#prevents me from putting you on a pedestal but actually makes me admire you so much more for it

[imaginealpha]

WAHHHH YOUR TAGS ON THAT POST BESTIE IM RUGBY TACKLING YOU INTO A HUG RN <333 i have so much nerve to never shut the fuck up ever about every single thing in my life on here and then get genuinely surprised when people actually. have a grasp on where im at and how im doing and how i got there etc. like it's warming and touching and yeah. just makes me feel less alone in all the heaviness so tysm for those tags, i always appreciate acts of kindness that could very easily have been missed with no repurcussions if that makes sense? like you didnt HAVE to reblog that post and put those tags i would have thought no less of you if you hadnt, but you DID purely to be nice and that's a very lovely characteristic to have. especially bc - and sorry if this is weird - ive seen you in my notes with commentary on things if i reblog a post regarding mental health or something and idk. i think we're quite similar. like i always read every tag you put and i guess im just trying to say, from the snippets ive got, i see you too <3

Ohh my god hella you are so sweet and thoughtful istg <333 I may not be able to relate to all of your experiences but you articulate them in a way that makes me understand and more importantly *want* to understand which is so so important. Honestly even though we are similar we have grown up in very different environments and you have inadvertently taught me a lot just by sharing your thoughts and feelings and experiences!!

Thank you so much for taking the time to send me such a lovely ask I appreciate it very much :))) it boggles my mind that you actually read my tag rambles bc im sure you get a lot im so honored. Anyways I hope you have a lovely day and some warm cups of tea for the tough days ahead ^-^ it will be rough as you know but you will always bounce back better than before

[letterex-fyofm]

tskym thought because finals are over wii

Most people talk about how Tadashi puts Tsukki on a pedestal. I actually thought that the first time I watched Haikyuu. I thought that Tadashi's moment consisted of him standing up to Tsukki and pushing him off the pedestal and finally having both of them stand on the same level

Now I rewatched Haikyuu, and rewatched it again and again. Read bits of the manga, watched stage plays, read Furudate's statements, you get the gist.

I don't think Tadashi ever put Tsukki on a pedestal. I think we can all agree that Kei is pretty cool. If anything, his moment at the Shiratorizawa match served to confirm it to us. Tadashi always saw his friend for who he was, someone cool. Yeah, Kei may not view it that way. We know very well how low his self-esteem used to be. Which is funny, since his best friend looks at him as if he is the one who hung up the stars in the sky. Kei doesn't think he is worthy of that look, and he tells Yamaguchi to be quiet. Because he knows how it feels to admire someone so much and then be disappointed when they fail to reach your expectations. Akiteru lied to protect the image his little brother had of him. Kei tells Yamaguchi to be quiet to prevent other people get that image of him which he thinks it's false.

But Tadashi laughs and says a sorry he doesn't really mean, because Tadashi knows it is true. And thus, Tsukki gives up and rolls with what Yamaguchi says.

That's what gets Tadashi so mad. Because he knows his friend is so cool, so why is he acting so lame? Tadashi never says "you're lame", but "you're being lame". He never chews down Tsukki in his rant but instead reminds him of the attributes he has. Tsukki is tall, he is smart. He could be the best if he wanted. Why can't he see that?

Tadashi didn't kick Tsukki from the pedestal he had built, because there was never a pedestal in the first place. There is a popular phrase that goes around everywhere: what I would give to make you see yourself in the way I see you. For me, their fight in the training camp was Tadashi shoving a mirror in front of Kei's face, both to make him realise how lame he is acting and how much it didn't suit someone as cool as him.

But Kei doesn't see that, because he is too busy seeing Tadashi.

I think Kei too had the image of Tadashi that I used to have: that Tadashi had him on a pedestal. And of course, that is not really cool. Kei resents his younger self for putting so much pressure on his brother. Maybe he thinks that, even if Tadashi was sincere, their friendship was not. For him, Tadashi loved someone who Kei was not. Just like little Kei admired someone Akiteru was not. Was that maybe why he appeared so closed off to Yamaguchi during the first chapters?

But Tadashi had the guts to grab him from his collar, jank him front and back, and yell at his face: What more do you need than pride.

So, Tadashi sees Kei as who he is. A flawed person, who is still cool. And the Tadashi who was a reflection of Kei's younger self, a lost boy who didn't know better, that image shatters in front of Kei's eyes. Because Tadashi was never looking up to an illusion but looking at Kei straight in the eyes.

And the Tadashi Kei sees is someone really cool. And that really cool guy thinks he is cool.

So, even if he is not convinced, he goes to ask for help to gym 3. And we know the rest of the story.

[melis-writes]

i need your cognizance … im kind of new to the al pacino fandom and ive binged watched his filmography in over 3 days and i LOOOOVED EVERYTHINGGGG but mostly just staring at his gorgeous faaaace (im rolling my eyes and biting my fist as i type this)😮‍💨🥵😩 but im rlly having trouble finding my footing with the elephant in the room … and that is him having a baby at his present age and dating a woman 50+ yrs his junior… like im in too deep now, i just watched his nypd episode and that’s how far ive already went😭(not complaining👀) but im also at this stage where idk what or how to feel about him doing that. obviously ive acquired an above-average-more-than-wikipedia knowledge about him (i like him a normal amount, trust me) and i won’t willfully overlook the fact that he’s kind of a womanizer and one that is commitment-phobe, so i guess him having new girlfriends isn’t out of the blue but to date someone THAT young? like that could be ur daughter😭 in fact his eldest daughter is a few yrs older than his current gf

anyway what im rlly trying to say is, i need u to weigh in on this and pls tell me ur opinion. ive read ur impressive work and it encouraged and inspired me to read the godfather as a book, and not just settle on watching it. and with that in mind i thought u were the right person to provide insight on this. as u can see i love al so much, im actually thinking of making myself a bday cake with his picture on it, similar to a pic i reblogged a few days ago, but im soooo conflicted on this. like i truly am. i know it’s bad to have parasocial relationships w celebrities (especially younger versions of themselves OMG) (but im rlly not i just love him sm and admire him) but im at this phase where im afraid that finding out more of his humanly desires would disappoint me? and yes ppl might say i shld avoid putting celebrities on a pedestal bc they rlly dont give a fuck abt who u are😵‍💫 and i would definitely love to be one of those ppl that could simultaneously admire a person for their achievements and recognize their kind behavior but also acknowledge their wrongdoings … but if i do that isn’t it kind of telling on my end, of my behavior and shaky moral compass😫? or, now that im in too deep, maybe im just trying to maintain this idealized version of him in my head and this is simply a reality i refuse to accept😭? bc honestly when the news broke out a lot of ppl were divided, with most responses pandering to eerie and just odd reactions, but a small minority claims a different take, along the lines of ‘if two consenting adults wanna make a family then why not’ and this rlly bugs me bc ??? apart from it being an awfully lazy analysis there’s just SOO much to unpack about this situation. like theres just way too many layers and there’s nuances too. one of the replies actually said men at the age of 60 should already be neutered to prevent from procreating ever again and why i kinda agree to it ?? 😶 like im so conflicted … like i rlly am … this is eating me out and consuming me i honestly dont know what to do.

anyway IM SO SORRY FOR THE RAMBLING AND FOR HOW LONG THIS WAS … im sorry for the overcomplication … pls take ur time in answering this im rlly sorry id rlly appreciate ur stance on this … I LOVE UR WORK SO MUCH IT KEEPS ME SANE. especially with the gifs🥰🥰🥰🥰 bc of u i still get to fuel my indulgences. THANK YOU

Ah my dear, welcome to the Pacino fandom, first of all. 🤣❤️ We Pacino girlies welcome you with open arms here lmao I know exactly how that intense ass Pacino brainrot can hit and how hard too. 🥵

You're right first of all about the fact that there's a lot to unpack beyond the "it's two consenting adults in a relationship" piece but here's the thing, it's not meant for us to unpack. At the end of the day, all we can do is hear news, gossip and read articles about Al's relationship and this and that but we don't know how much of it is actually true and what's really going on, and we can't know. It really has nothing to do with any of us, and those two don't care what the public think either. It's Al and his gf's private life and judging on how shit broke out, they seem to have a lot more to worry about on their plate than anyone else's reactions.

Al is basically a womanizer from what I've read lmao. He always really has been and I know things obviously changed when he got older but an early article that came out saying Al and his gf are dating mentioned the age gap doesn't bother either of them and his gf has dated men around the same age and even older than Al. This is their personal and private life, after all. Men can have children at a very old age, this is just how science works lmao although it can be baffling at 80+, it's still a thing. From what the gossip online says, it looks like this was an unplanned thing and Al isn't doing so good. He doesn't seem to be jumping over the moon about everything from what I read either. I think this is hard for him, tbh.

And some people may think it's weird someone as old as Al is still having sex but given his track record, I'm not surprised at all lmao. To avoid disappointment from celebrity parasocial relationships and putting them on pedestals, you need to come to an understanding that you're also recognizing and putting up (in a way) their flaws on that pedestal too. Al is not a perfect human being, nobody is, but he isn't out here trying to be perfect or live up to anyone else's definitions either nor should he.

I love that you admire and love Al like the rest of us, but you also need to come to an understanding about the things he's done or said or whatnot that you don't agree with or necessarily like. He's just a human being at the end of the day, it's so complex. Don't think too hard on it, because everyone has their flaws and mistakes and as we recognize this, we can still love them for the great things they do. That's really the only thing you need to do.

I think the fandom as a whole looked way too far into this man's personal life. It does not effect us whatsoever and it's honestly none of our business. Al doesn't owe us anything and he's not trying to be a role model to us; we shouldn't be this held up about his personal life. I know it can be hard not to care, but sometimes all you need to do is acknowledge it, accept it, and move on.

I would also recommend reading the biography "A Life on The Wire" by Andrew Yule. It has a lot about Al's life from early days, to romance, to his personality and everything inbetween. It's seriously extremely detailed and gives you a whole new insight on just who that man is!

Feel however your heart wants to feel. You don't have to get held up in Al's personal life like others or form a strong opinion just because someone else has. Something like this doesn't need to stop you from admiring what a phenomenal actor Al is and how he's a fine ass man too. 😭

[ssaalexblake]

You know, i’d always looked at the narrative not really portraying as the yaz x 13 relationship as necessarily requited as them displaying 13′s issues, she wants her friends there and needs them there for her mental health and peace of mind but she also Doesn’t want to be too attached, either. Doesn’t want them too close, doesn’t want a reminder of all those times 12 got deeply hurt by his attachments to humans, doesn’t want to think of these three dead like Grace. Cannot deal with the possibility of loving any of them and losing them. 

But i’d never before considered that 13′s lack of response to Yaz might be a side effect of Yaz’s behaviour? Like, i mean, we learn in Can You Hear Me? That Yaz has one of those tragic back stories. We learn that that bullying she spoke of that motivates her to help others was a Very abridged version of the whole story. We see a not necessarily explicit memory of Yaz wanting to die, but a Heavily implied one. We already knew Yaz chose to channel the effect of her victimization into helping others in the same situation/stop it happening to them full stop. The memory shows us that Yaz chose to approach this goal by emulating this lady police officer who stopped to help her. 

This tells us a lot of important things. It shows us Why they decided to make Yaz a police officer when they genuinely have not used this as a plot point. At all. To the point it was a bit weird. It shows us that her emulation of 13 isn’t a isolated incident, Yaz who secretly has very low self esteem will mimic and copy those she admires or believes are doing good in the world will model herself Around those people. This one memory kind of contextualizes her whole character but narratively, the way they chose to illustrate it actively prevents anybody but the audience from knowing about Yaz’s hidden depths and troubled past. Her walls remain up. 

In as such... I don’t really think anybody but Sonya knows the genuine Yasmin Khan. Maybe her parents, but it’s also shown in the memory that they didn’t understand what was going on. Her sister is the keeper of Yaz’s history, she is the only one who knows her truly and deeply, imo, we don’t know if Yaz was honest with her sister or was just unable to keep this all from her, either way, Sonya knows her sister fully and loves her deeply. 

So... Yaz loves 13. Under the assumption that Yaz would want that to be reciprocated (which, okay, may not be true... But u want people you love to lover you back even when you Know it’ll be a disaster in the end, you just do)... Is Yaz herself the thing that is preventing the reciprocation of this love? 

13 doesn’t know her! Not really, Sonya’s the only one who does that. If 13 is only getting the cliff notes of Yasmin Khan, Would she love her? Yaz is not letting herself be seen, because she doesn’t really realize what is there to be seen underneath it all is a woman who is inherently worthy in general and of love. In keeping herself from 13, is Yaz orchestrating her own failure in deliberately maintaining a distance?

I’d until now kind of assumed this lack of reciprocation was a 13 thing... And yeah, she Does have a lot of issues here that i am sure are playing a big part in her reticence. But I'm starting to think Yaz is orchestrating her own failure here as well... How would 13 love her if she doesn’t Know her?

I’ve always thought that the Yaz mental health/self esteem plot And the thasmin plot could coexist peacefully... Yaz places the doctor on a pedestal, yes, and is trying to emulate her from a lack of self worth, but... Sometimes we just need somebody to love us who doesn’t ‘have’ to. Sonya’s her sister, she loves her, but sometimes it’s easy to say that doesn’t count because duh, she’s my sister, she’s Supposed to love me despite the fights and competition. 

I feel like 13 actually genuinely knowing the Real, hidden Yaz that she never tells anybody about and then loving her deeply anyway might actually show Yaz that she, herself Is worth it. 13, a person Yaz loves and admires still even after she takes her off the pedestal, who didn’t have any strong reactions of feelings towards her when she was putting up a front actually genuinely loving her deeply and insistently back once she Drops the façade may actually just clue Yaz in that yes, she is loved and worthy and good enough by doing nothing but being herself. 

I still think Yaz should end up some kind of mental health worker, she ended up police because she was ‘saved’ by a police woman who was called to a mental health emergency and then Yaz then evidently linked That to how to help other people hurt like her. But Yaz in her very first Scene is unsatisfied with the job... We learn much later it’s because she wants to be helping people like herself. The problem here, of course, is that police are called in for mental health emergencies and not, you know, trained medical professionals. 

Yaz is unsatisfied in her job because she’s in the wrong job, because the person who came to check on her should never have been police. So in emulating her she’s ended up screwing herself over in this situation as well, as much as her hiding herself away from 13 has backfired, her choosing to emulate this lady instead of working it out her own way Also left her frustrated and bored, feeling useless. 

Yaz needs to find her Own way, not use other peoples ways. 

So i guess my ideal endgame is 13 loving her back, but loving the Yaz that Yaz tries to hide. And then Yaz leaving off her own back to quit her job, not because her urge to help people like herself has changed, but because she realises doing it Yaz’s way is a better way to achieve it instead of copying somebody else, and then seeking employment in the mental health field for teenagers. You know, the type of people who should have helped 16 year old her to start with. 

This era repeatedly screws over characters who don’t submit to being Known, and rewards those who do submit to the risk and terror of truly showing themselves to other people, and while we consistently call 13 out for being Very private and not consenting to share any of herself with others, Yaz is equally as guilty and it keeps screwing her over. 

[unmaskedagain]

Daddy’s Little Villain

So this prompt I think I got months ago. I meant to work on it for quite some time but I never got around to it. I got inspired yesterday so I decided to take a shot. I went completely off memory for this. Its been a while since I watched Young Justice or any of the DC animated shows; apart from the new Harley Quinn one. So sorry about what I got wrong.

A clown with a killer punchline.

A lantern of terror.

The king of Metropolis.

The master of shadows.

A destroyer of worlds.

Different faces, powers, histories but all categorized under one name.

Supervillain.

           Ruthless, intelligent, powerful, charismatic, tempting; villains reflect just how easily and quickly this planet, if not the universe could fall under their might. However, none of them started out evil. None of them were born evil. No one is born to be evil.

           Marinette, however, came very, very close.

           Her biological father was one of the first that came to mind when anyone thought of a Supervillian. He personally had killed thousands, and arranged the deaths of tens of thousands more. He conquered kingdoms, destroyed dynasties, annihilated empires, controlled governments, and used presidents, kings, any old politician as puppets on strings.

           And he was a good dad.

           He made sure Marinette had the best of everything. The best tutors, the best trainers, the best bodyguards (though Marinette had only ever seen them out of the corner of her eye; hiding in the shadows).

He was even okay with Tom Dupain being a father figure to his daughter. Tom had married Sabine when Marinette was four. However, the acceptance of this came after several failed assassination attempts after the first time Marinette called Tom Papa. Sabine hadn’t been happy that to have protect her new husband from assassins sent by her jealous baby daddy.

Marinette spend most of her days pretending to be a normal girl. The rest of the time she was being trained by near unstoppable assassins in every manner of fighting style her body could handle, learning how to speak various different languages ranging from Spanish to whatever the hell Atlantians’ spoke, hacking and computer skills from former spies, and being taught strategy from some of the greatest military minds that could be bought. (And this was one top of her duties as Ladybug because her dad was still a bit of an asshole.)

He just wanted what was best for her. And he made sure Marinette knew she was loved. He sent her presents every week, letters every day, and she woke to fresh roses in her room every morning.

           The presents ranged from diamond tiaras to ancient samurai swords; anything she so much as mildly expressed an interest in was always found at the foot of her bed the next day. The letters were always thoughtful and kind; always wanting to know about her day, and how she was doing. They would appear in her desk sometime during the day. Marinette would leave a reply via email because she was a sane person of the year 2020. She’d wake to red roses every morning to remind her she was special to him. Sometimes she handed them out at school. Other times she gave them away to any pedestrian who looked like they needed a pick me up.

           He was a good dad, even if he was never actually around. They talked on the phone and over video chat as much as they could.

           He was busy. She understood that.

           Trying to take over the world wasn’t easy. It certainly wasn’t the average 9 to 5 job. The Light needed him.

           She forgave him for that; just like she forgave him for all the things he did to… ensure the future he envisioned became a reality. They were distasteful, immoral, and most of the time she didn’t have the stomach to listen to 1/12 of all the things he did or orchestrated.

           Marinette was always fine with staying out of it. Unlike most Supervillian kids, she never had any interest in taking her place in the family business. Or doing the opposite and doing everything she could to take their villainous family down. No, she had better things to do.

           And her father was just fine with that. He could forgive Marinette for wanting a normal life. He just wanted her happy, safe, and well cared for. He kept the Light and Cadmus out of Paris as best as he could.

           He could even forgive his little girl when she adorned a mask and became the Hero Ladybug. Though it did prevent him from recruiting Hawkmoth into the fold; he wouldn’t have been more than cannon fodder but still. As long as Ladybug kept out battle between good and evil that encased the rest of the world, the city of Paris, France could be hers. Hell, he would even give it to his baby girl as a birthday present should her desire for it arise. It would be good preparation should he need someone trustworthy and loyal to rule the rest of Europe.

           Still he was quick to stop any admiration for the heroes of Justice League. Or at least make sure his daughter didn’t put them on a pedestal like the rest of the world did.

“But they’re the good guys,” She remembered her seven-year-old self protesting. At the time Marinette hadn’t really understood that her father was considered one of the ‘Bad Guys.’ “The heroes.”

“I believe the Justice League’s actions leaves humanity weak,” He told her. “However, even if I didn’t find fault in them, they are only people. They make mistakes. There is good and evil in them; few realize just how easily one side could win over the other.”

           Marinette frowned, “You mean go bad. They won’t go bad. They fight for justice and what’s right.”

“What’s right is subjective,” He warned her. “And justice is in the eye of the beholder.”

“But-but they’re superheroes!”

“You know what’s more dangerous that a villain?” He asked her. “Someone who refuses to acknowledge that anyone can become one.”

           He would say more on the subject later until he was sure Marinette understood.

           He loved his daughter with all of his heart. And Marinette returned the favor.

           So when rumors spread, not long after Hawkmoth’s permanent defeat, that the Light’s founder had fallen; was dead, killed in action, murdered by superheroes, Marinette’s heart broke. She always knew the risks of her father’s job, the dangers this world had in it; it was survival of the fittest after all, that was what he taught her.

           Nevertheless, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt; that it didn’t burn. And for the first time, the darkest part of her, the part of her that was all her father’s daughter, wanted to make the world feel her pain. However, Marinette was better than that. She wouldn’t blame the world for her sorrows.  She refuse to set fire to everyone and everything just because she wanted to vengeance.

           No, she was smarter than that. Her father, had he still lived, would expect better from her.

           Marinette blamed the Justice League; wonder woman, superman, the Green Lantern. She blamed. Artemis. She blamed Aqualad. She blamed Miss Martian. She blamed Superboy. She blamed Kid flash. She blamed all of Young Justice who set up the plan to bring down the light. (Apart from Batman and Robin who been in Gotham because Robin had all but on his death bed after a fight with DeathStroke.). And they would burn for taking her father from her.

           …The only problem was that Marinette wasn’t a killer. She didn’t want to be one unless she had no other choice. So she had to think of another way to get her revenge.

           The plan had started out very simple. Slowly the hero Ladybug would start being seen outside Paris; fighting random villains’ here and there; captain cold one day, the cheetah next. Never seen in the same place twice. Rumors spread that she was looking for someone; her partner, Chat Noir. It helped that Chat Noir had been seen in months.

