#not really. but it's meant to evoke the feeling of blood

[iamasimplesimp]

...but we stay silly though?

[im-smart-i-swear]

can you remember being born? were you born at all

[updownlately]

if you’re gonna waste my time (let’s waste it right)

| leah williamson x reader | hurt/comfort | 3.3k | disclaimer: mentions of anxiety, self loathing, negative thoughts, and depression -this delves into some slightly heavy topics so please read at your own discretion! | a/n: got this ask a while back and an idea struck to me while driving! first fic in a while that i've written in one sitting so let's see how this goes! honestly started off really strong but then idk where we went. anyways, not proofread as usual, but happy reading! take care amigos! and just know that each of you are loved, cared for, and cherished by those around you, even if you don't know it! 🫶

~~~

Fight, flight, or freeze.

They say that every human has these three survival instincts built in.

Instincts meant to protect, to escape, but most importantly, to survive. 

Responses meant to make sure that one would make it out of harm’s way, preferably unscathed. 

Fight, the mechanism that evoked adrenaline. That helped you battle your way through the toughest of encounters. 

That did its best to make sure you were well equipped to tackle any scuffle, minor or major, to the best of your ability.

Flight, the mechanism that helped you run- escape before you couldn’t anymore. 

The one that ensured that you got out before you could be attacked- before you could be hurt.

And then of course, freeze. 

Rooted to your spot, immobile as harm directed itself towards you, one only praying that you could be so still that harm skipped right past you, practically avoiding you as you let it pass. 

Freeze, that left you with a pounding heart, blood rushing in your ears.

Freeze that meant you couldn’t move, body rigid, feet planted, mind stopped in time.

Freeze that kept you stuck. stuck in an endless loop of agony, of shaky breaths, of paralyzing fear.

Freeze, considered the weakest of the three. 

So as you stood there, eyes wide, muscles tense, body frozen, you cursed your mind and body with all that you could, wondering why of the three instincts, freeze was what you had done in order to try and survive.

~~~

There’s something terrifying about the voices that ring in your head.

How they so scarily sound similar to the people in your life, past and present.

Voices reminding you how you aren’t good enough. How you’ve let them down. How maybe if you weren’t there, the world would be okay. That it would move on without a hitch, without a second thought, because when it came to it, at the end of the day, maybe, just maybe, you didn’t really matter anyways.

Voices that sounded like your mother, reminding you of dark nights of you hidden in your room, the harsh words ringing in the four walls of your bedroom, what was supposed to be your safe haven, now tainted with feelings of regret, of disappointment, of outright disgust.

It’d be better if you didn’t exist.

Voices that sounded like your father, angry yells late into the night, enough smashed dishes that left your hands littered with scars that’d never cease to remind you, enough nights spent under your covers silently wiping tears as you prayed that you were quiet enough.

What a waste of air.

Voices that sounded like past coaches and management that knocked you back with each word spoken, each push forward sending you feet yards back, support that felt like hindrance more than anything.

You’d be lucky if you got to play past the little leagues. It’d be a miracle that’s for sure.

Voices that sounded like fans- people that were meant to support you- but you couldn’t force them to. Hundreds if not thousands of comments left, each asking for you to be traded. Hell, they’d take a sack of potatoes if nothing else. 

I can’t believe that we wasted our money on this. Can’t we just, I don’t know, get rid of her? She’s the reason we suck. Maybe if she was half a decent player we’d actually be somewhere in the league.

Comments that repeated your worth. Ingrained it into your mind. Over and over and over again. 

You weren’t good enough.

Sentences that etched themselves into the forefront of your thoughts, always ready to haunt you at the slightest notice. 

You weren’t good enough.

Not now, not ever. 

Not for your own mother or father, never mind your siblings. 

Not for your teammates, nor the fans.

It was a miracle you were even playing professionally in the first place.

God if they took one good look at you maybe they realized how poorly they fucked up by signing you. 

You weren’t a good footballer, barely even a decent one. How you managed to play for this long was a miracle.

They’d notice soon enough though. They had to. They always did.

They’d notice soon enough that you weren’t good enough.

And then?

Then you’d be left with nothing, as you always were.

~~~

You didn’t know when you were led inside to the locker rooms- when that absolutely terrifying moment of being in front of the opposing team’s stands had gone from you taking a corner to being absolutely pelted by random junk. 

From empty bottles (plastic thankfully), to empty food containers, balled-up programs, signs, merch, all being hurled your way, never mind the onslaught of assaults- the stands only repeating everything your mind ever told you, every, single, day. 

You didn’t hear when the ref blew their whistle, nor when the rest of the girls dressed in red crowded you, some chastising the fans along with the away team, others wrapping around you protectively, quickly leading you towards the benches. 

You weren’t there as you were subbed off, your mind still frozen, much like the rest of your body. 

All you knew right now was that you could smell the familiar scent of your girlfriend’s perfume as the heel of your palms pressed harshly into your eyes in an attempt to cease the uproar in your head. 

Breaths getting heavy, you tried your best to calm yourself down.

You weren’t a stranger to panic attacks, and even in your hazed state, you could very well recognize the oncoming situation.

Bringing your arms to wrap around your own stomach in a futile attempt to bring yourself some sort of comfort, you felt your breathing pick up as the sharp lights of the room seemed to get darker. 

Room spinning, the voices in your head louder, you could only bring your knees up to your head, body now practically in fetal position as you rode out the attack.

Even with the hundreds you’d had by now, you hadn’t been able to come up with an effective method to deal with them. 

So you sat there, huddled into a ball, body shaking, mind louder than ever as Leah stood above and watched helplessly.

The blonde had been there in the stands to watch you get abused, immediately making her way down to the pitch because ACL and league rules be damned, that was her girlfriend for fuck’s sake. 

She stood by the sidelines, ready to receive you as the obvious substitution occurred, an arm coming to wrap around you as she led your ghost of a body to the locker rooms.

She watched as you mindlessly sat in front of your locker, not a single word uttered from you, not a single response to the quiet comforting words the blonde had whispered to you gently in an attempt to rouse you from your clearly distressed state. 

She itched to reach out and touch you as she saw you slowly curl into a ball, you getting ever so smaller as she could only helplessly watch, you unknowingly  flinching the second she touched your shoulders in an attempt to comfort you.

It was only when your heavy breathing died down every so slightly, nearly fifteen minutes later if the blonde’s perception was right, that she tried again, slowly coming to sit beside you as she gauged your reaction. 

Seeing your shaking start to slow as well, she slowly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, her own body tense as she watched you stiffen up before you relaxed slightly, letting her pull you into her side as her other hand came to hold your left one.

And long after you had buried yourself into her side, body defeated with the rollercoaster of emotions you’d just experienced, too tired to think of any of the consequences of your actions, you let Leah led you- helping your pull on a hoodie and your jacket and change out of your cleats as she gathered the rest of your gear.

Helpless except able to nod in agreement as the blonde suggested you leave early from the game, you followed her quietly, not a word said from you, as she led you out of the ground and to her car, where you fell asleep within seconds.

It was only when the car pulled up to her house, a place you’d been to many times, your relationship long past new to the both of you, did you rouse, mind still not present and following the blonde.

Leah was good. You trusted Leah. Leah was safe.

The words repeating in your head, you believing they were true like all the other words that crossed your mind, you let yourself sleepily be led up the stairs and up to the ensuite. 

Standing there awkwardly as you slowly came to the situation, the lights in the washroom waking you up, your shoulders sunk as the embarrassment from earlier set in. 

God you were an embarrassment. First a panic attack in front of the English skipper, and now this- you stood helplessly in her bathroom like you were broken, waiting to be fixed.

You watched in dread as the blonde flitted around the joint closet, quickly gathering a change of clothes for you before she stacked them neatly on the countertop, handing you a towel and starting the shower, not meeting your eyes.

What you didn’t know was that she didn’t want to scare you off, intimidate you as her heart ached at the shameful look in your eyes.

“Take a warm shower, yeah? We’ll get you some food after, and then how about a nap?”

Unable to do anything but nod in response, your fear of upsetting the blonde, of anyone really, making itself known, you followed her instructions, locking the door as she left and starting to remove your sweat covered kit. 

~~~

It’s nearly twenty minutes later when you emerge from the shower, your dirty clothes held precariously in your hands, your eyes wide as you see Leah sprawled across her bed, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. 

A small smile unknowingly escapes you as you watch her nearly throw her phone, very much caught off-guard at your appearance.

Smile tightening quickly as you realized it rested on your face, your eyes met the ground, ears sharp as you noted the footsteps headed towards you.

Before you knew it, the mess of dirty clothes was swiftly taken from your hands, your gaze snapping up as you watched Leah take your dirty kit and toss it into her own hamper before turning to you. 

“Alright. I’d rather you eat, but I’m not going to force you to, yeah? We can take a nap, maybe just reset, or if you wanna sit down and watch a movie or a show we can do that too…how’s that sound?”

Feeling your eyes water at the blonde’s gentle tone, feelings still overwhelming from earlier, your sights met the ground again as you meekly nodded. 

Blood rushing in your ears, you felt the vibrations as Leah stepped towards you again, her hands gently taking yours. 

“Nap?”

Taking her chances at guessing which you preferred, the tender tone in her voice had you easily nodding again, tears you’d been trying to hold back now escaping. 

And as the blonde led you to her bed, you winced as the voices in your head picked up once again, mind baffled at why someone was treating you with this much kindness, this much care.

Choosing to ignore them for now, you smiled shyly at the sight in front of you, Leah having rounded the bed to go on ‘her’ side, the skipper tucked into the sheets, arms wide open as she shot you a soft grin, eyes sparkling with glee as she waited for you to join her. 

Gingerly approaching the bed, you hesitantly pulled back the covers, eyes meeting Leah’s every few seconds to make sure you were okay, before entering, unsure of whether you were allowed to hug the blonde (even if a part of you so desperately wanted to do so). 

Your question was answered for you, however, Leah was unable to see you lying down in such a stiff manner, taking matters into her own hands and hooking an arms around your waist and pulling you into her.

And as you slowly got comfortable, moving millimetres every minute until you finally found yourself resting with your head on her chest, arm wrapped around her midsection as her hand came to wrap around your waist, one running through your hair, you let yourself sink into her hold, brain quietening every so slightly as the familiar presence and scent had you relaxing.

It was only when you were on the verge of sleep, minutes later, did you hear Leah’s voice whisper into the air between you two, her lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead as an apology as she realized her mistake of rousing you from your sleepy state.

“There’s a lot that goes on up there,” with a small nod towards the top of your head, she continued, “but it doesn’t have to stay there y’know?”

Holding her breath as she felt you shift slightly, you turning your body to listen better, she spoke again.

“I’d be more than happy to stay here and listen to you when you need it. Really, any of us would. All of the girls love you and care for you, and despite whatever people might say, you add to the team, yeah?”

Feeling you nod hesitantly at the words, Leah waited as she sensed your jaw move, anticipation killing her as you sounded out the words silently before they left your mouth- and even then, you winced slightly.

“I don’t want to be a burden��don’t wanna waste your time…”

There was something in the way the words quietly rolled off your tongue, no doubt said many times before, the sincerity behind them proving you meant them wholeheartedly- that you believed you were an inconvenience, that broke Leah’s heart.

You weren’t a burden. You weren’t.

She wondered if you’d ever seen yourself the way other’s saw you. If that coloured glass that you saw yourself through was tainted any other colour than black. Whether it was ever yellow so you’d see just how much of a ray of sunshine you were on the stormiest of days, often cheering up your shared teammates with just a single smile as you’d skip into the change rooms.

Or if you ever looked at yourself through the rose coloured glass, the same hue that would coat your cheeks as you’d interact with fans post-game, giving each and every one your undivided attention, making them feel special, and loved, and cared for.

Or whether you ever saw yourself through green, breathing life to even the dullest moments, standing tall, unwavering, as players would try to take you down on the pitch over and over again, you getting back up each time, a force to be reckoned with, one that not even the rainiest of days nor Mother nature could defy.

You weren’t a burden, and the blonde needed you to believe it, because it was the truth and nothing but the wholehearted, honest-to-god truth.

It’s why her honest admission just tumbles out, the words spilling before the defender could stop them.

“If I could hold you all night and all day, I would, without a single doubt or any hesitation.”

Her grip tightening on you as the words are spoken clearly and strongly, her placing a gentle kiss to your temple before continuing.

“If you think you’re gonna waste my time by talking to me when you aren’t doing well, then just know, that listening to you as I try and comfort you and get the chance to hold you in my arms? It’s the best waste of time I’ll ever have in my life. It’s one I’ll cherish till the end of time, because it’s never, and I mean never, a waste.”

Taking a deep breath in, the blonde felt you nod at her words, your own grip tightening around the blonde as you pulled yourself closer into her, closing your eyes in an attempt to believe her the best you could.

Leah could sense your struggle though, not ignorant to the way a small, trembling breath escaped you, frustration clear.

“You don’t have to believe me now, or any time soon really, but just know, it’s the wholehearted truth- and I’ll spend as long as you need reminding you, because you’re good enough. You’re more than good enough, and worthy of love, and a good life, and good things. You deserve love, even though your brain tries to tell you otherwise, yeah?”

