#obviously neither of them are coping /well/

[sassypantsjaxon]

Why I think Hizashi could have been more fucked up by Oboro's death

To start with, his life started with his quirk hurting other people. Whether you subscribe to the headcanon that he was orphaned because of that or not, it's definitely the kind of thing that would fuck somebody up. But despite his powerful, dangerous, terrifying quirk, he still gets into The hero school, where he can use it to help people instead.

And then instead it's taken from him, twisted around, and used in the attack that kills his best friend. Maybe he didn't deal the killing blow himself, but he followed an order that he should have second guessed. He wasn't there with his friends to help them. He's part of the reason that Oboro is dead. He can't even allow himself to grieve then because his quirk had already done enough damage. And that's going to fuck him up even more.

So now there's Shouta. He's obviously fucked up by this. He was right there and couldn't stop anything. He didn't even realize Oboro was dead until after it was all over. We're clearly shown that he's fucked up by this. But. Oboro's death also motivates him to become a better, stronger hero. Is he coping well? No. But his poor coping mechanisms seem to be entirely self contained.

And Hizashi? Shouta is Hizashi's coping mechanism. We see that he's dedicated himself to making sure Shouta's okay, trying to pull him back into things. But he's also build up a wall around himself that he only lets down around Shouta. Except Shouta doesn't even see it. He's just...shut everything that could hurt him out. Including Hizashi.

The last thing we see of them is Shouta erasing Hizashi's quirk. And then we're not even shown if Hizashi is around Shouta in the first few years after graduation. Shouta spent the rest of his time at UA learning to be self reliant and cementing the idea that he was better off on his own.

But Hizashi's ability to cope seems to have been entirely dependent on Shouta's presence. And he lost him too. And that had to have fucked him up even more.

[girllblogging777]

𝐸𝐶𝐻𝑂𝐸𝑆 𝑂𝐹 𝐵𝐸𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑌𝐴𝐿

↳ mattheo riddle x fem!reader (angst)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1,6k

𝑠𝑢��𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you find out that mattheo and you are working for different sides in the war, and using each other to get information. was your relationship ever real ?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“and that’s why i love them,” you giggled breathlessly after explaining what seemed to be your entire life story to the boy next to you. propped up on his elbows and looking at you with a mischievous grin, mattheo riddle had listened carefully to every word that hung from your lips for the past half hour. “i understand why those flowers are so meaningful to you now,” he declared softly, glancing at the vase of lilies on your living room table.

the two of you were lying on the floor of your tiny flat in london, a place where you’d never let anyone in before. after graduating from hogwarts a couple of years ago, you had completely shut the rest of the world away to focus on your work as a spy for the order of the phoenix. obviously, no one knew that, not even the boy next to you, with whom you had been entangled for a couple of months.

“yeah, lilies are my favorite…” you muttered, running a finger over his chiseled jaw and the scars on it that you knew all too well. both former students at the wizarding school, it was quite ironic that the two of you had never interacted during your teenage years. you had always been the confident girl who never cared much about the male species, and he most definitely liked getting attention from women, to cope with his lack of them in his emotional life.

however, your relationship with the wicked boy had changed when he saved you a couple of months ago near the diagon alley. you had been on a mission to find something specific for the order of the phoenix at borgin & burkes in the infamous and dark knockturn alley, known for its dark magic and bad reputation. just as you were about to leave, some people cornered you in the shadows and, for the first time in your life, you had been powerless.

you should’ve known better than to leave your wand in your bag and your mind elsewhere. thankfully, a dark-haired boy that you recognized as the son of voldemort had appeared like a miracle and grabbed your hand to leed you away safely. “why are you doing this? aren’t you supposed to be on their side?” you’d asked, confused to why he would help you. he had simply glared at you and answered in a whisper, “i’m not the enemy.”

a lot of things had changed between you since then. despite not knowing what he had been doing in that alley, even after the countless times you’d asked him, you were forever grateful for his presence that day. you had offered to go out for a butterbeer as payback, and what was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into regular coffee or lunches together. slowly but surely, mattheo let his guard down with you and began enjoying your company. you couldn’t say you were surprised when all your time spent together turned into more, and polite conversations turned into intimate actions.

the young riddle and you had nothing official going on. at first, you’d told yourself he’d be a simple distraction from your dangerous life and complicated missions. he wouldn’t commit and neither did you, both of you always having to “run some errands” and “visit friends from hogwarts.” you would’ve questioned his weird behavior if you were actually dating him, but since the two of you were not attached, you couldn’t blame him. after all, you too had secrets. the simple fact that mattheo riddle had known you enough to let you into his messy life was a sign that he was worthy of your trust, or so you thought.

the energy in the air was different today, as if something was off. perhaps it was because you had done something you always forbade yourself—inviting someone over to your place. “is that a cloak?” mattheo chuckled, his gaze shifting from the vase of lilies to the coat hanger. you froze when you realized what he was referring to, the large navy blue fabric that you used when going on undercover tasks hanging in front of you like a deer in the headlights. “uh yeah, i wear it sometimes when it’s cold outside,” you lied through your teeth, internally cursing yourself. merlin, that was exactly why you shouldn’t have had him over. the brunette boy didn’t quite understand your reaction and simply switched topics, curious about the expression on your face.

✩✩✩✩

whatever calmness you had felt the other day when you were with mattheo was long forgotten by now, you thought as you walked back to your apartment a week later. the first odd thing you noticed was the broken portal of the building that not only happened to be your home, but also the order’s headquarters. then, your ears perked at the sound of glass breaking and people screaming. grabbing your wand from your coat pocket, you put the hood of your navy cloak on and entered the hidden building, not without muttering a quick prayer.

nothing could’ve prepared you for what you found inside. you barely registered the documents on the floor and broken windows before going into attack mode and throwing spells at everyone around. most of the people you recognized as your allies, but it was the others that startled you. with their masks and dark attires, your biggest fear had come true: the death eaters had found you. one of them threw something at you and you dodged it by hiding under a desk. your brain was on high alert and you tried your best to fight back against the shadowy figures surrounding you.

they were everywhere. throwing spells and punches, this situation was by far the biggest and most dangerous mess you had ever witnessed in these last few months. because unlike those times, you weren’t ready. “how did they find us?” you thought, sending the death eater’s wand flying through the window. “there must’ve been a spy, but who?” you kept wondering before you were sent reeling when the guy’s fist connected to your jaw. elbowing him in the stomach as hard as you could, you managed to knock him unconscious and throw yourself behind the table when a spell whizzed past you.

you winced when the all-too-familiar metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. you could also feel the thick liquid running down your waist, mixed with the water from the broken vase of flowers on the floor. “lilies,” you registered, “my favorite.” how utterly stupid to think about this during your last moments of life. trying to reach for your wand, you looked up to find another masked man towering over you. “that’s it,” the voice in your heart whispered, “that’s how it ends.” you looked up to the person who was about to take your life, and you swore you could’ve seen him flinch. hiding behind his costume, the boy’s wand trembled when your face appeared from under the hood. the navy cloak, the lilies, that day in the diagon alley— that’s when you understood.

mattheo riddle. the man facing you, holding out his wand in order to throw the death curse at you, was no other than the boy who you’d been kissing in the same living room a week ago. you couldn’t see his face, but you swore you could recognize those deep chocolate eyes anywhere. today, gone was the soft and loving look he always saved for you. his gaze was indescribable. in this moment, you couldn’t hear the people fighting and shouting around you. it was just the pain of your heart breaking, and him standing in front of you.

“it was you,” you whispered, “i thought you weren’t like them, you said you weren’t the enemy.” mattheo’s breath came out shakily at the familiar sentence. how stupid were you to think he was different that him, than his father.

“i’m not the enemy,” he said quietly, his voice trembling, “listen, i can explain-“ but this time you couldn’t believe him. the wand in his hand was still pointed directly at you, his fingers twitching as if he were wrestling with the decision to end your life or not. you could see the conflict raging in his eyes, but you also knew that he had made his choice long ago. perhaps even before he met you.

“then why are you here?” you asked, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay strong. “why did you betray us?” your voice broke in the last part “why did you betray me ?”

mattheo’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. when he finally spoke, his voice was low and filled with regret. “i didn’t have a choice,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving yours. “they would have killed you if i didn’t lead them here. they still will if i don’t—”

he couldn’t finish the sentence, the words catching in his throat. you felt your heart shatter completely, the weight of his betrayal pressing down on you like a physical force. you had trusted him. you had let him into your life, into your heart, and he had used that trust to destroy everything.

“was it ever real ?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. you stared at him, searching his eyes for any sign of the boy you thought you knew. but all you saw was desperation and fear—fear for you, yes, but also fear for himself. and that, more than anything, told you what you needed to know.

“i guess i was a fool then,” you said, your voice steady now, though your heart was in pieces. “for thinking you were better than this. than him.”

his hand trembled as you proved his worst nightmare true, and he lowered his wand slightly, the fight draining out of him. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, and you knew he meant it. but it wasn’t enough. it would never be enough.

as the fight kept on going, the echoes of spells and shouts fading behind you, all you could think about were the lilies—your favorite flowers, now trampled and wilted on the floor, a painful reminder of everything you had just lost.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

a/n : this was such a good request, please give me more !!! i also appreciate likes/comments and reblogs <3

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[your-local-granny]

okay before i forget. i've been trying to put my finger on why people saying phoenix and maya are 'sibling-coded' pisses me off so much and I think a big part of it is how important mia is to both their introduction and also the foundation of their relationship and how calling phoenix and maya 'siblings/sibling-coded' waters down all of their relationships

phoenix wishing that maya was mia is a very big part of maya's arc as well as a big sticking point in phoenix and maya's relationship. phoenix spends the majority of turnabout sisters wishing that 'the chief' was there and when maya fails to channel her he shows outward disappointment. this is something that maya obviously picks up on and internalizes as we see throughout the rest of the games. most notably maya shows remarkably little self-preservation, throwing herself at von Karma's taser and in contempt of court to help edgeworth (and by extent, phoenix). she openly admits to feeling useless when she can't channel mia and phoenix never refutes this out loud until he of course presents the bullet to her showing that she wasn't useless. phoenix is notably bad at expressing his thoughts/ and feelings so its honestly debatable whether this gets through to maya but thats neither here nor there

on the other side of it, maya wishes that phoenix would be the caring adult figure that she was missing for most of her life (and especially after mia dies) and phoenix does not do a great job of being that figure. he likes her sure, and they're good friends, but he's definitely not nurturing or sensitive whenever maya is in distress. at the end of turnabout sisters when mia tells maya to "take care of phoenix" for her, maya starts calling him nick (because that's what mia said phoenix's friend calls him) and their dynamic for the most part is solidified. maya is not able to find mia in phoenix and accepts him as his own person and a part of her life as a friend.

phoenix has a more complicated journey with viewing maya as her own person partially because of the whole spirit-channeling thing, and partially because maya is younger than both the chief and himself. phoenix is constantly looking to a mentor for guidance and feels out of his depth for most of the cases in the trilogy. he frequently wishes that mia could be there, and is shown to value maya's ideas less, or at the least question them more at face-value. nevertheless, by the second game phoenix relies on maya greatly as shown with how he copes (or fails to cope) with her absence in rfta and 2-4, and 3-5. phoenix views her as both an integral part of his life and support structure, but also views her as someone he has to put on a brave face for, much like pearls. maya is phoenix's young friend that he leans on and wishes to protect.

maya's love for her sister is a core theme that spans the entire trilogy and culminates in maya almost dying in 3-5. phoenix's love for mia is a constant driving force that pushes him past what he believed himself capable of, and encourages him to trust those who become those closest to him. phoenix and maya's relationship is colored by their own relationships to mia, and how they view each others relationship with mia. they both represent a part of her that they never knew as well as a part of her they can keep loving in her place after she is gone, but most importantly, neither of them will ever be mia. no one else can be maya's big sister and no one else can be phoenix's mentor. they meet each other as two strangers set adrift by the same lost mooring, and though they'll never be secure in the way they were before meeting each other, they have a friend to help keep themselves afloat.

[lilyswritings]

hatchet.

synopsis: my own iteration of the split-second glimpse of frank we got in the 'daredevil: born again trailer' — some angst, some reunion fluff, some heat... enjoy! author’s note: saw frank castle on the screen for the first time in years and... yeah. wow, i've missed my man. this is obviously inspired by the glimpse of him we get in the new daredevil trailer, but as we obviously don't have any context for it, i put my own little spin on it. does it make any sense? probably not, but when have i ever let that stop me. i got a little carried away, oops! wordcount: 2,988

Frank Castle x Reader

Ever since your vigilante boyfriend had to drop off the face of the Earth, you've become something of a social recluse.

Yeah, sure, you still keep in sporadic touch with Matt, Foggy, and Karen, but having to say goodbye to the man you love the most in the world and never see him again definitely dampened your appetite for social interaction.

It also made you paranoid, said Karen over a late-night drink, and though you'd disputed that fact at the time, she had a point. You glance over your shoulder everywhere you go, tuck your body into the corner-most seat at every restaurant as your eyes scan the crowd, and spend hours each night browsing the web for sightings of the infamous 'Punisher'.

That's not paranoia, you muse to yourself. It's desperation.

You look for him everywhere. But you know he's too good at what he does to be found by happenstance, and that when it's safe — for you, that is — he'll resurface.

"You're not safe." The two of you had been arguing for what must have been an hour at that point, with him reiterating the same stupid point over and over again.

You had planted your hands on your hips at that point, sick of feeling told what to do, and not even considering his ridiculous idea of disappearing. "You're not listening to me. I can fend for myself, and, honestly, I don't see how you leaving me will make me any safer than I am when you're—"

"Because they'll be coming after me, and if they figure out that they can get to me through you, then you'll become a target to them—"

"We've been over this already," You throw your hands up in exasperation, sick of feeling coddled. "I don't care, I—"

"Well I do!" Frank's voice had just erupted then, rising to a shouting volume for the first time all night, and you'd held back the retort poised on your lips, recognizing the severity in his expression. "I care if you disappear, or get hurt, or..."

Neither of you need him to finish that sentence, you both understand exactly what he's afraid of.

"I will not let them take you too." His voice cracked, and the anger in your body dissipated immediately, replaced by tears brimming in your eyes.

"So what, I just never see you again?" Your brows tug together, face crumpling as the reality of his plan sets in.

"Hey, no, c'mere," He tugs you into his arms, pressing your head against his chest, and you burrow into him, latching your hands around his torso as if maybe, just maybe, the harder you hold onto him, the less you'll have to let him go. "It's not never." The rumble of his voice in his chest has always been soothing to you, but his words set you on edge.

"But you don't know how long." You keep your face pressed into the worn grey fabric of his shirt as you speak, hoping to hide the devastation on your face. It's not a question. He doesn't answer, and your heart shatters on the spot, tears seeping into his shirt as your world falls apart.

Frank was gone before you even woke up the next morning.

You shake yourself out of the memory of that day, glancing over your shoulder as you turn down the street towards your local gym. Part of your coping mechanism for Frank leaving was proving him wrong, proving that you don't need him to protect you — that you can protect yourself.

That he doesn't need to leave again.

You're grateful for the silence in the gym, having paid the gym owner to let you in after hours, so you don't have to worry about seeing other people while you work out — a pet peeve of yours.

You lose yourself in your routine — focusing on strength, on combat, hitting the sandbag until your knuckles ache and kicking the mannequin until your shins turn red — until finally, red and sweaty and panting, you decide to wrap up for the day.

You've just opened your locker when you hear it — the quietest creak of the door closing, deliberately quiet, like someone is trying to sneak in. Your breath catches in your chest, slipping your hand into your gym bag and wrapping around the handle of one of the weapons you'd brought with you.

Yeah, okay, maybe you'd gone a little overboard bringing a hatchet with you to the gym, but you're grateful for it right now. You spot a dark shape move in the reflection of the metal locker, and you grit your teeth.

This is it, the people Frank were running from have found you. Fear builds in your throat, cloying at your windpipe, but one thought rings through your head that steadies you. He can't lose you too.

And with that, you wheel around, weapon swinging through the air as you go. A strong hand catches your forearm, pausing your attack, and you drop the weapon into your other waiting hand —

And freeze when you catch a glimpse of your so-called attacker.