           It was just a rumor, of course. Chat Noir had been officially retired. All kwami were taken back. Marinette wasn’t using Tikki to power herself up. No, she refused to use them like Hawkmoth had done. Instead, they were put away and were very well cared for; like well pampered, spoiled pets.

           Marinette used her money to buy a replica of her Ladybug suit; better armored though. She used her private plane to travel around wherever she needed to go. The more villains she fought, the more the rumor of the heartbroken Ladybug hunting down the Light to find her partner grew.

           The only downside was that Ladybug was rapidly gaining enemies left and right. It wasn’t long before The Light sent people after her. Ladybug was quick to send their minions back to them all but in a body bag.

           She had been approached multiple times be members of the Justice League; even teamed up with them multiple times to save the day. They never even feel the near microscopic camera she puts in them. It degrades three hours after but it’s plenty of time for Marinette to get the information she needs.

           It took two months for Marinette to learn the identities of nearly every member of the Justice League. She’s quick to destroy any secret identity evidence for anyone who didn’t wrong her. The batfamily was spared. The Green Arrow and his family was spared. (One day soon Oliver Queen would thank his lucky stars that Speedy went solo instead of joining Young Justice. And that Cheshire, who had a thing for the redhead, was an old friend of Marinette’s, whether the older girl remember the bluenette or not.)

           The family of Steal would burn though. As would fastest family alive. The king of ocean and his sidekicks. The “human” identities of the worlds’ favorite Martians. Woman Wonder and her sidekick. The Green Lanterns.

           The Justice League never saw her coming. All they saw was a pretty fourteen-year-old girl with tears in her big blue eyes as she swore it was her duty to right this wrong. She would fight the light on her own. A young hero, they thought, who did realize just how over her head she really was. Pity was always clear in their eyes. Every time Marinette refused their offer of help, said she could handle it herself.

           Marinette was just biding her time. She still needed the identities of Young Justice. When she got that, she would strike. Hard.

           It only took three months, and Cadmus capturing little Miss Martian.

           By the time, Young Justice arrived Ladybug had already been on the scene. Marinette had already freed an injured Miss Martian and they were trying to fight their way out. The bluenette was beaten, battered, and bleeding.  The two girls did their best to fight the bad guys that seemed to come in a never ending storm. It wasn’t long before they were surrounded.

“Go,” She whispered to the green girl. Marinette had always placed the cameras. She didn’t need to alien any longer. “You can fly. Go. I’ll hold them off, okay.”

“I won’t leave you,” Miss Martian shook her adamantly.

           Marinette frown, “You have to. You know what Cadmus. You know what these monster will do to you. You have go before it’s too late.”

“I will not!”

“Don’t be a hero!” Ladybug snapped.

“Why?!” A new voice called. Robin landed in front of them. The rest of the Young Justice was “It’s our job.”

           The fight was epic. And Marinette could admit that the members of Young Justice were skilled. But they had to be to take down her father, so it wasn’t surprising. Still, she managed to put a camera on each and every one of them.

           When it was over, and it was clear more of Cadmus’ henchman were arriving, Young Justice made moves to flee…

           Until they realized Ladybug had no intention of coming with them.

“He’s not in there,” Miss Martian told her gently.

“You don’t know that,” Ladybug murmured.

“I do,” Again the pity was clear in redhead’s eyes.

           Ladybug shook her head. “You don’t understand. I can’t give up. I won’t!”

           Robin put a hand on her shoulder, “Chat Noir isn’t in there.”

“Getting yourself killed will not help him,” Aqualad stated.

           Ladybug nodded, gave them a small smile, and then made a break for the Cadmus lab. Then Marinette felt a sharp pain in the back of her head, and everything went black.

           She woke up in the infirmary of what she guess was the Young Justice headquarters. With a huff, she got up and marched out of the room. It didn’t take her long to find the teen heroes lounging in their living room. “You guys are jerks!” She yelled at them.

           Kid Flash snorted, “We saved you from yourself.”

“Oh you self-righteous little-” Marinette groaned. “I can’t believe you! I can take care of myself” She crossed her arms and stomped her foot.

“Oh yeah because that proves it,” Artemis laughed.

“I’m a hero too, you know?”

           Robin nodded. “Everyone knows about Ladybug. But you’re like thirteen.”

“Fourteen! And a half!” Marinette corrected. “Which is basically fifteen.”

           The older heroes just looked at her, and then burst out laughing.

           Marinette forced herself to think of her most embarrassing memory so that her face would heat up and it would look like she turned red from embarrassment. As if she care what they thought.

           The bluenette grabbed a slice of pizza and asked politely for someone to send her back to Paris. She needed to regroup, she claimed.

           They tried to convince her to stay. Or let Young Justice or the Justice League help her but she refused. Marinette was back in Paris ten minutes later.

           She had the identities of every member of Young Justice an hour after that.

           It was time.

           Ladybug “tracking” down the Light had been an experience. Technically, she knew enough to figure out various locations they used. However, she also knew enough to know that Ladybug just showing up there would get her killed. It was a move of an amateur hero. And Marinette was done thinking like a hero.

           So she put down her mask, ditched her Ladybug gear, and got on a plane. Marinette arrived in Metropolis on a windy Tuesday morning.

           It took her until Friday to hack into Lex Luther’s secretary’s calendar to figure where the King of the Metropolis was scheduled to be and another week to decipher the Light’s next meeting. Hacking into pentagon was easier.

           Marinette waited watched from the shadows of the remote island she found herself on. She watched as villain after villain arrived. Until Lex Luther, surrounded by bodyguards and personal assistants, arrived in his private jet.

“Mr. Luther!” Marinette called as she stepped out of the shadows where she was hiding.

           Guns were immediately pulled on her. The secretary, Mercy, hand suddenly became weaponized. The surprise on their faces were clear. Particularly when they saw the small teen girl standing there.

           Marinette smiled.

“And you are?” Lex asked, only mildly intrigued. He wondered just who the child was that managed to be sneak up his men and possible the rest of the Light.

“My name is Marinette,” She answered. “But you and the Light know me as Ladybug. I mean you no harm.”

           Lex narrowed his eyes at her. He could see the resemblance. Ladybug and Marinette had the same stature, the same eye color, and looked to be the same age. Still, it could be a trick.

“Two months ago, I broke into one of your building.” Marinette said. “The break in was the news but LexCorp assured that nothing was taken. That wasn’t true. I took the Cuban cigars out of the safe behind the Rembrandt painting. Please. I merely wish to speak with the Light. Somewhere… not even gods among us can hear.”

           Well, that assured the villain that it wasn’t a trick.  However, for the first time in his life, Lex Luther found himself confused. On one day, Ladybug had been a slowly become a thorn in the Light’s side. On the other hand, the hero had just revealed her identity and now just wanted to talk. About what, Lex yearned to know.

           Lex nodded, “Mercy will check you for weapons. Then you will be escorted inside safely. Whether you leave alive will be up for debate.”

           Marinette sighed in relief and raised her hands. Mercy, who the bluenette tried to figure out whether she was a robot or a cyborg, was very thorough. She even scanned Marinette’s phone for any traces of explosives.

           When it was done Marinette found herself escorted inside, and then found herself a cliché Supervillian lair staring down the greatest supervillains in the world. Ra's al Ghul, Black Manta, Queen Bee, Klarion, Deathstroke, Ocean Master, and their operatives Hugo Strange, Bane, Sports Master, and Cheshire all sat at a large round table. There was four pieces of glass hanging from the ceiling in front of them; monitors, Marinette figured.

And it was clear from the anger on the faces that the bad guys had been informed of exactly who Marinette was.

           It was daunting, to say the least.

“You have our attention, Miss Marinette,” Lex said. “Do not waste it.”

           Marinette nodded, “I have information on the Justice League I thought the Light would be very interested in.”

“Why would a hero do such a thing?”  Ra's al Ghul asked. “Hoping to make a deal? Your information for the return of Chat Noir, perhaps?”

           The leader of the League of Shadows didn’t know why the rumor persevered that the Light kidnapped the Parisian hero. He had confirmed himself that it was highly inaccurate.  

           The bluenette giggled, “Chat Noir no longer exists. He was retired at the same time as Hawkmoth. The Light has never had him. Neither did Cadmus. It was just heavily implied.”

“Yet that didn’t stop you from destroying our labs,” Lex glared. “Ruining missions, capturing my associates. Months of research. Millions of dollars. Gone to hell.”

“You were a tool,” Marinette shrugged. “I used to you get to close to the Justice League. It was never personal.”

           Lex felt eye twitch. He should have Mercy shoot her on principle.

“You’re more annoying than Robin,” Deathstroke shook his head at the moxy of the girl.

“It was just business?” She offered. “I needed a way to make them pay.”

“Just… just business,” Lex pinched his nose. He was going to kill her. “What could you possible offer the Light that would stop us from destroying you and everyone you love?”

           Marinette smirked. She pulled out her phone and hacked into the monitors. Once she was done, and played a video. The villains watched on the screens with old mild interest on their faces. Slowly the interest faded as shock and astonished looks overtook it.

           Lex’s felt his entire body shake. The video had shown undeniable proof that Superman was secretly Clark Kent. It was what he dreams were made of. He could barely stop himself from snatching the phone out of Marinette’s hand and playing it the video over and over again.

           Lex forced himself to calm down. He looked at the bluenette hard. A part of him wanted offer to pay as much money as the girl could want for the video. Another part of him realized if Marinette had been a little older he would’ve proposed.

“Superman’s civilian name is Clark Kent.” Marinette smiled, “I have video proof of nearly every member of the Justice League’s secret identities; along with their sidekicks.”

           The statement was met with silence. Each villain contemplating the ramifications of what such information could mean; not just for them, but for the world.”

“I think that’s worth a little forgiveness,” Marinette slyly added. “What’s few million dollars in damages compared to bringing down the Justice League once and for all.”

           Klarion chuckled, “I suppose some things can be overlooked.”

“Why?” Black Manta asked. “That is what we should be asking. Why betray the heroes?”

“Justice,” Marinette shrugged. “Revenge. I blame them for the death of my father.”

“That’s a good a reason as any,” Cheshire said. Her mask still hid her face.

           Sportsmaster gave his daughter a side look, “You never tried to take down any heroes any of the times you thought I died,” He complained.

“Sorry,” Cheshire shrugged. “I was too busy eating ice cream and getting drunk off my ass; it’s how I usually celebrate.”

“Why come to us?” Ra's al Ghul asked still intrigued.

“Why wouldn’t she?” A new voice rang through the room. Marinette stumbled back in shock. She knew that voice. But that wasn’t possible. Right? “The Light is in her blood.”

           Door opened and in walked bane of nearly every hero in the world, the Founder of the light, Vandal Savage. “You’ve done well, daughter.”

           Her father looked exactly the same as she remember. He was tall, with broad shoulder and square jaw; three pale scars across his face. His hair was longer though, much longer, and was pulled back

           Marinette rushed over to him and threw herself into his arms. He hugged her tightly.

“I thought you were dead,” Marinette whispered. Tears stung her eyes. “Everyone said you were dead.”

           Vandal smiled gently at her, “And you decided to bring down the world’s heroes in my name. I’m truly touched,” He said. “I wasn’t dead but I was close. I got better.”

           The bluenette backed away from her father; realization slowly hit her.

“It’s been months,” Marinette ran a hand through her hair. “You have any idea what I’ve gone through, what I did! You suck! Ugh, I’m telling Mom!”

Sabine Cheng would show Vandal Savage a thing or two once she found out. She was the one who had to dry her daughter’s tears day after day once the news of Savage’s death broke. The Asian woman was possibly only one infamous Vandal Savage was afraid of.

           The others villains watched, entranced by the argument between father and daughter.

“You gallivanted around as hero,” Vandal reminded. “To get close the Justice League; leaving me to wonder if in my absence I had lost my daughter to the so-called forces of good. It turned out all my worrying was for naught.”

“You could’ve called!” Marinette complained. “Wrote. Something to tell me you were alive. Anything.”

“At the time it was best decision.”

           Marinette glared, “You seriously for even one second I’d team up with the Justice League? Really? Me?” She glared. “I’m NEVER talking to you again!”

“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart,” Vandal assured the bluenette. “We can kill Superman together.”

“Actually,” Lex interrupted. “I have dips.”

           Vandal shot him a quick glare.

The teen girl crossed her arms, “Give me one reason I shouldn’t destroy everything I have on the Justice League?” She asked. “And before any of you threatened to kill me. I only brought the Superman video as insurance. I die; you will never get your hands of the rest of them. So again,” She hissed at her father. “Give me one reason I should hand over my Intel to the Light?”

“…Father’s day’s coming up?” Vandal offered.

“Dammit!”

           Marinette stumped over to an empty seat, next to Cheshire, and glared petulantly at the inhabitants of the room. She didn’t care that it made her look like a little kid.

           An awkward silence filled the room.

           Luther took the opportunity to finally start the meeting as it was the reason they were all there. It was long. It dragged on. Even with Marinette’s intelligence on the Justice League. Everything felt like a stuffy board meeting. Nowhere near as exciting as Marinette once imagined it would be.

           The meeting took a short break. Food was brought out. A small buffet. Marinette made herself a plate; she grabbed a fancy steak sandwich, some fruit and chips, and a rather large chocolate cupcake because she freaking deserved it. She thought she was done until her plate was grabbed by her father. He didn’t hesitate to put baked Brussel sprouts provided on her plate.

“Oh come on! No one likes Brussel sprouts,” Marinette complained. “Not even you’re that evil.”

“They’re good for you,” Vandal told his daughter. “And you will eat them.”

“You’re seeing this too, right?” Deathstroke, otherwise known as Slade, asked Bane. “It’s not just me.”

As they ate, the villains shared stories about what they’d been up to. Most just complained about the problems they were having with the Justice League; who fought who, who should they consider for Light membership, and anyone getting on their nerves.

“Some assholes decided to send the wannabe Villain current status moron after me,” Marinette cast a dark look around the room; making it clear she knew they sent the assassin. She didn’t get as much as a single sheepish look. “He kept trying to light me of fire. And then he was accidently pushed off the top of a building, twice.”

Ra's al Ghul nodded at the young girl, “I would like to mention that I have an heir not much younger than you. You would get along quite well, I believe.”

           Marinette narrowed her eyes at Leader of the League of shadows, “Are you seriously trying to get me to date your grandson right now?”

           Al Ghul didn’t answer her.

Marinette took the opportunity to excuse herself from having to come back, “I’m going to explore the island.” And then see if she could escape before her dad caught her.

“I always blew up your boat,” Vandal raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be taking you home myself.”

“You suck!”

“Love you too, sweetpea.”

           Marinette marched out of the room. She’d swim if she had too.

           It turned out she didn’t have to swim. Just hotwire Deathstroke’s ride.

           She got a video call fifteen minutes after taking off.

“Go for Marinette?” She answered cheerfully.

           Vandal Savage’s face appear on the screen, “You stole Slade’s helicopter.”

“Juuussst like you taught me.” Marinette smirked.

[theyearsiturnedintoaghost]

Hello, Is This Thing On?

Hi! (as mentioned above). Do people still use this thing? I have no idea. Years ago, and I do mean YEARS ago, I had one of these. I didn’t use it for much, just reposting things, following humans I’d met in online communities, a ‘celebrity’ here or there, sometimes screaming about shit I couldn’t control into the void that is the endless scrolling interweb, and being pointless in wasting my time between classes, work, and twenty-something. Regardless, my previous tumblr had minimal followers, made minimal impact, and that was okay. It was honestly just a nice place to sort of hide in plain sight. Still be part of a social world without actually having to do much. This was also pre a billion other apps and social media outlets to express yourself or scroll mindlessly at a million other pointless things that people were posting to make you giggle or even just stop for a second and think.  

Clearly, the point of this, back then, felt like something I would use to help propel my writing career. Turns out, it did not. I did not write much, if at all. And most of the time I think it was because I was scared nothing was as good as any of the other stuff I was reading from people I liked, and thought were so much cooler and smarter than me; I still feel this way all of the time, but I do realize this was me being nervous, small minded about myself, and completely unconfident.  

Unfortunately, I am still most of these things a lot of the time, but recently, after getting fired from a job, having my heart broken by pretty much everyone on the planet, especially a few specific people, cancelled by all of my friends (?) - this is a thing btw. (It’s not as awful as being cancelled publicly, but it does still ruin your life, mindset, confidence, and overall physical and mental wellbeing) Getting a new job, hating it and feeling like I was going no where, and missing out on living a life I felt proud of and that I was actively participating in, I decided maybe I should just try to write it all out and see what happens. 

To be frank, I expect nothing of this. I can’t fathom a world where anything I have to say truly matters to people because lets be real - everyone has this own shit and everyone is going through so much all of the time.  And we all think we have something new, quirky, interesting, and important to say.  And in a world that constantly shoves perfection down our throats and works so hard to make each of us feel completely inadequate to every Kardashian, Beyonce, Grande, etc., it’s hard to really think that anything I have to say will matter to anyone; at all. 

(I also hate that all of my ‘perfectionist’ people were female, but maybe it’s harder to compare to Golden Boys when you are a female. Either way, there are many boys/men/theys/thems that are put on a pedestal and made out to be perfect out there, as well, and they deserve that notation as well. I just have no points of reference off the top of my head, so please forgive me; I am trying to do this in a stream of consciousness type thing.)

I mean, the truth is, I’m a fucking mess. I’m 33, single, living at home, afraid of my own shadow most of the time, and spend about 98% of my time alone. I pay for a phone plan that I literally only use to send memes to my two sisters, and that’s about it. I rarely receive texts, invites out, or even calls to make plans for something.  And while a lot of this is my own doing - again, I did cut off most of the world after I realized I was sort of the joke to a lot of people - it’s still kind of pathetic, and entirely uncool.  I am not a socialite, or someone cool and trendy, and to be honest, I kind of never want to be.  

Which is a semi-false statement, because years ago, when I had one of these previously, I sort of hoped it would work out and that I could write and be ‘cool.’ Whatever the fuck that means.  But now, years later, I’m honestly beyond glad I am not cool; not in the slightest. Maybe that’s making it to your 30s? Maybe the trade for having to create a daily routine of lathering up my body with like 9 different versions of FDA-Approved-Vampire-Juice on my skin to prevent me from looking any older than I already do, you in turn get to have a brain that finally realizes... having a ‘normal’ life is honestly pretty cool? Normal is clearly subjective here as everyone is normal, famous, notoriety, or not; They’re all still humans and people with feelings, thoughts, and emotions. This is a hard thing to realize when you see stadiums full of people screaming at Harry Styles (Boom! found a male perfect in this scatterbrain) or hundreds of paparazzi lined up to take photos of every person on a red carpet wearing clothing that costs as much as my student loan debt (Which sidenote, is VERYYYYYY much). It’s hard to fully realize that maybe some of those people who became ‘icons’ never really knew what they were getting into when they signed that deal with the Devil to make them seemingly immortal; especially in a world with the internet where everything can exist forever (or until the world explodes, clearly).  But maybe getting into my 30s and removing myself from most social media outlets, even listening to the news, or caring about whatever fucking popular haircut was in this season (it’s always bangs, and I’ve already made that mistake. No thanks), that I learned to realize - the truly most important people in your life are the ones that stick with you when it’s tough. When getting out of bed is so hard your limbs ache and you cry every morning on your way to work, at your desk behind your computer screen hidden in a corner, or in a bathroom stall during your lunch break. The normalcy that comes with realizing your prayers to ‘just make it to five o’clock,’ are heard and that you are just so thankful for that that you don’t even desire the innate feeling in most of our egos to stand out, be seen, ‘Make it’ in a way that lets people notice we ‘succeeded.’ Maybe this only comes with the realization of how nice it is to go to a grocery store braless and unnoticed. 

Maybe this is also something I, and so many of us in this point and shoot viral world, are trying to still learn. 

Sure, a lot of days I still crave being able to make a perfect Pintrest project, practice my Late Night interview with Letterman where I sound funny, charming, and likeable to all walks of life, or recreate a recipe from the New York Times website so great that The Barefoot Contessa finds out through word of mouth, and comes to my basement hide out, and offers to give me, a fellow barefoot loving bitch, her title and crown along with a glass of wine and a kiss from her husband, Jeffery. We’ll both laugh at how lovely it feels to be Barefoot ladies who understand that wanting ‘fame’ or ‘recognition’ in your twenties is only really a pathway to destruction by your 30s. 

And this is not exactly something that I learned easy.  In fact, I spent most of my twenties destroying my body with drugs - plenty of hard ones - and alcohol - various kinds of the same things - in order to numb my brain from the sadness that is just... being young, lonely, scared, unsure of yourself, and nervous that all of your hopes and expectations for yourself in your ‘dream life’ are too much for what you and your actual self will ever be capable of ever becoming. That I would never become the comedian I dreamed of being, or sing the perfect song in front of a crowd of admirers, or write that best selling book to tell everyone who thought I was nothing they could go fuck themselves. It’s something I still have to remind myself, and my brain and ego, that are most likely things I will never do because those are lottery dreams.  And people you know don’t actually win the lottery. And at the end of the day, I am people you know. And sometimes it breaks my own heart to realize I may never feel that rush of making a crowd laugh, or creating a piece of art that makes someone feel seen, but as Pam, from The Office said, and I am paraphrasing, ‘there is beauty in ordinary things.’ And I think reminding myself of that as I sat on the beach this summer and watched a dad teach his son to surf, and how happy they both were when he got up, gave me that brief feeling of... being okay. I won’t lie, I did cry a little at this realization at that moment, and I am slightly teary now as I write it, but I think I’m not ashamed of that because being normal means I get to feel things as I do, in that moment, and that is something I think I lacked in my desiring-bigger-flashier- twenties; actually being present in the world and your place in it. Even if that is just as small as being kind to a random person on the street.