When you didn’t say anything, it clear to the blonde that you were silently taking in her words, contemplating them, doing your best to believe them, she let you be, revelling in the silence as took in the feel of you being in her arms, one of her favourite feelings in the world.

The blonde could almost feel you turning her words over in your head, examining them from top to bottom as you inspected them for any indication of a lie, surprised when there wasn’t one.

Content with the way you hadn’t spoken out yet in disagreement, Leah decided to take her chances and bite the bullet.

Proposing her next idea, the blonde held her breath in anticipation, heartbeat slowing dramatically as she hoped you’d agree to her words.

“I’ll always be here to hold you, but I think it might just help if we see a professional, yeah? You and me, both of us, we’ll go, and just give it a crack?”

Feeling your hesitancy this time, the blonde pulled you closer to her gently, turning onto her side as her eyes met yours. 

One hand now carefully resting on your cheek, she placed a loving kiss on your forehead, then your nose before continuing. 

“Three sessions is all I ask. If you don’t want to go after that, then I won’t ask again, ever. But, just give me three sessions, and I’ll be there for each one if you want, and if nothing changes, then you’re off the hook, deal?”

There was an audible sigh of relief that escaped Leah’s lips as you hesitantly nodded in agreement.

Deciding that that was good enough for the time being, Leah smiled softly to herself, more than happy with any baby steps of progress being made.

“Just want you to love yourself the way the rest of us love you. The way I love you…”

The words were punctuated with another gentle kiss on your head, this time her lips lingering as you both basked in the touch, the blonde well aware that physical touch was your love language. 

Nodding to yourself as your girlfriend’s arms wrapped around you at the end of her sentence, heart feeling just a tad bit lighter as her embrace sucked you in, you let out a sigh of relief at the quiet in your mind and warmth in your chest.

Snuggling further into Leah’s hold, you let out a shaky breath as the emotions of the day filtered out of you, you weren’t going to lie, you were terrified for the future- absolutely scared shitless for what it held. But, with Leah by your side, on your team, cheering you on, a spark of hope nestled quietly inside you, filling you with a refreshing breath, a new goal to work towards.

Not now, not soon, but slowly and surely, you’d work your way through this. You wanted to. for your sake and hers.

After all, with your girlfriend to remind you that you were human, someone that could live and not just survive, maybe you could finally teach yourself it too.

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Alastor Redesign! (5/7)

For as much as I hate his guys hair. God that bob. It really is iconic.

Anyway it’s Mr. Hazbin Hotel himself! He’s been growing on me a lot recently (my version, hes boring in the show im so sorry alastor fans)

I think most of my follow have seen my Alastor design so this post may be a bit shorter than the others; still I hope you like seeing him full body

I’ve always thought this guy looked nothing like a deer so I have attempted to fix that. Not sure if it looks the best but you can tell he’s a deer! Alastor is also biomechanical so he has a few technological pieces of his body like his mouth and antlers that are meant to look like those tiny radio tower thingies.

The scar and stitching around his neck is from a fight with Vox. Alastor isn’t able to just design and replace body parts so he has a decent chunk of scars under the suit. I placed it on the neck for vulnerability sake, and also like how you mount deer heads on the wall, I wanted to be like that a little.

For his colours, I did focus a bit on wrath and greed, but his dumb magic stuff is still green to represent envy. Also red and yellow are meant to evoke feelings of hunger and I thought that would be fun because he eats deer and all that :)

The microphone staff Vivzie gave him was stupid so I gave him one more inspired by the 1930’s. The red crescent and gold barings are meant to look like a blood moon and the sun a little bit, I thought that was cool.

Most of his interesting bits are through character interactions rather than how he looks in my opinion, but I think he still looks pretty spiffy. He’s funny, absolutely hate him though! 🥃

[toournextadventure]

bad dreams ii

Summary: Tara was so used to you coming to save her from the nightmares and fear. Now it seemed it was time for her to return the favour.

Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, set after Scream VI (extremely vague spoilers) Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader (bad dreams?)

Tara woke with a start. Her eyes flew open and air rushed back into her lungs like she had been drowning for a century. But she immediately squeezed her eyes shut again when the lights finally blinded her, shooting a pain through her brain.

"Fuck," she mumbled before rubbing her eyes, trying to ease the sleepiness and headache at the same time.

Once she eased her eyes open again, she pushed herself into a sitting position and took in her surroundings. Every single light and lamp in the room was turned on, including the nightlights that were plugged into each outlet. A safety bar was locked against the window in two separate places. The door to the room was open and she could see the hallway light was on as well.

"Baby?” She asked as she reached out to your side of the bed.

It was cold and empty.

“Baby?” She called again, a little louder. There was no sound of movement, no indication of where you had gone.

With a shaky exhale, she pushed the covers down her legs and planted her feet on the ground. She silently thanked you for buying the rug to keep her feet warm during the colder months. Not that it mattered much when she stepped onto the cold wooden floor a moment later, but it still made it a little more bearable.

With more hesitation than she was comfortable with, she peeked her head through the doorway and into the hall. Every light was on, which she had been aware of, but there was still no one to be seen. Sam was out with her boy toy so the only ones who should have been present were you and her.

Which meant you were missing.

She took in a few deep, slow breaths, trying to build up the courage to step out into the hall. It took too long, and her own hesitance brought tears of frustration to the brim of her eyes, but she finally forced herself to walk down the hall and into the living room.

Those tears spilled over when she saw you sitting against the far wall, eyes wide and watching every entrance and exit of the apartment.

You still had a few stitches above your eye and peeking out from the collar of your shirt. Thankfully the infection had eased, for the most part, but the wounds still looked agitated. It was clear you were in pain by the way you sat stiffly and grimaced with every other breath.

The wooden baseball bat you had brought all those weeks ago - now stained with blood - rested in your lap as your hands gripped the handle so tightly your bruised knuckles paled. Your eyes flickered back and forth between every window, door, and hallway; looking, but not seeing anything. And it broke Tara’s heart.

“Baby?” She said softly, hoping to not startle you out of your anxiety-driven vigilance. It didn’t really matter, you still flinched anyway.

“Doors are locked,” you said in a scratchy voice.

“I know,” she said as she took slow, deliberate steps over to you. “Thank you for locking them.”

“Phones are off,” you continued, not really looking at her. She finally got close enough to sit down beside you, being careful not to jostle you.

“That’s smart,” she said, keeping her eyes on your face. You looked utterly exhausted.

“Is this what you went through in Woodsboro?” You asked, finally turning to look at her even just for a moment.

She hated hearing the name Woodsboro. Hated all the feelings it evoked within her, all the aches it forced back into her skin and heart. Nothing good came from Woodsboro, and nothing good came from talking about it. So she wanted to tell you that no, it wasn’t, because Woodsboro didn’t matter.

But it did matter, and after the destruction and violence you had been thrust into, you deserved to know. You deserved to know that yes, it is what she went through in Woodsboro. Much like you, she had been stabbed and attacked and used as in Ghostface’s sadistic game. Now you both wore the scars like badges of survival in a game you had never wanted to be a part of.

“It is,” Tara finally said softly. You nodded subconsciously and looked back around the room.

“It sucks,” you said, causing both you and Tara to let out nervous chuckles.

“Yeah it does,” she agreed. “We probably need… so much therapy.”

Your nervous chuckle turned into a watery laugh that died off into slight hyperventilation before fading into nothing more than the occasional sniffle. The colour was slowly returning to your knuckles and, even though the colour was bruised, at least it meant you were easing up.

“Why are you awake?” You asked. Tara shifted a bit before leaning into your side; you quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulder to hold her close.

“I’m always awake at-” she looked at her watch; 2:36am “-2:30 in the morning.”

“It’s not 2:30,” you answered with a small smile.

“I had a bad dream,” she said with a shrug. Her fingers brushed lightly over the bandage still covering your hip. “Why are you awake?”

“I had a bad dream,” you said.

“Wanna talk about it?” Tara asked.

You stayed silent, which was about what she had expected. But you pulled her closer anyway, inhaling sharply when she pressed against another wound, but you didn’t let go. Your fingers ceaselessly rubbed patterns on her shoulder, so much so that she thought you were going to rub the skin off.

“My mom said she could teach us some self defense,” you said, changing the subject. Tara wasn’t going to argue. “Made sure to let me know we probably could’ve avoided getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see her take down Ghostface,” Tara grumbled, and you chuckled in return.

She liked your mom, she really did. The woman was an ex-marine and impressive as hell. But she was also cocky; not just confident, full on cocky. That in itself had its ups and downs, but in this situation? That was the last thing she wanted to hear.

“I told her yes,” you said after a moment’s silence. “It’s not like it would hurt anything.”

“Besides my pride,” Tara said. “Your mom has been looking for an excuse to kick my ass for months.”

“It’s with love,” you said, turning your head to look at Tara once again. There was the beginning of a sparkle that was starting to return. “She wouldn’t waste her time if she didn’t like you.”

“That explains so much about you,” she said with a shake of her head.

“You love it,” you said with your own smile.

“I do,” she whispered before leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

She didn’t want to push it with you, not now. After the attack in the theatre, you had been distant. It was understandable, of course, you had been brutalised by all accounts. But she had missed touching you, and kissing you, and having you near. If all she could get was one quick kiss, she would be happy.

When you leaned down again, chasing her for another kiss, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. You still tasted vaguely of copper and coffee, but it was you. The kiss was rushed, clumsy, almost like some teenagers finally getting a moment alone. But it was also filled with an urgency, a desperation that only came from living through a life-or-death situation.

“I love you, Tara,” you whispered against her lips.

“I love you too,” she answered. You pressed another quick kiss to her lips before pulling back and holding her close once again.

“Remember when I said you and Sam are danger magnets?” You asked. You were back to looking all around the room.

“Yeah?”

“I’m revising my statement,” you said with a nod.

“To what?” Tara asked, pulling back just enough to see the expressions on your face.

“You’re not danger magnets,” you said. “You are the danger.”

“Shut up,” Tara said as she pushed against your shoulder.

“Not sure I can sleep in the same bed as a murderer,” you continued even though she could see the smile on your face.

“You’re such a dick.”

“You love me,” you said quickly.

“Do I?” She asked.

“I got stabbed five times for you,” you said. “Plus a bullet, so you better love me.”

“I took over a dozen,” she said with a curl of her lip. “You might need to up your game.”

“We definitely need therapy,” you mumbled, but your smile stayed.

“Yeah we do,” Tara agreed, but wrapped her arms around your waist and held you closer anyway.

It would be a long, grueling journey to healing. But if you were going to be there with her through it all, it would be worth it. After all, you were both Survivors. And Survivors stuck together.

[eleni-cherie]

a thief's origin✨ || bts • kth - chapter 0.2

"you're afraid I won't wait." "I'm afraid you will."

a criminal and a doctor should be as different as the sun and the moon - but unexpected things happened every day. like him finding his safe haven in her.

© 2024 | eleni_cherie

»»»

masterlist: here

— genre: thief au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburn, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers s2f2l

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

»»»

4th December

Barcelona, Spain

"Are you sure we won't get caught?"

Cassandra's hushed concern laced with irrational excitement got Taehyung snicker under his breath. He briefly glanced over his shoulder, seeing her wonderous gaze as she was leaning in to try catching a glance of what he was doing.

"Not if you keep watching for any prying eyes," he countered with a smirk, causing her to mumble a muffled 'okay' into her scarf and returning to stand guard as she trusted him for some naive reason. And he continued shortwiring the alarm system.

Her eyes briefly wandered down to the colourful beige-brown-yellow pattern of wet tiles beyond the canopy, which covered the backyard of Casa Batlló. Quickly heaving them again to look around into the rainy afternoon, ensuring no one was seeing them indeed.

Usually the building and the integrated museum were open till late, 10pm, every day. However, that day and the next it was supposed to be closed for some minor renovations. Cassandra had mindlessly mentioned that as the two had passed by in search for a place to await the rain. Neither one having an umbrella. She hadn't expected him suggesting to break in, knowing it was one of her favourite buildings in the city, clearly joking and not actually meaning it. And she surely hadn't expected herself to agree despite knowing it was all tongue-in-cheek.

Feeling an unknown thrill and rush while standing there behind the fence now, shielding his thievery skills while he worked on the rather simple security system - as he claimed.

"Thought your friend was the master thief," she giggled then over her shoulder before redirecting her focus to their surroundings.

Taehyung only huffed at this. "Doesn't mean I don't have some aces up my sleeve, too." A cocky smirk audible in his voice.

A shiver crept up under her pink woollen coat then and she wondered if he wasn't cold at all with his rather thin coat, which was even left unbottoned. Simply unable to comprehend how someone wouldn't feel the need for a scarf in the with humidity spiked coldness of the city.

It was the middle of winter after all, also meaning it got dark earlier and the rainy clouds surely quickened the process. They still got some time left though. Which unfortunately also meant someone could still see them, despite the possibility being low considering the downpour.