It doesn't feel real, and for a moment, you panic, stumbling a step backwards in fear that this is some kind of trick, that it's not him, but then he steps into the light from the window, hands raised in a placating motion, and you gasp.

"You gonna put the hatchet down?" The deep rumble of Frank's voice runs through you, achingly familiar, and the weapon slips out of your hand and clatters loudly against the concrete.

"...Frank." You breathe out, the word barely audible in your state of shock, and watch as his dark eyes run over your features, as if mapping out your face. The moment stretches out seemingly infinitely — the only sound in the room your intermingled bated breaths, eyes drinking in the sight of each other ravenously.

"Hi sweetheart." A tentative smile tugs at the corner of his mouth — his facial hair is longer, the rugged look suits him, you've always liked the beard — and as your mind runs a millions miles a minute, the spell is broken, and you catapult into him, your bodies colliding as you fling your arms around his neck and sob against him.

His strong arms — tree trunks, you'd called them once — wrap around you in a way that feels like home, and you breathe in his scent of leather and coffee and gunpowder. The embrace is grounding, as you feel the quickened rise and fall of his chest between your arms and your torso.

"You're real." You whisper into his neck, barely able to believe it.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I'm real." The roughness of his voice feels even thicker, wrought with an emotion you can't quite place — relief, possibly. Regret, maybe. Both, most likely.

You fist your fingers tighter into his shirt, still unwilling to let go of him as your own wave of emotions cascades over you. "You left."

Frank's sharp exhale breezes over the top of your head. "I know."

“I looked for you— I looked everywhere—”

His grip tightens as you speak, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head. “I know, baby. I know. You know I never wanted to leave you. You know that.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you out of your skin, and you break the embrace for the first time to dart down to pick up the hatchet you'd dropped, whirling around to face the noise.

"Matt." You gasp when your eyes land on him, and the lawyer smiles sheepishly in return.

"Just wanted to remind the two of you that you're not alone." He punctuates his sentence with a tap of his cane on the ground, and you sigh out a shaky laugh.

"What're you even doing here?"

"How do you think Frank knew how to find you?" He cocks his head, readjusting his red glasses, and you spin to find Frank.

Frank rubs a hand over his jaw as his eyes flicker between you and Matt, shifting his weight slightly — you can tell he's uncomfortable. "Called in a favour," He admits, eyes falling down to bore a hole into the concrete floor. "Didn't know how to—" He stops short, eyes darkening as he exhales, finally rising to meet your gaze again. "Didn’t know if you'd want to see me again."

Your heart clenches at his words, and you glance over at Matt, who gives you the smallest, knowing smile. "Thank you." You utter, barely a whisper, aimed so only Matt will hear it.

“I’ll, uh, give you two some time alone," Matt says, nodding at each of you. "I'll see you around."

And with that, he turns, cane tapping against the gym floor as he walks away, leaving you and Frank standing in the silence.

This is the time when you should get angry. Yell at him, shove at him, make him truly understand what it felt like to be all alone for all this time. But when you take him in, the lines on his face, the way his eyes dart around the room, you know he felt it all too.

Instead, you sigh, reaching for your boyfriend's hand, and say, "Take me home."

And he does.

The walk home is quiet. Frank keeps a hand on you the whole way, though — his fingers grazing your wrist as you step onto the sidewalk, resting on the small of your back as you wait at a crosswalk, a gentle weight on your forearm as you go to unlock your apartment door. A reassurance — you're here, he's back. The constant reminder is necessary for the both of you, you imagine.

Inside the apartment, the air feels thick, hanging with the unspoken — a possible argument looming on the horizon, the potential reunion of two lovers who've spent time apart, the hazard that this is a relationship ruined beyond repair — you can feel every scenario run through your brain at a mile a minute, and it's making you sick.

You lock your door behind you, fingers lingering on the deadbolt before you turn to find Frank standing in the dim light of your living room. His shoulders are tense, like he’s waiting for you to chew him out, like he wouldn’t blame you if you did.

Your anxiety melts, realizing he's having the same train of thought you are.

“You hungry?”

A flicker of surprise passes over his face, and he nods once, glancing towards your kitchen. “Uh, yeah.”

"Don't get too excited, it's just leftovers from last night." You warn as you pass him, moving the takeout containers from the fridge to the microwave while Frank leans against the counter, watching you.

His presence is heavy, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache. You hand him a container and a fork, and he takes them with a quiet thanks.

The two of you eat in near silence, sitting in close proximity on your beat up old couch. You don’t ask where he’s been, what he's done, and he doesn’t offer. Not yet.

You lean over and place your empty container on the coffee table, watching as he does the same, before turning and capturing his lips with yours, sick of the mutual silent treatment you had both endeavoured upon.

He meets your kiss eagerly, hungrily, getting over his initial shock in record time. You both lose yourself in the embrace, pausing briefly to squeal against his lips as he lifts you up and places you in his lap, straddling his waist, your cheeks blazing at the sudden change in position.

Eventually, the two of you come up for air, foreheads pressed together as silence settles back into the space of your apartment and your heart stops thundering against your eardrums.

“You should get some rest.” You say, softer than you mean to, and he chuckles under you.

"If you want to get me into your bed you can just say so, sweetheart." The rumble of his laugh deepens as you roll your eyes and smack him on the chest, standing up from the couch and placing your hands on your hips.

"I mean it," You raise an eyebrow. "I'm sure you're tired, and we can resume... This, later."

Frank stands with a sigh, smirk toying at the corner of his lips, and you roll your eyes again, suppressing your own wide smile. "Alright, alright." He holds his hands up in surrender, moving toward the bedroom.

You toss the empty containers, taking a moment to compose yourself and tamp down the giddy feeling in your chest at Frank's return. You rifle through a cabinet in the living room, finding the basket of Frank's clothes you'd stashed away, and pull out a worn t-shirt and pajama pants before heading into the bedroom.

When you enter, you frown at the empty room. Glancing into the bathroom to find Frank also not in there, your heart begins to thunder in your chest. He wouldn't, you tell yourself, but doubt begins to gnaw at you.

Suddenly, a hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you wheel around and press your arm to the throat of your attacker.

"We have got to stop meeting like this." Frank's amused smile greets you, and you gasp.

"Jesus, Frank!" You exhale, eyes wide. "You're such an asshole!"

"I'm impressed, is what I am."

"What, you wanted proof that I can beat your ass now?"

"Is that so?" He raises one dark eyebrow, smirking slightly, and your stomach drops.

Before you have a chance to react he's latched a foot behind your leg and sweeps you off your footing, following you down as you crash back onto the bed, his hands encircling your wrists and keeping you down. A breathy laugh bubbles out of you, caught off guard, before you roll your eyes.

"That wasn't fair." You complain, trying very hard not to think about how little you mind being stuck in this position.

Frank makes a 'tsk' sound, leaning down into your space. "You let yourself get distracted." You make a humming sound, lifting your head off the bed to press your lips against Frank's, smiling when he reciprocates, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw.

Success.

You pull a knee up, tucking it between your bodies, before swinging your weight sideways and causing him to tumble sideways onto the bed this time. You scramble to get on top of him, thighs on either side as you press your hands to his wrists.

"Ooh, don't get so distracted, Castle." A cocky smirk alights on your face, peering down at him, and your heart flutters as a broad smile cracks open his mouth.

      Frank huffs out a laugh beneath you, causing the entire bed to shake lightly as he shakes his head. "I'll give you that one." He admits, his eyes gleaming with emotion — something like pride, but softer, heavier, and your heart melts in your chest. 

      You lean your weight forward, pressing your palms harder against his wrists to keep him pinned (though you're both aware he could break free if he really wanted to) but he doesn't. He just lays there, raking his dark eyes over your face, his expression unreadable now. 

      The air between the two of you shifts, and then slows. 

      You swallow thickly, increasingly aware of the warmth and solidity of his body beneath you, of his eyes on your face, tracing a path from your lips back up to your eyes. Your breath catches in your throat, pulse hammering, and you're grateful when he speaks first. 

      “You missed me.” His voice is lower, impossibly gravellier than usual, and definitive. It's not a question. 

      You nod, throat tightening. "Yes," You breathe. "I did."

      His expression softens, the sharp edges of him melting away as you both take each other in — like earlier in the gym, but with less desperation, less shock. He shifts, tugging one of his hands free from your grip with alarming ease, but instead of pushing you off of him, he reaches up and traces the edge of your cheek with the back of his fingers, leaving them to rest against your skin, rough and warm. 

      You lean into his touch, exhaling shakily. "You're back."

       Frank nods, his fingers drifting down to cup the back of your neck. “Yeah. I’m back.”

      For how long, you don’t ask. You don’t want to know.

      Instead, you lean your torso down, tilting your head as you slot your mouth against his in a kiss that's slower this time, less teasing, releasing his other hand and placing both of yours on either side of his head. He takes his newly freed hands and rests them against your waist, pulling you down even closer against him. 

      You're not sure how long the two of you remain tangled up in each other, pressing kisses against skin as if trying to make up for lost time. Eventually, reality seeps back in, and Frank pulls away to gaze at you with the softest darkest eyes you've ever seen.

      “You ever gonna tell me what the hell you were doing in that gym with a goddamn hatchet?” His voice is gruff, teasing, but there’s something else there, too — concern.

      You huff, rolling your eyes but not pulling away. “I was proving a point.”

      Frank lifts an eyebrow. “That point being?”

      “That I can take care of myself.”

      His expression flickers, something unreadable passing through his eyes. Then, finally, he nods. “Yeah,” He murmurs, thumb brushing against your jaw. “I can see that.”

       A beat of silence. Then, his lips twitch. “A hatchet, though? Really?” 

      You groan, smacking his shoulder as he laughs, deep and warm, and you can’t help but think — yeah. He’s back.

[saintsenara]

Have you done Snape/Sirius for the ship asks yet?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and what better occasion than sirius' birthday to give @ashesandhackles something she's been waiting for for well over a year...

so here we are then...

the snack manifesto

besides the ship name, the reason this ship slaps is for the absolutely classic reason that it's smashing a narrative mirror pairing together.

snape and sirius are obviously incredibly similar personality wise - they're both arrogant, theatrical, incredibly clever, creative, capable of great cruelty, stubborn, loyal, possessed of dry senses of humour, from difficult family backgrounds, and so on - and their differences - such as their looks, class, or wealth - are polar rather than divergent.

but they also serve identical narrative purposes. each functions as the guide who leads harry through the character arc which begins in prisoner of azkaban and concludes in deathly hallows, in which he sheds his childish, black-and-white view of his parents and comes to regard them as real, flawed, and complex people.

sirius takes him up to the end of order of the phoenix [and is then immediately killed, his narrative role complete], when harry's realisation that james was a bully stops his earlier hero-worship of his father and allows him to approach him as a whole person.

[which is important, since we then see in half-blood prince that voldemort's inability to do this - and his inability, therefore, to cope with the disappointment of discovering the elaborate fictional version of tom riddle sr. he'd created in his head wasn't what the real one was like - is why the text understands harry as superior to him.]

snape - through the proxies of slughorn, the discipline of potions, his textbook, his patronus, and his memories - takes harry through half-blood prince and deathly hallows, as harry starts to think more deeply about lily [who spends the earlier books secondary in importance to james in his mind] and to eventually learn that she and her sacrifice are the keys to the entire mystery.

snape and sirius are the figures who assist in this arc because each of their lives are defined by their relationship with and love for one half of james and lily as a pairing. their mirrored relationships with harry are similarly driven by their mirrored relationships with his parents.

and, most importantly, so is their relationship with each other. they hate each other on sight because snape blames sirius for james noticing lily [thus drawing her attention away from him] and sirius blames snape for the same thing [thus drawing james' attention away from him] and their constant mutual antagonism is the most interesting snape-versus-one-of-the-marauders dynamic because of the equality this lends. snape likes antagonising sirius - even though he thinks sirius tried to murder him! - whereas he is straightforwardly afraid of lupin and feels inferior to and resentful of james, because he must sense - however subconsciously - that sirius is his emotional equal: someone else struggling against the fact that the person he loves doesn't love him with the same intensity.

the mutual spark this creates is hot enough for an enemies-to-lovers conflagration for the ages even while they're at school. but it gets so much better once we're in the canon timeline, since sirius and snape's adult characterisation is entirely driven by their mirrored approaches to guilt and grief.

both of them indirectly trigger the death of the person they love - snape via reporting the prophecy, sirius via insisting on the secret keeper swap - and neither accepts that his actions were, in fact, indirect.

hollowed out by this feeling, both of them decide to punish themselves in an effort - one which they both clearly consider near-futile - to atone. both of them do this by subjecting themselves to the pain and humiliation of imprisonment and being thought a criminal - sirius by refusing to profess his innocence at any point before 1993; snape by staying at hogwarts and insisting that dumbledore keeps his true motivations concealed, allowing him to be thought of as an unreformed death eater - until they have a shot at the only thing they each think will redeem them in james and lily's eyes - murdering wormtail, for sirius, and murdering voldemort, for snape.

[after all, why does dumbledore say to harry at king's cross that his aim was for snape to control the elder wand if he wasn’t hoping he'd use it to give the dark lord his death blow? it's just a shame the dream-team of draco malfoy and nagini got there first...]

and this mirrored grief provides such a good point of narrative tension between them, which can so easily grow into something romantic.

because you have, at first, the fact that each can use the other's grief to wound - snape can scream at sirius about how stupid the secret keeper plan was; sirius can scream at snape about what a cunt he was to report the prophecy to voldemort - and to soothe - if snape blames sirius for lily's death, he can pretend that reporting the prophecy was less integral to it than it was; if sirius blames snape for james', he can pretend that insisting wormtail was the secret keeper was less integral to it than it was.

but this can then grow into a recognition of both their mutual culpability - the secret keeper swap only happened because of the prophecy; the prophecy could only be acted upon because of the secret keeper swap - and their mutual lack of it - neither actually knew that what they were doing would doom james and lily, and voldemort is the person who is actually to blame for their deaths.

and this can grow into each of them offering the other the forgiveness he craves, but can't give to himself.

and so, they're the best of the series' mirror pairings for writing love which is totally, utterly equal.

for example, harry and voldemort - who are the series' main narrative mirrors - don't have the mutual weight of guilt driving their relationship. writing them as a consensual romantic pairing requires dealing with the concept of forgiveness, absolutely - but harry is the only person who actually needs to do the forgiving; he hasn't done anything to voldemort which is an equivalent to voldemort killing his parents. similarly, while the grief of their orphanhood and the way it shapes them is one of their main mirror traits, this grief doesn't have equal causes - voldemort's mother died in childbirth; his father, and both of harry's parents, died because voldemort murdered them.

with snape and sirius - in contrast - there is none of this imbalance. they interact with each other - whether they're holding their wands to each other's throats or cuddling on the sofa [or, let's be real, both] - as equals [even though sirius attempts to introduce an element of inequality into many of their canon interactions by alluding to their divergent social classes].

which is to say, there's a respect behind the loathing which allows the loathing to be transformed with very little work into love.

[girlgenius1111]

stuck with me

alexia x reader

alexia and r get into an argument just before the holiday break, as the stress of ale's knee injury bubbles over. r loses... a lot of sleep over it. alexia makes it up to her, even though she really doesn't have to.

no warnings :)

To be fair to Alexia, she didn't know you had sleep issues. How could she, when she'd practically been the cure for them? You'd had sleep problems long before you'd gotten together with Alexia, but they had... stopped, magically, when you started sharing a bed. Neither of you spent many nights alone once you got together, so most nights, you slept well, curled up against your steady, dependable girlfriend.

The exceptions were, obviously, when you went home for breaks without her and when you both had to go on national duty. You slept fine at home, away from the stresses of your job, in the comfort of the place you'd grown up in. Normally.

And in regards to national duty, you were lucky to have incredibly teammates. Lucy knew of your problem, and also knew that sleeping in the same bed as someone else was helpful. It wasn't Alexia, and it wasn't perfect, but you slept. You knew you'd have to find a solution when [if] Lucy retired, but for now, there was no reason why you'd spend more than the odd night without Alexia.