I think that is why everything I felt I wanted to write never came out correct.  It never came out ‘Perfect.’ And that was my problem for most of my life, even up until today, I’m afraid that I am a perfectionist in the ways that are preventing me from becoming... me. I’m still fearful that I am too late in ever ‘accomplishing’ anything I ever dreamed. I doubt I will ever actually write a book. I’m unsure I’ll ever make a decent living. I am beyond doubtful I am ever going to be loveable to someone whom I also want to love back. And maybe I’m a little scared that I’ll never have a kid, or that if I do have a kid, I’ll never be a decent parent. And I’m still working on breaking the cycle of thinking something has to ‘sound’ or ‘be seen as important’ to be meaningful. There is beauty in the ordinary. I’ve started to make it my mantra. Spoken in my head every time I see a teenage couple holding hands walking in town, a father holding their baby close to his chest, a woman dressed in a power suit striding through an office building or city on their way to make their own careers or push equality further. I’ve started to dream of how actual normalcy makes the real changes. How every 4th grade teacher has a chance to change some kids life.

Clearly, a lot of these personal fears I have about myself not being ‘enough,’ or doing something good enough to become successful at it and build a life out of it, are monotonous fears and privileged middle-class complaints. I’m aware they may not resonate with anyone, anything, or mean much more than just being an online public diary entry to my own meandering thoughts, but, still - I finally felt like I had to try.  

So here it is, the whole truth on how I let myself become a ghost for years. 

I hope someone will stick around while I just... try to explain it all, figure it all out, and hopefully make sense out of even being whatever a human who is hoping to grow even means. Hopefully, something here will resonate with someone else and we can create our own little weirdo corner of the world where we’re not seeking more than just trying to be honest with ourselves and what it means to be human.  Even if that means just posting a recipe for banana bread (thank you Gwen Steffani for keeping me able to spell Banana), reposting random memes about how we all want to scream for 30 seconds and feel better, or sad-girl diary entry posts about how I ruined my own life a million times over.  Oh, and maybe I’ll give you tips on how to stain your wood deck, because I spent my day doing that yesterday and basically, Home Depot is calling me to be in their ADs. 

But at the core of it all, lets be very real, it’s hard to be human in so many ways. And I’m just hoping this connects with anyone. Especially any of us who wished we were different - in any way.

xoxo

-K

[linkspooky]

Pls... your top ten nisioisin characters... i love your lists...

I LOVE TO TALK ABOUT  HOW MUCH I LOVE MY FAVES. IF YOU EVER ASK WANT TO ASK ME WHO MY FAVES ARE FOR A SERIES FEEL FREE TO SEND ME AN ASK.

My favorite thing about Niosisin’s characters is how genuinely subversive they are. Not in the sense that he’s deconstructing tropes, but rather these are characters who would never get their story told in most other books, because they are not good, or righteous. Nisioisin breathes life into them, and allows those who cannot be forgiven, those who are deviant, those who have dropped out of society to still remain human. He tells their stories the same as everybody else, because their lives are just as fun. 

1. Even if I’m hated, Even if I’m Despised - Kumagawa Misogi 

He’s only my favorite character of all time so I’ve talked about him on this blog before, but let me find something new to say. Oh Kumagawa, how do I love thee, let me count the ways. Or maybe it’s Oh Kumagawa, how do I despise thee let me count the ways. 

Kumagawa’s character is so interesting because it’s written in antithesis of everything a shonen protagonist is. For Kumagawa, his determination just makes him fail worse and worse. His desire to be involved and help people always guarantees the worst result for the people he wants to call his friends. His empathy is extremely painful for him, and is a trait that drives him insane rather than making him a kind and loving person. 

A lot of time in manga empathy is like, a magic fix-it-all bandaid that basically makes the main character a saint by being able to emotionally relate to anybody. Kumagawa is the reality of that situation. He is empathic, and by relating so much to the humans around him he shows how ugly, and messy human emotions can really be. Recovery and saving others isn’t necessarily a beautiful thing, it’s complicated and sloppy. 

Kumagawa is a character where getting stronger won’t solve any of his problems. Which is what happens in a lot of shonen manga, rather than trying to emotionally mature the main character will just learn a new fighting technique and develop that way. Instead, Kumagawa winning fights means absolutely nothing. The only thing that can free him is to grow up as a person, and the fact that Kumagawa’s arc is given equal weight to both of the main characters shows how accepting of weirdoes and broken off beat characters Nisioisin is as an author. 

What I like about him is how genuinely broken he is, but not for monstrous reasons but for entirely human ones. It’s his genuine care for others that breaks him the most. He’s a character written to be insane, but also geniunely human. Kumagawa is not able to live properly, or even act like the main character like Zenkichi and Medaka are but he’s still able to find his own way to live. 

2. I don’t feel any reality from you people - Ajimu Najimi 

“Genius who is super good at everything, but is secretly sad and lonely on the inside” is a pretty common Nisioisin trope. It tends to be pretty hit and miss with me, but it also resulted in one of my favorite characters of all time. I tend to like these types of characters more when they’re allowed to be… what’s the word… unlikable. When the story isn’t trying to go on about how cool they are.

The reason why I love Ajimu is because she is just like Kumagawa, a subversion of the character you expect her to be. The same way Kumagawa suverts Zenkichi in a way, Ajimu subverts Medaka. The same way that Medaka is all loving, Ajimu is indifferent to absolutely everything. The reason she’s able to be kind to everyone around her is because she genuinely doesn’t care about you. Her real personality when not being apathetic, is to just be downright nasty and look down on absolutely everything. 

She’s completely self absorbed because according to Ajimu she’s the only one who exists in the universe. She’s the only one she knows for sure is real. The opposite of Kumagawa, a character entirely lacking in empathy, not even thinking of herself as human in any sense of the word. Ajimu acts like she knows everything in the story like she’s reading off of the script, but that’s because she literally thinks that everything in this world is fiction and she’s literally breaking the fourth wall.

And my favorite part about Ajimu is that the story doesn’t glorify her meta fourth wall shenanigans. She’s not treated as someone who sees through everything in the end. She’s just pathetic, and suicidal, and dragging everybody else along into her trillion year long self pity party. She’s more of a human failure than someone who can’t possibly empathize with humans, and that’s why I love her. 

3. There ain’t no meaning, got it? - Ii (Boku) 

Ii-chan is the narrator of Nisioisin’s first ever series, Zaregoto (Lit. Nonsense). It’s not really until the second book you get a grasp of his character, but Strangulation Romanticist does such an excellent job of setting up who he is as a person. This is another one of Nisioisin’s character types (narrator who feels ennui, and really, really doesn’t want to be a person). 

What’s great about Iichan is that he is special in a way. Just like he’s described in the books, when he’s thrown into situations everything goes a little bit crazy. He always gets dragged into mysteries, and has people die around him even though he tries to stay as uninvolved with people as possible. He’s actually a great look at what a character constantly caught up in murder mysteries like the main character of a detective novel would actually act like. He has this deep rambling narration that sways between nihilism and existentialism that makes him a really unique character to read about.

But at the same time Iichan is also kind of a normal dude. And I don’t mean in the sense that he’s an everyman, or has no personality, but he kind of just feels like one. The great twist of No Longer Human is that Yozo isn’t some inhuman monster, he’s just kind of a normal guy who drowns out his misery by taking advantage of women. Like, it’s not all that uncommon. The same thing with Iichan, as poetic as he gets he’s kind of a very petty person and most of his flaws are very mundane ones. 

It’s basically very hard to care about other people in this world. Ii-chan doesn’t want to at all, he just wants to have all of his emotional needs fulfilled by the friend he both infantilizes and puts on a pedestal. He’s just super clingy about the one relationship he has in life, because he’s afraid of losing it, but he’s also afraid of being close to her. Ii-chan is just kind of a normal person reacting badly to trauma, but he presents himself as such a mystery that most people lose sight of that (in story). He’s kind of just petty and annoying, and that’s why I love him. 

4. No Longer Human - Hitoshiki Zerozaki

Zerozaki is Iichan’s greatest character foil. Basically the best way to describe it is Zerozaki is Mersault. The flip that is switched on for everyone that prevents them from killing someone when the idea crosses their mind is turned off for Zerozaki, and so he kills. He doesn’t enjoy it, he doesn’t have a particular reason to it, he just can’t overcome his impulse to kill. If Ii-chan is restrained, then Zerozaki never restrains any of his impulses at all and lives following only those. 

Once again this is another common Nisioisin character archetype “A murder, but they’re sad and lonely.” What I like about Hitoshiki is how much of a deviant he is to that archetype. 

He wants a friend and somebody who understands him, but at the same time he hates himself so he doesn’t want anybody too close. He lives in a family of murderers and he’s somehow the rebellious child of the family. He’s constantly running away and wandering from place to place. What makes Zerozaki interesting is how self aware he is about all of this too. He rambles his thoughts and will just be like “Yeah, so anyway that’s totally fucked up (LOL).” 

 5. Is your life dramatic - Kaiki Deishuu

Kaiki is a character who I admire for his philosophy above all else. He’s another one of those “deviant” characters like Kumagawa who would just be a villain to be defeated in any other narrative, but in this one he gets fully fleshed out as a character. 

What’s interesting about Kaiki is that he chooses exactly the way he lives. He decides to be a villain. Kaiki at some point sees through most of the lies of the people around them, and for how meaningless the things that you are told have value can be. He hates holding onto ideas like those.

But that doesn’t mean that Kaiki rejects everything. He doesn’t claim to see above society, or that he’s not a part of society. Rather, Kaiki just uses that awareness to realize he can give meaning to whatever he personally finds meaningful. Because it’s all meaningless anyway, as a human being he can create his own meaning. 

So his want of money is not just simple greed, it’s what he’s decided to live for. Kaiki is an adult who willingly chose to become a conman because he finds that’s his place in society. He just doesn’t trust himself enough to be kind despite feeling the same desire to save others, so he decided to lie to them and trick them instead. 

6. “I don’t know anything, you’re the one who knows” Oshino Ougi

Ougi is just interesting conceptually. They are literally Araragi’s own shadow, running away from him and given form and consciousness of their own. While Ougi themselves works as a common Jungian shadow archetype calling characters out for what they are repressing and also revealing the bare faced truth to them, which is why they are so heavily associated with mirrors, lights, and shadows. 

My favorite part about Ougi however is not their connection to Araragi. It’s when Ougi starts to become their own character. An oddity with consciousness that begins to deviate from what they were made for, because they were allowed to live on their own.

Ougi did not become a fave of mine until Zoku because that was when they started to self reflect and realize their own strange existence separate to Araragi. The conversation scene with Araragi is one of my favorite in the whole series because it shows how Ougi is just a genuine tease, and a very clever and insightful person. That’s who they are, outside of just being an oddity that exists to criticize others and call out flaws. They’re ridiculous, and a little strange, and they enjoy screwing with other’s heads and messing around a bit too much. But Ougi Oshino is Ougi Oshino. 

It’s just an interesting concept, to have to define who you are as a person when you were created out of all of the unwanted qualities, and insecurities of another person. 

7. Why are you touching me without permission, you weed - Yasuri Nanami

Nanami is another one of those “I’m a genius and I’m good at everything but I’m secretly sad” characters, and once again what I love about her is how unlikable she’s allowed to be. None of what Nanami is capable of comes off as cool for very long. She’s basically framed and treated as a horror movie monster, always speaking in the same monotone voice. The one story that shows her true nature in chapter four is literally, paced, framed, exactly like a slasher movie with characters being hunted down and killed one by one. 

Nanami’s just this horrible wretched existence that doesn’t even want to be alive. She basically acts like frankenstein’s monster, ie, the one in the book. She’s just this corpse that is barely even alive in the first place, constantly sick and in pain, and she’s also at war with herself. The part of her that wants to die and the part of her that’s lonely and wants to find some reason to live, or some connection in life are constantly at war with each other. 

And as horrifying as Nanami is she also feels like the most human of Niosisin’s, super-genius characters. She’s riddled with weaknesses and flaws. She lashes out when he’s in pain, she felt bad when her parents told her to die. You get the sense that Nanami’s super genius isn’t what drove her insane at all, it was just how everybody around her treated her as some thing that was not human. Isolation made her this way. She was conditioned to act this way not born inhuman. There are characters that Nisioisin writes that are genuine sociopaths (as in the trope of an unfeeling person unable to feel human emotions), but Nanami is not one of them and so when she starts acting with sociopathic-traits in her personality it makes her all the more painfully human because we see how she’s been driven slowly to act this way. 

7. *Yawns* Nezumi

Juuni Taisen is one of those death game stories where every character is defined by their one gimmick and written around their concept. In the original novel each character really only gets one chapter to be fleshed out as a character. I half suspect Nisioisin wrote it as a dare to himself on how much he could accomplish with one chapter.

The interesting part about Nezumi is his concept again. He can redo anything 100 times. You think this would make him amazing at anything in life because of his time loop ability, but physically having to live through all of those time loops exhausts him to the point that he’s too tired to do anything. You would think he could get anything he wanted out of life, but there are times he can ask a girl out one hundred times and get rejected one hundred different ways. 

Nezumi is interesting because of how quietly he lives. There’s nothing he really wants out of life, and nothing he wishes for, like a rat he just scurries and survives. 

9. I am currently being accused by everyone - Kakushidate Yakusuke

The same as Iichan and Kumagawa, Yakusuke is a guy who is just cursed by constant bad luck. What I like about Yakusuke is that he’s a full fleshed out character, instead of just an unlucky every dude protagonist.

He’s a contract worker who is constantly shifting between jobs. Due to this fact he’s got like 1,000 skills that he gained on his various jobs. He’s not smart, but because he’s experienced so much of life he’s incredibly resourceful. Which is why he makes a perfect counterpart and foil to Okitegami.

Yakusuke’s everyday life is him constantly being accused and blamed, and falling from one bad situation to the next. But, he has so much experiences that it’s what draws Okitegami to him who can only ever experience one day at a time because her memories will reset at the end of the day. He’s exactly my type of man, a total failure at all walks of life.

10. This is your last chance, let me make you happy! - Kugi Kizutaka

He’s so low on the list because his story “Magical Girl Ritsuka” only has one chapter published in english, but he’s so interesting he instantly became a fave. He’s actually a concept i have been looking for for a long time, which is basically what I describe as “Reverse Junko Enoshima.” 

Basically someone as smart and manipulative as Junko Enoshima, who can make anybody into their toy, and predict things years in advance and control everything, but instead of using that power to send the world to despair, they use that power to give the world hope instead. Not out of any genuine good will or because they’re a good person, but because they’re obsessed with the idea of giving people happiness the same way Junko is with sending people to despair. 

Kugi is a lot like that. He’s a genius ten year old who sees everybody for their potential to be used, and looks down on absolutely everyone around him. He’s made contact with a magical girl, because he’s pretty clearly planning on using her to enslave the world to him, so he can force everybody to be happy. And it’s absolutely adorable. He’s just such a genuine terrible little person while at the same time wanting to make everyone happy. 

[possiblyimbiassed]

What happened to Sherlock? Part VIII - The Sign of the Hetero Norm (1)

Why does Mary Morstan play such a prominent role in BBC Sherlock? 

I’m surely not the only one asking myself this; while she’s barely mentioned in canon after marrying Watson, she’s all over the place from TEH and onwards in Mofftiss’ adaptation. And when I recently read this excellent fic by @discordantwords, a couple of things dawned on me, that I think have been brewing in my mind for quite some time. Which brings me to the long promised continuation of my marathon meta series about what I think we’re actually seeing in this show. Because the entire point of Mary Morstan seems to be to prevent Sherlock and John from getting together in a romantic relationship - a story of hetero norm. This eighth installment will explore the ‘case’ of little Rosie, and the role she and her mother plays in this show. 

This far I’ve published an intro and seven installments, each with corresponding attempts to test my hypotheses:

Introduction - The game is on (explains the method of analysis) Part I - Blog vs TV-show Part II - Re-living memories Part III - Drugs and weirdness Part IV – Heartbreak and coma (1) Part IV – Heartbreak and coma (2) Part V – Bizarre scenarios Part VI - Live and let die (1) Part VI - Live and let die (2)

Part VII - The Importance of Being Earnest (1) 

Part VII - The Importance of Being Earnest (2)

This installment will also be parted in two, and the second half can be found here (X). Many of the screen caps from BBC Sherlock in this meta are from Kissthemgoodbye.net - thanks! And thanks also to Ariane DeVere for the incredibly useful transcripts!

My next hypotheses is, in and off itself, a clear and straightforward prediction that can be explicitly verified or falsified once we finally get to S5, so it will be extra fun to see what happens with it in future: 

Hypothesis #8: John is not the father of Mary’s baby

(Disclaimer: My suspicion here only concerns John’s biological offspring. It would still be possible that John, and perhaps also Sherlock, might father the child - if it exists - by adoption. It does not exclude a metaphorical reading where the baby represents, for example, Sherlock’s and John’s relationship. I also want to stress that this hypothesis is an attempt at logical reasoning based on observations in the show and in ACD canon; it’s not meant to be ‘gossipy’ and has nothing to do with whether I would actually like to see this happen or not - that’s a whole other story. ;) )  

This hypothesis has been brewing in my mind for quite some time now, but I don’t think it’s just a hunch; there are actually a series of reasons that have made me come to this conclusion. 

(Continued under the cut)

But first of all: can we debunk my hypothesis at this stage in the story, by testing it ‘scientifically’? Well, not really, since the show doesn’t provide any reliable evidence that confirms John as Rosie’s biological father. Not even IRL would this have been possible without a DNA-test (or without physical circumstances that would have made any other option impossible). And the only thing that the show tells us about human DNA-tests is that not even this procedure is 100% reliable, as shown in ASIB:

JOHN: You were dead on a slab. It was definitely you. IRENE: DNA-tests are only as good as the records you keep. JOHN: And I bet you know the record-keeper. IRENE: I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear.

DNA is brought up in TGG (Ian Monkford’s blood) and again in TST (the identification of Charlie Wellsborough’s body), but since John’s fatherhood is never questioned in the show, little Rosie is never tested, as far as we know. The remaining evidence that speaks for John being the father is circumstantial: that John and Mary obviously must have been living together at the approximate time of conception. And that they both act as if they’re both Rosie’s parents.

So I guess that in order to get any further with this, I’ll have to start at the other end, analysing the characters and see if I can find evidence that support my hypothesis - on a textual level as well as metaphorically and on the meta level. 

Mary’s function in the story

I think we can safely say that Mary is the most controversial character of BBC Sherlock. Some viewers love her, others hate her, but I can’t recall anyone claiming to feel indifferent towards her. Mofftiss have indeed managed to push forward a character who is hardly even visible in canon, once she’s married to Watson. In BBC Sherlock, however, Mary totally dominates the show from HLV and onwards. Her appearances may have been increasing in numbers and length already from her introduction in TEH. But from the point where John wakes up in HLV, there isn’t a single case where she’s not somehow involved. Up until TFP, everything is about ’Mary’. And even then, once we might have believed we’d got rid of the ghost of this hijacking protagonist, she comes back, only to once again take over the narrative with a weird and basically inexplicable voiceover. She seems like some kind of obsession; a brain ghost stuck on someone’s mind.

This is rather different from ACD canon, where Mary Morstan has extremely few lines as soon as she’s no longer a client, but Watson’s wife. Personally I find it hard to see the lovable aspect of this character in BBC Sherlock, since she constantly shifts appearance, behaviour and motivation; it’s almost impossible to pin down who she actually is. Which makes me convinced that Mary is not meant to be a real, believable character that we can relate to as such - at least not all the time. And maybe that goes for canon as well.

But what then is the purpose of her, what’s Mary’s actual function in the narrative, looking at the subtext? I think there’s basically three of them, and by no means mutually exclusive:

1. Mary is a metaphor for heteronormativity and its power over people when they internalise it

2. Mary is a façade or ‘beard’, where a straight marriage is established to cover up a story of a gay relationship

3. Mary is a mirror for Sherlock; by substituting himself with a female spouse for John, Sherlock can be with John ‘by proxy’, trying to figure out John without having to face his own real problem: reveal his emotions and risk failure.

As soon as Mary firmly puts her foot in the show, it all becomes a spectacle, a demonstration of how to keep up a straight facade at any cost. After TSoT, no-one ever assumes John and Sherlock are a romantic couple; Mary is the ultimate ’proof’ that John is indeed straight. Which is of course illogical, because why would a bi person stop being it because they married someone, no matter of which sex? Mary admits it herself by telling Sherlock that ”neither of us was the first, you know”. And Sherlock complains that John is dancing around Sholto ”like a puppet” even after the wedding ceremony. But in all the episodes after TSoT, John is happily freed from people’s assumptions regarding his sexual orientation. Gone are all the gay jokes, and John Watson is miraculously ‘cured’. 