Besides, Cassandra was also uncertain if all the other neighbouring buildings weren't inhabited like this one. She knew the one on the right was something like a parfum museum. The ones on the left looked a lot like office buildings. But the rest around the backyard? No clue.

Before she could voice any of her concerns, however, she heard Taehyung's triumphant cheer. And he got up from the electrical panel, cracking open the backdoor with ease. Holding it wide open for her to hurry inside and observed all nervousness wash away from Cassandra's face the further inside they stepped. Her brown irises big while they looked around the colourful tiles and curves. Their footsteps echoing against them in the empty silence.

"Come, this way!" she beamed with excitement while gripping her backpack tighter and he followed her through the posh dining room to a corridor, until they reached the entrance hall.

The place evoked an underwater environment with its white and light blue. They began climbing up the staircase then, past the lightwell which distributed the air and light that entered through the main skylight on top. Also completely covered in tiles of shades of blue, with more intense colour in the upper part and lighter tiles at the bottom.

There was a strangeness to seeing all those high-built exhalted rooms and spaces deprived of any presence and noise but theirs.

Eventually they reached the top and the entrance to the roof terrace.

It sounded like the rain had stopped by now, the clouds having wandered further away to another city part. But since they were already there, might as well take advantage of it. So she let him take over again, allowing him to pick the roof door's lock.

The roof terrace was dominated on each end by what was popularly known as the dragon's back, which characterised the facade and had been represented with different coloured tiles. However, the main focal point of the terrace were the four crooked and polychrome chimney stacks.

The rooftops of all the other buildings around the blocks visible beyond them. Bathed in a warm hue by the low winter sun that peeked through the now clearing clouds.

Everything glistening wet, reflecting its rays.

"I've never been here with no other people around," she said, taking in the view in awe. Not paying attention to the slippery ground, she'd have landed on the cold tiles if it wasn't for Taehyung's quick reaction. Grabbing her arm and holding onto her tightly.

"Careful, clumsy fellow."

She blushed at his teasing grin. "Y-yeah, thanks."

There were a few chairs scattered around for visitors and they settled for a couple under a porch, spared from the rain. And Taehyung's eyes widened when watching Cassandra unpack a small drawing pad and a pencil. Seeing her beginning sketching on her lap.

It didn't happen often, but there were periods she really got into this often overlooked interest of hers. Overlooked since studying and working had taken up most energy in the past. Not leaving much for anything else. So she tried picking it up again whenever she could, carrying her pad and pencil wherever she went.

He peeked on her paper, seeing the rough outline of the skyline and the roof taking shape on it. And he pursed his lips. "You draw?"

"Mh, a bit. Sometimes."

"Do you have a spare piece of paper?"

Arching a brow at him briefly, she nodded and heaved hers to tear off another one for him. Offering him a pencil as well, which he accepted with a smile.

Her eyes caught a glimpse of calluses on his palm and index finger. From a gun, she concluded.

"You draw, too?" she asked then, adjusting the thick beanie on her head before glancing back down to her drawing pad.

"Hardly. But figured I could pick it up again instead of sitting here idle," he explained with a small shrug and started doodling. "Don't expect anything grand though."

she laughed under her breath. "Neither should you."

They grew quiet with only their scribbling pencils and the passing cars down on the street audible. Until Taehyung took out his phone and a mellow jazz song began accompanying them instead. And Cassandra stole a glance at him.

Over the course of the past three months, he'd tended to stop by in between of breaks from heists. He said it was because he loved the city and perhaps that was true. But she couldn't help and secretly hope it was partially for her, too.

He was still somewhat a stranger in some aspects. And a friend in others. One of these friends you only met once in awhile and yet, it didn't feel weird or awkward. Making her wonder if she would also still get along like this with her actual old friends from highschool and medical school.

And in an odd way, Taehyung felt the same strange familiarity with the young doctor. Cassandra was like a childhood friend.

When he was with her, he didn't feel like an internationally wanted thief, but rather like a normal and perhaps even good person.

She made him forget about what he was when being away from her. And in some naive way he wanted to cling onto that, for as long as possible at least.

After all, they had barely known each other and yet, while spending afternoons together just strolling around, it felt always easy. Effortlessly. At some point they'd even reached the beach, only then realising how they'd had walked up all the way there without noticing. They could always talk about anything and have fun.

Cassandra didn't know she wasn't the only one finding comfort in that.

Much to her dismay, however, they couldn't talk about everything as Taehyung would never tell her any stories from his heists with Jimin and Yoongi.

He lied that it'd be a thief's codex not to speak with an outsider about it, when in reality he simply didn't want her to judge or be scared of him.

He had this justified paranoia that a woman like her wouldn't want to have anything to do with someone like him if she knew any details. After all, he still couldn't fathom the fact she hadn't already run away from the very beginning when knowing what he was.

And besides, him not letting her in on his criminal life would be better in any case. For both of them.

"May I ask something?" she spoke up then, after tucking a coppery curl behind her ear that had gone astry by the breeze high up there. Hearing him hum, she gathered her courage and proceeded. "How did you become a thief? I mean.. did you wake up one day and thought 'yep, that's what I wanna do'?"

It was something she'd always wondered but never dared to mention. However, the sight of his hand reminded her of it again. So she decided to attempt coaxing some info out of him at least. Anything.

Cassandra's unapologetic curiosity made Taehyung burst out laughing, genuinely entertained by her. However, she mistook it for mockery and only pouted.

"Don't tell me if you don't want to. But stop making fun of me," she mumbled awkwardly.

He quickly shook his head, though, stifling another bubbling chuckle. "No, no. It's alright. I don't mind. Just didn't expect that sudden question."

She only hmpf-ed, focusing on her sketch. "So?"

"Well.." he began then scratching his head while contemplating how to explain it, "It's definitely not that I woke up one day and decided to be one. It just.. happened."

Cassandra only shot him a funny look. "Like.. you just tripped and fell into it?"

Wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes again and he bit back another chuckle. Getting the reference.

The cold wind picked up anew, tousling his hair and making Cassandra's body grow stiff for a moment.

"Kinda.. remember Jimin?"

"Of course," she nodded, "How could I forget that cute face."

"Cute face, huh?" he huffed out a laugh, "Don't let him hear that, his ego is already out of proportion."

She giggled, nodding. "Noted. So, what's with him?"

Taehyung sighed into the wind. His pencil pausing for a brief second. "It is a long story.."

"We got time," she shrugged, erasing a part and sketching it again, "But if you don't wanna.."

"I mean.. it's not easy to explain." He lowered the volume of his phone then. "I mean, why did you decide to be a physician?"

"Oh."

She glanced up at him, seeing his mischievious grin which caused her to huff out amused.

So that was how he wanted to play.

"In my case it wasn't anything special, though," she shrugged and went back to her drawing, "I like helping people and I love biology. And I'm interested in how things work. How these different organs and cells interact together." A small smile formed on her lips as the pencil glided over the thick piece of paper. "Between all the subjects and things that interested me, this was the one holding more meaning to me, you know? So yeah.. That was my reason. Nothing too special, really."

Taehyung observed her with a fond smile, finding her reason rather noble than as simple as she made it sound. Returning to his doodles then.

"Not the money or prestige?" he teased then, making her scoff in fake-offence.

"Please, if I wanted just money and prestige I could've studied economics or finances or something like that. Would've been way easier than all the nights studying anatomy and metabolic deseases. Believe me."

He hummed amused.

Of course he knew there was a big portion of doctors doing it for the wrong reasons, but he'd never believed her belonging to them. She just didn't strike him as such a superficial person, even if his analysing skills weren't as advanced as Jimin's, he believed that he reckoned up her character pretty well at least. And he was glad he was proven right.

The setting sun bathed everything in a sepia light. The atmosphere warm and bright despite the crisp temperature.

Although the anew dark clouds nearing from the south did concern her.

"Now it's your turn," she smirked and looked up to the afternoon view to catch more details. Planning to engrave the golden colours of the atmosphere into her memory to add them at home.

Taehyung hummed, scratching his neck with the back of the pencil while contemplating. "Well, for you to understand I have to explain my upbringing I guess," he exhaled almost in defeat then and sat back. Allowing his eyes to wander over the grey rooftops. "My earliest memories consist of a skyscraper in Mumbai, where my father brought me along to a meeting with a 'client'. I was only five back then." He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek as he chose his next words. "My dad.. he did business with shady people, so you could say the apple never falls far from the tree." A hollow laugh left his lips at the irony and he drew an abstract cartoon face. "Hence why he also taught me how to shoot a gun from an early age. I still remember when he did for the first time."

Cassandra only nodded, listening intently. She wanted to allow him opening up fully. "So it's save to assume you must be pretty good with a gun," she said instead.

Her assumptions proven correctly when she saw him nod, sighing.

"Don't wanna brag, but I'm a pretty good marksman. Yeah." His gaze fell.

It wasn't like he ever felt exceptionally proud of his remarkable skills, in fact, he was always quite indifferent about them. However, telling her about them now made an unusual nervousness rise inside him. Fearing her judgement.

"Anyway," he composed himself then, "So you can say my dad wasn't necessarily father of the year, but besides teaching me how to shoot and taking me along to business trips, he was alright and took care of me. But since we travelled and moved a lot and I never got to stay at a place for too long. Which kinda sucked."

A scowl crossed her featured. "Oh, what about school or friends?"

"I had to constantly change schools and always had to leave the friends I found behind."

"That sounds.. hard," she sighed, giving him a look of empathy.

And he nodded as an old Sinatra classic began playing, distracting him for a moment. He ran his hand through his messy waves then. "Yeah.. but it didn't last for too long, so it's okay. Really. When I turned thirteen my dad left me at my grandparents and disappeared, so.. I was able attending school frequently after all."

At this, Cassandra perked up again. Brows furrowed in confusion how he brushed over that grave information so easily. "W-what? He disappeared?"

Taehyung only shrugged nonchalantly. Masking the still lingering hurt and confusion. "Y-yeah.. The only thing I have left of him is his Magnum. He gave it to me before leaving. And I still have it, carrying it around wherever I go."

He knew that he didn't have to tell her all this, but he felt like doing it anyway. Although it wasn't something he talked about often. Or ever.

The only people who knew were his two closest and only friends, and perhaps Seokjin and his interpol agents if they had done their work correctly. However, he hoped that knowing his backstory would at least help her understand it better. And perhaps prevent her from judging him too much.

But Cassandra wasn't judging him. Rather the opposite.

She folded her lips at this, quietly processing his words. And all of a sudden a deep sadness spread inside her instead. The quiet background music coming from his phone emphasising the lingering heaviness.

Obviously she'd already assumed that his life and upbringing most likely hadn't been all sunshine and rainbows - whose really were anyway - but she hadn't expected it to be so sombre. Despite him trying brushing it off and not dissembling it. She could still tell it was a baggage he carried with him by the dullness clouding his usually bright eyes.

"Mh, it's a memento of your father," she concluded then with a nod, more to herself than him. "And that's why you became a thief?"

"No, not really. But it's what pathed the way for me, I guess," he snickered. The laugh not reaching his eyes. And her lips parted but before she could say anything more, he continued. "What eventually made me a thief was when I met Jimin, the most annoying, insufferable and sly skirt chaser at school," he sighed, chuckling under his breath. It was genuine amusement this time. "But he was also the most loyal and reliable friend I ever had."

At this, Cassandra couldn't help but coo, averting her focus from her sketch to look at him with crescent-shaped eyes. "You two are childhood friends, that's so lovely."

Taehyung smiled at her reaction. Finding it unexpected but also endearing. "Yeah, we were school friends. But not right from the start. To me he was just a rebellious and entitled lil' rich brat, a real trouble-maker. I preferred hanging out with the other kids or staying by myself."

She could tell he was holding back a nostalgic laugh and she smiled. "Sounds like a handful," she agreed, "But you still ended up becoming friends."

He scoffed, folding his arms. "I was kinda forced, to be honest. He saw me having a gun one day and then dragged us into a shootout all because he was into that woman - who was at least ten years older than us, mind you." Now getting genuinely upset when recalling the incident at the bar two 13-year-olds didn't have any business to be at. Adding with a frustrated breath, "This idiot never thinks when he sees a pretty girl and the rest of us have to carry the can for it." He shook his head then. "Anyway, I ended up becoming friends with him. We hung up and since thievery ran in Jimin's blood - it was literally his family-business - he began being on the fiddle. And I ended up helping him. And as we grew older it went from robbing liquor to banks to museums and art galleries to.. well, to actual treasures around the world. And on the way, we met Yoongi who joined us. That's the story, I guess."

Cassandra breathed out an astonished "wow", eyes gaping at him in a short silence. "That's.. an intense story," a mischievous smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, "Are you sure you didn't steal that from a film plot?"

He laughed as well, looking down at his three caricatures. "I wished."

The dark blanket of clouds she had noticed earlier had come threateningly closer by now. Covering the right side of the sky completely, while the rest also had a fair amount of smaller, lighter clouds. Still not enough to completely cover it there, though, leaving enough space for the colorful sky to peak through when a more upbeat song began playing.