That was, of course, until her knee re-injury. Before the following surgery and holiday break. And the not insignificant fight that you'd gotten into with her around that time. It was a tough time for her, you knew, and she was coping with it the best she could. You'd been hovering over her, you knew that too.

You were just so worried, all the time. Alexia was so miserable not being able to play, so frustrated with her knee that sometimes you thought she was finally just going to breakdown and herself feel it all. She never did, though. Not until the day her and the medical team had decided on surgery. It was a few days before you were do back in England for the holidays, and you'd already been considering cancelling, and staying with your girlfriend. She needed you, physically and emotionally.

You really should have waited to bring up your plans to stay until she was in a better mood. Instead, you'd suggested it to her over a very quiet dinner, after the date for the arthroscopy had been set.

-----

"I'm gonna cancel my plane tickets to London, I think. Stay here with you." You suggested casually.

"What?" Alexia asked, dropping her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter.

"I want to spend Christmas here. You're having surgery and-"

"No."

"No?" You said, slightly hurt by the tone of voice she was using.

"No, you have to go home and see your family. I will be fine here."

"Ale, I want to be here."

"I do not need you here." Alexia said finally, avoiding your gaze. You knew she didn't mean it; she was in pain, frustrated, anxious, and trying not to inconvenience you. Still, you felt your eyes fill with tears at the rejection, and you nodded silently, before turning back to your food. You wouldn't cry, couldn't add any more stress to Alexia's already insane load of it.

"Now you will not talk to me?" Alexia asked. You looked up at her in shock, surprised that the next words out of her mouth hadn't been an apology.

"Just leave it, Alexia. I'll be out of your way tomorrow." You said back quietly, allowing some of the sadness you were feeling seep into your voice.

"Do not be like that. You tell me all the time to tell you what I need, and what I need is for you to go to England and see your family."

"Alright, Ale. I got it. You want me to go, I understand." You tried your hardest to keep your voice steady, but it still shook towards the end of the sentence.

"Amor, stop. That is not what I am saying and you know it," Alexia argued.

"I don't really know what you're saying, Alexia. It sounds like you want me to go."

Alexia exhaled loudly, before pushing her chair away from the table and standing up.

"I cannot deal with you if you are going to be like this." She snapped, before slamming her plate into the sink and marching off to the bedroom.

You didn't understand, not really. It seemed like she didn't want you here. Because that's exactly what she had been saying to you. You knew it wasn't really you that was the problem, it was Alexia's inability to allow you to see how upset she was.

This was reinforced when you went into the bedroom a little while later to pack. The shower was on, but you could still hear her crying over the soft patter of water. You knocked on the door, prepared to let the fight go in favor of making sure she was okay, but the little whimpers and shaky breaths cut off abruptly, and she didn't say anything else.

She kept you at arms length for the rest of the night, only speaking when she asked you to come to bed, an olive branch she was extending. You did, but you both kept to your own sides of the bed. You didn't sleep well that night.

Alexia hugged you goodbye the next day at the airport, and you thought she held you a bit tighter than normal. She handed you a little note, requested that you read it on the plane, and softly kissed your cheek, before allowing you to go through security.

The note had been a lengthy apology, scrawled in her familiar loopy, messy handwriting, confirming that everything you thought was going on with her was correct. She was stressed, she didn't want you to worry, or change your plans for her. She shouldn't have yelled, or been so cruel, and she hadn't meant it. She loved you. So much, she said. Things would be better after her surgery.

You'd thanked her for her apology once you'd landed. You'd spoken, often, since then, but there was still so much tension. You were both busy with family, and there wasn't really any time to have an in depth conversation about what had transpired.

You knew the surgery had gone well, they'd fixed the problem, and that Alexia was doing much better. The second part wasn't something that she had to tell you, it was obvious in the increase in texts, and the mushiness that she included. Whenever she went through a hard time, she closed herself off, and when it ended, she'd always overcompensate, feeling guilty, until she went back to normal. That was Alexia, and you loved her.

-----

The biggest casualty of this fight was, unfortunately, your sleep. You struggled while you were home, when normally, you slept fine there. Obviously not as well as when you were with Alexia, but fine. This time, though, you barely slept. Nothing worked, and the only time you were able to sleep was when your body literally shut down, forcing you to sleep for a few hours every other day or so. You were sure it was because of this unresolved fight, and you knew that once you physically saw your girlfriend, you'd be fine. Especially once you could go back to falling asleep on her chest, the steady beat of her heart making you feel warm, and safe, and comfortable.

This was why you'd cut your trip short, and were currently touching down in Spain, a full 5 days before you were supposed to return home. That, and you missed Alexia. You knew she was slightly confused; you'd been weirdly distant while you'd been gone, because you were exhausted, but she didn't know that. She assumed you were mad, until you told her you were coming home early. After that, she gave up trying to figure out what was going on with you, and focused herself on cleaning the apartment, going grocery shopping for all your favorite things, and buying you flowers. She'd been awful, she knew it, and she was determined to make it up to you.

-----

Alexia was waiting for you by baggage claim; you saw her once you got halfway down the escalator. She was leaned against the wall, baseball cap sat over her blonde hair. She was wearing an old England sweatshirt of yours, and you couldn't help the grin that your lips lifted into at the sight. Your beautiful, perfect, girlfriend, head on an absolute swivel, determined not to miss you.

You saw the moment she she saw you, too, her lips turning up at the corners, shifting her weight from foot to foot as if she could barely contain herself from running to you, which she wasn't yet supposed to do. You got down the escalator and over to her in probably an embarrassingly short amount of time, taking care not to put too much of your weight on her, minding her healing knee.

"Amor," she sighed into your hair, arms holding you almost painfully tight.

"Hi, beautiful," you said back, words almost swallowed by her [your] sweatshirt, and the noisy crowds around you.

"Te extrañé mucho de menos," Alexia murmured, pulling back from the hug to pull you in for a kiss. She froze, however, eyebrows scrunching adorably, as she finally got a good look at your face. You knew what she was looking at. "Are you sick?" She asked, feeling your forehead with the back of her hand.

"No, not sick. Just a little tired."

She looked at you skeptically, hand unmoving from your forehead until you pushed it away and leaned up, pursing your lips expectantly. She smiled, finally meeting your lips in a sweet kiss. She pulled away much to soon in your opinion, laughing at your disgruntled expression.

"You need sleep, amor. We can go home and you can rest. Once you sleep, I will give you all the kisses you want, okay?"

"Fineeee," you sighed, allowing Alexia to take your hand, and lead you off to find your bag. She insisted on wheeling it out to the car, even though she was actively recovering from surgery, but she seemed determined to spoil you today.

You sat in content silence in the car, your girlfriend's hand intertwined with yours. You felt that you should have been sleepy, but you were completely wired, eyes open wide, tapping your knee repetitively.

"Do you want to tell me what is going on?" Alexia asked finally, about 10 minutes into the drive. She glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, spotting the way you went rigid at her question.

"What do you mean?"

"Amor, come on. You look like you have not slept in days." Your only response is a shrug, as you turn your attention out the window.

"Hey. Why did you not sleep?" Alexia insisted, pulling on your hand to get you to pay attention to her.

"I missed you." You replied finally, feeling Alexia's hand tighten around yours.

"I missed you too. That is why you did not sleep well?"

"I... I never used to sleep very well. Until I started sleeping next to you, and then I slept fine. I normally don't have problems sleeping when I go home, though, but this time... I think I was just stressed about our argument."

"I did not know that." Alexia said quietly. "You never told me."

"I know, I know. It just didn't seem like a big deal, because it wasn't, once I was with you."

Your girlfriend looked like she had a million questions, but she didn't ask them. "I am so sorry our fight made you lose sleep. I was completely unfair to you. You do not need to worry about anything now, though, okay? I made your favorite for dinner, if you are hungry. If not, we can just go right to bed. I am yours for the rest of break, whatever you need."

"Really?"

"Really."

-----

You ate the delicious dinner Alexia had cooked, and then took a warm shower. When you got out, you noticed that Alexia had completely unpacked for you, and laid out your favorite pajamas. She was already in the bed, despite it barely being 7pm, looking adorably cozy in a big sweatshirt, the hood tugged up over her head.

"Ale, we don't need to go to sleep now, it's early, you're probably not tired." You said as you pulled the pajamas on. The exhaustion was starting to hit you, and you wanted to promise that you could stay up until a normal time, but you weren't sure you could.

"A bit tired. Whether I fall asleep or not, I want to be right here. Anyway, I should put my knee up." Alexia said dismissively, patting the bed next to her.

"Ale," you began but she shook her head.

"No arguments, bebita. Get in bed." You sighed dramatically, but did as she asked, climbing under the covers and scooting right over to Alexia, as though she was a magnet. You settled against her, shutting your eyes. You heard the lamp flick off, and felt Alexia wrap an arm around you, tugging you into her side.

You tried to fall asleep. Really, you had no idea why you couldn't. You were here, with Alexia, and you should have been able to sleep, easily, especially considering how tired you were. You couldn't manage it though, quickly getting annoyed when your brain wouldn't just turn off.

After the 6th time you shifted positions, Alexia kissed the side of your head, and spoke. "Having a hard time?"

"Yes," you mumbled, burying your face in her chest.

"Be patient. You are exhausted, you will fall asleep soon. Just relax." Alexia encouraged, rubbing a hand up and down your back.

Another 10 minutes passed, in which you felt no closer to sleep. Rolling off of Alexia with a huff, you glared up at the ceiling. Next to you, Alexia rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow to gaze down at you.

"You are putting too much pressure on yourself. It is just sleeping, bonita." She said quietly, running a soft finger over your cheek.

Tears of frustration beginning to pool in your eyes. It was just sleeping. It should be easy. You were just realizing for the first time how incredibly tired you were, and how difficult the past couple days had been.

"Do not cry, por favor," Alexia pleaded.

"I can't, I can't fall asleep." Alexia looked at you sympathetically, thumbs wiping away the tears that fell. She sat both of you up after a minute. "Take off your shirt," she instructed, pulling her own over her head, leaving her with only a sports bra on.

"I'm too tired for sex," you cried, the thought only making you more upset; you had missed your girlfriend. A lot. The fact that you were too tired to do anything about it was painful.

"Not sex, amor, just take your shirt off." Alexia insisted, pulling at the hem. You did as she asked, looking rather miserable. You, too, were left in only your bra, but Alexia's eyes were only on yours as she laid back down, rolling onto her side and pulling you in so your head was pressed right over her bare chest, where her heart was.

Your body relaxed without you telling it to, the feeling of Alexia, and only Alexia, engulfing you. Your skin was pressed to hers, inhaling the soft scent of her perfume, feeling her hands rub rhythmically up and down your bare back.

"There you go," she said into your hair, feeling your body sag against hers. "Sleep for me, okay?" She asked.

You couldn't have told her no if you wanted to. Your eyes shut almost immediately, and you felt suddenly so peaceful, brain slowing down until you were only thinking about how good your girlfriend felt against you.

-----

When you woke up, you knew you'd been asleep for a while, if the amount of light flooding the room was any indication. It was bright, even with your eyes shut, which indicated that it was past noon; the sun only came in through the bedroom window after noon. Your body felt stiff but, for the first time in a while, you felt well rested. You were content to wake up slowly, enjoy the comfort of your bed

You attempted to roll over, searching for Alexia's side of the bed so you could use her pillow, (you swore it was comfier). Instead, you rolled right into Alexia herself, and heard her let out a soft laugh. You cracked your eyes open, finding Alexia laying on her back, arm still tucked around your shoulders. Her fingers flitted through your hair, and you relaxed back into her, scooting closer until your head was crammed into the crook of her neck.

"Why are you still in bed?" You mumbled into her. Her body vibrated under yours as she laughed again.

"Are you complaining?" She teased, clearly referencing the way you'd moved yourself so that every part of your body possible was be touching hers.

"No. It has to be late, though. You've been sleeping fine, you didn't have to stay in bed with me." You told her.

"I always sleep better with you, amor. I wanted you to rest, as much as you needed. You are cute when you sleep, anyway. Your nose scrunches up and you make little sounds when you roll around." Alexia murmured into your hair, and you didn't have to see her face to know she was blushing at the information she'd just revealed.

You left a kiss on her neck, before pulling away so you could see her face. "What time is it?"

Alexia didn't say anything, a slightly guilty expression on her face.

"Alexia Putellas, what time is it?" You demanded.

"3PM." She told you quietly.

"3PM?" You shouted, sitting upright in the bed. Sure enough, the clock on the nightstand reflected the time back to you. You'd slept the whole day away. Two of you didn't have any plans, but still.

"How much did you sleep while you were gone? Really, amor? The least I could do was help you rest." Alexia avoided your eyes.

"What do you mean the least you could do?" You asked, softening your tone.

"I was so horrible to you before you left. And then our fight made you not sleep well," the blonde explained, looking miserable.

"And you apologized, Ale. You were under a lot of stress, I get it." You really weren't mad anymore.

"No, that is not good enough. I have to make it up to you. I wanted you here with me, more than anything, but you have already done so much, and I did not want to ruin your Christmas." Alexia insisted, getting seemingly worked up.

"Alexia, I understand. You said all of this in your note."

"I want to say it again." Alexia said stubbornly, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Look at me." You instructed, turning face towards you with a hand on her cheek when she refused. Her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. "Amor, I forgive you. I told you I forgave you, when I read your letter. Do you not believe me?" You wondered, as your girlfriend didn't look the least bit relieved at you letting her off the hook.

"I believe you, it is just that...no se como decirlo." She sighed.

"Try, please. We've fought before, Alexia, worse than this. What is it about this one that is making you so upset?" You pressed, not relenting even as she shrugged in response.

"I do not want to lose you," Alexia whispered finally, a single tear sliding down her face, as she clenched her jaw, trying to keep together.

"Baby, you are not going to lose me." You promised, moving closer to take her hand in yours. "I knew you didn't mean what you said. You apologized, Alexia, it was just a stupid fight. We got past it, just like we'll get past every fight. Always."

"But what if I push you away again? And you get tired of it, and leave?"

"You could never push me away. I might give you space when you need it, but I will always be here for you. Even when you try to pretend you don't need me. I could never get tired of you, Alexia, and I could never leave you. Ever." You said the words slowly, trying to gauge if she believed you or not.

Although she looked slightly unsure, she did look less upset than she had a minute ago, her face relaxing somewhat as she finally look into your eyes.

"You're stuck me with, Ale. For as long as you want me." Alexia let out a wet laugh.

"I will always want you." She said, pulling you in closer to press her lips to yours. The kiss grew heated quickly, until you were straddling her lap, checking multiple times that her knee was unbothered by the position. She promised that it was fine, distracting you by sliding her hands up your sides, and pulling you back in for another messy kiss.

"Alexia, that is not exactly what I meant," you joked, pulling away briefly as she pulled your bra over your head.

"Me neither, but it has been days, and I have missed you. Let me show you how much I have missed you. Please?" Alexia asked, surprisingly shy as she ran her hand up and down your abdomen, teasing at the hem of your shorts.

You leaned in, you agreement clear in the way your lips met hers, tongue slipping in after a minute. As if you'd ever say no to that offer. You don't think you'd ever say no to anything Alexia asked you. Your love for her was the kind that transcended every issue that could possibly come up. It was you and her, forever.

-----

inspired by my inability to sleep <3 [and my deep belief that sleeping next to a pretty girl would solve all my problems]

[visenyaism]

I thought that last comment you got about Ned enabling Robert was really interesting and well-put! I was wondering, do you think after basically painting himself into a corner allowing Roberts behavior for years did Ned have any “good” options to deal with the information that Joffrey was illegitimate? Or like do you think because the “royal bloodline” thing is bullshit anyway Ned would’ve done better to just never tell anybody (since he’s clearly willing to take that kind of secret to the grave anyway)

as the only other person in the whole realm who is hiding a succession-disrupting bastard from robert I really think Ned is kind of talking to himself in a way during his conversation with cersei. it’s why he gets so frustrated at her for not having been a better wife to Robert, because NED was a pretty good wife to Robert, and yet neither of them can stop him from killing their children if he finds out the truth. There’s this direct parallel between being the hands of the king and dealing with an abusive monarch and being the queen and dealing with an abusive husband that I think is pretty interesting to explore.