I think this is perfectly illustrated in the fic by @discordantwords​ that I mentioned above. The plot follows logically on TFP, as things would be if everything we’ve seen from HLV and onwards is actually meant to be ‘true’. Mary is now dead and John lives alone with little Rosie. For a case, in order to get close to the suspects, Sherlock is planning to fake his own wedding with Janine Hawkins, and John is feeling jealous and excluded – especially when he finds out that one of the murders that Sherlock is investigating had involved a wedding of a gay couple:

"Why all of this, then?" he asked. He tipped his head towards the kitchen, where Janine was fiddling with the kettle. "I could have just—wouldn't it have been easier for us to just—?"

"You're not gay," Sherlock said.

"Well," John paused. "No." He cleared his throat, looked back at the wall. "But everyone already thinks we're a couple. Wouldn't be that much of a stretch, really. For a case."

"No one has thought that for quite some time."

This fanfic rings perfectly true to me, considering S4 on the surface level; John and Sherlock appearing as a couple wouldn’t work after John’s own wedding in TSoT. Because gone is now every allusion to John being anything else than straight. Gone is also John’s admiration for Sherlock; from HLV and on, he hardly ever even speaks about Sherlock in a positive way. (Which also makes me wonder: was ‘The Fall’ also about Sherlock feeling he had fallen from John’s pedestal of admiration?). For the rest of the show, it’s only Sherlock whom we see suffering from (presumably) gay pining. It’s only in Sherlock’s Victorian imagination that Moriarty tells them to ’elope’ together, while John in TLD is shown to be exclusively fixed on his dead wife. 

On the surface, Sherlock seems to support John’s relationship with Mary, while I’m sure he is actually suffering deeply. But I think, metaphorically, that Sherlock is acting like some kind of self-sacrificing Christ figure. (Don’t forget Irene’s words from ASiB: “I think you’re damaged, delusional and believe in a higher power. In your case, it’s yourself”). He bears the ‘cross’ of torture by seeing John with someone else, until he can’t stand it any more and trashes himself on drugs. This is what we see at the beginning of TEH, John holding hands with a woman in front of Sherlock’s grave:

Why can’t we see Mary’s face already here? I think it’s because this is from Sherlock’s POV; he’s either seeing or imagining them from behind. She might have a hidden face but a familiar shape because by the time Sherlock is recalling this, he already knows what Mary looks like. But at this point in time, maybe he didn’t? In any case, it must be devastating for Sherlock to see or imagine John with someone else, when he should be there to mourn him, Sherlock. 

Thinking about John with Mary, Sherlock can’t even sleep. He is tortured on a cross and dies for all our ’sins’, doesn’t he? On the meta level Sherlock Holmes sacrifices his life, he extinguishes his true self, in the name of heteronormativity. So that John can have his straight marriage, even if it’s dysfunctional. But our worst ’sin’ as an audience, I believe - our ultimate mistake - is to buy into this narrative without questioning it. That’s literally letting the hetero norm rule.

King David the Adulterer

Mary’s ex-boyfriend David is introduced in TSoT, but after this episode he never shows up again. But this seems very random to me; why is David even there, and why is he depicted as some kind of rival to John? What is his narrative purpose? David is often blurred out in the scenes, but he is definitely present during the whole wedding reception, where his role is to be an usher (showing people their places/seats). David gives the impression to be single, since he attends Mary’s wedding without any partner as company.

Sherlock, who meets David alone at 221B during the wedding planning, deduces that he still seems to have an intimate relationship with Mary. Only recently I discovered this meta from 2014 called The Baby Problem by @abitnotgood​, which brings up pretty much exactly the same suspicions I have had for quite some time now. The main points are the following:

Mary was dating David for 2 of the totally 5 years she had been undercover with the false name Mary.

They’re still close enough friends for David to attend the wedding, which might indicate their breakup was unwanted from one or both parts.

Mary’s reactions during the wedding reception indicates that she still cares for David.

Sherlock finds out that David has “offered to be her shoulder to cry on no less than three occasions.” 

David sits at the same table as most other major characters, which indicates that he’s important.

David doesn’t look particularly happy while toasting for the bride and groom.

To these I could also add that Sherlock gets so suspicious about David that he threatens him with keeping a close eye on his whereabouts with Mary. From a story telling POV, when a character is suspected by the main character who is a genius detective, there should actually be some reason for this - shouldn’t it?

So who is David? Does he appear anywhere in canon? I actually think he does. In ACD’s short story The Crooked Man (CROO), the name David plays a symbolical role. The story is about a (supposed) murder of a middle-aged military officer, colonel James Barclay. It’s a classical Sherlock Holmes mystery with a door locked from the inside and the key missing. The death seems to originate from a domestic quarrel between the colonel and his wife. (Which is particularly interesting considering the Watsons’ ‘domestic’ in HLV). 

Turns out the colonel died of fright when he saw his old rival Henry Wood, whom he had betrayed in the war and deliberately left to be captured by the enemy. Henry was repeatedly tortured and crippled and held prisoner for many years, until he could escape back to London and a coincidence brought his old love interest in his way, who was now married to the colonel. (Hmm... tortured by the enemy. Been away. Love interest married. Does this seem like anyone we know? ;) ). Henry was “the crooked man” of the story, who was bereft of his loved one because of James. 

But the name David was mystically uttered by Colonel Barclay’s wife while quarreling with her husband - why? Holmes claimed it was a biblical reference to the drama of king David, Batsheba and Uriah. King David committed adultery with the beautiful Bathsheba, who was married to his soldier Uriah. Bathsheba got pregnant after sleeping with David, while Uriah was out fighting a war. David tried to cover up that fact by sending Uriah home, but Uriah refused to leave his comrades. Then David betrayed his rival Uriah the same way James betrayed Henry: by deliberately leaving him exposed to the enemy. The only difference was that Uriah died on the battlefield, while Henry was caught and crippled. Which leads us almost inevitably to Captain John Watson - he is a soldier who was crippled by the enemy too, wasn’t he? ;)

What about Rosie?

Although Mary is dominating the show from TEH and forwards, John’s and Mary’s daughter - little Rosie - is subjected to the opposite treatment; she has very little screen time, and we never learn about a single character trait of hers. In ACD canon the Watsons never had a child, as far as I know. And – even in Victorian times – I believe it would have seemed strange with the Doctor spending so much of his free time (besides work) together with Holmes, obviously neglecting his family duties. So since Mofftiss have introduced a totally new ingredient to their adaptation - a time-consuming baby - one would think this has to have a clear purpose, right? I would have expected Rosie to play a part of her own, someone the audience could relate to just like the other characters, if only still a baby. 

But instead, Rosie is seen most of all as an obstacle. Mary is balancing her while discussing a case with Sherlock. Rosie is handed over to John like a sack of potatoes when the family goes on to solve a case with Sherlock; she doesn’t make a sound and we don’t even see her little face. We see John change Rosie’s diaper once (basically to show that he has a toy daisy behind his ear, which is apparently a good flirting device), and then we see Sherlock trying to babysit her at 221B, getting hit in the eye by her toy. We also hear her cry in the background once, and see Molly hold her once. And that’s about it. 

When Sherlock texts them from the London Aquarium at the end of TST, Mary and John debate which of them is going to have to stay with the baby, but finally both of them show up at the Aquarium – without Rosie. And this happens not long after Mary has taken a ‘little trip’ around Eurasia ending up in Morocco and John and Sherlock going after her – little Rosie staying at home. Which means weeks without any of her parents. If S4 were real, I’d feel truly sorry for little Rosie.

In TLD, Rosie is more absent than her dead mother! While Mary haunts the episode, all we hear about the baby is John’s tremendous guilt for neglecting and abandoning her (which he manages to do completely). John does seem to have enough spare time and energy to go on another case with Sherlock, though, in the middle of his therapy session. At the end of TLD, all is supposedly fine again with Rosie (until John gets shot with a tranquiliser), but we never get to see it. But then in TFP John goes on a long journey with Sherlock to a far away island, and not a word about Rosie. She’s not even present when John receives Mary’s DVD at home. At the end she’s suddenly there again, though, without any comment. 

Based on this, it doesn’t seem farfetched to ask if this little character is even supposed to be real. There’s a subtle hint in TLD which could point in this skeptic direction: 

Sherlock: “And, of course, I hadn’t really anticipated that I’d hallucinated meeting his daughter.” “Still a bit troubled by the daughter. Did seem very real, and she gave me information I couldn’t have acquired elsewhere.” 

John: “But she wasn’t ever here?”

An earlier quote from TGG could also question John’s fatherhood: ”Of course he’s not the boy’s father - look at the turnups on his jeans!” (Sherlock while watching telly with John in TGG, right after the fourth ‘pip’).

And - of course - if S4 is all imaginary, only happening in Sherlock’s head, Rosie would probably not even have been born yet. 

There are also some more subtle hints about Rosie’s narrative function: John’s guilt about cheating on Mary in TLD is connected to the baby. John specifically mentions that he was “cheating” on Mary while she was taking care of Rosie: JOHN (to Ghost!Mary): “We texted constantly. You wanna know when? Every time you left the room, that’s when.  When you were feeding our daughter; when you were stopping her from crying – that’s when.” This does make the (otherwise rather exaggerated) texting affair sound a bit more damning for John, doesn’t it? ;)  If this is all taking place inside Sherlock’s head, it might rather reflect one of Sherlock’s (possibly) major excuses to himself for not confessing his true feelings to John; it might (once the baby is born) disrupt a whole family and affect an innocent little child.

John and Mary’s relationship

The other day I took to re-watch this little piece of extra material from S4: statements by Martin Freeman and Amanda Abbington about John’s and Mary’s relationship (X). Every time I see this video I’m just laughing so hard. Please don’t miss how Martin is struggling to keep a straight face without smiling, after claiming “they’ve been through stuff already in S3 that would test any couple.” (Yep. Like the discovery that Mary is actually a contract killer who shot his best friend and hasn’t even revealed her real name to John). Or how Amanda avoids looking at the camera when she’s lying talking about Mary’s feelings towards John, closing her eyes and shaking her head. Great acting! :)

I mean, this cannot even be intended to fool anyone; I think this is meant to signal to the audience that the marriage we’re seeing is a dishonest, superficial construction made up of empty words. It’s very similar to the scene in HLV where Sherlock tells John about his ‘relationship’ with Janine. Platitudes like “we’re in a good place” are not only included, but also called out in the very same dialogue. John: “You got that from a book!”  Sherlock: “Everyone got that from a book!”. In the video clip, overly sweet violin music is playing when Martin and Amanda talk about their characters’ supposed deep love for each other, but this is mixed up with sitcom-like scenes where this love is made very hard to believe in, like Mary about to give birth in the car and roaring to her husband to pull over, or John telling Mary that he simply intends to forget about a recent past where she very nearly murdered his best friend.  

John’s marriage actually seems terrible from start; he can’t even keep himself off Sherlock’s blog comments during his own honeymoon. Which I believe is canon consistent; in ACD’s stories Mary Morstan even encourages Watson to never leave Holmes’ side. And the bad marriage is also confirmed in HLV by Wiggins’ and Sherlock’s deductions about John’s cycling to work and keeping his shirts ‘folded and ready to leave’ at any moment.

But what’s Mary’s position in this? Let’s say, as a mental experiment, that she knows from start about John’s feelings for Sherlock. Why would she want to be together with, and even go on to marry, a man who is obviously in love with someone else? Well, while I don’t buy the facade-climbing Ninja!Mary who tries to kill Sherlock in HLV, she could still be dishonest in her approach to John. She could still be on some sort of mission related to Sherlock, where her role simply is to get in between John and Sherlock, while she actually is together with someone else (and even carrying that someone’s child). Her aim could be to hurt Sherlock as much as possible, for a specific reason. 

As far as I see in TEH, Mary seems suspiciously eager to befriend Sherlock. Instead of behaving like one would expect from someone in love who just got their special moment ruined by a rival; with anger or at least annoyance, and of course supporting the beloved - Mary immediately sides with Sherlock.

And she seems to side with him most of all on an intellectual level, taking part in his explanations of how he managed to fake his death.

“Oh, he would have needed a confidant...”

So - what can we deduce about Mary?

If everything we see in the show after TSoT only has happened inside Sherlock’s head (as I’ve tried to make a case for in this meta series), from this follows logically that in Sherlock’s ‘reality’, there is no Assasin!Mary, no SecretAgent!Mary, no Martyr!Mary and - of course - no Ghost!Mary. Because up until the wedding, Mary seemed to be just an ordinary woman. The character’s appearance from HLV and onwards would all be fabrications of Sherlock’s drug-influenced mind, albeit loaded with a lot of metaphorical meaning from his subconscious. 

But Mary still seems to exist on some level, doesn’t she? She is referred to by John on his blog, talked about by other people on the blog (including Sherlock), and she even makes comments on it on no less than ten occasions. On the blog, John is clear about getting married to Mary. And after Sherlock’s final blog post ‘The Sign of Three’, it also gets obvious that Mary is now pregnant. 

And – most importantly – if S4 is all-fake, this also means that in Sherlock’s ‘reality’, Mary’s drama-loaded death in TST never happened. Mary is still alive! So if Mary is a ‘façade’, a ‘beard’ and/or a mirror for Sherlock on a meta- and sub-textual level, who is she on the textual level? Well, I think there are some clues in the show, and also a lot of subtext material in ACD canon to draw from, which might have been developed into actual story line in the show.  

And this will bring us to the second half of this meta, which you can find here (X).

Tagging some people who might be interested: @raggedyblue​ @ebaeschnbliah​ @sarahthecoat​ @gosherlocked​ @loveismyrevolution​ @sagestreet​​ @tjlcisthenewsexy​​ @elldotsee​​ @88thparallel​​ @devoursjohnlock​​ @sherlock-overflow-error​​ @yeah-oh-shit​

[sarahmariepoet]

I don't know how much I can stress this. The importance of properly addressing transgender people saves lives. Addressing someone by their chosen name is not only respectful but helps to validate who they are and how they feel. This is why it's so important and why, especially in the workplace, is both required and needed.

I've had both managers and coworkers address me as my deadname and, while I have done my best to address it, the accidents and slip ups continued to a point where I had enough. I went to my managers, to HR, and did everything I possibly could.

Transferring was brought up as an option but, as I recently mentioned to HR, trying to get the person being victimized to leave is neither fair nor right and their behavior cost the company an employee that did their job well.

There were things I could have done better, yes, but I'm not perfect. Neither are those people that made mistakes. This is true. The problem is though that people want to put me and others like me on this pedestal but forget that we're human beings. All I ever wanted was to be treated like a normal human woman. That's it.

Compliment me on my hair, tell me my necklace is beautiful, get to know me as a person, don't tell me I'm brave and admire me from afar. I'm not brave. I'm a normal human woman with faults and issues.

A year ago I was suicidal. A year ago I made a decision that was both the best and worst decision I could have ever made. I made the decision to be myself regardless of consequences. The sad truth is that it cost me family, friendships, and my job. Now, it wasn't all at once. It wasn't even always obvious but it happened.

For family, some backed away and others came closer. For friendships, I lost many and gained some but, more often then not, people circled but didn't stay. For my job, I wasn't fired, which is good, but I had to find another job.

I spoke with HR. I mentioned all that I have said here. I can only hope that they learn from the mistakes. I can only hope that the next transgender person is treated with more respect and actually accepted.

I'm not strong. I'm not invincible. I'm a human being with faults, just like everyone else. I'm allowed to have emotions. I'm allowed to have attitudes. Just like everyone else. People at work seemed to forget that. If I was too emotional, I scared them and they didn't know what to do.

My bosses and some coworkers didn't know how to treat me if they saw me crying. There were times I would come out of a stall clearly upset and no one asked if I was okay. If I displayed emotion, I was told not to be emotional or sad. If I displayed that I was upset by those comments, I scared the person because of it.

If I, in anyway, displayed a desire to get to know others on a personal level I was pushed aside. I wasn't perfect though. I made mistakes. I followed and listened to people I shouldn't have. I made mistakes with money. I didn't do everything I was supposed to do. I wasn't perfect. I was human. My mistakes though were pointed out more closely as if I was held to a higher standard. This pedestal I was forcefully placed upon began to crumble.

I was asked if I would ever get surgery. I was asked if I would keep my penis or not. I was asked very personal and inappropriate questions. I said nothing. I was misgendered. I said very little. I was deadnamed. I drew a line. I was treated as if I overreacted. How dare I go to HR. How dare I have a limit. How dare I say enough. How dare I want to be treated as a human being.

My training was constantly put to the side for others. People would stop talking to me only to run and talk to others. I was treated like a pariah. I wasn't perfect. I never claimed to be. They began to treat me like I was dumb. As if I didn't know anything. "Don't forget to do this" "You need to do this." I said something. It got worse.

I was misgendered and compared to myself. "Hi [deadname]" "When you were [deadname], you never used to make this mistake." and yet my mistakes continued to be pointed out. Over and over and over. As if I needed to be better. As if I wasn't good enough.

And so, I took notes. Was I crazy? Was I making things up? I began to wonder. Maybe it was all in my mind. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought it was. Maybe it was getting better and I didn't realize it. And so, I kept notes. And then people found out. Oh no, she's taking notes! Maybe we should talk to her about why she's taking notes? Maybe we should address and prevent the reason she's taking notes. No. The reason for the notes was never addressed.

I had to go to HR. I had to approach coworkers. I had to approach management. Not once did anyone approach me first unless it was to ask very personal questions. When are you getting surgery? Are you chopping your dick off or keeping it? [not how it works]. Are you dating anyone? Who are you attracted to?

The few times I was asked if I was okay were fleetingly scarce and those that did care quickly became less and less. It got to a point where, if someone did care, I wondered if they were being real or not. Being deadnamed increased with each passing moment. Still, I didn't report everyone. But it didn't matter. I was keeping notes and people found out. How dare I keep notes. How dare I tell HR the very few times I did. How dare I request to be treated like a human. How dare I.

How dare I be quiet. How dare I speak up. How dare I have bad days. How could I possibly be emotional? How could I say don't call me by my deadname? It was on a screen someone just read. I can't expect someone to do better. I can't expect someone to mentally translate a word from one to another and I certainly can't expect them to treat me with the same respect I gave them. Right?

In the end, I gave notice to the job and am working as close to two weeks as possible. I'm being professional, even if no one else is. I'm doing the best I can in a tough situation. I never asked for people to put me on a pedestal. I never asked for people to treat me differently. I never asked for people to ask me personal and invading questions. I only wanted people to treat me as a woman. That's it. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less. A human woman with feelings and emotions that are valid and right to have.

There are days I went into work and cried. If I went to the bathroom, I was probably crying. I was crying because I was emotional and alone. I was crying because no one really cared. I had no real friends at work. Not that anyone needed to be my friend of course. As a manager told me, they can't force people to be my friends.

I think what really pushed me over the edge though was being told that I had to be patient about moving up and that promoting me right now wouldn't be a good idea and wouldn't do me any favors and that it would take time. Training stalled though and got pushed to the side. I got pushed to the side. If I couldn't move up and wasn't a part of the team, constantly looking in from the outside, then why would I stay? What was the point.

Why remain somewhere I'm not wanted. And so, I applied elsewhere. I got the job. I got the job! And so I put my notice in. And what was I expecting? Some I told were sad. Some were happy but tried to hide it. One person kept calling me man while saying how they'd miss me. All in all a typical day. I can only hope it gets better.

And so, I talked with HR after noticing they were there, someone higher then who I normally spoke with. Maybe they can make things better. I don't know and, truthfully, it doesn't matter for me. I'm already out. They made sure of that when deadnaming me was put down to accidents. Accidents hurt. Accidents matter.

It's easy to do the bare minimal like changing name tags or my name in some systems. It's harder to admit mistakes and say you were wrong. Using the excuse of seeing my legal name is wrong and a cheap and easy excuse. I tried to explain why it hurt. I tried to explain dysphoria but I was told to just be patient and things would change. As usual, I was treated as if I was overreacting. Some said it outright, others said as much through words and actions.

If I dared to complain, I was wrong. If I dared to be quiet, I was wrong. I'm not perfect though. I don't always know what to say or how to say it. In fact, I'm human. I make mistakes. I'll probably make more today and tomorrow. Mistakes happen. Accidents happen. But what happens when they continue to happen over and over and over and over again?

When is enough, enough? When can we no longer give another chance. That's the question, isn't it? And truth be told, I don't know. I do know that I did my best to express how I felt and what I needed but it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I wasn't enough to respect and call Sarah. I wasn't enough to befriend. I wasn't enough to treat like a human woman.

But, was it all me? No. They could have tried harder. They could have done better. Putting it all on me isn't fair nor is it right. Businesses need to do better. Management needs to do better. I once asked my manager, 'How can we expect others to do better if you don't and continue to call me by my deadname?' and it's true.

All excuses aside. Deadnaming is wrong. That's why I left. That's why I'm leaving. I was kept seperate from others. As if in a zoo, I was gawked at and treated differently. I never asked for that. All I ever wanted was to be treated like any other adult human woman. That's it. Please do better. Please treat me like a human. Please treat me like a woman. That's all. That's it. Thank you.