"You know, it's kinda funny," Cassandra said then, making him perk up. He noticed her lips curled into a small ambiguous smile. Eyes resting on the skyline before going back to her drawing. "We're so different, you and me. But our upbringings still ended up having some similarities."

He was intrigued by this. "Like what?"

She picked another pencil, a thicker one compared to the one she had sketched the buildings in. "My parents are nature photographers, you know, always been travelling around the world. Still do. I barely see them, only when they visit me once every one or two months. And back in the days, they'd take me with them to all the far places," she explained," My earliest memories are of myself chasing pigeons on the Plaza de la Catedral in Havana when I was merely four years old. I remember it vividly. It was a lively, colourful place. I'd like to revisit one day." The ambiguousness in her expression now replaced with nostalgia. "And then when I was old enough to attend school, they left me with my grandparents. Just like you, I grew up with them and suddenly I had something like a stable life. But my parents would still take me with them during holidays, so I still got to travel."

Perhaps that was why to this day, something inside her remained unsettled so she took any chance she got to travel somewhere. Whether it was during her medical internships or for vacations.

The two exchanged a look, holding each other's gaze with a smile of mutual understanding.

The similarity of their childhoods consisting of constant travelling with no real sense of 'home' up until a certain age, was comforting in a way. Although their circumstances being clearly unlike, to know there was someone else with similar experience and upbringings was maybe what really bonded them in the end, despite living so vastly different lives.

They continued sketching in a comfortable silence then. 

The sun neared the mountains in the distance and the golden hue of the atmosphere soon became darker. The clouds which had now covered most of the sky above them, reflecting the disappearing sun's orangy gleam. Bright, fluffy clouds on their right contrasting dark heavy ones on their left. The sky looking like straight out of the renaissance paintings in a museum. And both stared at it in awe.

Cassandra took another paper out and began a new sketch. Hatching harsher shadows on the buildings and clouds. Trying her best to capture the dramatic picturesque view in front of her. And Taehyung observed her silently, admiring the pure concentration in her face.

Soon the darker ones absorbed more of the yellow sky in their purple shades. The sun hidden by now. Only the smaller becoming gleam behind the buildings letting them assume where it was- With pink cotton candy clouds in the far north contrasting the shades of blue around them. Only half an hour later, the sun had set completely. Leaving the buildings standing dark against the still dimly coloured sky. 

Another brisk breeze passed by then and she shivered, causing her tho almost smudge the sketch.

"Are you cold?" Taehyung wondered out loud, making her frown.

"Of course. Aren't you?"

He shrugged, shoving his hands into his coat's pockets. Not because he was cold but out of habit. "Not really, no."

"You may not feel it, but your body might become hypothermic if you're not careful."

He hummed.

"You should definitely dress warmer. Put on a scarf of something."

"Is that a doctor's advice?" he smirked and she puffed out a laugh.

"It's actually a doctor's order."

"Oh, is that so?" His brows rose. Finding her lecturing tone quite amusing as it was contrasting her otherwise gentle and bubbly demeanor. "I should follow it then."

She knew he wasn't taking her serious, but she had done her duty and warned him. It was up to him if he listened or not.

"I like this song," she said then, motioning with her chin to his phone. His brows rose as his gaze fell on it. 'Unforgettable' by Nat Kind Cole was playing. And he couldn't help but beam at her. "So do I."

A tiny waterdrop landed on the back of her hand then. And another one. She looked up, seeing the purple clouds now hanging low above them. Stretching all the way to the pastel pink coloured north side. Another waterdrop landed on her cheek and she realised those weren't normal waterdrops but actual raindrops.

Taehyung had also noticed them, holding the palm of his hand against them. "I think it's raining again."

As soon as he said that, more and more drops fell abruptly from the sky and Cassandra cursed under her breath. Quickly packing up and shoving everything into her backpack. And they hurried inside, following the stairs back downstairs.

They could hear the rain picking up on volume, pattering loudly against the glass of the skylight and the windows.

The stairs led them to the house's main living room, which despite the large picture window that formed a gallery onto the rain-covered main street, was left in an eery atmosphere due to the lack of light. The huge oak doors and the wavy ceiling only adding to this.

Cassandra sat down on the floor in front of the gallery window taking off her beanie. A sigh escaping her lips when seeing the rain pouring down harsher, becoming more violent. Turning into a downright cloudburst. "And I was thinking about taking my umbrella with me, but of course I didn't.."

"I bet it's just another short downpour, it'll be over soon," Taehyung said, taking a seat next to her and resting his arms on his angled legs. He motioned to her backback then. "Are your drawings okay?"

Her eyes grew wide, only now remembering them. She zipped open her backpack, taking out her drawing pad and flipping threw the pages. They seemed alright, no wavy edges, no blurred or dissorted lines. And she sighed in relief. "Yeah, they seem fine."

Suddenly the pad was tucked out of her grip and she watched Taehyung's eyes intently browsing over them as well. His brows knitting lightly, making her wonder what he was thinking about.

"You said not to expect much, but these are incredible," he said then with a straight face, handing her the pad back. Cassandra blinked, hesitatedly accepting it and stuffing it back into her bag.

"I mean.. they were rather casually drawn.. but thanks," she mumbled, not really taking the compliment serious. Knowing they weren't her best works considering their rushed nature and it'd been awhile since she'd last drawn.

Taehyung only eyed her for a moment and shrugged, resting his gaze on the streams of water flowing down the gallery window in front of them. "Sure, but you still captured the atmosphere and contrasts well. I like them."

At this she bit back a genuine smile.

"Oh, well thank you then." She playfully nudged his arm with a wiggle in her brows. "Didn't know you were such an 'art connoisseur'."

He laughed under his breath, sensing she only wanted to distract from the blush on her cheeks. And he let her.

"You know, we've not only stolen jeweles and artefacts. Sometimes we steal paintings, too. Some knowledge must've brushed off on me."

Nodding, she hummed. Eyes joining his in watching the heavy growing rain outside. "What paintings did you steal?"

"Some Manet's, some Rembrandt's, an El Greco.." he mused, "You know, all these portraits they've painted made me realise one thing.."

Intrigued, she peeked at him. "And what?"

He faced her with a lopsided grin. "That I'd like having one myself. Like one of these sleazy rich guys. To put it over my fireplace or something."

Cassandra couldn't help but burst out laughing. "Do you even have a fireplace?"

His grin widened. "I don't even have my own house," he said, laughing along with her now over his own absurdity, "But one day, one day I will."

And they sat there shoulder to shoulder, watching the storm pass by. For a brief second he thought about taking his phone out again before deciding against it. Somehow preferring listening to the pit-a-pat of the rain instead.

»»»

next chapter: 0.3 here

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[edgy-ella]

I think Bayonetta's design in 1 is the most well-thought out of any of her outfits, even though her design in 2 is definitely my personal favorite.

The beehive hair is legitimately such a perfect fit for her character. Not only does it give her a more unique silhouette, but the silhouette it gives her is meant to evoke a classical witch hat. Beehive hairstyles are also traditionally associated with high class and intellect, both of which Bayo embodies. It's also just generally a style you don't see a ton of in media anymore, let alone video games. The chain accessories on her sleeves highlighting different phases of the moon is also a really nice touch.

I won't sell her design in 2 short though. Honestly I just really like the hair. It gives me the vibe that, now that Bayonetta knows who she is/was after the events of the first game, she feels more comfortable assimilating into modern culture. It does break the lore a bit since her outfit is supposed to be made of her hair, but I'm not too beat up about it. I also like that her moon accessories have been replaced with either stars or talismans, alluding to her either A) accepting both her Umbra and Lumen ancestry (stars would be a balance between the sun and moon) or B) magical enhancements, which ties into the new Umbran Climax mechanic. The blue guns/particle effects are also a massive improvement over the red from 1, since it helps them stand out against all the red blood spewing from the game's enemies.

I don't really have anything to say about her design in 3, this one just doesn't really do it for me.

The skirt and sleeves suggest either princess or ballerina theming, which like...sure? I guess? I don't really associate her with either of those, though. The braids imply a level of immaturity, since that was her hairstyle as a child in the first game, which she simply doesn't have anymore. This is further emphasized by the bow on the back of the skirt. The extra claws on her gloves do connect her to the new Demon Masquerade mechanic, but the less said about Demon Masquerade the better. Even the lacy cutouts on the pants kind of get drowned out by the other details of the design. It's just kind of a mess.

[hes-back-from-the-dead]

Here are some different drafts and the process of working on my own poster for the SPO poster project! Long post below!

My initial concept was to have the poster be heavily grafitti'd as a sort of fun little gag towards my headcanon of the Snes and Wii iterations of him being different characters and how frequently the fandom bullies his design.

I then got sad cause I realized I'd put a lot of work into making the poster, and Aran himself, look really good and I didn't wanna hide either. So I decided to make it an open invitation for others to fuck around with their own posters!

I ended up being pretty indecisive on what I wanted to do for the graffiti itself- I had far too many ideas.

I obviously got the stache, brows, crossed eyes, and stink lines form the contender intro for Aran but I thought I'd add my own touches like silly shit people did in my server (playing tic tac toe on his massive forehead) and generally what I think Wii Aran would do to mock his counterpart.

The original iteration ended up too mean especially with all the fat comments, so switching them for more varied words ended up looking much better! 'Men gotta be fart, stupid, and hideous' is my favorite line.

To translate some other insults: Jackeen means a city person, usually mocking Dubliners. Dryshite just means boring.

In the final set, Wii Aran also has another piece of graffiti on the wall- it's meant to invoke spray paint but I didn't do too well here. This is far from the first time he's made a mockery of branch B's Aran and it won't be the last.

As for the plain poster- from the original, the biggest changes are the background of the portrait and his blurb. Yes I'm aware he has no ear holes I can't draw them I'm sorry.

I kinda HATE the way the background is tbh- the spo manual already makes everyone ugly as shit- there's no need to make it worse lmao.

I went with bricks spattered with dirt and blood to evoke a feeling of being in a back alley fight. My original attempt was garbage but then I found this simple brick brush that made my entire life easier.

I wanted to give him a black eye and bloody nose too but it ended up being too hard for me to figure out.

Tbh I don't like the original blurb- it feels clunky and empty all at once. I tried to go with a snappier rendition of the same main ideas while adding a bit of flair and appreciation for how he is in SPO.

The hardest bit of the whole process was probably figuring out all the strange quirks of the text. It looks good but damn is it hard to replicate.

My favorite part was playing around with all the layers and ways I could use effects- a filter or two really does a lot to add to the feeling of a poster. And for one last bit of funsies, here's the poster without any effects vs all of them. (I lost the version with highlighting on his face, whoops!)

I'm really happy with this piece and how quickly I finished it! I think it's a really good sign for my progress in digital art! If you've got questions, feel free to ask in the replies!

[xadianglyphs]

Infantis Sanguine: Why Is It Like That

Okay, it's finally time to talk about Infantis Sanguine. In that I can't put it off any longer, not that there's a particularly good time. Everything we see on the Infantis Sanguine page is pretty much unique within the series so far, so there aren't any repeats or connections to follow. It also doesn't bear a ton of resemblance to anything we've seen before. So I'm kind of left with going over possible external connections or inspirations, and what we're meant to think about it based on the design.

Like, it's pretty clear from the way they show the Infantis Sanguine spell how we're supposed to feel about it. It's dirty and smudged, it's rendered in a red/black gradient that evokes dried blood, and the writing that goes with it is much shorter and sharper than any of the other writing systems we've seen, which are all very calligraphic. Additionally, it looks like an early version of the sort of magic circles we only see associated with dark or corrupted magic, like Kim'dael's summoning circle, the Tenebris Praesidium circle effect, or even Claudia's spellbook:

That kind of arrangement doesn't occur in any primal magic we've seen so far. Sometimes primal magic has individual runes arranged in a circle, like the Silvergrove entrance illusion or the Sunfire purification ritual, but the intricate, geometric stuff is exclusive to dark magic.

Anyway, now let's take this nerd shit to an 11 when it probably ought to stay at about a 5.

I'm absolutely sure that everyone d'une certaine génération of anime saw this in s5e9 and thought the same thing I did, which was, "nope, I've seen enough Fullmetal Alchemist to know where this is going."

In actuality, most of the Fullmetal Alchemist transmutation circles don't really resemble Infantis Sanguine, though there's some basic similarity between the human transmutation circles and the cover of Claudia's spellbook. The only one that's bears a passing resemblance to Infantis Sanguine is this one:

(Side note: would you believe it took me literal hours to find the source of that, probably because it's exclusive to the 2003 anime? It's the transmutation circle used in conjunction with a homunculus's human remains to force it to vomit up all its red stone (life force) and become mortal so it can be killed. Interestingly.)

Now, a lot of these graphic elements are rooted in other meanings or practices. A pentacle is a pentacle, Hiromu Arakawa didn't make that up. She actually incorporated a ton of researched alchemical symbolism into Fullmetal Alchemist, and the similarities don't mean "oh, TDP copied FMA." (I'd be kind of shocked if no one on the TDP team has seen FMA, though.)

