#that's why she says the thing about dying because of her own sentimentality

[poisonousquinzel]

was going through Janet's appearances cause I wanna see if I missed something and like yall

the way she makes her think of Harley, and it's referenced twice (and Ivy thinking about Harley like this happens multiple times in the first #7 chapters of the 2022 comic)

[like he fucking lip bite??? harley has her so <333 and it's returned<333]

Gotham City Villains Anniversary Giant (2021) #1

n I saw this panel

i don't think i have to explain more [but i have in the tags]

[shewolfofvilnius]

It's fascinating how even though you don't always hear about \ anyone other than Astarion, every origin companion in BG3 has an endgame/epilogue state that is either outright bad for them or at the very least "not as good as they deserve".

Obvious there have been books and 100,000 pages of fic and discourse written about Ascended Astarion. In the moments when he almost acts like his old self, even then it's merely humoring you with a whim.

Mother Superior DJ Shadowheart flat out admits to severe empathy for what Viconia went through, and has fully closed herself off from any sense of attachment or feeling other than Nocturne and Tav. Her continued need to find carve-outs and exceptions and loopholes parallels Viconia's own eventual disagreements with Shar. And as we know, Shar will eventually betray or abandon her if Shadowheart doesn't betray her first. It's the story of every devout Sharran we meet.

Gale, the God is a smug arrogant hubris-ridden asshole that's even mean to Tara in the epilogue. Nearly every single sentiment he expressed about why he wanted the Crown and to ascend is immediately inverted. Of course he's not going to interfere. He's a figure of aspiration. Once he received power himself he immediately forgot and forsook everyone and everything about why he wanted it in the first place. A romanced God Gale is SLIGHTLY more grounded but that's mostly just because you ground him. And if you ascend with him, that ends that.

Lae'zel's return to Vlaakith results in her ascension, which leads to her missing the party and being very dead. The things that Lae'zel claimed to value will never truly be as long as Vlaakith rules, and her not escaping and falling back into her people's death cult robs her of the ability to create a new Gith, a better Gith.

Karlach is dead, or almost as bad, a Mind Flayer. And while most of her initial personality remains, by six months in she's already grown emotionally distant and her personality is clearly and evidently being slowly overridden by the brains of the dying she consumes. She's forsaken the embrace of death for the guise of eternal continuation in her. And even surrounded by the ten people who should mean the most in the world to her, all she mostly thinks about is others' perceptions of her (ala the Emperor) and the fact that she's hungry. Mind Flayer Karlach even notes that she used to think becoming a Mind Flayer would be the worst thing ever, but now she likes it. Shades of the Emperor x1000 and a clear sign that the Karlach we know and love is rapidly becoming a memory.

and then there's Grand Duke Wyll. On the surface, it appears the happiest of the "bad" endings, but pay attention. Note how he discusses wheeling and dealing and making agreements with patriars. (How well has contracts and deals worked out for you in the past?) Oh, and in certain conditions including romance, Wyll will offer you the chance to become a Grand Duke as well - with the others being his father (Ravengard #3) and Florrick (Wyll/Ulder's longest lasting family friend). That's not a government of the people for the people. When the power is tied up by a husband, spouse, his father, and their most trusted advisor, that's the makings of a monarchy or oligarchy. Of the type of patriar power-claim to last for generations, something Wyll himself once mocked. Oh, and if you adopt a child, then you get into the worst part of it all: Wyll's been busy running a city, and oh hey, instead of y'all bringing YOUR FOUR MONTH OLD DAUGHTER with you, hey, she'll be cool being watched by the Ilmater temple for a night right? Sorry, Wyll, were you saying something a few months ago about distant parenting? Yikes.

[calaisreno]

His Move

1557 Words / Prompt: Manipulate

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Mary was an assassin, the business of her past never quite behind her. She’d run away once, and Sherlock had insisted they go after her. At that point, John was willing to let her go. They were never going to have the future he’d imagined when he bought her that ring. 

She was already dying when he arrived at the aquarium, and said the things you would expect a loving wife to say. You were my whole world. 

He felt a dull sense of relief, and hated himself for it. The problems of your future are my privilege. 

A future, cut short. And still, her problems would haunt him.

When Sherlock reached out his hand towards John, his eyes wide, John saw the horror-stricken expression on his face.. 