[sign-from-god-complex]

A Gift From Me To You - Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: Roman remembers a moment with Logan and learns something new about him too.

Warnings: Some negative self-talk

A/N: Ohh, things are starting to happen now! Hopefully, it’s all okay!! There are things in this chapter I could be a bit happier with, but I gotta keep moving on to actually get this finished, haha. We’re nearly there!! 2 or 3 more chapters, probably.

AO3 Link //  Link to Chapter One! //  And Two! // And Three!

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Roman couldn’t get the boy from the hallway out of his mind. Beautiful dark brown eyes had haunted him throughout the rest of his classes, occupying his thoughts far more than the lessons did.

Really, he tried to not take the boy’s quick exit personally. He’d already appeared to be quite upset, so even though Roman had been trying his best to be calming and non-threatening, he must have seemed a bit intimidating all the same.

People put him up on some weird “popular” pedestal—which was frankly quite ridiculous—and it had resulted in more than a few people being afraid to talk to him. It’s not like he was generally all that interested in talking to people as it was, but this boy was different.

It had been a while since Roman had had a crush. Probably not since he got together with Patton in fact. Although Roman and Patton had discussed polyamory—a major change in their relationship that it certainly took him a while to be comfortable with agreeing to—Roman hadn’t so much as looked at anyone outside of Patton and Logan for over a year.

And Logan was… well, Logan was different. How Roman felt for Logan wasn’t a crush, not really. It was some kind of indescribable admiration paired with the sense that he was just always going to be there. Days when Logan wasn’t present at school, either due to sickness or extracurriculars, they always felt… off. Logan had managed to entwine himself so subtly and intrinsically into Roman’s life that he hadn’t even noticed the day he fell for him.

It was different from how he felt for Patton, and it was different from how he felt for the boy in the hallway, but it was special. It was close. It was solid and dependable. And Roman honestly couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life without him anymore.

Which definitely scared him to death, though he’d loathe to ever admit it.

The idea to add Logan to their relationship had originally been proposed by Patton, about a month after Patton had confessed his initial attraction. Roman’s gut reaction had been to say, “No, absolutely not, you’re mine and no one else’s”, but he’d been working on not letting his insecurities get the best of him. So, instead, he’d thought for a moment.

How he’d felt for Logan at the time had remained unclear. It had been lost in the mess of emotions swirling in him at the premise of having more than one partner at once. It was something that interested him, but at the same time, it was something that frightened him deeply. He knew that.

There was too much potential for heartbreak with three partners. Roman knew he wasn’t a catch—not the way Patton and Logan were—and once they realised they were better off on their own, they would drop Roman in a heartbeat. Patton would feel bad about it of course, but in the end, he would be happier.

That was the worst part about it. Roman knew Patton would be happier with Logan and without him, but he loved Patton. He just couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no,” he’d spoken slowly, “But would you please let me think about it for a while?”

“Of course, Ro,” Patton had beamed, “And I’m proud of you, you know? I know it’s hard for you to not instinctively reject the idea, hard for you to believe that my love for you is unwavering and forever, but it is!”

Patton’s face had become a little more serious, a little less bright.

“And, if dating Logan—whether that’s just me or both of us—proves to be too much for you? That’s okay. I won’t push you into anything you don’t feel comfortable with, my prince.”

Patton had pulled Roman into his arms, kissing the top of his head gently as Roman mumbled a thank you into his chest.

Roman had considered it for several months, then it had all come to a head one day during maths.

They’d been doing some practice from a workbook, so although Logan was trying his best to concentrate, Roman was talking at him. And he says talking at him because Logan virtually never replied.

It was one of their established routines. If Logan was in a good mood and the teacher wasn’t talking, Roman would spend part of the lesson telling him about his most recent audition or about the cool tv show he was watching or any number of different things. Logan never gave any kind of response, but Roman knew he was listening.

Roman had been rambling on about how he’d been revisiting some older tv shows and, “have you even seen The Nanny? It’s hilarious. And Fran’s outfits? Truly she’s a goddess,” when he’d been interrupted by a quiet, “what?” from Logan.

Hearing Logan say anything during the lesson was surprising, so Roman had looked up from his book to check what was going on. Logan had been clutching his pencil tightly, focusing a glare on the book in front of him. He’d then scrambled for the answers at the back of the book and levelled a glare at that as well, before slamming the book shut.

Roman had been about to ask Logan if he was having trouble—and truly that would be surprising, Logan was excellent at maths—when Logan had scowled and said, “This book is wrong.”

He’d looked so indignant that Roman had had to laugh. He’d known he was going to get in trouble for being so loud but he just hadn’t been able to help himself. Of course, Logan would be the only one in the class to find an error in the book—and Roman hadn't doubt for a second that there was one, Logan wouldn't have said anything unless he was at least 90% sure. His chest had felt so light and as his eyes had begun to water, Roman had realised he was in love.

He was in love with his dork of a best friend—with the boy who would insist on studying for a test months in advance; who would drag them up to the roof on clear nights to point out constellations; who would let Roman ramble on and on about things he didn’t care about because he knew it was important to him.

He was completely in love and it was amazing.

And as he’d wiped the tears out of his eyes, watching Logan’s brow furrow in confusion—and how hadn’t he noticed before just how cute that expression was—Roman had wondered if maybe this could work after all.

Roman let his body drop under the tree where they usually had lunch during the summer, waiting for the others to arrive. It was always much quieter out here than it was in the cafeteria, people generally not brave enough to face the hot Floridian sun. The three of them had found a spot of shade under this rather large pine tree at some point last year though and it had since become their spot of choice for lunches. Logan would usually complain the most about the heat, but he would always trade in the cold air for a more peaceful environment.

It was cooler today. Cool enough that Patton had elected to wear his fuzzy baby blue jumper, though he still paired it with a short pastel skirt, so it should be enough to prevent overheating. Patton had several outfits kept at Roman’s house and vice versa, just in case of impromptu sleepovers, but that was definitely one of Roman’s favourite’s.

Another item on the long list of things Roman loved about his boyfriend was his confidence. Sure, Roman had confidence—he had confidence on the stage and he had confidence when faced with conflict—but Patton had confidence in his identity. Patton didn’t let insecurities get the best of him, he was who he was no matter what anyone else thought of him and that was something Roman strived for. Seeing Patton so happy in his “less conventional” outfits made Roman incredibly proud to know him.

Plus Patton looked really cute in a skirt.

Speaking of Patton, said boy had just slipped out of the doors of the school and taken up residence next to him. Roman felt the fabric of Patton’s sweater tickle his arm as his boyfriend linked their hands together, the warmth of Patton's body pressing up against his side. Roman sighed. He was so lucky.

“How did it go with the boy from the hallway?” he asked, trying his best to pretend the question was more casual than it was.

Patton nodded absentmindedly. “Okay, I think! He definitely has some stuff he needs to work through on his own, but I think he’ll make the right decision.”

Roman didn’t ask exactly what had made the boy upset in the first place and Patton didn’t tell him. They’d agreed early on that just because people felt comfortable enough to tell Patton their problems, didn’t mean they necessarily wanted anyone else to know. Roman wouldn’t tell anyone of course, but that wasn’t the point. It was about trust.

Patton was just instinctually trustworthy. When you tell Patton your secret you don’t worry about it being spread around the school, you know that your secret is safe—another thing Roman loved about him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just soaking up each others company.

Roman took a deep breath before addressing his boyfriend. “Patton?”

Patton hummed in response. Roman felt like he owed it to his boyfriend to mention his feelings, even if it ended up being nothing. Patton had been so straight-forward about developing feelings for someone else, bringing it up the very same day he realised things had changed, so it was only fair Roman paid him the same courtesy.

“You know how we talked about polyamory?”

Instantly, Patton's face brightened. He nodded vigorously, his hair flopping slightly as he did so.

Roman didn't think before he started to speak. If he started thinking then he'd start second-guessing himself and he couldn't afford to do that here. "Right, so we have Logan, and Logan's is great! Excellent, even! I'm not going back on the decision to ask him out at all, but- uh, there might be som-"

Patton's eyes cut over to over his shoulder.

"Logan!"

Patton yelled across the grounds to Logan, who looked like he was in the process of entering the cafeteria.

Roman frowned as Patton insistently waved him over. Logan knew where they ate lunch, they'd been sitting there for months. Logan also didn't eat cafeteria food, instead packing his own lunch, citing that the food the cafeteria made was unhealthy at best and a health hazard at worst. There was absolutely no reason for him to be going in there.

Roman knew he was probably jumping to conclusions—cognitive distortions, Logan taught him that one—but he couldn't help but feel like something was wrong. He didn't have much to base it off of other than a gut feeling though, so he kept it to himself.

Patton gave Roman an apologetic look. "Sorry, Ro. You can tell me about it later, yeah?"

Roman nodded his head. There really wasn't any rush, and anyway, it gave him a little more time to sort out his feelings for the boy in the hallway. Actually...

"Patton, my dear, did the boy from earlier give you a name or anything?"

A confused expression crossed Patton's face, but he answered nonetheless. "He told me I could call him Anxiety; I didn't push him on his actual name. Why, Ro?"

"No real reason, just wondering," Roman lied.

Patton didn't look like he entirely believed him, but before he could question Roman further his attention seemed to be caught by something else.

Logan had arrived at some point during Roman and Patton's brief conversation and Roman watched as Patton's gaze passed over the bandage on Logan's wrist. Roman realised belatedly that he hadn't warned Logan about showing off his injury around Patton. Whoops.

"Logan McKenzie, what in the world happened to your hand?"

Patton sounded angry and incredibly concerned all at the same time. It caused Logan to open his mouth slightly in shock, eyes flicking from where he was searching through his bag over to Patton. He seemed like he was about to answer, but Patton quickly let go of Roman's hand, stood up and crossed the distance between them, taking hold of Logan's wrist firmly.

Really, nothing about Patton's demeanour left room for argument, but Logan liked pushing the limits of Patton's patience. Logan tried to tug his wrist away but Patton held tight, levelling him with a glare. It was a very unnatural look on the usually happy, bubbly Patton and Logan looked just as taken aback as Roman was.

“Patton, it’s just a strain,” Logan said, voice uneasy, “This is hugely unnecessary.”

Patton gave him another look. "Nope, that’s not good enough. Now, you are going to let me check how bad it is and you're not going to complain about it, alright?"

Logan's eyes widened and he began babbling with an uncharacteristic amount of emotion, unsuccessfully trying to persuade Patton to do literally anything but this.

Roman wasn't really sure what the big deal was. At the most Logan was going to get away with a lecture about practising self-care, but Logan was reacting like it was much more than that. He looked... frightened. And it was horrifying. Logan obviously wasn't one for overtly displaying emotions, so if he was afraid, there must seriously be something wrong. Something worse than a strain.

Patton had begun unwrapping Logan's bandage, ignoring the cries of protest, but all of a sudden, he stopped. Roman heard a gasp escape Patton's lips as his whole body froze.

"Logan..." The word was hesitant but unwavering—it reminded Roman of the kind of tone you might use when attempting to approach a skittish animal.

At the noise, Roman began to stand. Just how bad was this injury? What had Logan managed to do to himself? Before he could catch a glimpse of Logan's wrist though, Logan pulled out of Patton's grip, holding his hand protectively against his chest.

He gave one last look to the two of them, Patton smiling—smiling?—and Roman just confused, before dashing away, ducking inside the school building and running out of sight.

What the fuck just happened?

Roman, realising that Patton likely had much more of a clue of what was going on, decided to repeat this question aloud.

"What the fuck just happened?"

In response, Patton began to laugh.

It started off quiet, more a hysterical giggle than anything else, but in just a moment it became loud and full of absolute joy. Patton was actually doubled over, absolutely beaming, and as his laughter petered out he grabbed the back of Roman's head and pulled him into a kiss. Roman was surprised but reciprocated all the same—he was always willing to indulge his boyfriend.

The kiss was over just as quick as it began and Roman took a moment to get his bearings. In the midst of attempting to process everything that was going on, he almost missed Patton going to speak.

"Roman," Patton said, voice full of awe, "He has our soulmark."

And suddenly Roman was smiling too.

He could feel it spreading across his face, growing wider and wider and brighter and brighter with each passing second. He realised why Patton had laughed the way he did—the joy he felt rising up inside him was impossible to contain.

Logan was their soulmate. Logan was their soulmate!

Patton squeaked slightly as Roman swept him into his arms, spinning him in circles, hearing his boyfriend’s laughter echoing in his ears.

They never had to worry about Logan leaving now; he really would always be there. They didn’t have to worry that he wouldn’t feel as loved or included in their relationship—didn’t have to worry, didn’t have to worry, didn’t have to worry. It was all going to be okay because Roman was loved and so, so happy.

Breathless, Roman put Patton back down on solid ground.

“God, we’re going to have to talk to him,” Roman panted out.

Patton’s smile dimmed a little bit at that, his face taking on a more contemplative look. “Yeah. We’re gonna have to be careful, Ro. You know how he is about things like this.”

Roman nodded. He did know, in fact. Roman had kind of hoped that developing a soulmark would change the way that Logan viewed them, but maybe that was foolish. His fear seemed to be as present as always, though it was usually hidden a little bit more behind science and snarky remarks.

He wasn’t sure if Patton had picked up on exactly how Logan felt about the concept of soulmates, but Roman had enough of his own insecurities to recognise others’ when he saw them.

When they argued about soulmarks, which was far more frequently than Roman would have wished, Logan hid behind a mask of indifference. He claimed that he was right, objectively, backing up his argument with “facts” to make his statements sound more important. But occasionally, Roman would say something that would leave Logan speechless. Roman would watch as he inhaled sharply, his mouth dropping open and his eyes widening, and the look he displayed would always be fear. It never lasted for more than a split-second, but Roman saw it every time.

Roman didn’t know why Logan was afraid of soulmarks—and he would continue to not know why until Logan trusted him enough to tell him—but he was going to do his best to help him get past it no matter what. He wasn’t going to lose his soulmate to some unfounded worry; that wasn’t fair on them, or on Logan for that matter.

“We need to find him, Patton,” Roman said, “But we don’t even know where he is! He could be anywhere in the school by now. He could have left!”

Roman severely doubted Logan would skip school, but at this point, he wouldn’t put anything past him. The lengths Logan would go to to avoid them talking about his soulmark was not to be doubted; if they didn’t find him now, it’s very possible that they’d never find him again.

Patton looked thoughtful for a moment before giving Roman a soft smile. It was filled with a quiet sort of determination and Roman was reminded for a moment just how in love with him he was.

“I think I know where he is.”

And before Roman could question how or where Patton was grabbing his hand and tugging him into the school building.

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Chapter 5

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General tag list: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard

[tarithenurse]

On my Mind, in my Soul - 2

Pairing: Loki x burglar!Reader Contents: Cussing, a bit of violence, some angsting and pining, lemons...and lots of them. Consider yourself warned if you’re underage. A/N: Didn’t plan for the first part to actually be a first part. I’d planned it as a one-shot based on @maladaptive-ninja-returns‘s 3 “prompts”...but then it was nicely recieved and I chatted with them again and we had some fun ideas...so here’s part 2. This time the 3 things have been provided with a sister (who was rather confused as to why I was asking...but it did result in us watching the Bridge of Death sequence from Monty Python and the Holy Grail). Anyhoodles, the things were Earrings. Green. And the song “Put your Records on” by CB Rae. Lyric bits are marked as block quotes.

Challenge

Music’s playing in your ears as you make your way slowly through the museum, keeping the perfect distance to make it seem to the tour guide as though you’re part of the group while to them (a class of history students and their teacher) you’re just some random guest that happens to be going at the same pace. The map of the place in your hand is filled with thin lines by now, indicating camera angles and “alternative” routes.

“And over here we have a temporary collection on loan from London…” the voice of the guide announces through a lull in the song.

He’s beaming proudly as the class oohs and aahs at the glittery reflection of the ornate Crown Jewels. Amateurs. Sure, the lineup of necklaces and crowns looks impressive, but the main items are merely very good replicas made to satisfy the curiosity of people who can’t make it to the Tower of London – the real deal’s safely stored there, only to be removed on special occasions when the queen and her family actually uses it.

However, some of the less impressive items are not fakes. Taking a place before a display case, your eyes fall upon a comparatively drab pair of earrings. Fat, pinkish pearls dangle from golden drops and ovals with a multitude of tiny, white gemstones. Yuck. There are tastier ways of showing off wealth in your opinion, but you also understand that sometimes it’s not about having style per se, rather about flaunting that you can have anything. What in your eyes might be ugly (or at the best of cases kitsch) is probably a blatant show of power because deep down humans are simple creatures that understand a simple language: rarity equals wealth and wealth in turn equals power. And those earrings are rare, no one in their right mind would make more than a single pair.

So why those? Simple. You got a job and the buyer was smart enough to wrap it in a dare, claiming no one could get their hands on that set of pearls. To top the whole deal off, the guy’s willing to do wire transfer but a cash bonus if the job’s completed within a month.

You have to hide a smile as you tug the map and pencil into your purse, slipping your phone out for a moment to skip a tune in the hopes of the shuffle finding something more celebratory for the way out of the museum.

It takes a few tries before you succeed, meaning you’re already back in the grand room by the time you return the device to safety and your fingers brush against something unexpected, causing you to pause in your tracks and glance around, but no one stands out in the crowd of tourists and other visitors. One peek into the depths of the purse’s enough to grant a view of an envelope made of special paper. Or parchment? A cold shudder runs down your spine upon realisation that someone must have gotten close enough to slip it in there although you always keep the damn bag close to your body, even tugged under the arm. Whoever it is…they are good. Too good. It’s as if every camera’s trained on you, like each and every single person’s watching even the smallest movement you make, sending prickly waves of tension to the back of your legs while every hair stands on end.

Forcing yourself to move slowly, you leave the museum. Following the most crowded routes home, you only check for followers a million times. Discreetly, of course, despite the increasing frustration of spotting no one in pursuit or out of place (as much as anyone can look that in New York) not even when walking five times around the block before finally letting yourself into your little flat.

It almost feels safe as the deadbolt clicks into place and you allow yourself to slide onto the floor. Deep breaths tasting of curry from last night’s dinner and book dust helps ground you enough to stop your hands from shaking by the time they pull out the envelope. Turning it around and around, you have to admire the cottonlike quality of the paper and the clearly manually cut edges that shout craftmanship to the heavens. The sender is loaded or makes his own paper.

By the table under the glaring light of a lamp, it’s obvious that the person hasn’t left any other clues on the outside of the envelope, forcing you to open it after a careful examination to avoid any hidden nuisances. You’re holding your breath as you peer into the folds, spotting a photograph which you shake out. What the…?

Trying to pretend that the image’s taken months ago is futile, but still you hurry to the kitchen and slam down on your knees by the cabinet under the sink so hard that you bounce painfully on the linoleum. It doesn’t delay you. Eyes sting with pain as you pull the contents out, scattering the bucket with cleaning agents across the floor. You slam a fist onto a loose board to tip it up, revealing the front of a safe nestled among insulation and rubble. Five beeps and a fingerprint are all it takes for your worry to be proven right.

“Fucking! Alien! Pissflap!” Each exclamation’s punctuated by punches to the cabinet door.

At first glance, the contents could appear to be exactly the way you left them this morning…but the Tiger’s Eye Pendant’s missing.

Maybe sometimes we got it wrong, but it's all right The more things seems to change, the more they stay the same

…

Making the right call can be hard in the heat of the moment, but you managed. More than a week since you’ve been burgled and your thoughts stray all too often to the future and the plans it holds to right the wrong, the only consolation being that the job you have to finish first will be a means to that very end.

Hanging upside down from the skylight, each movement has to be perfectly controlled to stay out of the camera’s view until you’ve reached it and slipped the screen before it. It had taken several tries to get the image just right, but the result was close to perfection. Close enough to get me some minutes. That’s all you need.

Moments later, you’re on the floor. Harness and rope still attached for a quick escape as you work through the hollow pedestal because gods know you’ll be screwed if you disturb the glass encasing the exhibition. Each movement tugs at the restraining tether and gnaws at your skin. You reach carefully through wires for the sensors and lights, the Stark “knife” tugged gingerly away in the palm with nothing but a rubber sleeve to prevent bloodshed. Gloves? Of course you wear them, not only preventing fingerprints but granting a safe grip. Without them your hands would have been slippery with sweat and even now there are a few drops running down your spine before they get soaked up in the top. There. You breathe in deeply a couple of times before unsheathing the knife and cutting through the plate where the loot’s resting. No normal knife would be able to do it and getting this tool had been expensive…but so worth it!

A few more breaths, then you can pack away the fugly earrings and your gear. Just in time, too, as you already can hear the night guard approaching. It’s with a minimal thought of remorse that you ascend, the gears whirring softly as you speed towards the fresh night air.

…

There’s a market for everything whether it’s illegally obtained tools or perfectly made replicas. Studying the simile glinting in the hand, you know that even Loki will have to look carefully to detect the fraud…especially after you’ve added the finishing touch on the back of the pendant.

Part of the bonus has been spent on that piece of work while the rest has gone into setting up your safehouse for a longer stay. You still come and go from your usual apartment, ensuring the façade of a student living there, but everything important has slowly been moved to the other side of upper Manhattan and after the last security measures the place’s close to impenetrable. And impossible to find.