Ned knows that Robert will just kill Cersei’s kids if he finds out the truth, because Ned knows he would not hesitate to kill Jon. Obviously, he would counsel against it, but Robert would do it, and Ned would disassociate and then go home. He’s trained himself to be a very passive figure in Roberts life while Robert just destroys everything around him so not think there’s anything he can do to stop that act of violence. in his head, he is doing the absolute most that he can by warning her to run. There is no situation in which Ned takes this to his grave. he is too loyal to robert and too society-brained. he copes with the Robert situation by blaming Cersei for Robert’s behavior.

ultimately, I think the commonality between Cersei and Joffrey, and Ned and Jon makes Ned sympathize with Cersei a bit but he’s never empathizing with her at any point. he would sell her out if Robert had lived.

[ohsohoney]

When it comes to love you're just as blinded.

Part Eleven

Eminem x Musician

Summary: It starts with a drunk embarrassing video, it spirals into something a whole lot more.

Note: Hey, eleven is here!! I can't actually believe it, thank you for all the love on this series! Means a whole lot. Glad to know some of you are enjoying it, love seeing the reactions too:) This update is another long one but we're getting closer to things finally falling into place!

Just a note for this part though, I haven't been to Detroit, nor the place mentioned in this particular chapter so pls don't come for me if anythings wrong! I tried not to go into too much detail and focus on a couple of pictures I found, but lemme know if anything really jumps out.

Also, we finally a Marshall POV, so hope you enjoy!

| Set in 2014, just after the release of LP 2

Masterlist

Marshall’s POV

It was maddening. 

The way this woman had gone and switched up his entire life whilst somehow managing to keep everything looking the exact same. As though nothing but her presence had been added, and like nothing had really changed. 

At least not to the unaided eye. 

His mind had been in a tailspin from the second he’d first seen her though, that much he knew. The video of her had knocked him sideways, thrown him so completely out of whack that he couldn’t quite tell if he’d been righted ever since. But it had taken a while for that realisation to set in. 

It had dawned, obviously. He was nothing if not fucking perceptive. His brain wired so oddly that it had him realising shit before most people. But more importantly, it had his constant stream of self-awareness shooting through the roof. 

That in itself was an itch he never could quite scratch, had pissed him off a whole lot growing up too– especially the way he had. It’d gone and really messed with his head in actuality and so the older he’d gotten the more he had started to use all sorts of crap to just find a simple way to tune it out. To dull the constant tick-tick-ticking of his brain. To cope with the never ending thoughts. 

But then he’d gotten sober, hadn't he? And he’d been forced to fucking feel again. To psychoanalyse the years he’d lost, the pain he’d caused. 

It hadn’t been pretty, and yet, he was still standing. Still moving as he attempted to continue putting that same amount of effort into everything else that had been thrown at him ever since.

Her though–

Marshall’s tongue rolled out between his lips thoughtlessly, eyes caught on the studio wall ahead. She was something he hadn’t never prepared for. 

He kept finding himself telling her these– things. Inane shit, like how he preferred running to the gym and candy over fucking chocolate. But then it shifted and he found himself letting slip about the kind of crap that he hardly even let himself linger too long on. Like, Ayla. 

That girl was his world. Stood there right there alongside Z, but he knew he’d messed her up almost as bad as both her parents had. When he hadn’t been able to get his fucking shit together, when she’d be forced to see him at his worst, his lowest. Unable to do nothing but watch. ‘Cause she’d just been a kid then. And he knew that sentiment all too well, had lived through it too. He hadn’t never wanted his own kids to have to go through that, to see the struggle, to experience it and feel that same pain. 

It was the sort of pain that was truly unlike any other and he’d lived too long to not know that by now.

But he’d changed since then and he’d done it all for her. He hadn’t looked back neither, no matter how hard it had gotten, how much he had wanted to quit. ‘Cause he hadn’t wanted his girls to see him that way no longer. To have them stand by and have them do nothing but watch. To have to prepare them for the worst. To have them lose him too. All because he hadn’t been able to just pick them over the one thing he’d abused most. 

Elia. She hadn’t asked. Hadn’t even attempted to worm her way into his head and prod him for all these secrets he held like he was just some piñata and they were the candy inside waiting to spew out. No, he’d given them all to her. Freely. Almost without question. And that there was what scared him most. What fucked him up and messed with his head.

‘Cause that was where he’d gone wrong before, the first dozen times around. Trusting these women with their pretty smiles that hid their deceitful tongues and sugar coated their lies.

It was then that his mind flashed back to late nights years ago that he thought he’d long lost, to blonde hair and smudged lipstick. To some other girl’s bed, her dark eyes and keys to motel rooms. To Vegas and then Nevada, California and New York.

It was with those thoughts that he felt himself frown and raised a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, wondering why he let himself get so caught up in the past, why he was now allowing himself to think about her the same way he had them. 

They were friends. 

She was here to work.

But that grating voice was in the back of his head again, questioning his fucking questions. His motives. Prodding at his every decision. It knew that he was full of shit. And he knew it too. Didn’t mean he had to like it though. Or admit it.

He scraped his tongue between his front teeth and revelled for a moment in the slight sting which followed, the tiny bumps that arose soon after. Then he huffed. 

She was a question in her own right. That was exactly what she was. He couldn't quite tell what that meant for him though as he found himself picking up his pen for the umpteenth time that night. All he knew was that this shit he’d written was as close to a fucking love song as he would ever fucking get, and he couldn’t stop picturing her the further and further the page got to being completely covered.

What he did know for certain, something he was evidently sure of, was that he was completely and utterly fucked. And it was all down to her.

––––––––––––––––

A knock startled me from the mindless state I’d fallen into whilst sat at the mirror, desk scattered with brushes and makeup alike, and so I only had a split second before the door to my room flew open, allowing a certain blonde to come sailing through, hair in disarray and socks mismatched. 

“Dad’s late!”

I blinked at the whirlwind that was Rosie before a laugh seemed to escape me, and I turned around in the chair just in time to watch the girl faceplant my freshly made sheets. “What do you mean?” I asked her, pushing myself to my feet and wincing at the noise my knees made– I would say that getting old sucked but my knees had been my biggest hater since before my early twenties hit. 

Rosie heaved a dramatic sigh as she manoeuvred around so that she could prop herself up on her elbows and meet my eye, none the wiser to my inner thoughts. “I went downstairs and he wasn’t there, right? But he’s always up and in the kitchen by now, guy drinks too much coffee if you ask me.” She explained, shaking her head at that last part whilst I rounded the bed to peer down at her with a bemused expression, hip pressing against the bedpost, “Anyway, I waited, figuring that he was just, I don’t know, peeing or something. But then I realised I was slowly starving and so I went to look for him.” 

My brows rose at the theatrics as well as the look she’d taken on, but did little to hide my mirthful smirk, “So I’m guessing you found him then?”

“Yup.” She replied with a pop, smiling sweetly, “He’s late.”

“Right.” I snorted, settling my hands on my hips, “That mean he’s up at least?”

The question earned me a somewhat evil grin, one that was far too prideful and full of amusement that it couldn’t have meant anything else. I shook my head at her antics but was unable to help the light chuckle that bubbled up my throat, the sound only seemed to fuel the chaotic energy she’d bounded in with. 

“Can we do something cool with my hair today?” Rosie wondered as she pushed upwards and bounced ever so slightly into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress. I was reminded then quite hastily of the conversation Marshall and I had shared the night before when she peered up at me with such an unfiltered expression of excitement. 

I didn’t dare let her down.

So I’d allowed the mini madam to drag me back over to the dressing table I’d just been using and procure me with an array of hair bands, clips, bows, and brushes that she’d brought in with her but left by the door. She ended up talking throughout the whole process, happy to let me work whilst she let slip about the candy bar she’d found to stave herself over with before she’d gone in search of her Dad– something which made complete sense now, given her mood. Afterwards, she then decided that it was an ample time to ask me a thousand and one questions, most of which I tried to answer as best as I could. 

Marshall eventually found the pair of us, still bleary eyed from where he’d been woken only a short while earlier but hair damp enough to note that he’d hurried through his usual morning routine, that and the fact that he’d come in smelling exceptionally pleasant. 

He paused in the door that had since been left open, his stare caught on my languid movements whilst I finished winding the remaining plait I’d started into one of the two space buns which sat atop of his daughter’s head. 

Rosie had yet to notice him, still rambling away so I shot the man an amused smile.

“Heard you had a lie in.” I found myself commenting once I’d snapped the last hair band into place, just in time too, because it was not a second later that Rosie’s head went jolting in the direction of the doorway.

“You’re up!” She exclaimed, exuding her elation in the grin she gave him. 

Full of fondness, Em still let out a scoff as his arms rose to cross over the expanse of his chest, a mindless action that brought me to note the form fitting tee he’d decided on that morning, a total contrast to the large hoodies I was so used to seeing him in. I couldn’t lie to myself about the way my attention caught on his forearms upon seeing it, the tattoos there, the few freckles, the vein that ran down the outer side and across his hand–

My head snapped left when a squeal sounded, dragging my traitorous eyes away from the man and instead to his daughter, who was now beaming in the mirror. My smile wasn’t forced upon witnessing her reaction, even with the freight train full of thoughts that was now rumbling its way around inside my head, and so I wasn’t all too ungrateful for the distraction of the brilliant grin she gifted me with before she was in my arms and hugging me in thanks.

“I love it,” She forced out in one giant breath, before tacking on, “Ana’s going to be so jealous!”

My gaze trailed its way back over to Em, who was looking pensive by the door, he smiled when his eyes flickered up to meet my own. “Looks real good, baby.” He murmured to her, the acknowledgement garnering an even brighter reaction from Rosie, who’s head turned to him at the sound of his voice.

“You like it?” She asked in that way that only daughters could, her eyes full of hope and all puppy-like.

Marshall’s mouth ticked upwards at the sight and he blinked slowly before answering the girl, “You look beautiful.”

Rosie was more than grateful for that answer, not just because it was a nice thing to hear, especially when trying something new, but because it was her Dad who had been the one to say it. She bolted across the room to fall into his side, only ducking away again when one of his hands threatened to come up and settle on the back of her head.

“Watch the hair!”

I laughed brightly at the squeak whilst she ducked under his arm to escape, levelling him with a narrow-eyed glare from the hallway, shaking her head at him. Marshall expelled a long sigh and raised his hands in a show of apology, but Rosie appeared exasperated by him all the same. She still smiled though before she shot off back down the stairs, calling out the reminder of breakfast to him.

Marshall pivoted in his stance, his tired eyes sweeping away from the hall to find me putting away all the few hair bobbles that I hadn’t needed. “I’m raisin’ a prima donna.”

Snorting at the analysis he’d since come to, I shot him a sly smile, “Hear it runs in families.”

I was met by a roll of his eyes, but the smirk he wore was evident. “I own it.” He acknowledged with not an ounce of embarrassment. 

So I dragged out a low hum whilst closing the dresser’s only drawer before I turned to him once again and made my way over. The pair of us exited the room together, Marshall shutting the door behind me before he ran a hand over the top of his head and gestured for us to start down the stairs.

It was as we reached the bottom that he chose to speak up, clearing his throat before he did, “Thanks by the way, for you know. Doin’ her hair and stuff for her. I know you said you would but, she ain’t the only one who appreciates it. You know?”

Glancing his way, my smile couldn’t be helped, not with how unsure and awkward he then looked. A total contrast to the ego he’d radiated not a minute earlier. It wasn’t something I was too used to seeing on Marshall and so it humoured me to no end. 

“I know.” I answered, choosing not to comment on his antsy-ness or the way tense shoulders then slumped a tad, “One less thing to fret about, right? Seein’ as you were snoozing whilst the rest of us were up and prepping for the day.”

Marshall didn’t appear to mind the slight ribbing, or at least I thought so until hip-checked me in the hallway whilst we were wandering after Rosie, the hit just hard enough to have me bumping into the nearby wall. My jaw dropped at the unexpected reaction but was still somehow delighted to hear his laugh trail back to me, watching the way his face lit up as he looked back at me from over his shoulder. 

“You were sayin’?” He mocked around a smug smile.

My glare was counterproductive, seeing as I was huffing out a faint laugh whilst simultaneously trying to right myself before I hurried to catch up to him, only managing to do so a second after he’d swept into the kitchen.

“Hey, seeing as it’s Friday tomorrow, can we take El out again?” Came Rosie’s voice, the sound of it drawing my attention over to where she was now pouring a bowl of cereal. Her eyes were stuck on the task at hand but they flickered up to where Em was standing by the fridge whilst she waited for an answer.

Marshall’s own gaze wandered over to me for a split second, roaming over my face before his attention jumped to the milk he had grasped. “Up to her, Z.”

And that, my friends, was an exuberant yes in the jam-packed book that cited Marshall’s lexicon.

“What d’you have in mind?” I wondered as I made my way past the girl to fill up the kettle that had since settled into its very own spot on the kitchen side.

“Some food, a movie maybe?” Z delicately suggested, eyes jumping over to Marshall again, the man slid the milk carton he held into her hand, before they moved to meet mine. 

Shrugging softly, I smiled at the idea, reminded of days I’d spent in the cinema near the old flat we’d lived in, the same one I’d snuck into countless times as a kid and then had taken Danny and Lottie to whenever home had gotten too much to handle. “Sounds good to me, your Dad has the last say though.” I quickly reminded her after seeing the way her face had lit up.

“Can we, Dad?” Rosie asked excitedly, her voice full of elated anticipation, practically bouncing in her seat as she waited for the final yes.

Em exhaled, his blue eyes trailing between Z and I, allowing me to notice how the morning sun caused them to appear almost transparent in the light of the kitchen. But it was all for show, because it was too obvious what his answer was going to be. 

“Sounds like a plan, kiddo.”

Hiding my triumphant grin, I turned back to the whistling kettle and filled two mugs, not even second guessing the action.

…

Messages  To: Lottiebug 🐞 Heya bug, msg me when you get out of school, wanna hear about your day! xX

…

Even with Marshall waking up late and Rosie’s evident sugar rush, the school run hadn’t been as chaotic as I’d expected it to be. We managed to make it there in time, in fact we had just a minute to spare which Rosie used to lean over the centre console wedged between the two front seats so that she could give Marshall and I a goodbye.

“See you guys after school.” She grinned whilst letting her Dad wrap an arm awkwardly around her shoulders so that he could press a kiss to her temple. She withdrew a tad from him afterwards, his hand shucking her chin in a gesture that was all too familiar, and then turned to mimic the previous action on me, a quick peck to my left cheek before she was falling back into the rear seat and opening the passenger side door. 

The action startled me enough that I could only watch her grin grow from where she then settled on the pavement outside, waving the two of us goodbye through the window before she bolted up the school steps.

I watched on, dazed but filled with a heavy warmth as she disappeared from view.

It was when I’d finally managed to drag my eyes away from the stone stairs that Marshall broke the quiet that had filled the car with an exaggerated “Ooohh.” 

There was a shit-eating grin plastered over the lower half of his face, the biggest he’d ever given me and it only added to the mix of emotions I was experiencing. “How’s that feel? You done levelled up!” He prompted, clapping his hands as a laugh expelled from him, thoroughly amused by my stunned reaction.

I blinked, but then found myself chuckling along with him, smiling widely as I attempted a little bow, only made awkward by the strap of my seatbelt. Em enjoyed it all the same though, especially when I replied to his dramatics with some of my own, “No, no! You’ve gotta take a picture real quick, this feels like a monumental moment.” Half joking, half serious.

He was quick with his phone anyway, pulling it out and flicking to the camera app so fast that it surprised me, what with being so used to his common annoyance with all things technology. He was still grinning away as he raised the phone a little higher and it took me a second to realise he was filming me instead of taking the picture I’d asked for.

“How you feel?” Marshall asked, his voice still buoyant, the smile he wore evident in it. It just melted me further, in truth. To know how happy his daughter's action had made not just me, but him too. 

“Loved.” I smiled back at him, eyes squinting with the strength of it as I peered into the lens.