The central element that makes these two graphics resemble each other is the crucified serpent, which is an actual thing, generally associated with Nicolas Flamel because it appears in a book attributed to him (this isn't from that book, it's a later representation):

Basically, as an alchemical symbolic concept, the crucified serpent represents the stabilization of a volatile substance. The serpent is further a symbol of the "prima materia," a universal, chaotic matter and the starting material for the philosopher's stone. You can go a step further and interpret the cross as the four elements uniting together to form the fifth, but medieval/renaissance historical alchemy was also deeply entwined with Christianity—the cross is also seen as emblematic of the cyclic "death and resurrection" of the prima materia as it is refined into the stone.

The crucified serpent with wings and crown is, as far as I can tell, something Hiromu Arakawa did make up for Fullmetal Alchemist, but it's really just adding another layer that further clarifies the concept as a symbol of having attained perfection or divine wisdom. (Hence its association with Ed and Izumi, who have both seen The Gate and attained the ability to perform alchemic transmutation without drawing a circle.)

Furthermore, the crucified serpent is associated with the rod of Asclepius and the caduceus, which also have a design association with the symbol for dark magic. We also have a strong association between snakes and dark magic because of recurring use in the series.

Now, as for the symbols that surround the Infantis Sanguine geometric/serpentine design, they bear little resemblance to any other writing symbols used thus far in the setting. Possibly they're similar to the symbols used in the blocks of body text from repeating book pages:

It's hard to say, though. I think it's probably a coincidence, since in both cases they're trying to use symbols that resemble a simpler, alphabetical writing system instead of the pictographic primal runes or the complex calligraphic symbols we see elsewhere. I'm not convinced the art team thought at all about human vs. elven styles of writing, and a lot of the symbols we see on human objects or books are also very calligraphic. BUT if that was something they HAD thought about... after seeing the Moon Nexus, Sunfire, and other calligraphic symbols endemic to the elven locations and cultures, I'd see the Infantis Sanguine writing and be like "oh, that's human, then."

Basically, I think the symbols surrounding Infantis Sanguine are meant to be perceived as actual writing or notation—something you could jot down with a pencil. Some of them even bear a passing resemblance to alchemical symbols, which were used as shorthand notation for materials and processes:

Finally, I don't think it's coincidence that there are these relationships between Infantis Sanguine and alchemy. As I noted above with the magic circles, we are meant to associate this spell (and possibly deep magic as a whole) with dark magic. Primal magic is laid out as very spiritual, in this series—it's energy-based, a connection made deep in your soul with a natural, universal force. Dark magic, on the other hand, is rendered as very physical—it uses materials, which are altered or destroyed in the process. It's also something fostered and developed by humans over time and experimentation, similar to science. We don't really know where primal spells come from, beyond a single reference that they are "discovered" while referring to the discovering character as an "oracle."

So yeah, I think we're meant to draw that association, if only to contrast Infantis Sanguine from primal magic by connecting it with something that itself has more physical and scientific associations.

...

Actually, there is one other writing/symbol that bears some similarity to what we see in Infantis Sanguine. But I'll get to that in another post.

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

What do you think about using Irish as a stand-in for a dying Indigenous language in a Gaelic-inspired fantasy story? It would be spoken by sí, but also just be the native language colonialism has done a lot of damage to. If you don't have the time/spoons to answer this, completely understand and I appreciate you just having your ask box open and taking the time to read this. No ill will meant, your earlier post is just making me reconsider things. I am am Irish person, but I've been living abroad most of my life.

i am not the irish police or anything but i think it is worth considering the impact of continuing to use irish in fantasy as an unnamed magical or dead language that belongs to the distant past without naming and acknowledging it as a real language that real people speak everyday in the real world

because a lot of people will see this unnamed language and think "this is a fictional language" or "this is a dead language" and then when they see irish IRL it will seem magical and mystical and they won't think about it as something entwined with politics and language rights and funding and people's everyday existence

and a lot of them will also not realise it is irish at all. it is obviously difficult in a fantasy setting to refer to things by their real names but you can often tell the difference between an author with knowledge of irish who has deliberately chosen to use it to evoke certain real world parallels, and an author who has borrowed it because they think it's mystical and none of their readers will be able to understand it (and part of the difference comes from how the reader is cued to experience that language and indeed whether it appears to occur to the author that the reader might well understand every word of it)

there are certainly ways to use Irish in fantasy that are respectful and whatever, but i would caution that having otherworld beings be the speakers (i assume this is what you mean by "sí" although usually the word needs a person word with it since it refers to the place not its inhabitants, hence aes sidhe, daoine sidhe etc) and presenting the language as a "dying" language feels like it falls into some of those harmful tropes

(irish in the real world is a minority language, but it is also language with a growing number of urban speakers, new words being coined all the time, influencers and social media as gaeilge, growing support for language rights in the north, etc. that doesn't mean it's not endangered. but it does mean it is not a relic of the past found only in forgotten villages that haven't changed in 100 years, and the popular depiction of it hasn't really caught on to that fact)

but also i'm not the irish police. i'm not even irish. the language is not in my blood, i just went out and chose to learn it bc it interests me (maybe this is part of why i resist the Magical Language Of Our Ancestors spiel so much)

[mathmusicreading]

Currently thinking about the title of Supernatural season 4 episode 1 "Lazarus Rising". It's so simple and so evocative. I think I get something extra from it because I love Terry Pratchett, Discworld, Hogfather, Discworld's Death, and the quote "where the falling angel meets the rising ape". (Do the Destiel shippers go wild with this? The Cas fans supporting his love for humanity and even creating free will? They should.) But just on it's own, it's referencing coming back to life and the phrasing has connotations of ascension and empowerment. It also avoids connotations of zombies or likening Dean to Jesus Christ.

On that note, I wonder how much Supernatural meant to parallel Dean Winchester to Lazarus of Bethany, and Castiel to Jesus for that matter. (With how little I engage with Supernatural canon, I think my thoughts on Chuck's relationship with Castiel are mixed and not set, but for fun right now: Castiel is Chuck's favorite angel, and Chuck hates it and hates him for it!)

Dean was dead for four months, much like Lazarus was dead for four days. (Dean was also in hell for 40 years, a significant number and amount of time in the Bible. And moving away from the Christianity angle, four is a fitting motif with Dean's death given "four" sounding like "death" in Mandarin Chinese.)

Dean is "the righteous man", while part of the title with which Lazarus is venerated is "Righteous Lazarus".

If "risen dead" evokes zombies and "risen from the dead" invokes Jesus, then "Lazarus rising" conveys that the subject of resurrection is a normal human, and the key is that they are resurrected by a great power who is good. Specifically, Lazarus is resurrected by Jesus, the Son of God, and Dean is resurrected not by a necromancer or demon, but by the angel Castiel, sent on a holy mission.

Jesus did not immediately save Lazarus, rushing to heal him upon hearing of his illness, but waited two days before traveling to and resurrecting Lazarus after he died. I can't help but feel like this is similar to Castiel's not rescuing Dean until 40 years into Dean's sentence in Hell, after he had broken on the rack and become a torturer shedding blood in Hell.

Jesus did not merely heal Lazarus when he was sick, but resurrected him after death, for God's glory and that people might believe in Jesus' own coming resurrection. (God resurrecting Castiel, anyone?) I think Supernatural canon is not explicitly clear, and it may be widespread fanon or a popular fan head canon that Castiel was sent immediately to rescue Dean, but wow the similarity to Jesus and his mission if Cas couldn't reach Dean or wasn't sent until after Dean broke because of heaven's ultimate plan to carryout the apocalypse, rescuing Dean not being about saving a righteous man but about breaking the first seal to Lucifer's cage.

Not full of meaning, but Jesus resurrected Lazarus in his tomb and still wrapped in his grave cloths. So for the people jokingly asking why Castiel left Dean in his coffin, six feet under, instead of zapping him out, it's because we're really leaning into the Jesus angle. (Is Cas lobotomized Jesus?!)

And the kickers now that we've gone through all that: Jesus wept. He was moved with compassion for Lazarus' sisters and friends. He mourned Lazarus' death even while on the way to resurrect him. It was well known by all that he loved Lazarus. Take that how you will and run with it, Cas fans and Destiel shippers!

Last thing not being included with the rest because you can't as easily get it just from reading John 11:1-44 or doing an internet search for Lazarus. DiscIaimer that above, I got the title with which Lazarus is venerated in the Eastern Orthodox Church from Wikipedia, and so too the following Biblical interpretation/theological commentary.

The miracle of the raising of Lazarus is the climax of John's "signs". It explains the crowds seeking Jesus on Palm Sunday, and leads directly to the decision of Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin to plan to kill Jesus. Theologians Moloney and Harrington view the raising of Lazarus as a "pivotal miracle" which starts the chain of events that leads to the Crucifixion of Jesus. They consider it as a "resurrection that will lead to death", in that the raising of Lazarus will lead to the death of Jesus, the Son of God, in Jerusalem which will reveal the Glory of God.[17]

Dean's resurrection led to Castiel's death. Castiel died because he saved and loved Dean. When Castiel first laid a hand on [Dean] in Hell, he was lost! Castiel died because Chuck is a Pharisee that can't accept his manly everyman main character (sorry, Sam) is bisexual instead of straight. Chuck can be bisexual, but the manly everyman main character has to be straight, and so he killed Castiel for it. Dean too if you believe Chuck won.

And if the point of Lazarus' resurrection is Jesus' divinity, then the point of Dean's resurrection is that the angel is gay and Dean is bi!

[darkwing-katy]

The Spider and the Fly Part III

Pairing: Eventual Leland x Reader (sorta? You’ll see what I mean)

Word Count: 4,737

Summary: All you want to do is get through your online courses and keep your best friend from making bad choices in men. But there’s this creepy therapist who is absolutely insisting on you making an appointment with him. Who the hell is this Leland Townsend, and why won’t he leave you alone?!

Part three of seven. Takes place sometime around seasons one and two.

The series is inspired heavily by my favorite poem, “The Spider and the Fly” (1829) by Mary Howitt. This poem is in the public domain.

Tagging: @primosflowergarden; @vi-er

Part One

Part Two

——————————————————————————————————

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend, what can I do

To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?

I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;

I’m sure you’re very welcome—will you please to take a slice?”

You stare up at the brick building in front of you, a scowl etched onto your face. This is ridiculous. Why the hell are you here? Just because of a measly threat?

You flash back to that day in the kitchen, the cheeriness of Leland’s voice as he talked about how easy it’d be to flat-out murder Betty and hide the body. The memory of it makes you shudder. As upbeat as Leland had been, he had left little doubt that he was capable of doing such a thing. You couldn’t risk it…at least, not yet.

But Betty’s leaving this weekend to go to her parents. So all you have to do is fake it through this single appointment, make Leland believe you’ll be back, figure out why he’s so obsessed with you in the first place, and then you can be out of here. Easy enough, right? 

You’d done so much research on him but turned up nothing. He set up his practice a few years ago, but there’s nothing else on Leland Townsend. No court records, no social media, no newspaper articles. It’s like he didn’t exist until a few years ago, and that bothers you in a way that you’re not quite sure how to articulate. Who the fuck is this guy?

The mental image of him licking his blood off of his finger pops into your brain, and you feel yourself flush before you can banish it. We are not attracted to that, you tell yourself. He’s a psychopath and we’re gonna get the hell outta here the second our stupid appointment is over.

You suck in a deep breath, glance down at your green shirt and blue jeans, and head towards the door. Your breath quickens with each step closer the door, and you despise the trepidation that fills your veins with adrenaline. You have your phone ready to record in your pocket, and you’ve got a bottle of pepper spray easily reachable in your other pocket. You’ve timed yourself to see how quickly you can get to it and spritz it right in the bastard’s face if he lunges for you again.

It occurs to you that you’re willingly putting yourself into what could be a very, very dangerous situation, but what else can you do?

Besides, you can’t deny that you’re intrigued to know why he’s so fixated on you, so desperate to have you as a client. 

The interior of the building is white. Very white, almost blindingly so. It makes you feel exposed, naked. Would a painting on the walls really be so bad?

Then again, you suspect that it’s intentional, meant to evoke that feeling that you’re being watched. You wonder if you should’ve worn something more neutral to lessen that feeling. Maybe next time, you think, then shudder. No, there won’t be a next time. Where had that come from?

You’re led down a hallway with glass windows, all of which have blinds hiding their interiors. You stop when you see the brass plaque on the door that says LELAND TOWNSEND. You glower at the name before stepping into the room, your heart racing. Leland isn’t in there; you’re left alone. You glance around. It’s just as white as the rest of the building, save for the grey couch, the grey chairs, and the black desk. Even the carpet is grey and bland. There’s a painting on the wall behind Leland’s desk, an abstract of blue, black, and white with splashes of red that adds to your internal disquiet, though you’d be hard pressed to explain why. In one of the corners of the painting is a strange symbol that you study for a moment before turning back to the rest of the room.

The couch is probably where Leland expects you to sit. Like hell. Then there’s the two chairs that face each other, but which one? They both look the same, so you can’t make a guess as to which one he prefers. 

There’s another option: his desk. It’d be a hell of a power move, wouldn’t it?