Crouched by the coffee table, you go through the last plans. The private guards’ rounds must have been shuffled, of course, and will take a couple of stake outs to learn. Next, you’re certain that the Asgardian snob must have improved the locks on windows and doors as a pure minimum, leaving a reduced list of access points for a human to use. Question is if he’s considered something like a drone.

…

Girl, put your records on, tell me your favorite song You go ahead, let your hair down Sapphire and faded jeans I hope you get your dreams

The cool air dries the tip of your tongue, but you’re too engrossed in navigating the toy through the chimney to care. Each foot of the descend brings it closer to the smoldering ashes and the thing can only handle a certain amount of heat what with all the plastic components, so as soon as it slips out from the fireplace, you heave a sigh of relief. Now comes the hard part. Orienting yourself through the little screen, the drone whirrs along corridors and through grand rooms in search of a safe entryway fitting a woman. Patiently, you ignore the shingles of the roof radiating cold into your muscles as the minutes tick by until you strike gold in the form of a bathroom window. It’s narrow but not impossibly so and you can’t help but laugh quietly to yourself as you use the flying robot to unlatch it and push it open wide.

Slipping in is simple enough, you only hesitate as you land on the marble floor because you hadn’t expected the dampness of the air. Every hard, cool surface’s laced with a fine condensation, but running a hand over the faucets gives a sense of relief that whoever has showered or bathed must have done this a while ago. It’s disconcerting though. Loki supposedly has a private bathroom en suite with his bedroom, so who would use this? There’s no hamper with laundry, no dirty towels or soaps that have been used. Nothing personal. Perhaps he’s got visitors? It’d surprise you. In fact, you’re almost willing to bet that an employee’s taken the liberty of using the facilities but either way, it doesn’t change the plan.

Silently slipping through the door, you know where to go and within minutes have the display in view from a position in a shadowy corner. There’s still a guard lingering, seemingly taking an interest in a set of blueish daggers. Move…come on…you want to finish the round and get some coffee. Silently willing him on results in absolutely nothing and you can feel anxiousness prickle your back and force you shoulders upwards and forwards. Tomorrow, you’ll need to find a massage therapist to knead the tensions away.

Finally, after agonizing minutes, the guy leaves, whistling a soft tune as if he’s proud of a job well done. At least it might hint of extra time if he lingers in other rooms too.

You’re about to work through the case the normal way when you notice the fault in the glass’s positioning and a brief examination leads to a broad smile stretching your cheeks as you place the glove covered hands on either side of the housing and lift it off – no alarms or boobytraps triggered. The exchange’s quick. A glance on your watch, and then you shuffle over to the nearby shelf with the peculiar knives. Stuck tip-down into a relatively common utensil holder it’s almost as though the eccentric collector only has them for show because he knows visitors might be awed while he himself doesn’t consider them of any specific worth although the blue flaring through the gunmetal-dark material is out of this world. Maybe literally.

It’s when you reach out for one that it shimmers out of existence in a familiar golden haze causing your heart to skip a beat. Cursing inwardly for wasting time, you turn to hightail it out of the mansion but nearly collide with the very same blade you were admiring, the tip now resting delicately on your chest.

“My little thief.” Finally looking past the weapon, your eyes meet Loki’s. “I had almost given up hope that you would come.”

Returning the smirk he grants you, it’s still a careful shrug rolling through your shoulder. “Been busy…but I guess you know that.”

It’s impossible to ignore the quick sweep his tongue makes along the lower lip as he looks you over, the widening of his pupils that sends a flutter through your stomach in anticipation. Never again, you’d promised yourself and still you find the memories begin to team up with the view of the tall figure before you. He’s in command of the situation unless you manage to escape. How? He’s the one with a weapon, its tip felt through the fabric like a pin-prick on the slope of your breast – the tiniest movement and it will be more than just a prick. How?

Looking up at him, you smile innocently to prevent any sudden reactions as you reach out for his free hand. He lets you take it, entwining fingers delicately for a moment before leading it to your face. A tender kiss in his palm, the thin cool skin of his wrist before you let his hand rest on your shoulder, allowing you to reach for him and gently nudge the knife-wielding hand aside though never letting go of the arm. You fingers trace the slender limb lazily, half-forgotten as lips brush along his jaw.

Banzai. Loki’s fingers lock into your hair, folding around the base of your skull to steer you, both your lips onto his but also your body trailing after him as he backs towards the centre of the room. If memory serves you right, there’s some kind of puffy bench or other which means that you only have until you reach that to incapacitate him. Why? I could just go along. Sweet temptation makes your heart flutter against your ribs and a heat pools low in you belly. It’s a dangerous game to play with someone like him and you had promised yourself last time that it would never happen again…just like you had sworn never to return to this place.

A quick glance verifies that you have about four steps before he’ll have you locked beneath him. Grinding against his groin with your hip, the reaction comes immediately in form of a groan and you pray that he’s distracted enough for a few seconds. With a swift snatch you manage to tear the dagger from his grip, brandishing it between your bodies with the tip pointed at his growing cock.

Breathing heavily, Loki’s aware enough of what’s going on to stop moving, his eyes filling with cold fury as he glances towards the alternative hostage situation. “What’s this? Complaints?” Somehow, he still manages to patronize you.

“Consider it a refusal.”

“You didn’t say no last time, my pet.”

He’s right, but you’re not about to give in again and let him get more power over you. “It served it’s purpose. No more.”

“Ouch.” Thin lips curl in a snarl. “It hurts my feelings….especially when you lie that badly.”

It won’t help to discuss past events with him (especially when you don’t want to admit the truth yourself), so you change focus to the situation at hand by ordering the Asgardian to let go of you. Something he only begrudgingly does when you add more pressure with the knife and it slips through the fabric of his trousers with a soft rippling sound as each thread is severed.

You should’ve seen it coming. The moment you step back, creating distance between the god and the weapon, he moves. A sharp pain races up from wrist to shoulder as the metal clatters across the floor, but you don’t have time to register where it lands because your aching arm is twisted behind your back and used as leverage to force you onto the floor with your face smushed into the green velvet of the seat. It smells of sawdust and a hint of camphor, but mostly it just grates against your skin.

A glint of light reflecting of metal captivates you, ensuring that Loki can use less power to hold you still as you stare at the dark grey-blue tip less than an inch from your eye. Shit. You can’t breathe. Can’t move or think. Only one other sentence keeps circling in your mind – unfortunately it’s full of self-deprecation rather than any useful ideas. Shit.

“Don’t mistake my indulgence for weakness,” the cold hiss explains, “letting you go last time was not a show of defeat as you very well know.”

The dagger moves out of sight, leaving you to stare one-eyed at a shade of green you’ll never forget anymore. Then you feel the prick at the nape of your skull. The cocky alien’s in control now even as he lets go of you and this time there’s nothing playful about the current predicament like the previous encounters had been. Sweat’s breaking out all over your body and you have to swallow hard to simply be able to breathe.

“So what now?” Your sneer’s partially muffled by the plush piece of furniture. “Gonna rape me, you sick bastard?”

He hits you so hard that you skid across the polished floor. Black spots dance before your eyes even after you manage to crack the jaw back in place. You’ve been hit before. Hell, it’s one of the reasons you became such a good burglar, but this tops it all and calls forth hot tears that spill down your face. You don’t care. You especially don’t care when he yanks your face skywards by grabbing hold of the messy hair and the freezing length of a by now familiar blade lands on your throat.

“Look. At. Me.” A spark within you wants to resist, but you can’t and your view fills with the emerald irises that burn with hate. “I may be harsh and cruel, but I would never do something like that to you.” He seems to realize what he’s said and adds quickly, “to anyone.”

Just more than I could take Pity for pity's sake Some nights kept me awake I thought that I was stronger

…

The world’s fuzzy and soft in the night by the time you attempt to open your eyes. It takes a moment to get your bearing and another one before the memories return and you sit up with a gasp. You’re back in your little apartment, but you have no recollection of how you got there. The last you do recall are Loki’s green eyes before a sensation of falling.

What did he do? Padding yourself down, it’s with some disbelief that you accept that you not only are wearing exactly the same as when you set out the night before, but there are no other injuries than a few bruises…excluding the deep gash in your pride. No trace of unwarranted contact despite the fact that you must have been completely at Loki’s mercy. Knowing that, you should be relieved. Not afraid. Not shameful. Not…filling with regret as if you had been the one to make advances only to be turned down by him. Messed up. Too messed up. Is it possible to get addicted to a person?

Frustrated, you push off the bed and begin pacing hectically through the small apartment, a scathing, internal monologue running on repeat to remind you of why it’s good you got away from Loki’s mansion without anything else happening.

…

Turning in your bed, you’re vaguely aware that the light has changed to soft grey tones - you must have managed to fall asleep after all. Tugging at the oversized t-shirt to get comfortable again, the feeling of the pendant against your chest solicits a drowsy smile.

…

You near a state of wakefulness in protest of the chill stealing through your limbs. Presuming in the sleepy state that you must have pushed the covers aside, you grope for it. Not covers. The observation flashes through your head and startles you to move quickly for the crevice between mattress and headboard for a knife you keep tugged away there, but cold fingers wrap round your wrists.

“Not so fast.”

Blinking blearily, you stare up into Loki’s face. The glint in his gorgeous, green eyes is mischievous, not unlike the curling smile that broadens as he takes in your exposed form because no, a faded t-shirt and a pair of panties doesn’t count as cover when he’s the one blatantly studying each curve. You see how his eyes darken, hear the shortness of both your breaths, and memories come flooding back followed by a strong heat in your womanhood.

Your attempt at speaking’s a helpless croak until you clear the throat. “Ch-changed your mind?”

The gaze alone could hold you in place as he refocuses on your mouth. Unbiddenly, you wet your lips that suddenly have gone dry.

“I do not deny that I appreciate your body immensely, but that’s not why I’m here.” Loki changes the hold on your wrist with ease, freeing a hand to caress your neck, your throat, before pulling out the pendant from under the cotton. “No…this is why.” Faint embers are reflected onto his cold irises. “I must congratulate you, my dear…your plan was not bad and had I been a mere human, then I would probably not have noticed the exchange.”

The weight of the necklace returns onto your chest, now cold from his fingers that begin straightening the chain. Each stroke ghosts across sensitive skin, sending goosebumps racing over your body and a soft ache warns you how your nipples are initiating a slow uprising against the t-shirt.

“Why d’you want it back? You let me leave with it!”

Your challenge’s meant to distract him from what he’s doing, but he merely glances before beginning to smoothen the fabric. “I knew you’d come back for it.”

“What?” The word pops out hard and mocking. “You think it’s more than financial value to me?” It doesn’t…does it? You’d meant to sell it originally, but then changed your mind and blew of the potential buyers without remorse.

“Pet…don’t pretend we don’t think alike, you and I.” Leaning down, Loki’s lips brush gently against your earlobe and his hair tickles against your chin, its scent of frost and camphor setting off a new shiver that heads straight for your aching core. “You’d come because of your pride. For the challenge. And deep down…because you yearn for something more.”

The Asgardian tugs playfully at your ear with his teeth, hands sliding along your arm and side before reverting and you feel your body betray your mind as it arches into his touch. Cupping your face in a large hand his lips meet yours gently before he pulls back, letting go completely although he doesn’t get off the bed.

“Please…” broken-voiced, you try to formulate what you need.

Light fingertips on your thigh stokes the burning need. “Tell me what you want, kitten. Last time you denied me my fun…what will it be now?”

“I want…I…” Loki stays within reach of your grabbing hands but doesn’t move towards you either. “I want you…need…please?”

“Are you certain?” His grip on your hip’s still soft. Too soft. “I’d like to reward you for the skill it took to swap the pendant, but you have to want it.”

“Just shut up and fuck me!”

Gentleness is obliterated by a bruising urgency as Loki takes over your body. Every inch’s kissed, bitten, licked, or explored with cool hands that booth bruise and soothe the burning traces. Every time you gasp for breath, his lips find yours to swallow each moan that the pressure of his thigh between your legs elicit. Not enough. He’s gotten you to the brink of bliss, but like a mirage it keeps eluding you and the feverish need for more’s burning you from the inside, leaving a hollow sensation that can be filled if only… A whine escapes your lips, warning the god as you reach for the belt buckle in desperation only to feel them snared and forced above your head.

He positions himself between your legs, nudging the knees apart. “So eager…” the growl’s guttural, nearly muffling the words, “longing for more…”

The golden shimmer’s visible even with half-closed eyes, but although you can feel his skin against your legs and arms as Loki repositions himself, your soaked panties still form a barrier between the cockhead as it pushes against your folds, and the old t-shirt insulates you from the chill of his chest.

“Loki…pleeaase!”

Arching against him, you feel the tremble passing through his body and for the briefest of moments it’s as though his eyes are red, but you’re distracted by his skin changing hue and the man, the alien, growing ever so slightly that his physique becomes impressively dimensioned. A scratching like claws diverts your eyes to the now blueish hands where darker talons have replaced the nails. I should be terrified. The logic’s clear yet simultaneously completely irrelevant as icy lips find the tender skin on your throat where they suck, marking a path spot by spot to your clavicle…then past…and as the V of the cotton obstructs the proceedings, Loki shreds it and tosses the scraps onto the floor without taking his burning gaze off your body now exposed beneath him.

“Little pet…if I hurt you…” He forces his gaze to your face, concern simmering in the darkness of lust. “If I hurt you or you want me to stop…say Laufey.”

The request itself is not unfamiliar unlike the word so you nod. “Mighty confident talking wh–“

You don’t get further because he kisses you again, forcefully, hungrily, biting your bottom lip as his fingers slip past the hem of the panties and delve between your soaking folds to the delighted groans of both of you. Perfect strokes mix with circles around the clit and entrance, often with added pressure onto the former that has you crying out Loki’s name like a prayer. Still, he’s got your wrists in an iron grip even if it clearly frustrates him.

“Belt,” you gasp, causing him to pause, “will get…get your h-hand…free.”

The curling smile bares gleaming, pointed teeth. “What a delightfully filthy idea.”

Not only does he use the belt to restrain your hands. No. The god also takes the opportunity to turn you around onto elbows and knees, allowing him to take place behind you. Claws trail your spine all the way to the elastic of the remaining clothes and you can feel it give way, sliding under the curve of your ass and exposing the glistening heat of your cunt. Then they too are torn apart. Cold hands slam onto the butt cheeks, forming an anchor for Loki as he begins to lab up your arousal, his nose nudging at your core with every movement.

Heat and tension builds within you, has you pleading for your god to fill you or let you cum on his tongue and fingers. Again and again, the bastard denies you release. Each time, he chuckles darkly as he has you watch past your own body how the strong hand pumps a nervewrecking huge cock languidly. The tip a dark purple with the exception of the milky pre-cum leaking out each time his fist passes ridges similar to those on the rest of his body. And all you can think of is how badly you want him inside you, to feel the ridges against the smooth walls, and you pout and curse when he returns to the ministrations that has his face glistening.

Balancing on the edge, you nearly scream as he pulls away once more, but this time his strong hands brings your legs together with his knees on the outside, and you gasp from anticipation and the thundering need at the feeling of the cool cockhead tracing your folds, each pass nudging further in until his manhood’s fully covered in your juices and he’s perfectly aligned.

“Don’t hold back, kitten.”

And with that Loki slides into your tight core, stretching you to the very limits which causes a sweet, stinging pain to heighten the sensation of each ridge that delves in and makes you shout with pleasure on contact with your g-spot. Gold shimmers, freeing your wrists so you can brace yourself.

“That’s it,” he growls, “ let me hear you.”

The rhythm’s slow at first, allowing some semblance of adaptation before increasing the intensity. And you let him hear exactly how you feel. Praises and curses mingle with your gasping breath, turning into groans, then shouts until he has you cumming with his name tearing from your throat in a wild scream as you plunge into the darkness of the abyss to drown in ecstasy. Every muscle seizes in your body, leaving it to Loki to hold you in position…and he does as he rams into you haphazardly before reaching his own peak and unloading like an icy flood inside you, stealing the last air from your lungs.

He doesn’t bother with pulling out, rather he tips the both of you, tugging you tightly to his chest as his form reverts to normal. Gasping for air, none of you speak.

Eventually, though, the peaceful silence ends, and Loki abandons you in the bed in favour of cleaning up and getting dressed the same way as when first you’d had sex. Pausing by the door, he looks back. It’s almost a déjà vu.

“I trust we will see each other again, my pet?��� The lazy smile negates the questioning tone.

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Devil’s Temptation pt18

Warning: Mob styling warlords

Masterlist

---

Chapter 18- Breadcrumbs

The luxurious boutique that Takahiro had brought her too was impressive on the outside but when you walked inside it. That was when the real wow factor hit you. This was the stuff dreams were made of for brides all over the city, it was a one-stop, shop till you drop haven for everything and anything in bridal couture. Each item was also able to be customised on site and that made this boutique unique.

A giant crystal chandelier was suspended in the epicentre of the building the natural light from the upper glass windows hit it at multiple angles and it sparkled like someone had exploded a rainbow. Rooms were open plan, the only doors were on the fitting rooms. And the whole building seemed to just expand and go on forever in every direction.

After a few hours [Name] knew that it was only an illusion. A lot of the walls in the rooms had reflective surfaces and mirrors. This did not relieve her of the feeling that she had just taken part in a marathon that she was unaware she was taking part in. Takahiro had reserved the entire boutique. All staff were in attendance but there were literally no other shoppers. The sheer cost of such a thing must have been a small fortune and that made her head spin without adding in all the dress changes and fittings with accessories being placed on and off her while she stood still to avoid being impaled with pins like a living mannequin.

The first hour had been Takahiro dragging her around all the different rooms that were clearly allocated for each part of the bridal dress experience. He did ask her what she thought of each thing but the minute she pointed to simpler designs of something more classical and not overly flashy, he gave her a look that could have curdled milk and rejected her choices. Feeling even less motivated to even look at things around her [Name] allowed herself to be dragged up to a small pedestal stand surrounded by large mirrors and had staff members strip her and change her at Takahiro’s request.

“Mr Yasui. This is the final combination you requested. Is there anything you would like to change?” A senior member of staff addressed Takahiro who had been thumbing his way through a catalogue whilst sipping champagne on a sofa. He looked over at the radiant creation that was [Name] and gave such a warm and soft smile it easily convinced the members of staff that he was a man hopelessly in love.

“No. I think she looks perfect. Thank you. Apologises for causing you trouble.”

“No trouble at all Mr Yasui. This is all part of the service, Sir.” The senior staff member gave a little bow and the other staff followed the example. While they were not looking Takahiro’s mask fell away as he saw the look on [Name]’s face.

“Might I have a few moments with my beautiful bride?”

“Of course. We shall be just outside should you need anything.” The staff all filed out of the room to leave the “happy” couple.

“I get the feeling you are in a rush.” [Name]’s barbarous tone echoed her totally pissed off expression. She had been patient, she had done as he had “ordered”. Her patience was at its limit and even if she didn’t think she could get out of this easily she wanted some answers.

“Is it a crime to want to be together as soon as possible?” Takahiro walked closer, he was smiling and the eerie thing was it felt like he was trying to cast some sort of spell as he did it. He had always used his charm to win over particularly difficult negotiations. It never failed him, yet she seemed unaffected. Still, this was all part of the game, the performance that played out till the last act brought the curtain down.

“I think that would be great… But someone already told me there would be no love in this arrangement. Just as someone had already told me it would not get this far.” [Name] got off the raised plinth she was on with a slight wince as she felt the tightness of the corset on the dress squeezed the air from her lungs.

“Oh [Name]. At times like this, you remind me of that sweet little girl that used to chase fireflies.” Takahiro placed a hand on her shoulder and looked her over from a much closer perspective. The crystals shone on her rivalling the chandelier in the building. She was a beautiful accessory in her own right and that was something he could appreciate. He encouraged her to turn and face the mirrors and look at herself. “This will be the best marriage. I will get everything I want and you… well, you will be free of that fear and have whatever you desire. Win/Win, right? Now that outfit looks perfect on you.” He pressed closer behind her, placing his hands on her hips, resting his chin on her shoulder gazing at their reflection in the mirrors.

Whatever I desire huh?

---

His head was pounding as he replaced the receiver on yet another phone call. I’m going to have to ask Ieyasu for some painkillers later. Hideyoshi had been working closely with Nobunaga fielding phone calls on top of the standard enquiries that arose from a new rumour about company information being leaked that someone had placed among the press like birdseed among pigeons. It was beyond something that the other members of staff could deal with it required the CEO and Vice President to answer the questions directly in order to squash them from an official stance. The share prices in the company must not be allowed to be affected more by such troublesome bits of gossip.

Since the system went down thanks to the cyber attack the company buildings were in a mess. They had lost one day’s business which translated into close to losing 3.5 million in profit. It was not something they wished to continue so a manual system was put in place that felt rather like being transported back in time. People were contacted via phones, staff that were not usually busy were allocated to a phone line and were manually processing orders and figures by hand onto papers that were then sent with the office gophers to the appropriate departments to be processed. It took a lot more work and a lot more time than the digital system but the point was it worked and they could still operate and trade while this cyber issue was dealt with.