“Someone alert the media!” Em crowed, the sound thoughtless and open, before he was leaning in over the console, wanting to get a close up of the cheek in question. I was blinded by the smile he still wore, catching glimpses of it behind his phone and arm, “You ever gone wash that shit again?”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me in return before I closed my eyes and flicked my hair over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t dare! This has to top my night at the Grammys.” I overemphasised for the sake of the camera, glancing back at Marshall a second later so that we could both share another grin, him lowering the camera ever so slightly so that he could spin it back ‘round on him.

“Well, you heard it here first, folks. Tune in later to see if Z will up the ante!” He cheesed, putting on a voice that had me giggling harder before he was pausing the video and peering back at me with a sincere grin. 

“You one lucky girl, I swear.” He mentioned to me in a murmur, shaking his head whilst I dragged my own phone out of my coat pocket, raising it to capture my own version of the moment. “What you doin’?” He questioned me once he spotted it, but I had already pulled up Snapchat to zoom in and capture a quick photo. 

Em watched on as my thumbs typed away, writing a quick ‘Never washing this cheek again #Priorities’ over the top of the picture before saving it to my camera roll. It was just as I went to click off the app completely that he stopped me.

“You not gone post that?”

I turned to him with a look of bewilderment, eyes wide and eyebrows practically touching my hairline. “Are you crazy? That’ll spark all sorts of rumours.”

He just snorted, then levelled me with a simple shrug, cheek lolling against the headrest. “Fuck ‘em.”

It took me a moment to realise that he was being deadly serious. 

In reply to the silence he’d been met with, Marshall merely quirked a brow at me, almost as if he was challenging it. Daring me to follow through.

I stared at him for a long second before I let my thumb hover over the ‘Send to’ button, giving him the time needed to take it back. But he didn’t.

Thinking it over, I figured the most people could come up with ammo like this was that I’d likely been kissed or was just messing around with a friend about something, which wasn’t all that unusual for me, in truth. I had taken to posting all of the weird shit I saw when I was out every once in a while, as well as the odd picture with Lottie or a friend. So I didn’t think people would put too much thought into it.

Besides, I’d never been the type to back down from a challenge, so I added it to my story as quick as I could and then clicked the phone off entirely.

I tried to bite back the strength of my grin when I looked back over at him, but it truly was hard going, what with the way Em had given up on hiding his own. Still, I watched on as he put the car into gear and relaxed further into my seat as we pulled away from the curb, trying not to pay mind to the excitement which fluttered in my stomach.

“So where we headed?” I wondered after a minute or so, the radio playing low, Marshall nodding his head along to it.

He turned to spare me a glance, smirking now. “Tour of Detroit, baby.”

My brow furrowed on its own accord, thoroughly confused, and Marshall must have been able to read my mind because he let go of a breathy chuckle before he explained further.

“Gotta show you the whole city whilst you're here, right? I mean, you seen where I grew up, but there’s a whole lot more. Figure you’d appreciate it.”

Eyes wide, I felt my mouth drop open a tad and a flash of panic shoot through me. “You’re serious? We’ll get spotted quicker than a priest in a playground!”

My words were met by a short snort before Marshall shook his head, deigning not to touch upon that particular phrasing. “Came prepared.”

“Oh really?” I challenged. 

His mouth quirked to one side, deepening the dimple which sat adjacent to it. My eyes latched onto the small detail and before I knew it we were pulling off into a lot a couple of blocks away from Rosie’s school. 

Once the car had come to a stop, Em was quick to hop out so that he could make his way to the boot. He pulled something or other out, before he closed it once more and jogged back around to the driver's side door. He slipped inside with ease, carrying an array of items in his arms. I noted that he really had come prepared.

In his lap sat three hats and a hoodie. I guessed that he wanted to give me my pick of the lot and I wasn’t let down in the assumption, he handed me the hoodie first, one that felt as luxurious as it looked, and I peered down at it cautiously, but didn’t fight putting it on. 

“Don’t tell me how much this hoodie costs because if I ruin it, then that’s on you.” I told him bluntly as I peeled my coat off and pulled my head through the hoods opening. He snorted in retort and it was only when I’d rolled my hands through the sleeves that he reached out to drag the strings of the jumper into place, smiling at me in a way that made my mouth go dry. 

“Live a little.” Were the words he settled on before his attention shifted back down to the three hats he held, my eyes scanned over them.

“As much as I think the beanie suits you, you’ve gotta go with a cap to cover up all this.” I told him honestly, waving my hand over the expanse of his money-maker before I reached out to take the red and blue beanie. 

“What’s that ‘sposed to mean?” Em asked and I realised a second too late how teasing his tone had been.

“You know, the cap will help–”

“No, no, no, you know I was talkin’ ‘bout the beanie.” He reaffirmed, smile sly as he turned to use it on me.

I blinked, thinking back on what I’d said before it hit me. I felt myself flush a tad, but did my best to brush the comment off like it was nothing, “You look good in a beanie, is all. Most people do.”

Marshall blew out another laugh, it almost seemed to fill the car, even more so as he leaned an arm against the centre console to lessen the space between us. “This your way of sayin’ you’re hot on me then?”

I scowled, reaching out to press my palm against the side of his cheek so that I could push his smirking face away. “You wish.”

He snorted, eyeing the way I pulled down the car’s interior mirror so that I could fit the beanie to my head. When I turned back towards him, I was surprised to catch him already staring. He didn’t look perturbed by it though, no, he simply smirked, “Beanie suits you, too.”

Thankfully, he left it at that, picking up one of the remaining caps and placing it on his own head before he tossed the last of the three into the back. It was as he resettled in his seat that I found myself moving to fix the cap’s brim, tugging it a millimetre or so lower and centring it so that the Lion’s logo faced frontwards. 

My breath caught when I finally registered what I’d done so mindlessly, but Marshall didn’t appear to have minded it, watching me as I withdrew, his eyes caught on mine for a long second before he finally broke the moment, “Thanks.”

I cleared my throat and forced my gaze into looking out the front window, only nodding in answer. He started up the car again and it was as we set off that I struggled to find a new topic to break the quiet with. 

It wasn’t awkward, this quiet. Just prolonged, filled with an energy I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I didn’t know if Marshall even felt it but as soon as I spoke, I was grateful to feel it ebb. “You know, I love American cars.”

A line formed in the skin between Em’s brows when he chanced a quick look at me, “How come?” He wondered and it was with his words that I felt the rest of my body relax once more into the comfort of his leather seats.

Still, I shrugged lightly, gaze wandering over the car’s interior before it shifted out over the long stretch of road we’d since pulled onto, eyes jumping between the other vehicles that surrounded us. “Just bigger, used to dream about driving one of those old Fords when I were a kid.” I explained, thinking back to the ones I’d seen on the tele. “You know, they used to drive them in those older films, back in the 80’s and stuff.”

“What, like a Bronco?”

“No– well actually, those would be sick as well.” I mentioned, thinking about it before I gently shook my head, “But you know, one of those old four by fours? The big ones you see a lot of country boys driving.”

Em’s smile twitched in good humour when he shot me a knowing look, “Ah, so she’s inta dem country boys.”

I rolled my eyes, exasperated by the accent he’d slathered on but laughing still. “No, you idiot. I just like the trucks!” But then I had to pause and actually think about it, “Now you mention it though, those country boys weren’t all that bad to look at either.”

Marshall snorted, then hummed, “You know, I’m originally from cow country. Midwest way.”

Pensive, I let my gaze roam back towards him. “I figured you’d always lived here.”

He just shook his head, looking in his mirror before he switched lanes, “Moved when I was a kid, but was born in Missouri if you can believe that shit.”

I was unable to help my smile, oddly surprised to know that small fact about him. I shifted slightly in my seat to look him over better, almost as though now that I knew of the detail I’d actually be able to see it in him. 

“I don’t know much about it.” I admitted once nothing about him really changed or jumped out at me, “Is it like farmy?”

Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes again, though I could tell that it was in fond amusement rather than anything else. “It’s like any state, idiot. There’s cities, but yeah some fields too.”

Humming, I tried to picture him in some place like that. As much as Em fit into the life and soul that clung to Detroit and its streets, I could easily see him settling into a quaint house out by a bayou, miles away from any prying eyes and noise. 

“What’s the hum for?” He wondered, eyes trying to analyse the sound by the tells my face gave away.

I shot him a smile, “Nothing.”

He didn’t believe me, not for a second, but let it go seeing as we had pulled into a parking lot. I sat up further to look around, trying to spot a clue as to where we were at, my eyes widened when I found it. 

Belle Isle Aquarium.

I honestly attempted to not look too excited by the sudden prospect, but I’m not sure I managed it all that well. There was a time, when I’d still been little enough to not know any better, that I thought I could grow up to be a deep-sea diver, so fascinated by the ocean and its entirety. At break time, I would read all the books the school’s library had to offer on the sea and its many creatures, overwhelmed by the fact that it was so large and deep that we had only ever really touched the surface, that there was still so much there left to discover. 

I didn’t ever really mention it nowadays, but there were still nights where I fell asleep watching the odd documentary on the ocean, about the sharks that lived there or the reefs that hid beneath the water. I wondered briefly if Marshall knew, if I’d ever mentioned it in passing, but then brushed the thought away, figuring it to just be a coincidence.

The car rattled with the slight slam of the doors and it took me a second to figure out that I’d already stepped out to join Em by the curb. He was watching my reaction, it seemed, or waiting for it, I wasn’t quite sure, but all the same, I turned to him with a bright smile. “We’re going in?”

His smile was small but genuine, eyes hidden by the rim of his cap as he looked back over at the aquarium's entrance. Seeing the few people that were headed in and out, I figured he was probably scanning to see how we could slip inside unseen.

I sidled up beside him, watching too. “Do we have to get tickets?”

He shook his head, arm brushing against mine as he waved his phone in a gesture that told me he’d already planned ahead. I had to wrinkle my lips to keep from grinning too hard at the realisation. 

We stuck close together as we made our way inside, thankful for the lack of queue that allowed Em to flash a quick email to an older woman stood waiting at the entrance before we stepped inside. 

The first row of tanks we saw were illuminated all around us and as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting we’d walked into they soon set intently on the glowing water held within them. There was a flurry of movement throughout and I was quick to step on closer, tracking the many fish that swam by, some brightly coloured, others almost mimicking the colour of the tanks floor.

I didn’t recognize all of the specific kinds I could see but I didn’t dare deny that they were all beautiful. It was almost mesmerising the way they all swam together and then apart, their actions thoughtless, simple. 

A little way down I spotted a group of kids, no older than about six or seven, and found myself relating to the way they pressed their little faces up against the glass, like they were waiting to sink through it and live amongst the marine life, to revel in that same simplicity. 

I felt Marshall slide into the space beside me and looked up to capture the way his eyes traced the zooming fish, before they soon settled on me. “Good idea?”

I blew out a breath, smiling. “The best.”

I gave up on trying to hide my excitement with that, reaching out to press my fingers to the glass, revelling in the few fish that came up to inspect the intrusion, mouths twitching ever so before they were darting off again. I laughed quietly to myself and then let my feet lead me further through the room.

I jumped from tank to tank, dragging Marshall along with me, not thinking as I grabbed his hand and pointed out all of the things that captured my attention. When we finally stopped by a wall full of guppies, I rattled off a fact without even noticing, eyes so caught on the tails that passed us by.

“So if they don’t have vocal chords, how do they make noises?” Em questioned me, his face screwed up in a confused grimace.

“They use low-pitched sounds to convey messages to each other, like rattling their bones or gnashing their teeth. They also use their bodies, vibrate their muscles against their swim bladder to mate or be territorial.” I answered him, eyes caught on the rapid array of colours. 

“The fuck’s a swim bladder?” 

His muttered question caught me by surprise and all I could do was laugh as I pulled him away from the crowd that had looked over at the unexpected sound. We ended up over by the blobfishes after that, something Em actually seemed engrossed by and the surrounding groups tried to avoid. 

“What about these fuckers?” He queried, leaning over to get a better look at the plaque that housed a picture of what most people believed a blobfish to look like. 

“They’re strange, it’s the pressure of the deep sea that provides them with their structural support.” I told him, bending down to join him in his stance before I peered into the tank. “They have little amounts of muscle and their bones are quite soft so that they’re able to live in high pressure conditions. When they’re brought to the surface though, they decompress. That’s why they look so different.”

“I relate, man.” Marshall mentioned to the nearest fish which clung to the tank’s floor. It made me giggle, though I couldn’t deny his words, Em seemed to thrive in high pressure scenarios much like the blobfish.

The further we walked, trailing through the large glass greenhouses the aquarium had to offer, taking in their shrubbery and vast amounts of evergreen, the more and more I wished that I lived in Detroit, knowing that if I did, I’d be here almost every weekend. It was beyond beautiful, made even more so by the blue sky above and the water which surrounded us.

Out of all the creatures the place had to offer, Em quite liked looking at the seahorses and made a show of rattling off the facts the aquarium offered in a mocking manner that made me realise how obnoxious I must’ve been.

“Sorry.” I offered sheepishly, chuckling in an attempt to hide the self-consciousness which had crept in, “I get carried away sometimes, but just tell me to shut up and you know I will.”

He practically froze at that, caught mid motion, but his stare was still stuck on me. My eyes flickered back and forth between his own and so when he finally exhaled I was witness to the way he quickly shook his head in retort, startling me slightly when he decided to drape an arm over my shoulders and tug me into his side. 

I did my best to turn my attention to the tank full of seahorses, even as he pressed chin to the side of my head and murmured into my hair, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

I nodded to let him know I’d heard, but didn’t trust myself to answer, anxious about how it might sound. Cursing myself for not realising that he’d only been teasing, not mocking.

“Mean it.” He emphasised, and I could feel the gravel of his voice just by my ear, the grate of it erupting goosebumps down the side of my neck. “I like how much you like fish.”

Scoffing around a light chuckle, I swatted his lower stomach in retaliation, glad to be back on common ground. “I find them interesting, you dick.”

He hummed thoughtfully and I held my breath as the sound vibrated down my spine, “Tell me more.” 

I did narrow my eyes at the demand, peering up at him to see if he was teasing again, but no. Marshall appeared as sincere in his ask as he had been with everything else this week. I licked at my lower lip, then turned back towards the tank, my voice soft as I regaled another fact off the top of my head. 

“They’re really bad swimmers, slowest kinds of fish, too. They have to use their tails to hold onto things so that the current doesn’t sweep them away, but they’re also the only fish that can swim upright.” I rambled, the weight of his arm on my shoulders allowing me to slump a little further into his side, the earlier anxiety melting away. “Seahorses don’t chew either, or have stomachs. They just disintegrate their food by sucking it in really forcefully.”

“Sounds like an ex I had.” Em quipped with a vague huff, before he turned more curious, “How’d they eat then? Gotta eat to shit, no?”

Shaking my head in exasperated amusement, I told him about their inefficient digestive systems and how much they have to eat a day to stay healthy. “They’re also monogamous.” I mentioned, tilting my head to the side to watch as a couple of seahorses floated closer.

“I see. These players ain’t fuckin’ round, know they only gotta worry about one psycho baby momma.” Marshall said and I felt him dip his head in a show of appreciation.

I had to snort at his stupidity, “You never heard that it’s the males that get pregnant?”

Marshall actually pulled away at that, hand coming to rest on the small of my back whilst his eyes blinked back at me, now wide enough that I could properly see them beneath the brim of his cap. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way.”

With a teasing smile, I reached out to pat at his stomach, “Bet you’d look so good, Marsh. Imagine the pregnancy shoot we could have for you! Paint your belly the colours of the Detroit Lions and everything!”

He slapped my hand away with a tut and slight shake of his head, but he was grinning even as I struggled to stop my laughter. 

It was as we walked away from the seahorses that Marshall ended up looping his arm over my shoulders once more, leading us through another brick archway in my favourite shade of green. We didn’t have to travel far before my feet rooted themselves to the ground, forcing Em into a halt too.

It was only when he glanced over to see the roundness my eyes had taken on that he caught on and chuckled.

Honestly though, it felt as though my lungs had forgotten how to function at the sight I'd been met with. “Those are sharks.”

“Astute assumption there, Darwin.”

