spirits, particularly through the exchange in the attic, and then in the back of the helicopter.

In the attic, Naomi's the one who starts the conversation:

And it's a dialogue started that's then compounded in the helicopter scene where Naomi reveals how Logan's business and feud with PGM has impacted her personally:

As two conversations, they're harrowing anyway, but they're even more so, I think, when you realise how much these beats are ones echoed in Kendall's story. For instance:

In so many ways, Naomi is Kendall. She's faced with the weight of a similar family legacy, albeit slightly less directly as Nan's cousin (and the fact that the ATN trauma comes from the outside-in, for Kendall's it's, y'know, inside-in), she's faced similar trauma, similar addiction issues, similar wounds, and it's left her almost as hollowed out as it's left Kendall.

They're two broken people who've found a comfort and an understanding in each other, and I don't think it's about fun for either of them. I think it's about escape, and helping each other to escape in the only ways they've ever known how to – through drugs and sex and press and parties – and knowing they can't ever give the other what they need, because they both know the hole in themselves is too big to ever be filled. They're just trying to make the right now of it all a little less lonely.

[kember-writes]

Regulus pulled up short as he saw who else was in the room, wondering if it was too late to backtrack, no, no, why hadn’t he recognised that voice? Then James’s eyes met his, and suddenly he was fourteen again, and the sun off the Lake was too bright through his tears, and he was surrounded by a crowd of jeering Gryffindors, and nobody was laughing louder than James, except Sirius, and his heart was breaking over and over. And he did what he did last time.

He ran.