“Was that the last one?” Nobunaga asked as he came back into the room.

“It seems so.” Hideyoshi answered as brightly as he could and his eyes fell on Nobunaga who was carrying two bottles of water. “Sir, if you had said I would have gone and got that for you.”

“You were busy and I was not. I am not totally incapable of doing tasks Hideyoshi.”

“No of course not. I didn’t mean to imply…”

“We found it!” Yukimura burst into the room interrupting Hideyoshi. Sasuke and Mitsunari came into the room as well.

“You ever heard of knocking?” Hideyoshi asked hiding none of his irritation. Not only was he interrupted but Yukimura acted like he was little more than a wild animal. There was no common courtesy in his actions and that lack of manners got on Hideyoshi’s nerves very quickly.

“Sorry.” Yukimura went back to the door rapping his knuckles on it “Happy now?”

“Not really no.”

“Quiet Hideyoshi let them speak.” Nobunaga would have gladly let the entertainment continue had the situation not been so important. “You said you found what you were looking for?”

“Yes, it was exactly as Sasuke had said. A small server hub had been added to the mainframe network.” Mitsunari answered first. His eyes sparkling as he looked at Kenshin’s right-hand man in admiration.

“And you managed to remove it?” Hideyoshi pressed asking the one thing that he hoped would have been the complete stop to all this.

“Well, I managed to prevent it from connecting and making any more damage. We can put the main system back online again by tomorrow. There is something encrypted on the hub, and I was concerned that if I simply removed it that encryption and any possible links to who put it there would have been lost.” Sasuke took his glasses off and began cleaning the lens on them carefully before replacing them on the bridge of his nose.

“Can you crack it?” Nobunaga understood the ramifications of what he was being told. Losing the links and evidence to the one responsible was not something he desired. He wanted hard evidence that could be used to lean on Esshu and maybe even get a bargaining chip out of it if there was enough.

“I can try but there are seem to be multiple layers to the code so there might be…” Sasuke began explaining that this seemed to be a multi-faceted issue. Just because you can get past one layer doesn’t mean that is all there is and technically it could be an infinite layered code. Sasuke could not deny the fact that he felt a little excited to be presented with a problem that was effectively the biggest electrical puzzle box he’d seen. It was going to be enjoyable to solve this.

“I didn’t ask size. I asked if you could do it.”

“I shall do my best… Sir.”

---

The unearthly grinding screeching sound of the metal buckling under the efforts of his once captive target still felt like it was travelling up his spine in an unnerving shockwave. Those two yellow eyes locked on him seemed to be alive with manic energy, and yet they never once left him.

“Well, Mr Takada… Are you ready to play a game?” That smile threatened to crack Mitsuhide’s face in two. It was like he was inhuman. His movements were fast and sure, Shin had fast reactions but even he could feel the fine hairs on the back of his skin bristle at just how close each attack came to making contact.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only actually one-hour Shin managed to land his first real punch. It was quick and precise. He felt his fist pushing against the firm abdomen of Mitsuhide and curled his arm to raise it into the diaphragm. The sense of success was never allowed to be felt as in the next instance Mitsuhide wrapped his hand around the back of Shin’s head dragging him face first into a very solid knee cap. Shin felt like his head was exploding. His nose was broken the blood was pouring from it. He didn’t have time to think up ways of stopping it as he was pulled back into another hit.

The broken nose was just one more point to chalk up to Mitsuhide and his challenge. The man was a monster. This was nothing like a normal fight. Neither man had a weapon. This was one on one, pure and unadulterated bare hand combat. It was messy, it was not in any way organised and it was a million miles away from anything Shin would usually take part in. He was always cool and calculating with clinical efficiency.

The jobs he did were eloquent. Arbitration was just one part of his daily life thankfully it rarely got “messy”. But this… this was a whole different animal. The man attacking him had not just flipped the situation in his favour he was also attacking like a demon in the dark. Rather than appearing to be tiring he seemed to be energised. You’re enjoying this? Each time he made contact it was like he gained something from that and moved faster. That evil smile never left the man’s face it only seemed to get larger. Mitsuhide Akechi… I once asked who you are. I’m beginning to think I should have asked What you are instead.

Mitsuhide blocked the approaching fist with his forearm, using his other arm to push away a foot that was attempting to take advantage of his undefended flank. Gonna have to try much, much harder than that if you think that is all it takes to get me to go down Takada. Mitsuhide could feel the rapturous buzz coursing through his blood like a wildfire. It was enjoyable playing with a toy when it was all tied up but this. This was a buzz he rarely got to enjoy. He could let loose and really get the air blowing through his hair with this. 

Usually, his targets were not as well trained. Some had been but they also hadn’t had a chance to fight back by the time he caught them. This was definitely different and it was something he wanted to enjoy as long as possible. He didn’t need information from this one, not really. This was personal and he planned on making this his show stopper. Each attack that made contact on Shin felt like a release. Everything from his past, Emica... that time in the warehouse with Kennyo all that stuff with over the years he had suppressed. It was like the dam had finally broken, the float gates could not hold this back.

“You really are one like me aren’t you Akechi?” Shin was out of breath as he tried to speak, spluttering blood. By now Mitsuhide had calculated that the man had a probable three ribs broken, his nose was certainly broken along with maybe the cheekbone on the left side. The fact he was still able to remain standing was a testament to the other man’s endurance and training. Mitsuhide liked that. It meant he could still push him and he wouldn’t break until Mitsuhide made him.

“Assumptions are dangerous. I am not like you…” Mitsuhide pounced like a coiled spring and managed to get such a good grip he brought Shin down hard into the floor of the factory. “I’m better.”

---

[thunderinglemon]

6.28 12:46 a.m.

chloe’s mind

i’m not good at explaining my thoughts or describing how i feel but i want to write it down. i’m not calling for attention or being “dramatic” as HE would say. this would be better if i was upset, like yesterday. but i’m not. today was great. a little annoying but still better than some days. i think as i grow up i start to pick up different things about myself. i already knew i was a people pleaser. i hate disappointing others and i think that came with my upbringing. i’ll get into that later. it’s weird because i don’t know where to start. it’s just going to be all jumbled up and nothing’s going to make sense but that’s my head. nothing in my head makes sense. i always feel responsible for how other people feel. i feel like i always want to make them happy. is that really a bad thing? i can never make anyone sad. that’s why i always watch what i say. even when i really want to say something rude bc they deserve it i feel bad. like why do i want to start drama? if i say something rude then this will happen so if i don’t say it i can prevent drama from happening. there’s literally so much i want to say to people sometimes and if i did there’s a 1% chance they’ll still want to be my friends. people are annoying man. take no for an answer once. understand me for once. but it’s whatever, i’ll continue being this person for you so we don’t have any problems. i think i’m just very sensitive to other people’s emotions. sometimes i hate when other people’s mood puts me down. like if you’re mad at someone, i hate the feeling that you could be mad at me too. that’s where i definitely watch what i say. like why do i feel like it’s my fault you’re mad? like it’s not but my brain makes me think it is. but i still try to do everything i can to diffuse it. i’ll try and make you happy so you’re not mad anymore, something bc i’m that type of person. i also hate when my own mood puts me down. like why am i in a mood, it shouldn’t affect me. i just need to be happy. crap like that annoys me. i annoy me. i like being praised it feels like i’m doing something right. i like feeling VALIDATED. worth something. i avoid conflict at all costs. i hate being the center of a reason why people are mad or why drama starts. it’s uncomfortable. i hate starting drama, but what sucks is i love it too. like i hate the outcomes of drama but i like the attention. like wow people care about me. i feel like a lot of people don’t understand what i feel. like yeah i’m in a mood sometimes but it’s not because i’m annoyed but maybe because i’m hurt? like have you ever thought something you said could actually hurt? like maybe i didn’t react to it but shit think of what you say before you say it. i may not have reacted but someone else could’ve. oh maybe i didn’t react bc i didn’t want to hurt your feelings. which is funny bc i hurt myself trying to avoid hurting you... makes sense. i seem to do that a lot. i love my friends. i really do. they’re one of the reasons why i’m happy. and it sucks when they annoy me bc then i’m unhappy. i don’t think anyone understands how much i put my friends on a pedestal bc i admire each one of them. but understand me for once. like to whoever is close to me, take no for an answer. or idk stop trying to push something when it’s obvious. i don’t have what anyone else has and yeah it sucks. i hate being reminded that i always can’t do what other people can. let’s start with me and my parents. i don’t have the best relationship with my parents. like i wish i did and i don’t think my parents believe that. i know for a fact they think i’m spoiled, selfish, a brat. and i know that bc i’ve been called that. what does 18 years of being called those things do? you start to believe them. so yeah maybe on the outside i’m kind and friendly bc that’s what i want people to think of me. i want people to think i’m hardworking, and kind and friendly. i don’t want people thinking i’m spoiled or a brat. i don’t like when people call me annoying bc i don’t like feeling like i’m a burden or anyone or all i do is annoy people.

[thepersephonecabin]

Red

So I finally finished my @festivebastion​ fic for @greaseonmymouth​! Sorry it took a while, but hopefully you like it!

read on AO3!

Pairing: Alcibiades/Caius Greylace

Rating: General Audiences

Summary:  Returning to life from exile has good days and bad days for Caius Greylace, but Alcibiades is always there for him to lean on. After a particularly bad breakdown, Alcibiades decides that Caius needs some good old-fashioned rest and relaxation in the country air. How will Caius take to life on the farm and meeting Yana and Al's family?

-

They had a code for when one wanted to see the other. “Red.” It was a nostalgic way of remembering their time back in Xi’an, daring to wear red to the peace talks while also continuing their relationship, their this, whatever this was.

Caius had been the one to come up with it. Over their time together, Alcibiades had realized that Caius was actually rather sentimental in his own way, although he wouldn’t have thought so at first. After all Caius had gone through as a child, Al had expected him to destroy all the reminders of his time with the Esar, but it hadn’t been the case. The first time he’d been allowed into Caius’s Miranda apartment in Thremedon, he’d been surprised to find one such remnant in display.

It was an ornate vase, porcelain blue with gold leaf, sitting atop a white pedestal. The flared top narrowed before flaring into a globe-shaped bird’s cage which broke up the glass top and bottom of the base with delicate, gold bars, trapping a glass bird within. It was the only blue in the purple scheme of Caius’s lounge, making Alcibiades wonder how Caius, ever conscious of the surrounding color scheme and always the first to criticize the clashing tones of people’s clothes and interior design choices, could stand the way it stood out in the room.

Upon inviting Al into the flat, Caius had disappeared into the kitchen to bring out tea and pastries, leaving Al to wander around the lounge. When Caius reappeared, he’d been bending down to pear through the bird cage vase, internally remarking at how he could wave his hand behind the vase and see it through the cage.

“Oh, do you like my vase?” Caius chirped. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “It was given to me by the Esar when I was barely eight. It had been part of the Bastion’s blue wing, and I spent so much time admiring it, he said I could have it if I did well enough in my velikaia training with Antoinette.”

Ah, Antoinette. That explained it. Of all the people Caius looked back on from his youth, it was his old mentor that he remembered most fondly. He’d always seemed to have a soft spot for her, even going back to their period sequestered in the Basquait with the plague, when he seemed to be hurt at finding out Antoinette had spent all that time in the same building quarantined with them, but never coming by to see Caius.

“It’s ridiculous. You couldn’t put anything in it,” Alcibiades said.

Caius tsked at him, “Not every vase is for carrying water. Can’t it just be visually appealing?”

“No,” Al argued. “A vase is a container. It’s meant to contain things.”

Caius sipped his tea. “You needn’t insult my belongings just because you are incapable of appreciating the aesthetic, dear.”

And that had been that. That had been months ago, and by now, Alcibiades had been to Caius’s apartment enough times that he didn’t pay the vase any mind. He hardly remembered it existed until the day he received a one word note from Caius- “Red.”

Something about the message worried him. It wasn’t unlike Caius to send vague notes, but the handwriting was all wrong- shakey and near illegible. Caius’s normal hand was looping, impeccable cursive. Alcibiades supposed that Caius could have asked a servant to pen the note, but generally, Caius preferred to keep his correspondence private.

“Did he say anything else?” Alcibiades asked, turning the parchment over in his hand.

The courier, a young lad in a flat cap and gloves with holes in the fingers, shifted from foot to foot, scratching his back. “No, sir, will there be anythin’ else?” He held up a hand for payment, and Al scrambled in his packet for a chevronet.

“No, thank you,” he said, dismissing him. He’d better just go straight to Caius, not bother with a reply.

By the time he got to Ciaus’s apartment, it was approaching the afternoon. He knocked on the door, only to be met with a muffled, “Come in,” from inside.

Al entered, finding the foyer empty. “Hello?” he called.

A choked, “In here,” called back from the lounge.

Something was very wrong. Caius sat on the floor, head bowed. Alcibaides couldn’t see his face through a curtain of white-blonde hair, but by the shaking of his shoulders, Al knew he was crying. He cradled a bloody hand in his lap, the blood staining his immaculately pressed silver trousers and frilly white shirt. In front of him were the shattered remains of the bird cage vase.

“Caius… what’s wrong?” Al asked, moving forward cautiously.

“I… I broke the vase,” Caius said, flinching as the glass crunched under Al’s boots. “I didn’t know what to do, who to call.”

Al knelt down, reaching out for his hand. “It’s just a vase. Come on, let me see your hand and get some bandages.”

“It’s not just a-“ Caius began before cutting himself off and looking away. “No, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

But Caius stayed silent. Al sighed, and stood up before moving to the bathroom to find the first aid kit. Caius didn’t offer any further information as Al came back, cleaned away the blood, and bandaged the cuts on his hand.

When he was done, Al pulled Caius up and said, “Come on, pack a bag.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

Al didn’t need to say more. He kept a small flat in the city where he stayed whenever he needed to deal with the Basquait or Magician business, but he and Caius both knew his home was hours from Thremedon.

Caius had enjoyed his time back, relearning the city after years in exile, but Al had long suspected it had taken a toll on him as well. Having missed so much while he was away, combined with the vicious rumors of Thremedon’s elite had left Caius reeling some days. The worst, in Alcibiades’s opinion had been the first ball Caius attended at the palace following the end of his exile. No one had been pleased to see Caius return, never mind the fact that he had saved the peace talks by preventing Emperor Iseul’s attempts to sabotage them and the failed assassination attempt on his younger brother, the new leader of Xi’an. While Alcibiades and the other Magicians returned from Xi’an as heroes, Caius was still regarded as dangerous pariah. The other nobles never faltered in sharing their opinions of him, the freak who nearly killed another Magician ages ago. The night had ended in Caius accidentally shattering a champagne flute with his grip, then leaving near tears. Alcibiades had no doubt living in the city had continued to push Caius’s mental health to the limits. He only hoped that Caius would benefit from being removed from the city for the time being, not relapse even harder from being in the country as he was in exile.

The carriage ride into the country was more quiet then Alcibiades could imagine Caius could be. Usually Caius was so chatty and full of life, even in the most needless and incessant of conversations that Alcibiades had no idea how much he’d grown used to Caius’s voice until now that he remained silent.

Finally, around an hour into their journey Caius spoke, “He was going to have me killed, you know. For the Magician.”

Alcibiades didn’t need to ask who “he” was. The Esar had never been especially well-loved by the people of Volstov, at least not more than any other ruler. However, following the news of his sudden decline into a comatose state and Esarina Anastasia’s rise to the throne, more and more people had begun seeing the areas where his dedication to the empire had been left wanting. As a former member of the Esar’s inner circle of Magicians, even, or perhaps especially, at his young age, Caius had seen the lengths the Esar could go to for success, even when it came with great cost- a cost so frequently paid not by the Esar himself, but rather by one of his endless line of expendable pawns.

“How do you know?” Alcibiades asked.

“Another Magician acquaintance of mine who was also in his service at the time. She had been there when it happened. Apparently, the only reason he decided against it was because Antoinette threatened to abandon him if he did. I’m told he agreed with the stipulation that she cut ties with me,” Caius explained.

“That’s good, though, isn’t it? It means she hasn’t been avoiding you because of you. She was probably just trying to protect you from what he’d do if she tried to contact you after you got back.”

“It’s been months since he fell asleep, though, and she still hasn’t said anything,” Caius refuted.

“She’s a busy woman. What with the change in power, I’m sure she’s got a lot of ground to make up seducing the new empress,” Al grunted, rolling his eyes.

Caius scowled, “Really? What would poor Yana think to hear you speak of a lady like that? Besides if you think she hasn’t already made progress on that front, you aren’t up on your court gossip.” Alcibiades gaped at him and Caius scoffed, “Oh, come now, surely you didn’t think you were the only one in the empire to be interested in more than one sex.”

“Of course not, I just thought she’d wait until the Esar’s throne got cold before moving on to the next monarch.”

Caius hummed. “Yes, well, Nicolas was hardly the most attentive partner one could ask for. I could hardly blame the Esarina for wanting someone to fill the gap.”

“Now that I can see,” Alcibiades relented, just as the carriage began to roll to a stop. “Seems like we’re here.”

-

It seemed that “poor Yana” was a misnomer. Yana, though barely five feet in height, was a whirlwind of a woman. As soon as he met her, Caius realized he had been mistaken to ever think she was “poor” anything.

Upon first stepping out of their carriage and looking on to Alcibiades’s family farm for the first time, Caius broke out of his sadness long enough to worry that he’d be intruding. After all, Alcibiades had been too busy taking care of Caius’s nonsensical meltdown to send message ahead to let Yana and his other family that company was coming. Not to mention, if Caius had known he’d been coming to a farm in the country, he would have surely have worn something more appropriate and less made for the fashions of Thremedon. He should have worn something more sensible and humble. As it was, he was draped in a blue, satiny dress. He supposed to someone more familiar to the countryside’s overreliance on cotton and burlap he practically looked like a painted member of Our Lady of Fans.

Though, if Yana thought anything like that of him, she sure didn’t show it. She simply took one look at him, then slid her gaze to Alcibiades and said, “I wish you had told me you were bringing your special friend. I would have gotten out our nice china.”

“You have plain china in addition to fancy china?” blurted Caius. “How quaint! Al just keeps the plain kind, and I just keep the fancy kind. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. I should introduce myself, I’m Caius Greylace.”

“Oh, don’t worry, child, I knew the moment I saw you who you were. My boy has told me so much of you, I knew you must be the famous Caius. I’m Yana.”

“Yana…” Al said reproachfully.

Yana gently whipped his arm with the washcloth she held in her hands, “Oh, don’t start with me. Dinner is nearly ready, bring your Caius in to the dining room and say hello to your siblings.”

-

It turned out Alcibiades had many siblings, though he explained that not all of them were siblings by blood. Yana never failed to take in someone in need of a home, and had taught her children and grandchildren to do the same. This resulted in a large, loud group of seemingly endless siblings and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews.

One woman, brunette and smiling wide, tried to deposit her toddler in Caius’s arms but he had been too shocked to respond, so Alcibiades plucked the child from his mother’s arms, swinging him around and tipping him upside down, eliciting happy giggles and squeals from the boy. “He isn’t used to being around kids,” Al explained. “We’ll break him of that soon enough.”

Another child, this one appearing to be a girl, ran up, clutching Al’s leg. “Uncle Al! Uncle Al! What did you bring me?”

“What did I bring you? I brought you a person, isn’t that enough? This is my friend Caius.”

“Oooo, your friiiiieeeend,” the girl chorused, before looking to Caius for the first time. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. “Are you a princess? You look like a princess.”

“He’s a bo- Ow!” Alcibiades began, but Caius slapped his chest before he could finish. Whatever he said would only be half true anyhow. Caius’s relationship with binary gender was precarious on the best of days.

“I am,” Caius said, “and what is your name, sweetheart?”

“Antigone,” she answered. “I like your dress and your shoes.”

“Thank you, darling. Maybe if your parents say yes, you can come over tomorrow and try on some of my dresses,” he told her. “Though, they may be a little big on you.”

She let out a pleased noise, before running back to her mother , presumably to ask permission right away.

Yana pushed her way through the swinging doors, a steaming pot of stew in her hands. “Alright, alright everyone settle down so we can say grace and eat.”

And they did, and it was good.

-

It stayed good until the next day after lunch. Caius was in good spirits after meeting everyone and in his new habitat. They had enjoyed dinner and retired to Alcibiades’s childhood bedroom. After a rough day and being introduced to so many new people, he had thought it was best to let Caius have a nice quiet night just the two of them, and Caius had been downright affectionate with gratitude for Alcibiades taking care of him, and they had cuddled all the way into sleep.

The next morning, Caius had been reasonably accepting of being woken up by roosters at dawn once he was awake enough to get excited about being in close proximity to roosters. He had eagerly gotten out to try his hand at feeding the chickens, then nearly wiped out, slipping in the mud. Then Antigone and her sisters had come over to play dress up. Caius was thrilled when they all curtsied to him, as the news of Caius’s supposed status of being a princess had spread, and the troop spent hours marching around in Caius’s high heels and skirts before Yana called them to eat sandwiches for lunch.

No, the trouble had started after lunch, when Caius was helping Yana wash and dry the dishes. He’d insisted in helping because he was a guest in her home, after all. It had all went wrong when under the soapy water, Yana cut herself on a knife. She yanked up her hand, and Caius, unthinking, grabbed it to help.