“Sharks, Marshall.” I felt the need to reiterate, somehow managing to drag my eyes away from the extraordinary view to spare him a dazed glance. 

Only, I was taken back by the smile he adorned, it was one I’d yet to see. All goofy and childlike, as though he was truly enjoying himself and not thinking about anything else. But he wasn’t watching the sharks, nor the tank. No, his full focus seemed to be honed in on me.

He laughed, only strengthening that smile he wore, and the sight did something to my heart.

“What kind are they?” He asked me, continuing to chuckle quietly as he led us over to a corner of the glass that was free, most of the other observers crowding around the middle in hopes to lure one of the animals closer.

“Maybe a tigershark?” I offered, the two of us subconsciously stepping closer to watch as one of the smaller sharks swam close enough to flash us his underbelly. “Yeah, that definitely was.” I breathed out, blinking when I spotted Marshall’s face in the reflection, the way he was watching the water with a certain amount of reverence. 

“Damn.” He muttered when it swam past us again, tilting his head up to see past the brim of his hat. I watched him for a long moment then, the way the tank lit up his eyes, deepened them too, whilst lengthening his already long lashes. “I know a couple things about sharks, you know.” He offered and didn’t seem all that surprised when he looked over to see me already watching him, or perhaps he hadn’t noticed. 

“Yeah?” I whispered, prompting him on.

“They don’t have bones, right?” He started and at my nod, he smiled and continued, eyes flickering back and forth between the tank and me, “They’re made up of cartilage. Helps them to stay afloat ‘cause it's lighter than bone.”

I hummed in acknowledgement, grinning as one of the sharks swam over the rocky ground by my hand. Em reached out and put his fingers to the glass, breathing in sharply when the shark knocked its side against it.

“What else?” I asked softly, already so invested in hearing what he had to say.

“Their teeth,” He began, stare caught on the same shark that seemed to be circling its way back around, “They come in rows, so when one gets loosened or breaks they jus’ get rid of it and the one from the row behind moves forward.” He told me, pulling me in closer so that we could both press our palms to the glass, “Know that our teeth are actually a lot stronger than theirs too, ‘cause theirs don’t have no roots, they’re jus’ constantly sheddin’ them.”

“I didn’t know that.” I admitted gently, before I was chuckling at the same shark that nudged against the glass, right over the tops of our hands, “Wow.” 

“Yeah, wow.” I heard Marshall breathe in response, the pair of us utterly taken by the creatures.

…

In truth, we were both still in an odd sort of trance even as we wandered back out of the aquarium, only having decided to leave after a few people had started to glance over at us, murmurs starting.

I didn’t mind it all that much, having been grateful for the time we’d managed to lose track of inside, but Em had been quiet as we’d exited, having kept his head down the whole way out. 

By the time we got outside, the sun had just passed its midway mark in the sky and my stomach grumbled lightly. It was that which seemed to knock Marshall out of his solemn trance and he smirked as we approached the car again. 

Rolling my eyes, I flipped him off over the hood as I climbed in, earning myself a chuckle before he followed after me.

“Where you wanna eat?” Marshall quizzed as he buckled his seatbelt and started the car up, “Figured we might be able to get somethin’ here, but then people started takin’ notice.” His face fell into an odd sort of grimace at the reminder, but I waved it off, looking over at the aquarium one last time as we pulled out of the parking space. 

“It’s fine, I’m just really glad we got to go. I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in a while.” I told him honestly, letting go of another breath just thinking about it. 

It had been unlike anything else I’d seen. In truth, I didn’t think anyone had taken me anywhere so incredible. Sure, I had travelled the globe and seen the sea for myself, but it was completely different getting to just wander around beneath it all, to be able to look and just linger. 

Ultimately, the visit had meant a lot to me, I just wasn’t sure if Em had come to that same conclusion yet. 

“Yeah, me neither.” He said after a moment and I was taken back by the quick smile he gifted me with it. Before I had a chance to question it though, as well as everything else the trip had thrown at me, Em was handing me his phone.

My brow pinched when I glanced down at it, but still, I took it from his hand, figuring he’d ask me to grab his charger for him or something. “Look through the pictures, see which ones you like.” He said instead, catching me off guard.

“Uh, okay.” I replied, not having expected that but I guessed he must have managed to snap a couple photos of the sea life whilst I hadn’t been looking.

I turned the phone on and before I could even ask, Marshall was already rattling his passcode off to me, something I didn’t trust most with. I nodded anyway and quickly typed it in, smiling at the wallpaper which greeted me, a picture of him with Ayla and Z, before I then moved to click into his camera roll. 

There were enough photos of the aquarium, it seemed, for them to have covered the first few visible rows of his library and so I pressed on the last one and decided to scroll through.

Only, my earlier surprise grew larger and larger the further I swiped through them all. I’d been right in assuming that Marshall had captured quite a few shots of the fishes as well as a couple other creatures, but a majority of them were of me. Me standing by the jellyfish tanks. Me under one of the greenhouse domes, just the right amount of sunlight beaming in from above to make me appear almost angelic. Me grinning at a school of clownfish, nose practically touching the glass. Me stood over one of the open enclosures, marvelling at the stingray swimming beneath the surface.

There were dozens. Including one of me stood amongst the sharks with a slack jaw. That one made me chuckle, even as embarrassed as I felt, but then I swiped onto the next photo and my breath caught in the back of my throat.

It was of Rosie and I, the two of us sprawled out on the sofa, my hand in her hair, hers wrapped loosely around my ankle. It had so obviously been taken the night before when we’d all been watching that film and I was eager to take in every detail I could. 

I swiped again, intrigued now, and smiled at the following picture I was met with. 

Marshall caught my eye first, he was holding up the camera with one hand and was wearing that Kangol hat of his, chin titled ever so slightly towards the lens. His eyes were shadowed by the cap but the sun was still just high enough in the sky to have casted a warm glow over the rest of his skin. 

My gaze flickered over to it setting in the background, colouring the typical blue a blazing orange, but it was there that I also spotted Rosie and I stood by the roundabout. Her smile was big enough that it stood out even from a distance, but the camera only really picked up my side profile as I spun her around.

I guessed that he must have taken it that first day I arrived, when Rosie had talked us all into going to the park. I wondered if he’d let me have a copy.

Daring to swipe once more I didn’t expect to find what came next.

It was from outside the diner. The same one we’d visited days ago now, where Marcie worked and where Em and I had fought over the bill. The very same diner he’d admitted to being somewhat of a tradition for him and Rosie, a tradition he’d let me in on from the get-go.

He was obviously stood outside in the lot, the shop’s sign flickering in the top corner, but if you peered through the closed door you could once again see Rosie and I, and without thought a smile sprung to my lips, remembering the exact moment Marshall had snapped this picture because it was taken just as Rosie and I finished our pinky promise. You could see it so clearly, the smiles we both bared, the tangle of our hands, how I’d leaned in to level with her.

It actually stunned me to be quite honest. The fact that he’d managed to capture that very moment. How he’d also hidden his little selfie of the three of us at the park. And again last night, prompting me to wonder where he’d found the moment to sneak a photo without Rosie or me realising it. That, as well as the dozens of pictures he’d taken at the aquarium. 

I’d had my picture taken too many times to count. I couldn’t lie about that. It was one of the many consequences of fame. But never had I ever had a person do what Marshall had done, he’d made me feel like a main focus instead of just a topic, whilst somehow also managing to make me feel included, cared for, lov–

I paused that singular thought and reeled back.

Danny had gone through a phase of taking photos as a kid, but he’d been more invested in nature, the surroundings that he didn’t have to answer back to. Whenever he’d taken pictures of us, it had always been as a family and so it wasn’t too hard to spot all the wrongs there. The booze in the background, the joint in Mum’s mouth, our thin frames. I’d never been too fond of them.

Lottie on the other hand, now she was a part of this generation that lived and thrived off of selfies, so whatever photos there were of the two of us, it was usually always of her looking perfect by the lens and me a seeming little dazed in the background, having just been told to pose and given no time to understand what was going on.

These photos though. They made me feel seen.

They made me feel– just a whole lot.

“Any good ones?” Marshall’s voice cut into my thoughts. My head snapped over to him just in time to catch his gaze before it trailed back over to the road. My eyes lingered on him for a second too long and as a return for all those pictures he’d gotten of me, I raised the phone and snapped a secret photo of him. The afternoon sun was rolling in from the distance and it perfectly illuminated the side of his face. 

I blew out a long breath and smiled over at him. “Yeah,” I said somewhat breathlessly, “They’re perfect.”

[igotanidea]

Judgement: Benedict Bridgerton x actress!reader

Requested by @jaysgirlx <3

***

She wasn’t the most beautiful.

Or the most talented.

And definitely not born in the best family.

Nonetheless, neither of us, no matter how much willpower we are endowed with, has the possibility of choosing the environment we are born into. That is solely up to fate.

What we can choose, however, is how we adapt to the circumstances, how we behave, who we become and how we cope with the opinions that are – more often than not – negative and critical.

Especially when a woman, regardless of standards of an ossified, prejudiced society decides to make a living by being an actress. For Y/N Y/L/N no work was dishonorable. For the ladies of the ton, such profession was almost equal with being a lady of easy virtue. For the men – well- the behavior of some of them was below any norms of decency.

Funny how the point of view depends on the point of sitting.

***

She was late again.

For the third time this week and it was barely Wednesday. Not a good scorecard she kept and it definitely got under the skin of the theater owner. Y/N could not quite comprehend why the gentleman was so irritated since from the moment she stepped foot in that sanctuary of art she has been doing every single thing needed. Not only acting, but also cleaning the floor if required, repairing the costumes, helping with the dialogues. Very versatile all things considered.

Desperate for a job and survival? No, not entirely, maybe a little.

Enamored and passionate by the employ that gave her a bread and a questionable opinion. Yes, absolutely.

Rushing through the busy London streets, miraculously avoiding respectable matrons and their equally respectable lord consorts was not the best of the ideas of reducing, even to a small extent, the extent of her delay.

Y/N did not pay much attention while crossing the street either, obviously missing the speeding carriage and the moment she looked to the right, finding herself mere inches from the hooves of spooked horses, her entire life flashed in front of her eyes.

She let out a embarrassingly high cry of shock and freeze on the spot, mentally preparing herself of leaving the globe and letting her spirit fly away to some better world just like Julia Capulet did after her beloved Romeo—

“Watch out!” a man’s voice, a firm yet gentle grip of hand on her waist and a second later she was safely back on the pavement, sustaining no permanent injuries, save for rapid breathing and slightly flushed cheeks. “Are you all right, my lady?”

“I am not a lady.” She retorted automatically shaking her head and slowly raising her gaze to give thanks to her lifesaver “Mr. Bridgerton!” the second son of the late viscount was definitely not the person she expected to see and it made her take a step back immediately.

Almost ending up under another carriage if it wasn’t for Benedict Bridgerton’s reflexes and a bright, teasing smile.

“You don't learn from your mistakes, my lady” he teased “am I this repulsive to make you step away upon noticing my face? Is this how women behave this day?”

“Forgive me my Lord, I was blinded by all your glory” she almost rolled her eyes, saying the words before biting her own tongue. “oh…” the gasps that came out of her mouth a moment later only caused Benedict to laugh wholeheartedly.

“Not the usual reaction I get from a woman.”

“I can tell, my lord. I am sure ladies do swoon at the sight of you. And now that Viscount Bridgerton had tied the marriage knot you sure are looking for a wife so –” she sopped in the middle of the sentence realizing she was babbling again.

“Oh so you are a woman after all. Gossiping.” Benedict smirked.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he tilted his head examining her face trying to assess the possibility of them meeting before.

“No, my lord. I do not believe we have met.”

“May I have your name then, my lady?”

“Not a lady, my lord. And you should not preoccupy the place in your head with remembering my name.” she bowed, lacking skills a bit and – suddenly remembering that she was late – rushed to the theater.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Of course they have met before, but why would she remind him of the circumstances of the event happening so many weeks ago?

He was a student in the art academy, lately enhancing his skills in the portrait area, polishing the subject of anatomy. Both male and female, with the latter obviously much more involving in many hands-on way and that was not a secret. Those models were beautiful and fragile after all and being confronted with the harsh reality of XIX century London they had nothing more to offer than their bodies. Y/N almost ended up the same, but her talent for acting changed everything.

Regardless, her older brother was earning some additional funds by assisting the students, providing canvas, brushes, paints, wine, measures of various kinds. Whatever the domineering might wish for. And one day she was visiting him, entering the classroom without the knowledge that the lesson was still in progress.

And so she ended up in the middle of the room full of men with a naked model on the platform, under the barrage of astonished glances.

“Oh look, we got another one to help us study today!” one of the men cried out and the entire room started laughing. “You ought to wait for your turn, sweetheart. Do not fret though, we’ll take proper care of you.”

She blushed like a peony, her hands trembling a little.

“I was eagerly awaiting the moment when the Academy will provide us with a full shaped, average of beauty woman and here we are! My prayers have been answered, gentlemen!”

She blushed even more at the clear invective threw her way. Men could really behave like animals in their own company. Zero decency, respect for others or moderation. And the worst part was that all the ton knew about this open secret and gave their universal consent to that. Men were supposed to have their flings before marriage even if that meant a lot of improper things.

Her half-furious, half-hurt eyes scanned the room, taking in all the men gathered their and their attire, not paying much attention to either before landing on that one person who actually looked like having at least a little self-reflection.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Frozen with the brush in his hand and slightly unbuttoned shirt, torn between joining the common laugh on her expense and putting an end to this merciless, ongoing teasing. Before he could do a thing however she put an end to his misery and left the room with the solemn resolution to never interact with any of those debauched animals.

Judging Benedict as quickly and easily as all the society judged her.

***

“Quickly! We’re almost starting and you cannot seem to be on time even once!”

“I am—”

“do not interrupt me girl, put on the costume and get on the stage! I swear one of those days you will make me do the thing I will regret!”

***

That woman spurred some memories in Benedict’s mind even if couldn’t fully put all the pieces of the picture together. At least not until Eloise playfully smacked his side.

“What?”

“Do you know who you just saved?”

“That girl back there?” he massaged the sore place giving his sister a reproachful look “no idea. Should I know her?”

“That’s Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Uh… okay?”

“She’s an actress!”

“Um…”

“She’s a self-made, independent woman not looking for marriage and free of societal expectations!”

“You better not let out mother find out that a woman with no title is your role model.”

“Oh I’d be more than happy to let her know that. I believe that the amount of injustice put on women-“

“I do realize the amount of your thoughts in the subject.”

“Since when are you judgmental?” Eloise scoffed

“I am not!”

“Fine then Come see her performance with me.”

***

Y/N was almost pushed on the stage, without having any time to gather her thoughts or to revise her role, forced to improvise by putting on a bright fake smile and subjecting the audience to a minute or two of suspension, before realizing what she was supposed to play that day.

Clearing her throat and fixing her costume she stepped into the light, joining the rest of the cast on the stage and started giving her lines.

Any other time she would be focused solely on the scene and words coming out her mouth making sure each of them were perfectly accentuated and spoke just the right way.

So what was this inexplicable instinct that made her scan the audience?

Spotting him.

With his eyes fixed on her, showing something that could not be mistaken for anything else but sheer admiration.

And she did not like it at all.

to be continued? ;)

[ur-older-brother]

On Self Harm And How To Deal With It.

Tw: SH (obviously).

If this triggers you then please don't read on. Protect your peace my guy.

I am aware that this is a very touchy subject but due to many asks I've received from my siblings in the last month I feel that it is time to address it.

For those of you that don't me, my name is Zachariah/Wren (don't know how the second name came about but I'm good with it) and I've been self harming since I was 12. My reason to do so (like most other self harmers) was to cope with emotions. Unfortunately it spiraled into a sort of addiction as I got older.

Before I go further I want to state that I am neither pro nor anti self harm. Self harm to is like drinking, smoking, drinking energy drinks, etc. It is bad for the body but I am a firm believer in "Your body, your choice". So I will never encourage it but it would be hypocritical of me to say it's bad. Of course I hope people who self harm find better ways to cope with stress (as I do for alcoholics) but I'm not going to chastise them for it.