You sit in the swivel chair behind his desk and, after a few seconds of consideration, prop up your feet on his desk as well. There’s a closed laptop that you’re tempted to open, but you have no clue when he’s going to appear, and it’s best if you don’t do anything too suspicious. Your palms are sweaty, and you hate how your body is betraying your nerves. You wipe the clammy digits onto your jeans and take in a fortifying breath, counting the beats as you breathe in and out. You will not allow this man to scare you. You are the one who scares, not the other way around. You will not be afraid of Leland; it is Leland who should be afraid of you.

The seconds tick by, then minutes. You don’t allow yourself to think of how long you’ve been waiting—you’ve employed this strategy before. Making people wait to catch them off guard is an old trick, one that has often given you excellent reactions when done to the right people. Instead, you study the space, memorize every detail of it, no matter how pointless it might seem. You make plans for what you’ll do if Leland tries to physically attack you, how you’ll use the sparse furniture to take cover, how you’ll use the lamp to knock him unconscious if you need to. He will not get the best of you.

You also go over the possible ways you can scare him. You have little information, but you’ve made that work before. How many times have you gotten back at Betty’s exes, or Taylor’s, or Marina’s? In college, you were a pro at this, and you’ve only gotten better with practice.

You still jump when the door opens at last, and you mentally chastise yourself for it. Leland walks in, an apologetic look on his face. It falters momentarily when he sees where you’re sitting, and you wonder how he’ll react, but all he does is blinks before striding forward. “(Y/N)!” he greets with a smile. “I’m glad you made it this time!”

You return his smile with one of your own. “Yeah. It’s amazing how well threats work at motivating people to be on time. More people should try that,” you deadpan as you raise your eyebrows at him. 

Leland steps further into the room, the door closing loudly behind him. He eyeballs you in the chair. “That’s my desk,” he comments. 

You flash him a smirk. “I don’t see your name on it,” you reply as you shift so that your legs are pointed at him. It’s not the most comfortable position, but it says what it needs to. You see a flicker of annoyance cross Leland’s face as you fold your hands over your stomach and fix your eyes on him. “Aren’t you gonna sit, Doctor?”

He angles his head at you, considering his options, then he rotates the chair nearest the desk so that he can face you and sits in it. “Whatever works for you,” he mutters, and you feel your smirk widen. He’s not on edge or anything, but you’ve managed to mildly inconvenience him, and you’ll take that as a small win for now. “So…(Y/N)…let’s talk.”

“About what?”

Leland shrugs as he leans back into the couch. “Whatever you want,” he replies.

“Why am I here?”

“Except that.”

You purse your lips at him. “Are you stalking me or something?”

“I just said we’re not talking about that.”

You sit up in the chair in annoyance, moving your feet back to the floor. The chair squeaks with the movement. “Yes, we are,” you insist. “You went through all the trouble of getting me here, so you’re gonna tell me why the hell you care so much.”

Leland scoffs as he looks away from you in derision. “I don’t care about you,” he replies snidely. “I care about what you’ve done, what you’re capable of, but not you.”

“I seem to recall you saying we could do great things together.” You don’t look away from his face. “You were pretty damn adamant on that particular detail.”

His lips come together in a pinched smile as he looks back at you, but he’s not really looking at you as much as he is sneering. “And I maintain that position. But make no mistake, it doesn’t mean I care about you. If you wanna jump off a building or shoot yourself in the head just to spite me, I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

Well, that’s a bit extreme. You hate the guy but that just seems like giving in too easily. You value yourself far too much for that. “Alright. Guess we’re not talking, then, and this is a waste of time.” You don’t rise from the chair, though. If he wants to waste your time, then you’ll waste his by sitting here and saying nothing. This appointment should end at 6, and you’ll get up then. You put your feet back up on the desk, though you’re careful not to knock any of his things over.

Leland allows you to sit in petulant silence for a grand total of one minute and fifteen seconds before he starts again. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Nope,” you reply, popping the ‘p’.

“Why not?”

You don’t deign to answer. He’s goading you, and you’re not gonna fall for it. You look away from him but keep him in your peripheral just in case, your hand lingering near the pocket with the pepper spray.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). Talk to me. Tell me about yourself, who you are, what you want in life.” He gives you a toothy grin. “Tell me your desires.”

You hate the way he drags out that word, mainly because it once again reminds you of him licking the blood off of his finger. “I desire to get the fuck away from you,” you snap before your traitorous body can blush at the memory. “I desire to leave this place knowing you’re gonna leave me and my friend alone.”

“Come on, there must be something you want to talk about. Something that’s weighing you down, something that’s pissing you off, something that’s making you feel…something.” Leland makes a little motion with his hands.

“I believe I just told you something that I wanted, something that makes me feel something,” you reply, irritated. “I want you far away from me and Betty.”

“Why?”

“You know why!” Dammit, he’s managing to pull the words out of you. You gotta shut up now before he gets anything else. “

“We could talk about Jordan.”

“Uhm, how about fuck no?”

“Ryan? Matthew?” He leans forward. “Brittany?” He raises an eyebrow at your ex-girlfriend’s name, but you have decided that no matter what names he drops, you’re gonna remain impassive. You’re the one with the power here, not Leland. It may be his space, but you can control how you react to him, and if that’s the only thing you can control, then by God, you’re gonna act nonchalant.

He blinks and purses his lips, clearly annoyed that you’re refusing to respond. Good, you think. Maybe he’ll call it quits early.

This time, the silence lasts a little bit longer. Maybe as long as four minutes—Leland seems like he’s content to let you sit, and you’re content to let him marinate in his annoyance. The next time he speaks, he says, “Maybe we should start on something simpler. Find some common ground. Liiiiiike…what’s your favorite scary movie?”

What is this, Scream? you think with some amusement. You’re tempted to respond, but you know that if you do, he’ll just ask you another question. And another, and another, and then the next thing you’d know, you’d be talking up a storm. 

“I’m personally prone to movies with the occult. They can be a little unrealistic at times, but sometimes, they get their stuff right! I mean, just look at Event Horizon! I hate when they try to make horror movies some sort of commentary on morality, though. Look at Saw, for example. Great moments. And what kinda movies do we have nowadays? A Quiet Place. That new M. Night Shyamalan movie.” He sighs. “We’ve forgotten what it means to really scare people, what it means to keep them up all night.”

Okay, this is weird, because you kind of agree with him. Some of the latest scary movies haven’t been meaningfully scary—they’ve been gory, but gore is pointless when it’s used for shock value. But there have been others in recent years that you enjoyed, and you open your mouth to point those films out, but then you catch him watching you, the light reflecting off of his glasses, and you slam your mouth shut.

Dammit, he almost got me there.

Leland looks like he’s waiting for your response, but you bite your tongue to hold back from everything you want to say, and you’re rewarded with a look of disappointment. You wait just long enough for him to look away from you in exasperation before you finally talk.

“What do you want from me?” you try again. “Why are you trying so hard to get to me? I’m not special.”

“No, you’re right. You’re not special at all,” he agrees lackadaisically, and his words are like a stab in the gut. For a therapist, he has no bedside manner at all. Then again, can you really be surprised by that? “I’m…investigating, I guess. Evaluating.” His face twists into a sneer. “Though I have no clue why they’d choose you when there’s much better candidates out there.”

“Who are ‘they’?” you ask before you can stop yourself, and you grimace because you know Leland wanted you to ask that.

He gives you a strange smile. “You’ve been noticed by some very important people, (Y/N). They’re intrigued by you and no matter how much I’ve tried to tell them otherwise, that you’re just a regular ole human, they insisted on this…” he waves his hand at the office. “And I’m not gonna defy them and risk the consequences just ‘cause some stupid little bitch wants to try and make me miserable.”

“You suck as a therapist, dude,” you reply as you cross your arms. “Pretty sure you’re not supposed to refer to clients as bitches.”

“I call it as I see it,” he says with another shrug. His glasses slide down his nose just a hair and you can see the remnants of the cut from your headbutt. The sight makes you smirk without meaning to, and he notices it. “What?”

You shake your head, but the smirk remains steady. “Nothing,” you say. 

Leland gives you a thoughtful look, then reaches up to his nose, his finger lightly tracing the cut. “You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot. This isn’t working.” He stands, and you tense as he takes a step towards you, towards his desk. “Get out of my chair.”

“No.”

He glares down at you. “Get. Out. Of. My. Chair.”

You don’t take your eyes away from him. Your fingers dance over the pepper spray, ready to whip it out and spray him right in those beautiful eyes of his. “Make me.”

He’s closer now, right at the edge of his desk, his knuckles grazing the smooth wooden edge. “Is this really the silly hill you want to die on right now?”

You raise your eyebrows innocently. “Someone’s dying on this hill, and it isn’t gonna be me.”

There’s a flash of amusement on his face before he places his palms flat on the desk and leans down, possibly hoping to convince you to move by invading your personal space. He hasn’t done anything aggressive, but he’s almost close enough that you’re willing to spray him anyways. You just need to egg him on a liiiiiittle bit more. “Do you really think you can take me on?” he asks. The words come out slow, dramatic, a challenge.

You bat your lashes. “Hell yeah,” you reply, and when he inches his face closer, you’re ready. You practiced for a reason, after all, and he needs to learn a lesson about messing with you. You flick the cap off with your hand, suck in a deep breath, and raise the other arm to block your own eyes from any spray-back, and then you hold the trigger down, blasting him with a solid jet of the stuff.

Leland jerks back, but it’s too late—your aim had been pretty true due to his proximity, and his eyes squeeze shut immediately as he lets out a strangled yelp of pain. He gropes at his eyes with one hand while reaching for you with the other, but it’s easy enough to avoid his flailing hand and duck under the desk as he thunks into it. You dive around his legs, giving him a kick in the back of the knee for good measure, which sends him into the table again. The table flips, everything on it sliding off and crashing to the ground, including Leland.

You should make for the door, but you linger, wanting to relish the angry pants coming from him, the rapid floundering as he tries to grab you again. He can’t see you, which only makes it more fun as you tilt or skip away from him. He’s pulled himself back to his feet now, but he can’t still see you at this point. It’s kinda hilarious, in all honesty.

Your throat burns with the taste of the pepper spray, but the Internet had warned you about that, so you’d been wise enough to hold your breath for as long as possible while you got away from Leland. Your reaction is minor compared to his, even if your eyes are stinging and watering as well. At least you can still see. You’re backed against the wall opposite the couch now, the door in easy reach when you’re ready to ditch the scene.

“God! What the hell was that for?!” he yells at you as he spins around in search of you. His face is red and puffy, his eyes are swollen shut and streaming, and his glasses are propped up as he angrily swipes at his face. 

You’d feel a little bad for the guy if he hadn’t, you know, threatened to murder your best friend a week ago. 

Your throat is irritated, even though you’re away from him, and you can’t conceal the cough that’s scratching at your throat. It escapes, and Leland’s head whips towards you. “You little bitch!” he growls, and you actually feel a pinprick of fear at the fury in his voice. “That was extremely fucking uncalled for!”

You shrug, even as you cough again. “Then maybe you should leave me the fuck alone!”

“I can’t!”

You roll your eyes, causing a tear to trickle down your face, but you ignore it. “Can’t or won’t?!”

His mouth is wrenched into a grimace, but he’s facing you, even if he’s not able to look at you. “Alright, so it’s a little bit of both,” he admits, and his honesty is so startling that you snort.

You’re about 90% sure he’s not a threat to you currently, which is the only reason you’re still here. It’s also strange how much the pepper spray doesn’t seem to really bother him. If anything, he seems humored by it. “Well, I don’t give a shit about what your bosses say or whatever. Leave me alone.”

Leland takes a stumbling step towards you. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” you warn, retrieving the pepper spray again. “You can’t see it, but I’ve got more spray and I’m not afraid to use it.”

He freezes. Cocks his head at you. And then he laughs, of all things. “Oh, (Y/N), you’re feisty. That’s fun. I am definitely gonna enjoy breaking you down.” He forces his eyes to open. They’re red and squinty, and there’s still fresh tears dripping down his face. His glasses are off, and he’s cleaning them as best as he can with a microfiber cloth that he produced out of what seems like nowhere. It’s a bit scary to see him still up and moving and so calm. “Starting with your little friend Betty.”

You glare at him. “You stay away from her.”

“Oh, I’m gonna have such a good time with her, too. You know, I think she was kinda into me when we met last week.” Leland’s voice has a mocking tone to it, dangerous and almost…seductive. “She was batting her eyelashes and shoving her breasts in my face every chance she got. No wonder she’s got all those guys coming after her—she’s a hottie ripe for the picking, if you know what I mean.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck rise, but you’re not focused on that right now. It’s hard to be scared when you’re angry. “Don’t fucking touch her,” you hiss.

“I’m gonna seduce her just to piss you off, and then after we’ve had wild sex—‘cause you just know she’s into that kinda stuff—I’m gonna strangle her in her sleep and leave her naked body in the bed for you to discover in the morning.”