Alcibiades could see the change from across the room. Yana’s entire body went relaxed, and Caius’s eyes contracted as hers dilated. He was halfway to them before he even realized it, but Caius raised a hand, motioning him to stop.

Caius looked like he was ready to crack, but he took a breath to steady himself and spoke, “Yana, dear, everything is fine.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and his voiced cracked on his last word. “I need you to remain calm. I’m going to leave now, and you need to stay here. Alcibiades will take care of you.”

Caius bolted, running at top speed to Al’s room. Al caught Yana as she snapped out of Caius’s trance. “Yana, are you alright? I’m sorry, I didn’t know he’d do that.”

She shook her head, “You need to go to him. Al, you don’t understand… when he touched me, I felt him, this profound sadness. A sadness like that shouldn’t come from a boy so young. I’ll be fine. It’s just a little cut. He’s hurting far worse than I am. Go. Go!”

Alcibiades went. Caius in his bedroom was doubled over sobbing into his hands. At seeing Al he sobbed even harder, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to I swear. I just wanted to help.”

Al took him into his arms, “It’s okay, Cai. You didn’t hurt her.”

Caius buried his face in his chest, and repeated, “It’s okay, it’s okay…” like a prayer.

-

Caius and Alcibiades didn’t always stay at the farm, but it never seemed to stop Caius from carving a place out there. Caius helped take care of the animals. He had even refused to leave the barn when Bella, one of Yana’s cows, had her calf in the fall. Caius seemed to have an uncanny way of making the animals calm around him. Alcibiades was half tempted to credit it to some velikaia mind trick, but Caius simply waved his hand at Al and said, “Don’t you recall that I had a pet tiger for a time? Taming a horse or a pig should be short work comparatively.” This was immediately followed by Caius encountering horse dung for the first time, but he never let Alcibiades tell that part of the story.

Caius had also been readily accepted by Al’s family, which wasn’t necessarily a surprise given Yana’s “We take all kinds here,” principles. He had especially bonded with some of the women of the family thanks to their similar reading habits. Every time Caius and Al visited, it seems that the hens of the house gathered for an informal book club meeting in which males, Caius excluded, were prohibited from joining because they, “just wouldn’t understand.”

Al had made the mistake of sneaking a peek at Caius’s book when he laid it down once. He made it through half of one sentence- “Floriana’s chest heaved as she reached down to stroke the man’s girth and-” before he dropped it in disgust, just in time for Caius to re-enter the room and see it.

Caius tsked wordlessly at him, picking the book off the floor and bending the pages that had been bent in the fall back into place.

“You read that filth?!” Alcibiades exclaimed, fighting the urge to wipe his hands against his clothes as if they were dirty.

Caius gasped in mock offense, placing a slender hand to his chest. “This is literature, General. I’m sorry you can’t appreciate it for its worth.”

“Worth?! It’s dime and nickel trash!”

“I do not criticize your testosterone-rich war novels, I shall expect you to respect my reading choices as well. This is why we don’t invite your brothers to sit with us as we discuss our books,” Caius said. “You big strong men have no taste.”

“You mean this is what you talk about with all my sisters?” Alcibiades looked horrified.

Caius rolled his eyes, “I don’t see why you should be so surprised. There’s nothing to be ashamed about some harmless fantasizing. Maybe you should join us, sometime. I think the average man could do well to learn from these books about what their partners want. You would make a rather dashing romantic hero yourself.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Alcibiades said, blandly. “I’ll take a rain check.”

“Suit yourself, general. We meet next Thursday afternoon if you change your mind.”

If Alcibiades had been smart, he would have remembered to steer clear of the den Thursday, but going about his daily business it must have slipped his mind that Caius’s perverted, little book club was meeting until he walked in with freshly cut wood logs hoisted over one shoulder to find half the females of his family gathered in a circle with books on their laps.

“General, what a pleasant surprise. You aren’t here to join us are you?” Caius asked from his favorite wingback chair, ankles crossed and with the close-lipped smirk he always had when he’d found something to toy with.

Al bit back a snappish retort, and replied, “Nope, just here to put some fresh kindling in the fireplace before it gets any colder outside.”

“How gallant of you, dear. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy the heat,” Caius said, earning a chorus of giggles from the women around the room. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to pull up a chair? We were getting ready to discuss the part where the protagonist is whisked up into the man’s arms and thrown over his shoulder, rather like all that wood you’re carrying.”

Al felt his face flush, turning to Caius once more now that he had deposited the logs into the fireplace. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” More giggles came from around the room. “For me to join, I mean.”

“You know I always enjoy your company, General.”

-

The next time they sojourned to the farm, it was the beginning of winter and time to celebrate the winter holidays.

Once more they found themselves talking for great lengths of time during the carriage ride from the city, this time surrounded by all the shiny, foil wrapped presents Caius had insisted in bringing for all of the family. Even with as crowded as the carriage was now, Caius had fretted for days that he hadn’t bought enough to give to everyone, despite Alcibiades trying to assure him that if anything he had gotten too much.

“I haven’t embarrassed myself, have I, Al?” he asked, gazing at the presents as the carriage took them further away from Thremedon. “I was so worried that I couldn’t possibly repay your family for their kindnesses over the past year that I didn’t consider that I might make them feel bad for not being able to afford such expensive things for me.”

“It’s a bit late to return everything,” Al grumbled. “Everything will be fine. The presents aren’t the real meaning of the holiday anyway, so I’m sure everyone will be pleased with what you got them.”

“Of course, they’re the meaning of the holiday,” Caius scoffed. “You don’t expect me to believe in that tosh about Regina-“ He paused suddenly. “I apologize. Of course you do. You’re the most pious man I’ve ever met.”

“What you don’t? Believe in Regina and the holiday and everything?” Alcibiades asked.

Caius smiled thinly, “No, I never have. I can certainly see the appeal in it. It must feel rather comforting to believe that there’s a higher power looking out for you, controlling your fate. That if things are meant to be they’ll be. But, no, I’m afraid if there is anyone is to blame for my mistakes in life, it is me.”

But, when it came time to exchange gifts, Caius showed no lack of enthusiasm for the holiday celebrations. As expected, the gifts Caius received were significantly plainer than what he had given everyone else, but he was no less excited to get them. Yana had sewn him some nice, cotton dresses to match the ones more common to the countryside farm life. He immediately had tried them on and loved every stitch and seam put into them.

“Al, Al, look!” he exclaimed, sticking his foot out at Alcibiades. “You can see my ankles!”

“Yeah, now you won’t have to worry about all your ridiculous skirts getting dragged through the mud and filth all the time like the rest of us,” Al said, making room for Caius on the couch.

“You love my ridiculous skirts,” Caius replied, pushing the foot he’d displayed earlier at Al’s face in retaliation.

“Yeah, yeah, well, settle down, you’ve got one more present to open.”

Caius cocked his head to the side, “Do I? I thought that was the last of them.”

“This one’s from me,” Al said, handing Caius a box.

“A present from the General. I do hope it’s appropriate to open in front of the family,” Caius teased, already pulling at the box’s ribbon and wrapping paper. He pulled open the box and stilled.

“I hope it doesn’t upset you. I knew it meant a lot to you, so I got it fixed. But if the memories are too much, you don’t have to keep it,” Alcibiades explained, watching Caius pull the once broken vase with the bird cage from the box. The cracks had been sealed with gold-dusted lacquer.

Caius hugged the vase to him for a moment, before reaching for Al and pulling him in for a kiss. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

-

After returning to the city, they saw each other again at the Esarina’s New Year’s ball. Alcibiades was dressed in a new red military uniform coat given to him by Caius to replace his “ratty” older one. At first Alcibiades had resisted the new coat, insisting that his old one was perfectly fine, but he had to admit that his old uniform had seen better days. After all, what better way to show Caius his interest than by appreciating the gift he’d been given?

On his third glass of champagne, he finally found Caius among the crowd, and he was dazzling.

Dressed in head to toe in scarlet, Caius sported a floor-length gown bejeweled in rubies with a long cape flowing down his back from his shoulders. When he caught Alcibiades looking, he quirked his blood red painted lips, and with a single finger beckoned Alcibiades to him. Alcibiades took one step to him, and he turned, weaving through the crowd, then down the winding palace halls to somewhere more private.

By the time Alcibiades caught up to him enough to wrap his arms around Caius’s tiny waist and pick him up, his ears rang with Caius’s laughs, and all he could see was wonderful, beautiful red.

[soworthloving]

A LETTER FROM ERYN

Before I begin... This is my story, and I entrust you with it like you have with me. For you skimmers out there, rest easy: I’m not going anywhere. I'm okay. So Worth Loving is not going anywhere. SWL is okay! Today is actually her birthday! We made it another year fam. Cheers to perseverance and impacting lives!

I remember sitting in a Kroger parking lot at 7:15am on January 2nd, feeling confused. I had no make up on, a beanie on my head, and 3-day old hair as I listened to music and wept. I didn't know exactly what I was crying about because there were so many layers upon layers of emotions. Everything was gray. I rationalized in my head that... this happened because this happened; and then this happened because this happened; and then this happened. Nothing could stop my mind from racing. The only thing I could do was think. Then over-think, and then spiral. 

I want to share something not many people know, unless you are in my inner circle. And if you do know, it might be because you are an observer from afar or caught wind of he said/she said.

This year, I hid from you because I truthfully thought I wasn't deserving of a community of people that believed in me. I was struggling to understand what my truth was. 

Did you know that diamonds are found in the dark, created under pressure, and cut by another diamond? I didn’t; and if I’m being honest, I have felt that same cataclysmic pressure, too. I found myself in the dark, encountering an unbelievable amount of pressure, experiencing relationships that refined me and made me better. If I could share every detail of the last year of my life, every nook and crack in my heart, I don’t know if you would be "Team Eryn" anymore. Or maybe you would, because maybe you would find that I am just like you.

I never want to sit on a pedestal and claim that I know everything about business and self-worth. I don’t. I've only hoped and prayed that my voice be used for good. Hoping that I could share my perspective, create a space for you to share yours, express what I’m learning, and celebrate vulnerability and connection. I’m here to inspire empathy in safe places. 

So, I'll quit with the hesitation and dive in. 

Over the past year, I have been desperate for empathy. For myself and others. I’ve carried my own mistakes and the weight of those around me. I’ve seen the worst in friendships and the beauty in nitty gritty, raw, authentic relationships. I’ve blamed and shamed myself and others. I saw parts of myself I couldn't believe were inside of me. What I've learned is the moment you start to believe you are immune to something is the moment you become the most susceptible to it. 

Sharing this part of me is terrifying. That's why I have even more admiration for you as I read your stories. I believe in the power of storytelling. I believe in the power of transparency and the healing that comes with it. I believe our stories have the power to transform others, and if my pain and failure can help one person, I've done my job. Today is So Worth Lovings birthday and in the last 6 years of So Worth Loving, I’ve seen suicide prevented, self-harm addressed, rehabilitation being remitted, and recovery from divorce. I’ve seen people get out of bed for the first time because they decided depression would not hold them down any longer. 

Brene Brown says, "We are vessels for stories.” 

I’ve carried your stories with me. When my eyes encountered your stories of pain, I wept with you. When my ears heard your stories of victory, I celebrated with you. But when my world was completely flipped upside down, I struggled to be present in my own story. Because of that, I began to fracture and break.

I want to be careful with this, because my story is woven with another's. I respect their story. I don’t know how to navigate this well, but I’m going to do the best I can to be as vulnerable with you as you have been with me, while also honoring another.

This year, I experienced heartbreak on a level I didn’t think was imaginable. I knew real heartbreak existed, but I didn’t know what it was like to physically feel a gaping hole in my heart. I didn’t know what it felt like for my spirit to shake and break.

The light I prayed for since I was in 7th grade, I watched slowly become dark. I’ve had people in my life who have gone through it, but I never experienced it like this. I guess I was naive. People have a tendency to do strange things in times of grief, and we all handle it differently. I experienced the 5 stages of grief. It was as though I was on a hamster wheel of grief and couldn't get off. 

For me:  I was in denial.  I was confused.  I was angry Because of this, I began to isolate myself.  I no longer saw myself as worthy of anything good.  I self-pitied.  I got physically sick. I was faithless. I was exhausted.  I was gossiped about. I was betrayed. I was lied to.  I lied.  I was depressed I carried guilt.  I felt shame.  I became numb. 

I was shutting down. I was blocking out any noise that contributed to the sounds in my head and the false whispers in my ears. When you are in a season of uncertainty, it’s easy to acquire everyone else's beliefs as your own.

When I made the decision to end a marriage after 9 years, it became apparent who was no longer in my corner. I couldn’t take on their beliefs and let their judgments define me.

As you walk through life, you will encounter phases that require different levels of courage. But how do you take those first steps of courage without a "How To" manual? Christine Caine says “The first step of courage is cut away things that hold us back or hold us down.” So that’s what I began to do... 

I began to cut away the fear and allow myself to feel every single emotion. I began to cut away the feeling of shame and stop saying what I was feeling was “bad” or “wrong.” I began to let myself feel, so that I could begin to heal. I sought help and guidance from others who understood the level of pain I was experiencing. I learned that I didn’t need to be told that I was going to be okay, I needed to be told how I felt was okay. Through this past season, I discovered the depth of my well. I discovered the depth of my faith. 

I’m coming out of it ready to be an anchor for you like never before. Now I know I can sit with heartbreak and grief on a multitude of levels. While the circumstances will certainly be different, I know the emotion connected to it, and I will feel with you.

I will not ask if you found resolve yet. I will not rush you towards a solution. I will sit with you while you figure it out, and I will hold you up when you feel like falling down.

While the last season of my life has broken me down in so many ways, in my personal and in my business life, I’m so thankful to have found some of the most incredible humans who weren’t scared to walk alongside me. They challenged me, questioned my decisions, and loved on me so tenderly and patiently. I got to witness people who didn’t see me as my circumstance, but saw me as Eryn. The Eryn who failed them, yet they loved me anyway. Those same people didn’t give up on me, even when they felt uncomfortable to lean in, consistent in their word to stand by me. They let me talk too much, sometimes in circles about the same thing. They showed up on my door when I would ignore their texts or calls, never taking offense or believing it was a reflection of who they were, but simply a reflection of where my heart was. Hidden. They showed up because they knew sometimes getting out of bed and believing in yourself when your life has been hit by a tidal wave is so hard. They knew that one more expectation wasn't something this heart could handle. 

These people are like you. Willing to catch the broken hearted and say "this is just temporary. This is not a punishment, it's development."

Now...  I am thankful. I am renewed. I am inspired.  I am taking ownership. I am moving forward I am ready.  I am forgiving. I am forgiven I am faithful. I am alive. I am grateful. I am healing. I am so worth loving.

In this uncomfortable season, I learned an even deeper understanding of the phrase "so worth loving.” 

So Worth Loving started with you. It began with your belief in the importance of talking about our struggles so we may help someone else feel less alone in theirs. 

We were fortunate to grow quickly, but as my personal circumstances began to crumble, so did I. I found myself taking on more than I could handle. I found myself creating and building on the back end of logistics when I deeply desired to be on the front end talking, creating, laughing, crying, connecting, and loving with you. 

When I started So Worth Loving, it wasn’t to be a t-shirt company. It was to simply use apparel as an entry point to talk about self-worth. Because the conversation was our primary focus, we moved all of our inventory out of our office and into a 3rd party fulfillment facility a few months ago. This decision took me out of logistics and put me back in a space to dream a little bigger and get a little closer to all of you. It opened up our capacity to expand and set out to do what is closest to us - start conversations through apparel, where self-worth and self-care can be the emphasis. It will give us the space to create resources for you to be able to find the proper help and support that you need when looking for the right books, therapists, & safe communities near you.  

Again, I reminded myself: “The first step of courage is to cut away the things that are holding us back or holding us down.” -Christine Caine

After many phone calls, conversations, and emails, I decided to move out of our office space and SWL will no longer be behind walls, but outside the walls of a physical building like we once were. We are coming back to our roots and will continue to be online so we may focus on the areas that matter most. For those of you who don't live in Atlanta, none of this will look any different than what you're already used to — we'll still see you online!

We will be going on tour this spring and partnering with Airstream for 6 weeks. While our fulfillment is in Ballground Georgia, I've settled on 16 acres in North Georgia where I will spend my time writing, creating, and listening to you. We are in the filing process of the So Worth Loving Foundation where we will be able to partner with college campus counselors and be their support in the mental health community. We are realigning. Recalibrating. Pivoting back to the basics. This season will be where we can get back to what we feel called to do, and that’s to be closer to you. 

Our heels are digging in deeper than ever before. We need you like never before. This next season will be a wild ride, and with every transition there is an opportunity to fail. But with failure comes the opportunity to learn more of who we are. 

I hope to be the Eryn who will make you proud, and I hope you will continue to love her and our team as well as you always have.

Will you join me in this next season of So Worth Loving?

[your-love-makes-bipolar]

A three year long inner rage

Okay this is literally a food for thought for myself. 

Not even food for thought because I shouldn't even be thinking about this. 

It is a release. Sadly it is, and it wasn't even supposed to happen again.

Three years later… Exactly.  

All I can say is: you mother fucker. 

I honestly wouldn't even know where to start anymore, or if it is really going to help me to put this in to words. After writing the first part I stopped. It was a release, and i didn't want to write more. Then after a minute, hoppa, it kicked in again, this anger. A deep range inside of me, but also this feeling of that he doesn't deserve to give me anymore. Not being enough. Not deserving his time. Sleeping with me and now he got what he wanted. Honestly it is some sort of PTSD that i am left with. A scar you will never heal, and maybe a scar i will never be able to heal properly myself. 

HE is not enough for me. HE is not deserving of my time. I didn't even want to sleep with him, i was intoxicated and he was sober. He even said to me every time I see him, I don't even want him to lay a hand on me, yet alone sleep with him. Then why did he do it. 

I care for him. And he knows this. It is this one chord he strikes that makes me def to all the warning sounds around me. That darkness around him that makes me blind to the past. However, the difference between us, is the concept of respect. 

Respect:

noun 

A feeling of deep admiration for someone or something elicited by their abilities, qualities, or achievements.

verb 

Admire (someone or something) deeply, as a result of their abilities, qualities, or achievements.

Thinking it would be best to bring out that definition and make my point more solid made me realise this is actually the wrong word. Respect is admiring someone, yet also fearing someone. In some way I do fear him, I fear the way he makes me feel. But respect is not the right term. Recognition is. “an act of recognising or the state of being recognised”. He sees me, but he doesn't recognise me, nor my feelings. I recognised his wrongs, and as well his good qualities. I recognised that he is a huge part of my life, and that we also were best friends. I recognise that people could make mistakes, and that they learn from it. And I recognised him. And that is the disappointing factor, I pushed away my recognition that he has not really changed, and that he does not deserve my kindness. But I hoped he had the best intentions in mind for me. 

Hope:

noun 

the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best

it is important to discuss the meaning of this word in this whole scenario. Hope is a building block in your head which drives you. Sometimes it pushes you into a good direction, but most of the time it is a tool which just makes you fall from a higher pedestal.  We learn from a young age that fairytales are what they are: tales. So why do we sabotage ourselves with this word, basically creating our own fairytale, with the hope that it will turn out the best for us. i don't study philosophy, nor any form of brain related study, i am just a little creative lost in her thoughts, needing to put them on paper, hoping that i will read this back in the future and stop before it gets too late. basically a prevention to need to write something like this again since it has been dragging on too long. but there we go again. the word that infests people, the driving force of still wanting to play the lottery incase you might win. and that is where addiction kicks in. 

There is the fine line of being addicted to a person or feeling. Personally, I think it is a combination of both. It is the way a specific person can make you feel which is addictive; Also known as manipulation. You always (and here it is again) hope that a person has the best intentions with you, especially the ones you have once loved. But if everyone was wired that way, life would be a lot simpler. People manipulate to fulfil their own desires, look at how society has become, we use thousands of filters just to manipulate a simple picture. Its infested in our daily life. Are we designed to sabotage? Maybe it is this combination of addiction and manipulation that two parties can have, which is a recipe for a very heavy and toxic cocktail. if there is a homogenous duo of both addicted, then go ahead, indulge yourself in each other and love endlessly, but if it isn’t, it can have various outcomes, and especially ones where people write their amazing heartbreak songs about. in this scenario specifically, i need to somehow let go of this “addiction”. But how? 

Recently someone told me they believe the reason I still let him in comes from a place of loneliness, which I recognised. Don't get me wrong, I am one of the richest people when it comes to those around me. I love my family to the fullest, and my friends all around me care for me like no other, all of them are true. But this feeling of loneliness is just what I have, always had, and had become stronger over the past year. I just feel a little lost, Which is okay, sometimes you have to lose yourself to make yourself bigger, so next time you find yourself faster. Its a process of life, some will never experience this, but most of us do, and it’s beautifully human. 

This sense of loneliness is maybe one of the reasons why I give him the time of the day, with a combination of hoping he has changed, and validation. But thats okay, just another lesson I need to learn, and I shouldn't make him worthy of my time anymore. It is my time, and that should be used on loving every second of it.