For those who wish to quit:

I've had a few asks about this one.

Self harm is a very touchy subject and triggers many people in recovery. As someone who has recovered from previous addictions I applaud anyone who is for doing so. I know it is hard and I truly hope you find your peace.

Somethings that I/others have done that has helped:

● Snap a rubber band on your wrist when the urge arises.

● Identify the emotion behind wanting to and then write about it.

● Go for a walk somewhere FAR from what you would use.

● Pet your dog/cat/lizard and rant to them about what you're feeling.

● Scroll through memes.

● Watch a YouTube video. (My personal choice)

● (Sent in by an anon): something that's helped me is those muscle relaxer creams like bengay or icy hot that have a warning sensation. it's obviously not the same sensation as self harm but it is a sensation and sometimes that helps ride out the urge.

I wish you all the best in your recovery.

If you have any other things you personally do feel free to send them to me and I'll add them to the list.

Now, for those who aren't planning on recovery:

I get a lot of asks on how to clean or hide cuts.

I'm going to talk about cleaning and care.

● If you plan on doing it PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE make sure the object is CLEAN. You DO NOT want an infection. Some are very deadly and many are extremely uncomfortable.

● So you did it. Now what? Now you clean up with some petrolium or whatever you have that cleans wounds. Then, place a bandaid or bandage on but give it room to breathe.

● If you worry about going to deep, then apply pressure to it with a towel. If it is still bleeding steadily after time is up then you do need to get help. I've ignored it before and it didn't end well for me.

● After you're done, do some self care, like reading or watching a silly video.

Some people are okay not hiding scars and some want to. If it's summer time then I suggest getting some good concealer (that's personally what I do).

I have also recieved asks like "i-i cut myself...." or "what would you do if I, yk, cut myself?"

Don't send me asks like this. I will not respond to them and delete them.

I hope this helps and I sincerely hope you find peace.

Older brother, out!

[allwaswell16]

[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics By ...

- momentofclarity -

[1]

“Well, yeah. So… see you tonight, Lou?” 

The way he says the nickname, all soft edges and cotton smooth, makes the heat return to Louis’ cheeks. “Yeah, sure.” 

Tonight. Harry is going to be there. Great.

Louis smiles at him because he can’t not, but the second Harry’s back disappears into the next room his smile falls and he lifts a warning finger at Niall. “ Not a word.”

Niall never listens. 

“You truly are the cutest thing this side of the river.” Niall shakes his head. “Who knew rugged men in their sixties could blush like that?”

“Shut it,” Louis says and falls into his crickety office chair. “I have work to do.” 

[2]

A few minutes into the game Harry’s phone buzzes with a text and Harry slowly pulls it out of his pocket, still keeping an eye on the game and listening to Louis’ comments. It’s a text from his best friend Niall and while he should know better, he distractedly opens it. The second he reads the words he regrets it though.

managed to score yet? ;)

His face immediately flames up and he quickly locks the screen. Fucking Niall.

The thing is – obviously Harry had to talk to someone about the absolute enigma that is Louis Tomlinson, so Niall had spent the past three months hearing all about the way Louis is basically the sun and everyone else (especially Harry) are just planets orbiting him, doing their best to catch a few of his glorious sunbeams. Niall might’ve also been forced to listen to a few drunken rambles about Louis’ spectacular thighs and how Harry would like… happily be crushed between them.

[3]

Since their interactions are restricted to empty locker rooms and gate-kept houses, his need to always be closer is that much more . If they could touch beyond slaps on the back or small smiles across rooms, he might not be so starving. 

As it is — he wants to drown himself in Louis as much as he can. Surround himself with the man who holds his heart behind smoke and mirrors.

A hand lands on his back. “No stress baby, I’ll see you in a bit.”

Harry scolds himself for getting lost in his thoughts. He scrambles to gather up his gear, even though he usually waits a few minutes before following Louis out. 

[4]

Harry nods slowly, “Yeah. Something like that,” he agrees and then he looks at Louis with those big earnest eyes, like he’s trying to make sense of something. An intimate silence settles between them and everything else just sort of falls into the background. It makes Louis’ heart race in his chest. A sign of how much is actually happening between them, even in the stillness. Their eyes holding a conversation of their own. Their cells slowly growing attached to, adapting to, the feeling of the other near by. Butterflies building colonies in the pit of their stomachs. Breaths mingling between them. It’s all happening in the quiet calm of a Sunday afternoon. Neither of them fully aware of it. Like the calm before the storm.

Of course, them being them, the moment when time seems to have stopped, doesn’t last very long at all. It starts with a tiny twitch at the corner of Harry’s mouth and it soon blends into a full on grin, dimples exploding in his cheeks, eyes sparkling like the sun reflecting on green ocean waves. “I think I want to make you come again,” Harry says and his fingers trace the line of Louis spine.

- Answers below -

[1] a garden in bloom

Louis used to live the quiet sweet life of a small business owner in the English countryside.

Then Harry Styles came along.

[2] It's halftime. Are you ready to go?

Reason #12 - Because it's halftime.

Harry would like to think that he doesn’t know how he got himself into this. Only… he’d be lying. Because he knows exactly how he got himself into this. Oh man, does he know, and it’s all because of a certain Louis Tomlinson. Alternatively - football is gay and Harry is trying to cope.

[3] sensitive to pressure 

Harry’s breath stutters on its way up his throat, his cheeks heating more with each step as Louis gets closer and Harry can’t move. Feet stuck to the carpet, heavy and unwilling, unable to shuffle away or take control, stuck in place and waiting.

[4] Them Butterflies

To sum it all up - Louis is beautiful. Breathtakingly so. And Harry can’t find it in himself to even question the fact that he thinks so. Louis is mesmerising, nearly magnetic with all the energy bouncing off of him. Harry doesn’t know what to make of it, but he knows he doesn’t want this night to end.

This is the extraordinarily ordinary AU where Harry falls in love for the first time and Louis learns how to fall in love all over again.

[panlight]

also continuing off the Informed Traits discussion, just how much of Caslisle's compassion/kindness is informed? Bella and Edward both make it seem like he's this saintly figure and pillar of goodness, but then there's moments where he does things that make you wonder if the view on him is just really rose-tinted.

Again, going back on BD where he invites his friends to witness and doesn't seem to care that they're hunting humans just outside forks/la push and let's them stay even after already knowing what their presence triggers the tribe to phase, the book also reveals that he took Jacob's blood sample to study without his consent?? Like a lab experiment???? (I learned this through a post showcasing that part in the book) Also in a podcast I listen to that discusses the plot of MS, he apparently fakes being Billy's distant relative (impersonating an indigenous person uhhmmm 😬) and, well,,,, lets just say I can see why some people think that entire phone call just gave colonizer vibes. AND!!! didn't he drug a woman to steal their car and kinda doesn't react much when they caused a massive car pileup??

On the one hand i dont mind if it's meant to show us that even Carlisle's sense of morality is flawed, but between Bella's "the Cullens are good to the core" and every time Edward talks about him in MS, it's feels more to me like another unreliable narrator trope.

This one is harder for me because, see, I want the compassion to be real because I think the concept of a vampire blessed/cursed with Super Compassion is legit fascinating! As I've said about 23470234 times, my favorite aspect of vampire stories is how they become a vampire, how you cope, the choices you make, what you accept and what you deny about your new reality. The idea that for this one guy, becoming a vampire made him even more compassionate is just the kind of twist on it that I've never seen anywhere else and I think it's really interesting, actually. A dud of a superpower, sure; the innate push-pull of vampire instincts vs super compassion compels me, though.

But obviously I can see where it comes from that it could be an unreliable narrator thing or outright lie. Or at least a show vs tell problem where we're told he's compassionate but actions suggests otherwise.

I think it falls apart in two major ways:

The protagonist-centered morality. Everything in the story is about facilitating the E/B romance. Carlisle's alleged compassion can only help that, he can't hinder it. They HAVE to move back to Forks so the story can happen, he can't say "huh maybe it's NOT compassionate to move back to a place where people know what we are and are terrified of us." He can't refuse to drug the soccer mom because they have to save Bella! He can't object to having witnesses gather in Forks and force more teenage boys to phase and put humans at risk of being eaten because we have to save Renesmee! He can compassionately offer Bree surrender, but neither he nor Esme can do any more than that to try and save her, because that would complicate Bella's upcoming wedding. The Bella-centricity of it all sits like a supermassive black hole in the middle of the story, disrupting the orbits and bending the light of the other characters.

Carlisle can't be any more compassionate than his author, and that limits him. We had a fandom discussion about this a few years ago, but basically because SM doesn't see the problems with how the Quileute characters are treated in the story, none of the characters can, either. I remember calling it the moral version of how Alice is supposed to be a fashionista, but because SM doesn't really know anything about high fashion, there's a lot of 'tell' about her being this fashion icon but the actual show of clothes in the story doesn't live up to it. Or Carlisle himself -- he's supposed to be this genius doctor who has studied medicine and science for centuries, but SM isn't a doctor or a scientist, so some of the stuff she makes him say doesn't live up to the idea she planted. SM totally missed the settler-colonial stuff, the dehumanizing language, etc etc, so none of the characters, not even Compassionate Carlisle or Power-of-Heart Esme can.

tl;dr I like to think the compassion is real but hindered by the narrative insisting on prioritizing the love story AND Carlisle being unable to be more compassionate than his author. But that's because I WANT it to be real because I think the concept is really interesting, even if the execution is lacking. I don't need or want him to be Perfect or a Saint, and I'm sure existing as a VAMPIRE of all things would naturally come into conflict with compassion all the time (examples in the book is him not wanting to kill James and it leading to the extended hunt instead; offering surrender to Bree but knowing if he goes against the Volturi they could kill the whole family; telling Sam in BD that this isn't his fight and 'don't get your family slaughtered for pride,' even as Sam insists they have to be there for Jacob and Jacob has to be there for Nessie [blargh].) and that struggle and how he deals with it when he's in a situation with no Compassionate choice is available would be great. Even that car chase in Midnight Sun could maybe work if the story gave Carlisle any room to protest until Alice insists it's the Only Way!!!! or whatever, and some follow up where like oh huh weird some random charity swooped in to pay all the medical bills of everyone involved in the pile-up and bought them all new cars. If Edward, Jasper, etc can't turn off their gifts, Carlisle shouldn't be able to either, even when being forced into uncompassionate actions. But SM doesn't care. She only cares about Carlisle, let alone his compassion, inasmuch as she needed a kindly father figure to set up the vegetarian vampire thing and for Bella to have a convenient doctor.

[dc-takeover]

(Not edited yet. Will get to it eventually)

Andrew and Jason stared at each other analytically. Andrew's expression had shifted an amount that on Neil Josten would have picked up on had he been paying attention.

Neil was on the other side of the giant cave talking to Tim and Aaron had dissipated off to the library with Duke after they discussed his major. Kevin had disappeared to talk to Bruce. Andrew be damned, it was probably about the sponsorship despite the half a dozen new concerns popping up every few minutes. "So.. your ex previously dead teammate has been fucking around in Gotham during his afterlife life?" Jason asked him seemingly amused.

"Apparently. Still doesn't make sense. He died." Andrew responded monotone still analyzing Jason as he tries to figure out what was going on. Currently his two biggest concerns were the family of bats and birds standing around him and Neil as well as the wild card that is 'Seth Gordon'. There was sometime off about Jason that Andrew couldn't quiet put his finger on, but it definitely had something to do with Seth. They were connected yet Andrew had no clue how.

Jason wasn't going to tell him though.

He liked seeing the hint of stress on Andrew's face while he thought about the past few days and failing to piece what exactly happened together. Andrew wasn't as much of a mystery as he thought. Jason knew almost exactly why Andrew was the way he was. He probably grew up on a shitty part of town or with a shitty family. By the looks of him, most likely both. Sprinkle the trauma on top. Shitty family didn't give him the support they needed so he shut off the feelings to cope. Obviously he didn't know the details. Yet.

"Whats with the arm bands?" Jason asks. Andrew silently pulls out three knives and shows them off. Jason could tell they were sharp and well maintained.

"Oh. Is that a safe guard?"

Andrew just blinks at him. "I stab people with them."

"Right." Jason nods not believing that was the only reason.

"Why do you have your guns?" Andrew asked as if to prove a point.

"Touche." Jason chuckles uncrossing his arms.

They both silently swore to gather as much information about the other as possible, but clearly they weren't going to get anywhere with each other. Neither was willing to give information to get any.

Kevin and Bruce come back into the room. Bruce was the first one to talk, "I don't take it you guys are going to get along." Bruce had already counted six punches from both of the men in front of him to the other each in the few days they knew each other.

Andrew rolled his eyes but Jason just shifted the subject to the important matter, "So what are we going to do about the undead Seth Gordon?"

"I'm going to call the other Justice League members and Dick to see if they've seen him in their jurisdictions. We need to figure out whats going on."

"No shit." Andrew mumbles walking off to find Neil. It seemed the team would never be able to catch a break and this time its not even the mafia's fault. He was pushing his limits on human interaction, but Neil was his orange cat so his presence never counted against his battery.

[centrally-unplanned]

Just finished The Coffin of Andy and Leyley - at least the two episodes we have so far! A very fun game, I definitely recommend it. The thoughts, spoilers everything:

-- The tone of the game is extremely on point, Andrew & Ashley have such a great trauma-criminal dynamic that never strays too far from being cute first, awful second. Look at these babies! Of course that is the blood of their parents they just murdered for a satanic ritual and/or petty cash, what else would it be?

-- The game nails a pretty niche fetish of mine - no, not the incest part, no judgement but I could do without that just fine. Instead its the weaponization of sex (and other forms of intimacy) to manipulate and break down someone's resistance to your demands:

But, while no shade thrown at the classic controlling doms out there, Ashley wins by being a complete mess and possessing minimal intentionality around her emotional blackmail. Her toxic codependency on Andrew controls her and, as inevitable as the tide, forces her to periodically hurt & degrade him, then compensate via affection bombs & demands. She thrives on his weaknesses such as trauma-nightmares & anxiety as they are places she can slot herself into his pysche as load-bearing support, and sex is set up as another part of that web. Its that lack of control that makes her so attractive - the vast emotional void she is hoping her manipulations will fill is a funhouse mirror version of the physical need intimacy can fulfill.

I will note she is a slightly different from the "Mamimi" (from FLCL) archetype - for the Mamimi, sex is deontological, it is what she needs to cope with her damage. For Ashley it's instrumental, and could be swapped out for another tactic as quick as an outfit change if doing so got her what she really wanted.

Probably also worth mentioning that this isn't an eroge; this dynamic is primarily implication and subtext, becoming text only rarely. Don't want to mislead anyone there.

-- Another standout point is that Andrew himself is *not* the typical wishy-washy boytoy target of his bae's emotional machinations, but instead exactly as toxically codependent as Ashley is, just expressed differently. He thrives on her sense of need and the comfortability of the dyad role her vision for their lives creates for him. What makes him a fun contrast is that he has a "normal" half of his brain that recognizes all of this as fucked up and wants to quit, which often pretends he is being blackmailed by duty or circumstances, but that isn't really true. Where the game excels is that it has multiple routes - neither of which have notably different plot events, but where the different factions of Andrew's brain win out or fade away. Is very tight marriage of narrative and themes.

-- Its also good to add that the incest concept is somewhat foundational. I am not an incest person but I have been on the internet, I am familiar enough with its semiotics, and the "mutual, similar-age, unhealthy codependency" subgenre of relationships when its not incest always struggles with a bit of a believability issue.

So narratives are generally about arcs, sex is about build-up, and that combination means you want to portray the moment a relationship forms, tips into romance, right? And your subjects of choice are two people who constantly cling to each other, destroy outsiders who could challenge their attention monopoly, and psychologically scar each other in order to foster emotional addiction. And they are ~20 yeas old.

Why aren't they fucking already?? They obviously should be fucking. If these were childhood friends, they would be fucking, for years now, easy. You can say they just haven't gotten there yet but that changes the characters, makes them naïve and innocent, that is a narrative constraint you might not want. But if they are siblings...well then there ya go. That is a socially-ironclad excuse for how they got so emotionally close without romantic intimacy, and a reason for them not to cross the threshold (until your plot events make them ofc). Its a fetish that makes your storytelling efficient, not just something that works on the fetish level directly.