You’re seeing red now. How dare he talk about her like that—about sleeping with her and murdering her—how darehe! You lunge at him, forgetting the spray is still in your hands, but he’s ready—he grabs you by the shoulders and slams you up against the wall before you can remember the spray even exists. You cry out as your back and head hit the wall with enough force to make you dizzy. Your hand struggles to get to the nozzle again, and he uses one arm to pin you in place while the other grabs your wrist and twists it until you drop the canister. Then he twists it a little more until you cry out again. “I’m only gonna say this once, (Y/N),” he says, his voice low and menacing. “You’re not in charge here—I am, and you’d better realize it if you want your friend to stay alive.”

“Fuck you,” you spit back at him. You try to shove yourself at him in a poor attempt to knock him off-balance, but he just chuckles.

Your ears are still ringing from the way your head slammed into the wall. You fight the pain, but he’s won and he fucking knows it. “You know, usually this kinda thing is a turn on for me, but right now, it’s just plain irritating.”

That bastard, you manage to think through the haze of agony. Your face is hot with embarrassment. You want nothing more than to punch him, slap him, bite him, but you’re stuck. “What the fuck do you want?” you snarl.

“Cooperation,” Leland purrs. “I want your cooperation.”

You want him off of you, but he’s bigger and he’s still pinning you in place. “Let me go.”

“Are you gonna try to hit me?”

“No,” you lie.

Leland scoffs. “Make me believe it.”

You gather everything you have, using pain and rage as fuel. “I won’t try to hit you,” you say through gritted teeth.

Leland squints at you, then takes his weight off of you. You don’t give him a moment to react before you’re swinging at him, your fingers curved to scratch his cheeks. All of that agony, all of that fury propels your hand forward, but he must’ve sensed that you were lying because he side-steps your hand and you stumble forward. He spins, one hand on your shoulder and the other on the small of your back. In a frustratingly fluid movement, he shoves you and sticks out a foot at the same time, sending you crashing to the floor. “Fuck!” you exclaim as your forehead smashes into the edge of the couch, winding a fresh wave of pain across your head.

You roll yourself over to fix your eyes on Leland, who’s now towering above you and chortling. “That’s more like it!” he says with a wide grin.

You sit there in a heap on the floor, staring up at him, flabbergasted and scared. Good God, why the hell is he laughing?

Unexpectedly, he extends his hand to you. You’re not sure if it’s because you’ve got a concussion or you’re afraid of what he might do if you reject it, so you reach up and let Leland pull you up. Your forehead is gonna have a bruise later, your ears are still ringing, but he looks just as bad—if not worse, after tumbling into his own desk. His face is still red, though it’s fading fast, and while his eyes are still puffy, they’re focused on you with enough intensity to make you squirm.

“How come you never fought off any of the exes like that, huh?”

“What?” you ask dumbly.

Leland shrugs like you didn’t just try to attack him. “You never attacked any of the guys like this. You used other methods instead. How come?”

“Uhm.” You don’t know what to say. You two just had a scuffle and now he’s chatting amicably, like the fight put him in a better mood? “Because it’s not as fun?” It’s the only answer that comes to mind right now.

“You’re gonna tell me that none of that was fun?” He waggles an eyebrow and you’re even more confused now than you were five seconds ago. “You wanna tell me that you didn’t enjoy any of that? You didn’t like lying to me and then lunging at me? You didn’t like letting that anger, that temper of yours take over?”

You feel your forehead scrunch. It hurts, provoking a grimace from you. “I mean…no?” But that’s not entirely true, is it? You did enjoy it. You liked striking out at him, liked the feeling of submitting to your rage and letting it take hold of your body. It was almost freeing. Usually, you channeled your anger into the psychological attacks, but this physicality was…satisfying in a completely different way.

“Oh, come on, don’t lie to me.” His face is more pink than red, and he doesn’t seem bothered by the residual pepper spray at all anymore. “This is a safe space, after all. You can tell me how it really made you feel.”

“I—,” but you’re hit by a wave of embarrassment and shame. This was not how you worked at all. Everything that had just happened was a direct result of him goading you, nothing more than that. You weren’t a physically violent person. “It’s not my style,” you say instead.

God, your head hurts. 

“Stop worrying about how you’re supposed to feel and start acknowledging how you really feel,” Leland says, and there’s just something about the way he says it that chips at your resolve.

You want to tell him the truth, tell him how much you liked it. How much you wanted to watch him bleed again. How much you wanted to bite his hand until you broke the skin and then lick the blood off of him and—wait, what? Where the fuck did that come from? you wonder. Can concussions alter personalities?

“Tell me, (Y/N). How do you feel right now?”

“I feel like…” the words are slow to come out. You don’t want to admit it even though you do. “I feel like hitting you again,” you say at last. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s the closest you’re willing to say for now.

Leland’s face cracks into an eerie grin. “Good.” He looks behind him, his eyes no longer streaming, then sits down in the chair next to him and motions for you to sit on the couch. Stunned, you do so, unsure of what else you can do. “Let’s talk about that some more.”

“Oh, no, no,” said the little Fly, “kind sir, that cannot be!

I’ve heard what’s in your pantry and I do not wish to see.”

Part Four

[honeybunniii333]

make. them. suffer.

(Gladly! I had a dream that Nevin got hurt and ended up with a scar that looks a lot like Drew's, and the idea was cute to me, so here ya go!)

-

How did Nevin end up in a situation like this, AGAIN? He had no fucking clue, but here he was running and dodging for his life from another freaky ass monster. There were about a million thoughts flying through his head. Where the fuck was Drew? What the fuck was the thing chasing them? Why the fuck was it here? And how the fuck did it get there?

Well, the last question wasn't too hard to figure out. It was certainly one of Drew's friends messing around with shit they shouldn't be again. And as for the why, it seemed pretty obvious the creature was out for blood, so its motive was clear. Now, what it was? That was a little trickier. It definitely wasn't normal. It was big and loud and looked like it could crush him easily. And lastly, Drew, he had no clue where that boy was now... not lately anyway. Running was clearly not going to cut it for much longer. They'd tried hiding several times, but that thing always managed to find them... He let out a startled noise as Chris grabbed his arm and dragged him into the science lab, hoping to slow the thundering beast off by confusing it among the rows of counters.

However, this only worked about two minutes before the beast figured out it could jump over the counters, and Nevin found himself being snatched up by the large beast. " HEY ! LET ME GO!!!" He growled, scratching at the vice grip around his waist. when he said to let him go, he'd meant he wanted to be put down, not thrown down... but clearly, there was a miscommunication. His head connected with the counter, and everything went dark...

The next thing he registered was fantic mumbling and something soft being pressed against his head. He was leaned against something sturdy yet warm. "N..v.. nev...Nevin? oh god.. oh God..." Chris, it was Chris talking. It took far more effort than it normally did for him to open his eyes, though he didn't have the energy to be concerned about that. The first thing he saw was Chris. His face was distraught, to say the least, tears threatening to spill as he tried desperately to slow the blood that was running down his face. Blood...he was bleeding. Why was he bleeding? "Nevin?! oh, oh, thank God! I was... I thought.." he was choking over his words, and the waves of distress that were radiating off of him were not helping the ever growing headache that was emerging within him as he slowly started to come to his senses.

"A..are you o..kay?" he managed to croak out, and the worry on Chris's face quickly turned to utter shock. "You've gotta be kidding, man! I'm not the one with a gash in my head!" he sputtered. "I need to get you to Drew. " he mumbled, gently adjusting the boy he already had cradled in his arms so he could pick him up properly. Normally, Nevin would try and insist he was fine, that there was no sense worrying over a little scratch. But he was so tired and his head really hurt and it felt nice to be held when he didn't feel well... even if he'd never admit that out loud. So he provided no protest as his vision started to blur, and he started to drift back into darkness... "Nevin.. hey.. no stay awa-... " He could feel the spike of panic, his drifting concious evoked from the boy, but it wasn't enough to keep him awake, and he promptly fell back into unconsciousness

There were voices again, panicked and loud. "How did this happen?!" Drew... "I, i dont know!" Chris... His eyes slowly cracked open. He was lying in a nurses bed. His head was in his brothers lap, and a cool rag was pressed to his head. "Nev?.." Drew was staring down at him... at least he was pretty sure he was. his vision had gotten hazier. He couldn't make out his brothers face, but he knew Drew, he knew it was him. "Jesus, there's so much blood. Can you hear me.? Nevin?..." He could, but he could hardly keep his eyes open, let alone form words. "Can you heal him?"

"I.. I think? I should be able to." he felt his head being gently moved a bit as the rag pressed against the wound was pulled away, he could hear Drew take in a deep breath and gently place his hands over the still bleeding gash. Drew shut his eyes and focused all his energy. Branches started to sprout from his head as he (literally) worked his magic. Nevin found his eyes falling shut as he felt the pounding pain in his head slowly die down. When he opened them again, his vision had cleared, and the fuzzy feeling he'd had started to fade. The moment he was able to truly comprehend everything, he shot up and yanked away from his twins healing touch, his breathing quick and panicky.

He swayed backward, immediately regretting his decision as a wave of dizziness hit him. Hands on his back steadied him holding him up, Chris. "Easy Nev..." Drew chided, grabbing his wrists to help ground him as the boy slowly forced himself to relax. "Sorry..sorry what.. What happened?" He croaked out, a guilty look crossed Chris's face when the other turned his head to look back at the boy sitting on his other side. "I... couldn't get to you in time, He grabbed you, and I tried to stop it, but..." he tripped over his words in a panic, trembling slightly at the memory. "Shit, dude.. I really thought you weren't gonna wake up for a minute there." he laughed nervously and tensed for a moment as Nevin squeezed his hand. "I'm fine.. he didn't hurt you, too, did he?" He asked, looking the boy over. "Oh no, no! I got rid of him pretty fast after you were out." he assured, and Nevin could tell he didn't want to elaborate, so he did not push. "Drew..?" He whispered, turning his attention back to his very silent twin.

Drew looked upset, and Nevin couldn't help but feel drained at the prospect of yet another lecture about getting himself hurt, though instead he was startled by arms wrapping tightly around him. Despite his obvious confusion, he returned the embrace and let his head rest against Drew's shoulder. "You scared me." his voice sounded slightly shaky, and the wave of guilt that struck the darker twin made his stomach flip. "I'm sorry..." After a few moments of silence, Drew pulled back, wiping at his eyes and taking a hold of Nevins face as he inspected the healed injury... a faint scar was left over his eyebrow, and Drew giggled to himself. "What? what's so funny?" Chris asked as he leaned in a little to look, Nevin raised his newly scared eyebrow in equal confusion. Drew couldn't help but grin.

"We match."

[bluegekk0]

he's just so round. it's very hard to describe the emotion his roundness evokes, it's just,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

little mud man.

the most cutest little baby killer.

aw, thank you for this. i appreciate it, i really do. though i would like to take this as an opportunity to rant a little bit about the last part, i hope you don't mind

the whole "child murderer" thing really irks me personally. and not because i want to pretend like the vessel thing didn't happen and pk is innocent, no. he still did that, their blood is still on his hands, it's a crucial part of his character that you just can't take away. it's more that i believe that label kinda misrepresents what actually happened. "murder" implies something premeditated, out ot of malice. and that's just doesn't fit him. his hand was forced by the infection, he wasn't killing vessels himself because he felt like it, hell, they weren't really meant to be living, feeling things by design. of course, that was a cruel misconception, and i personally see that as his fault. that he either lied to himself about it to make himself feel better, or let them all die knowing that they might actually be alive. it also connects to people saying that he would toss them into the abyss if they were impure and that's just... not what happened? i see this idea everywhere and it confuses me, cause even the game itself heavily implies that the vessels either died after hatching (from eggs which were already placed down in the abyss) or because they failed the climb and fell to their deaths

was what he did fucked up? absolutely, no doubt about that, he's not innocent and i will not act like he is, no matter how cute and pudgy and sad i make him in my au (which, btw, still revolves heavily around his guilt and self loathing about all the deaths he's responsible for, even if most content i draw of it is wholesome or silly). but if you're gonna call him out, i feel like it would help if it was more nuanced than just calling him a baby murderer with a buzzsaw obsession

and on a side note. it would also help greatly if people recognized that the white lady was just as responsible for the vessels and, by proxy, their deaths. i swear, the amount of "wl is so sweet and is such a good mom to the vessels" stuff i see, while wholesome, also kinda baffles me. cause i feel like people forget that she was equally responsible for that plan, and on top of that, doesn't even seem particularly emotionally attached to the vessels even when we meet her. like, come on, not even a "i'm sorry for leaving you and your siblings to die in the abyss"? anything? just "hey so your sibling kinda failed. go take their place ok thanks bye"? okay then. real sweet of you, mom

no shade towards wl or people who like that content, of course, i enjoy that stuff as well, i just feel it's a bit unfair to give pk all the shit and then turn around and spread wholesome mom wl content around, ya feel me? just... keep them both accountable. they're both guilty

nothing against you, the person who asked, btw. no bad feelings about your ask either, it's just something that's been on my mind for a long time and i guess this was a good opportunity to talk about it. hope you have a great day! and thanks for the ask

[hummingbird-hunter]

A lil creative writing snippet that spawned fully formed in my head and refused to leave until I wrote it down. Enjoy.

Content Warnings: mild violence, threats of murder, threats of necrophilia, toxic heteros, first person pov

/ / / / / /

"Oh, Madeleine!"

Aster's voice sounded almost playful as he walked down the halls toward me, a threat clear even before he said his next phrase.

"I am going to fucking kill you, Madeleine."

I remained where I stood, waiting for him to approach me. In a moment, his hand was around my throat, tightening painfully and slamming me backwards into the solid marble wall.

I looked down at him as he brought himself closer, our faces inches apart — not a usual occurrence, with us being roughly the same height, but right now my toes were barely touching the floor, with Aster's hand and the wall behind me being my only means of support.

"I am going to kill you and fuck your dead body", he breathed. I laughed — or tried to, with what oxygen I had had left.

"Is this supposed to be a threat, sir? With your words and how you're holding me, one might think you're professing your undying love for me."

His hand tightened around my throat and for a moment I was dangling in the air, before the back of my head collided with the marble once again.

"Where the fuck is my shield, Madeleine?", he all but growled, his voice losing whatever notes of playfulness still remained, leaving only pure, unfiltered rage in their stead.

Rage that was warranted, given that his little shield — the aegis, crown jewel of his little collection — was missing from its spot; a check in the long list of things that would evoke his ire, although not breaching the top five in its importance — which had meant he had not yet noticed the other ones. I wasn't about to ruin the surprise.

He was glaring at me, the question clearly not having been intended to be rhetorical. I had half a mind to answer, what's a shield? or, I've never seen a shield I'm my life, what's it look like, again?, just to prod him yet further.

"I have a feeling you're mad at me", I settled on.

"Oh, you have a feeling, really?" Aster's hold on me tightened yet again, the pressure on my throat bordering on unbearable; my vision darkening as his grip cut off my circulation along with the air. I didn't reach to remove it.

I could — probably — beat him in a fight if need be, but I had really hoped it won't come to that. There was too much at stake for me — for both of us.

Aster knew that just as well as me.

The pressure on my throat disappeared in an instant and I fell hard on my knees, gasping for air, blood rushing back to my head. I didn't bother standing up.

"I want my shield back by tomorrow, Madeleine."

I didn't look at him as he turned to walk away, clicking of his heels against the marble reverberating sharply in the hall.

[henrysglock]

Ohhh my god so re: what i remember you for as a writer theres SOSOSO much to choose from, but I have to go with Ptolemaea!!!!!

And even though there’s SO many iconic scenes/lines in Ptolemaea that stuck wirh me/that I remember you by, the shower scene from Ptolemaea is the one I’m going to talk about right now because it stuck with me and i was flashbanged by it again last night when rereading it HWBDBFN

Like, this part specifically:

“That didn’t mean it was any less appreciated, though, even as the blisters on his ankles burned with it. Hot water meant that the dirt, grime, and blood melted off him with minimal effort. Even so, he took a certain amount of comfort in scrubbing himself pink and toweling off roughly, as though he could peel the past three years off his body the way a spider might shed its carapace. To grow.”

First of all, the line about how the water is making the blisters on his ankles burn is so strong/physical/it’s like I can feel it.

And it’s also such a fantastic line/fantastic use of word choice when it comes to the fact that Ptolemaea being a “Henry got out of the lab early” AU and therefore also a “Henry didnt get sent to Dimension x” AU versus the use of the word “burned” here, especially in the context of Henry trying to scrub off the lab/leave the lab behind versus the way that Henry physically leaves the lab behind in canon being getting sent to Dimension X & getting burned there.

It just works so well to give this subtle vibe/subtle reminded of “what couldve been” and how even though what Henry’s going through right now sucks (ie all of the Ptolemaea horrors, and even just the water from a nice shower hurts his blisters), it could’ve been so much worse/it really nails that “full of horrors but also full of Hope” vibe that Ptolemaea has.

And second of all, specifically looking at this part:

“Even so, he took a certain amount of comfort in scrubbing himself pink and toweling off roughly, as though he could peel the past three years off his body the way a spider might shed its carapace. To grow.”

I cant even describe how much I love this part. There’s so many little layers to the comparison between Henry in the shower vs a spider shedding its carapace, snd how its not just “oh yeah yk hes got the same vibes as a spider shedding its carapace because hes trying to start anew” but instead the comparison *also* so Physical and the mental/emotional change/struggle is convey so Physically and how it’s specifically connected to the way that Henry scrubs himself pink, and the way that this line about how Henry scrubs himself pink evokes the visual of new skin being pink and “sore”/sensitive because it’s new, much like the new flesh under an old carapace.

And then how Henry towels himself off roughly vs that also working so perfectly to really convey that feeling of shedding a carapace in a very very physical way and the Movements of it and im just!!! The WORD CHOICES here are so perfect to convey a really visceral/physical feeling, like with the use of the word “peeling” and with how that use of the word” peeling” is where it all then connects to the mental aspect of it/the bridge between physical vs mental re: henry trying to peel the last three years off of his body (especially with the imagery re: peeling skin off/peeling years off vs all of the mental/supernatural “flaying” in ST vs the peeling skin imagery tying to the idea of literal flaying in the sense of flaying skin off).

And the “last three years” thing always gets me, it’s not only such a good reminder of how long he spent in the lab/how many years he’s lost, But then also, specifically in the context of shedding a carapace/molting, the implication that Henry hasn’t “molted” in three years/that this carapace that’s stuck to him is three years old/literally made up of the past three years really hits me every time re: the fact that spiders shed their carapaces/molt wayy more often than that so he hasnt been Allowed to molt & also the fact that some types of spiders stop molting entirety once they reach maturity (this is the case for black widows)/other types just molt less frequently (once a year) when they reach maturity vs the last three years in the lab being what makes up Henry’s “carapace” & Henry not having “molted” at all in the lab/at all in the last 3 years vs the way that Henry was forced to grow up quickly in the lab but how it Also stunted him & how not molting anymore is a sign of “maturity” /adulthood in spiders.

And especially with all of that/the idea of being forced to grow up quickly but also having your growth stunted as a result vs using the imagery of shedding a three year old carapace to convey that & the way that having a built-up old caparace/unshedded layers would make him seem “bigger”/more grown” when in reality, it’s a sign of *not* having grown/not being allowed to shed it is *stunting* his ability to grow/it’s like he was being forced to “grow” by not shedding (which then also ties SO PERFECTLY into Henry’s canon regen healing & the way that there’s all of this tumor imagery associated with it/unwanted growths) and that weighing up down/the extra “weight”/“size”/“growth” on him re: not “shedding his skin” & how his/a spider’s limbs aren’t going to grow properly unless they shed their skin so then there’s the whole visual of him not growing in a typical Growth way/his metaphorical limbs not getting longer but instead just “growing” by having all of these extra layers/“skin” that hes now trapped in/cant shed to properly grow vs the idea of Brenner wanting him to be like a child and like an adult simultaneously (ie being a Freak & Liking the fact that Henry’s a child vs also stealing his childhood/putting him in a lab/making him behave Like An Adult/making him grow up quickly).

Especially with black widows no longer molting once they reach sexual maturity vs the idea of Henry not being *allowed* to molt/stopped early from molting/being forced to reach that maturity early (smash cut to the SA imagery in the lab) when he hasnt Actually reached it physically.

And then that all also ties so well into the idea of being a Child Forced To Behave Like An Adult/Forced Into Adult Activities rather than Actually Becoming An Adult.

I just!! The line about a spider shedding its carapace as a way of describing Henry’s attempts to leave the lab behind is literally such a perfect line, like there’s something so physical and visceral about it, not only is it such a perfect description of the situation, but the spider aspect then ties so perfectly into Henry’s character specifically.

Especially with the next context TFS Henry & the visual of those spider legs bursting out of his back during the attic scene with Virginia & how that’s Also very Physical in a similar way to this scene (and yet again, Ptolemaea ages like a fine wine.)

And then also, specifically looking at the “To grow,” line, this line specifically always feels like so perfectly like Henry reassuring himself/tears in my eyes over little 15 year old henry “spider guy” creel reminding himself of how spiders grow and how it’s okay even though it hurts, because it just means he’s in Spider Mode and Spider Coded and Based and Spiderpilled HWHDBDDNHEHD like he’s reminding himself that not only do spiders shed their carapaces, but they do so in order to grow/it’s Necessary in order for them to grow. Like it almost feels like the way a parent would try and get a child to do something (ie if a kid loved superheroes, the whole “superman would clean his room 🤨🤨🤨😌😌😌😌” vibe/“a spider would go and clean himself in the shower because spiders need to shed their skin in order to grow-“) but it’s coming from Henry and directed at Himself, which then emphasizes how lonely he is/the lack of parents/Virginia being dead & Victor being locked up & Henry having to parent himself (but then also the other side of the coin and the lowkey Freedom of Henry getting to parent himself in the context of Brenner/no longer being forcibly “parented” by Brenner).

And it works so perfectly with the “grow together” stuff from the VR (yet AGAIN, Ptolemaea ages like a fine wine) vs what I said earlier re: Brenner “forcing” him to grow by making him keep all those unshed layers/giving the illusion of growth when in reality in order to Actually grow, he’d need to shed those layers vs the way that VR Henry is described as “eager to please” etc vs the idea of him not properly growing/not shedding his carapace in order to please Brenner…

Like I just can’t express enough how much I love that part- it that makes me feel like I’m back to when I was first getting interested in Henry as a character (in a very very good way) and is just this instant, perfectly encapsulated reminder of what I love about his whole story/the vibe of it.

Especially with this being Henry’s POV vs the way that not only is this whole part such a perfectly, artistic, extremely thought-out line on behalf of the writer, but it’s also such a perfect insight into Henry’s character & his spider nerdiness & what I said earlier re: spiders not molting anymore being a sign of them reaching adulthood vs when he does finally “shed his carapace”/scrub himself in the shower, he’s comparing it to a spider molting/his “childish” little spider nerd vibes are coming back, he’s both growing and “regressing” because he’s growing into the Child/15 year old that he Is rather than being a child forced to behave like an adult- especially then with adult teacher Henry’s continued love of spiders/the way that “childish” interest remains even when he Is an actual adult.

Anyway! Ptolemaea my beloved….. <333333

it's why he's so small in canon actually. bro hasn't molted in years we can all give him a break for being the world's Tiniest boy.

anyway alkdjflsd WOW

When I was writing that part the biggest thing in my mind was a combination of not molting/being held back/being trapped under the layers of what he had to do to survive but specifically in the way of protective layers being added with each trauma/him being forced to grow this thick outer shell layer by layer specifically to defend against what was being done to him/retain his sanity and dignity. Which speaks to a degree of removal from what was done to him, in my mind, this kind of

"It happened to me, and I'm self-aware enough to acknowledge that...but it was done to an outer layer that I can shed, so is it really something I have to live with? Or is it something i can just put away somewhere out of sight and never actually deal with in a healthy, meaningful way?"

and so while he's peeling the carapace that's stunting him, it's like...every light has its shadow. He's able to grow into a normal boy, now, and even though it's sore and tender all over at the moment, it's a good thing. But is the way he's doing it healthy? Is he discarding his carapace without addressing and accepting/healing the ways its weight and prolonged presence warped him?

Or is he hobbling around on eight misshapen legs like

"Lalalala...It doesn't exist because I can walk on these legs. They're a little weirdly shaped, but I can hide them well enough if I make a home in the neatly-trimmed Kentucky bluegrass lawns of suburban America. Could a damaged spider walk around as well as I do? I'm so normal and also healthy. Being prevented from molting definitely had no lingering effects on my well-being. Haha, no there's no reason why I refuse to go out on the pavement and show you guys my totally normal legs. I just don't want to. No other reason. There's nothing wrong with me, I'm a normal spider :) Anyway, look at my web. Could a broken spider make a web this nice? Didn't think so. I'm totally normal and there's NOTHING in my past that I need to heal from."

Something something "I'm not a freak. I'm normal. I'm Henry Creel."

There's also the more surface aspect of the Will-Henry Mindflayer-Brenner "I felt it everywhere/I still feel him" and Henry thinking that if he scrubs hard enough, he can rid himself of the lingering memories, the same way Will thought that if he could just keep running, he could escape the Mindflayer/the lingering trauma of what happened to him in the UD/the slug stuff.

They're both running away from looming, lingering CSA trauma, just in different ways. Will can run all he wants, but the Mindflayer is going to catch him anyway. His trauma will always catch up to him. Henry can scrub all he wants, he can peel off that outer shell and pretend like he's getting rid of everything that happened to him, but the damage was mental. It's something that's inevitably going to catch up with him until he can't ignore it anymore.

That's also where the burning came from in my mind: Will being rid of the Mindflayer by burning, but him still being able to feel it/it coming back later vs Henry trying to rid himself of his history with Brenner via scrubbing himself raw with burning water because he's still able to feel that history physically/that history will come back to haunt him later much like the Mindflayer haunts Will.

—————

Tell me what fic or line of writing you remember me by