(Btw Andrew is not a doormat; that is a lie he tells himself)

-- The Coffin of Andy and Leyley is a classic RPG Maker indie project, and it used its gameplay conventions well. Its essentially a visual novel with RPG exploration elements that offered small puzzles as you traverse from plot point to plot point. They create immersion while rarely being too difficult and dragging down the pacing - it knows they aren't here to intellectually challenge you, but to make the world feel lived. And sometimes - most often in Ashley & Andrew's dreams - the light puzzle elements are very deeply woven into the plot & themes, used for making narrative choices & reinforcing emotional beats. They rarely overstay their welcome, which is refreshing. Its not uncommon for a game to get into trying to "gamify" what should just be a visual novel, and while not perfect Coffin doesn't fall into that trap.

Additionally the creator definitely likes Undertale, and the dream sequences remind me of Flesh, Blood, & Concrete in their colors & abstraction. Good times!

-- It is extremely amusing to google this game for like ending guides or w/e and to be bombarded with the "controversy" of its incest plotline. A: The main duo murder their parents and nonchalantly make a meal of their bodies out of sheer habit, way to not have your eye on the prize. And B: my brother in Christ you clicked on the Incest Game. Why are you on Pornhub complaining about porn??

[tremendouskoalachild]

Plausibility of Different Toxic Workplace Yuri in the Inquisitorius: a Very Serious Report

there are seven known female members of the Inquisitorius across star wars canon, not counting the unnamed inquisitor mentioned in Ghosts of Dathomir, and the unidentified inquisitors of unknown gender mentioned in Savage Spirits and Crimson Climb. they are summed up in a previous post, and include:

the Second Sister (Trilla Suduri)

the Third Sister (Reva Sevander)

the Fourth Sister (Lyn Rakish)

the Seventh Sister

the Ninth Sister (Masana Tide)

the Thirteenth Sister (Iskat Akaris)

and Barriss Offee, for a limited time frame.

that gives us 21 potential pairings. i have examined them all based on their time in the organization, the likelihood of having met before joining, their appearances together and their personalities. let's take a look.

2 x 3

Second and Third Sisters have a somewhat similar personality and role in their main media. they have never interacted to our knowledge. Trilla dies just five years into her tenure, while Reva joins at an unknown date after the organization's founding. she would be 17 at the time of Trilla's death, and may not have even been a member at that point. they may well have met before Order 66, as Trilla's master was a Seeker and they both worked with younglings (and were captured while trying to protect a group from clone troopers), but obviously no relationship happened there.

PROBABILITY: LOW for timeline reasons

TOXICITY: EXTREMELY HIGH. what if you were a teenager full of rage and i was reminded both of myself just a few years ago and of the children i failed to rescue every time i looked at you 😳

2 x 4

Second and Fourth Sisters were concurrent members for around five years, and may have known each other or been peers before (i don't quite believe they were, as Lyn's dynamic with Barriss Offee seems to go against that). we have never seen them interact but there is no reason to believe they haven't, as they were present in the headquarters at the same time for at least a while; inquisitors are often sent on missions in pairs or teams, and there aren't that many of them.

PROBABILITY AND TOXICITY: MODERATE. Lyn was very much not over Barriss leaving her for basically the whole time these two knew each other. Trilla the inquisitor is not one for socializing but who's to say she never needed to blow off some steam.

2 x 7

Second and Seventh Sister were both inquisitors for the first five years of the organization's existence, and both were likely broken by torture. we've seen them together once, standing around in disinterest while their colleagues toast with shitty local alcohol, shortly before Trilla's death. they may well have met before becoming inquisitors but both are keen to forget their pasts.

PROBABILITY AND TOXICITY: MODERATE. neither is particularly sociable, and Seventh especially is difficult to get along with. they have a lot in common but not the good parts, is what i'm saying.

2 x 9

Second and Ninth Sister were concurrently members for five years, and were sent together on a mission to Bracca in Jedi: Fallen Order. while they get separated (forever) seeing it through, it isn't the only time we've seen them cooperating. they were both broken by torture and have quite a bit in common, though they picked different coping strategies. they almost certainly didn't know each other before Order 66 (Cere, Trilla's master, didn't know Masana).

PROBABILITY: MODERATE to HIGH. by which i mean that we've seen them comfortably work together in canon, which automatically puts them to the top of amicable inquisitor relationships. Trilla is very closed off, but Masana might have more success getting her to open up than most.

TOXICITY: MODERATE. neither is dealing with their extreme trauma in a particularly healthy way so putting them together is. hmmm.

2 x 13

we know Trilla and Iskat have interacted at Inquisitorius HQ, and they die in quick succession five years after joining. we have Iskat's POV attesting they hadn't met before Order 66, and that she was never in anything resembling a relationship. new recruit Iskat is desperate for friends but is put off by Trilla's hostility during training, and gets a boyfriend relatively soon after, whom she keeps until they die.

PROBABILITY: LOW. Iskat is not successful trying to get close to Trilla in canon and gets a long-term inquisitor boyfriend instead.

TOXICITY: HIGH. Iskat was famously a voluntary recruit, while Trilla had to be dragged in kicking and screaming, broken by torture and betrayal. she makes it clear she wants nothing to do with Iskat, or anyone for that matter. timeline-wise any relationship Iskat could have with her would involve a lot of jealousy and borderline cheating on Tualon.

2 x Barriss

Barriss spends a short time with the Inquisitorius, seemingly in a different facility entirely from their HQ. it is possible Trilla is currently there getting tortured but that isn't exactly conductive to a relationship. Barriss doesn't appear to meet any inquisitors apart from those shown in Tales of the Empire (the Grand Inquisitor, Lyn, guy killed later by Ahsoka, other guy killed later by Ahsoka) before deserting. they might have met back as Jedi but nothing suggests that.

PROBABILITY AND TOXICITY: LOW. there is no real space for them to interact in canon.

3 x 4

we don't know how much Third and Fourth Sister's time with the Inquisitorius overlaps, but we have seen them working together. Reva has a lot of friction with Fifth Brother and the Grand Inquisitor in those scenes, but is chill with Fourth Sister. it has been almost ten years since Barriss left by that point, shortly before Reva leaves, and a couple years before Lyn follows them both.

PROBABILITY: MODERATE. Reva is extremely focused on her mission but then again, there is downtime during transportation and such. Lyn is there, much more approachable than others present, and pining for Barris.

TOXICITY: MODERATE to HIGH. Reva goes from the lowest-status coworker to Lyn's boss to presumed dead traitor over a couple days, which is also the only period we can be sure they spent together.

3 x 7

we have no idea whether these two ever interacted. they don't have that much in common compared to some other pairings but i don't see anything making it impossible for them to hatefuck at some point 🤷‍♀️

PROBABILITY AND TOXICITY: MODERATE.

3 x 9

we don't know when Reva joined up exactly, but they both left the Inquisitorius around the same time (well, Reva left. Masana got decapitated). their missions had some small overlap so it isn't out of the question that they would have cooperated off-screen. i think Reva would have reminded Masana of Trilla, who she used to work with quite well. they both have complex relationships to Darth Vader (Reva wants to murder him to death for killing her family, while Masana was mutilated by him several times over and copes via humor).

PROBABILITY: MODERATE. you can't tell me Masana wouldn't be up for it, while Reva seems much more likely to fool around with someone who also lost so much to Vader.

TOXICITY: MODERATE because inquisitor Reva absolutely cannot have a healthy relationship but also there isn't much about Masana making it worse.

3 x 13

similar to Trilla, it's doubtful Reva ever set foot in the Inquisitorius before Iskat's death. if she did, she would have been 17 at most when Iskat dies, and Iskat would have spent the entire time having her evil romance with Tualon. Iskat also joined the organization willingly and always felt Order 66 was completely justified, so i can't imagine Reva would be chill with her.

PROBABILITY: LOW for both timeline and general compatibility reasons.

TOXICITY: EXTREMELY HIGH. Iskat juggling her possessive broken jedi boyfriend who halfheartedly tried to kill her and this teen who very much wants to end her life. someone would die and it wouldn't take long.

3 x Barriss

one of only two pairings on the list i'm practically completely positive couldn't have met while inquisitors. they both deserted though, so maybe they'll meet up eventually...?

4 x 7

they served the Inquisitorius concurrently for around 16 years but we never saw them interacting, or heard of them working together. they don't have much in common personality-wise, other than being capable and dedicated enough to keep their jobs (and lives) that long in this rather intense work environment. however, while Seventh is quick to piss off her colleagues, Lyn is generally level-headed and willing to work with others. maybe opposites attract?

PROBABILITY: MODERATE. their other coworkers drop like flies and their dating pool is pretty limited otherwise due to their careers. also they're both green-yellow?

TOXICITY: MODERATE. you can't have a non-toxic relationship involving Seventh tbh

4 x 9

ten years working together. we haven't seen any notable interactions between them but i don't see why they couldn't have become work buddies at some point, since they're the more pleasant to work with inquisitors around. similar to Reva and Masana, their missions around 10 years post-Order 66 overlap a bit, so they might have cooperated.

PROBABILITY: MODERATE. neither of them is seething with hatred 24/7 or completely isolating themselves, and their other colleagues keep leaving or dying. what's a girl to do but fuck that huge alien gal?

TOXICITY: LOW. i don't really see why they couldn't have a fling. being colleagues is like the most questionable thing they have going on.

4 x 13

Iskat tried to become friends with Lyn, got brushed off, and soon afterwards got reunited with Tualon, who became her hobby until they died 5 years later. they decidedly didn't know each other back before Order 66. i suppose they have a bit in common in being willing recruits, and that Lyn might become more receptive to Iskat wanting companionship once she gets over Barriss (or the wound becomes less fresh, i guess).

PROBABILITY: LOW. they missed their shot.

TOXICITY: MODERATE because of Tualon's existence, Lyn pining over Barriss, plus their first impressions not being great.

4 x Barriss

they knew each other before Order 66, and Barriss spent most of her inquisitor time under Lyn's wing in some way. Lyn clearly feels strongly about Barriss leaving her, for quite some time. there isn't much space for yuri shenanigans before Barriss leaves but plenty after their reunion.

PROBABILITY: PRETTY LOW if we're concerned only with true workplace yuri, since Barriss was still very much getting her bearings and then left right away. you can't prove it didn't happen though.

TOXICITY: HIGH. your heartbroken almost-ex gets you out of jail after a government coup, recruits you into a weird culty organization, becomes your boss, tries to get you to kill civilians, you throw her of a cliff. regardless where we imagine the kissing happened it's pretty weird.

7 x 9

they have 10 years of working for the Inquisitorius, and have been on missions together before. also one of those missions involved going undercover at a casino and gambling on company time. Seventh wore a dress. that's practically a date innit

PROBABILITY: HIGH. both are snarky gals coping with their extreme trauma through having irreverent fun on the job. what's more fun than putting your mouthy coworker in her place?

TOXICITY: MODERATE mostly because Seventh is involved.

7 x 13

they've been thoroughly introduced to each other shortly after Iskat's recruitment and it didn't go well for either one. Iskat keeps well clear of Seventh afterwards for both life preservation purposes and general ease of life. she also has a thrilling pseudo-romance with her somewhat murdery boyfriend Tualon, so i don't imagine she's likely to seek out Seventh for thrills.

PROBABILITY: LOW. they hate each other but not in a sexy way, and both have better outlets.

TOXICITY: EXTREMELY HIGH. murder murder murder.

7 x Barriss

even at her most morally questionable i don't think Barriss would ever be drawn to Seventh Sister. they well may have met as Jedi, since it is suggested Mirialans stick together at least somewhat during the prequel era. it is very doubtful they met while Barriss was with the Inquisitorius, however.

PROBABILITY: LOW for timeline and compatibility reasons.

TOXICITY: HIGH. what if you found the timid healer-turned-terrorst girl in a hallway, all alone and wide-eyed in her new evil uniform, and decided to show her the wonders of the dark side...

9 x 13

they know each other for five years, and Masana essentially becomes Iskat's closest companion showing her the ropes in the Inquisitorius, until she reunites with Tualon. they talk pretty freely and Iskat considers Masana a "lively sparring partner". they didn't know each other before being recruited. Iskat had done so voluntarily, Masana not so much but has accepted her role by the time they meet.

PROBABILITY AND TOXICITY: MODERATE. i'd envision it as part of Iskat's self-realization arc. there is a parallel between Masana and Tualon's recruitment, and maybe Masana could do as him and make the most of it. that doesn't mean she'd forget, thoug.

9 x Barriss

there is very little probability they ever met, as inquisitors or otherwise. i think Barriss would find Masana intimidating at best, and Masana "it would be fun to bring you in, watch you crack like the rest of us" Tide would probably have thoughts about Barriss' recruitment.

PROBABILITY: LOW for timeline and compatibility reasons.

TOXICITY: HIGH. let Masana show this pipsqueak just what she signed up for.

13 x Barriss

Barriss is long gone by the time Iskat properly joins the Inquisitorius, and Iskat's story rules out them having a fling either as jedi or afterwards.

[periwinkla]

Character Parallels

I've been replaying the trilogy recently, and it made me think... there are so many parallels? Some may be unintentional perhaps, but still. But what fascinates me the most is that all the paralells have pretty blatant contrasts by the end - somehow emphasized by the 'ending' of it all. Gregory - Phoenix Both become parents at 26, but Gregory loses Miles when he's 9 and Phoenix gets Trucy when she's 8 - so the difference is that basically Phoenix resumes where Gregory left off. Trucy - Miles Both adopted by lawyers at around the same age - both lose their parents in a courthouse - both precocious children who excel in their chosen path at an extremely young age - both somewhat extravagant, Trucy with her magician getup and Miles with his formal way of dressing and fancy talk. The difference between them is obviously that Trucy was lucky enough to have a decent, loving parent while Miles was not. * the above stuff is also why I really want Miles to co-parent because it would just come full-circle and would be fodder for great character development for both him and Trucy but I digress Phoenix - Miles The contrasts between them are mostly about their attitude towards things and nothing too specific, so I'll focus on the similarities here. They're both manipulated by someone they trusted, both accused of murder because of that person's plot - both kinda try to rush to their deaths because of it (Phoenix eats a necklace(d) with poison, Miles confesses to a crime that would lead to a death penalty). The difference here is basically that Phoenix tends to prefer taking care of things himself - he likes to help, but hates to be helped. Probably didn't even let Miles be in the country during the whole thing, he probably only him help with the implementation of the jurist system from afar. Both try to hide their emotions and are secretive (but Phoenix is more successful, while Miles kinda sucks at it) - both accused of forging evidence (although Miles doesn't get disbarred because of it). Both try their darn hardest at helping people because they've helped each other and were inspired by the other's words and actions in the past and become the person they are today because of it. They're mentors, but they also learn from their mentees, and each other - okay this is turning into narumitsu real fast I'll stop Kristoph - Manfred Both manipulative, egotistical and prideful to the point where a minor blow to their ego makes them go murderous and vindicative - both dedicate their life to ruin the one that offended them. In Kristoph's case, it's both towards Phoenix and Zak, actually - Kristoph also murders a father (well, actually, he murders two fathers), like Manfred killed Gregory. Both also have a relative that needs to cope with what they did (Franziska and Klavier). The contrast here is mainly that while Manfred ultimatelly confesses fully, we never discover what Kristoph's black locks were truly about. Franziska - Manfred Both shot, but in different circumstances - Manfred takes a vacation in order to recover and make sure absolutely no one knows anything, but Franziska tries to go straight to court and wears her injury with something akin to pride (a bulletshot won't stop her, neither will what people think of her) Dahlia - Kristoph They both manipulate their sibling to do their bidding (although Klavier was unaware, unlike Iris) - both fans of poison - both destroyed by the person they despised the most - the difference here is that Kristoph did everything by himself (he manipulated Klavier, but he wasn't aware), while Dahlia conspirated with multiple people (Iris, Morgan, Valerie) There are probably others, but these are the ones that stuck out to me the most. Gosh I love Ace Attorney's writing.