You were my whole world, he thought. 

Her body was lifted, put on a stretcher, and carried out. John followed.

Sherlock texts him: I’m so sorry. SH

John doesn’t reply.

Please talk to me, John. SH

He feeds Rosie, gives her a bath, puts her to bed. She fusses; she’s old enough to sense something is wrong. Now she has only her father to keep her world stable.

John, please. SH

He plans the funeral; there’s no one else. Mary has no family, only a few friends. It’s his responsibility. This keeps him busy, gives him space to work out what comes next.

Sherlock is actually sorry. This John doesn’t doubt. He’s not a sociopath, regardless of what he says.

John’s words at the aquarium were spoken in anger; he doesn’t blame Sherlock for Mary’s death. John is the one who brought her into their orbit. He can’t change that, but sometimes he thinks about what would have happened if Sherlock had returned six months sooner. Of course he would have been angry, and would have expressed how he felt about watching his best friend die, being abandoned for two years. Six months earlier, maybe he wouldn’t have paid attention to the new nurse, the one who kept flirting with him. 

He has no doubt that he would have come back to Baker Street if Sherlock wanted him. The compromise, as always, would have been on John’s part. Sherlock is never going to change. He will always treat John as a convenience, a habit that doesn’t require thought. 

Sherlock is rarely solicitous, never bestows compliments, only flatters someone if he’s being manipulative. The speech he gave at the wedding nearly knocked John over. Maybe Sherlock was only trying to do what was expected of him, but it was unexpectedly touching. 

Sitting there, hearing the two people who love you most, he’d had this thought: I would have waited for you, if I’d known. 

In his own way, Sherlock does love John. He also knows how to manipulate John, to get him to do what he wants. To keep John in the dark when he doesn’t trust him. 

Loving Sherlock has always meant giving something up. It means following him into danger. John isn’t sure he can afford that any longer, not with a child to care for. 

He has to be sure.

It doesn’t surprise John to see Sherlock at the funeral. Mrs Hudson sits with him, and Lestrade joins them. Molly slides into the pew, whispers something to Greg. It’s a protective entourage; they all know what John said.

Harry is home, watching Rosie. John sits alone, in the front row. 

Sherlock has texted him daily, and John hasn’t replied. That’s why Sherlock is here. He wants John to accept his apology, for everything to be as it was before he ruined it all by dying. Not that Sherlock understands it this way; he doesn’t think that dying ruined things. He’s convinced that he had to do it, that John would have died if he hadn’t. In his mind, there was no alternative. 

Maybe he’s right, but for two years, John carried the weight of grief. That’s just feelings, sentiment; Sherlock wan’t dead; he was saving John, saving the world, winning the game. He left John behind, let him grieve, because that was the only way to solve what happened at Barts that day. 

Sherlock will still leave John behind at crime scenes, run heedlessly into danger, and probably get wounded at some point. He will question John’s intelligence, talk to John when he’s miles away, text him impatiently while he’s treating patients. He will dismiss John’s concerns as frivolous, insist that sentiment makes him weak. He will break John’s heart again and again. That’s just the reality.

And John could break his heart, too. He has a temper, and letting go of anger is hard. Will that anger still be simmering in a year, two years? It’s hard for him to forgive; even in death, he hasn’t really forgiven Mary. 

Can he say he forgives Sherlock and really mean it?  

John prayed for a miracle, and hit the ghost when he returned. Sherlock didn’t hit back; he made a joke. He missed the point. 

But he pulled John out of a bonfire. His look of panic is something John won’t ever forget.  

He tricked John into forgiving him—but has also tried to be worthy of that forgiveness. 

He has expressed his love for John in front of a hundred people. 

These are not the acts of a heartless man.

Sherlock needs him. Maybe two years away was as hard for him as it was for John. 

Does John need him?

He imagines a life without Sherlock. He weighs it against a life without Mary. One is possible, one is past.

His wife was a master manipulator. He’s only beginning to realise the extent of that. He’d had doubts, but couldn’t put words to them until he was in Leinster Gardens, hearing her admit that she’d shot Sherlock, that she would do anything to keep John in the dark about who she really was. 

The woman he fell in love with saved him from despair.

The woman he’d married was a facade. 

He never forgave the woman who shot Sherlock. 

The woman he went back to gave him his daughter. 

So. Mary’s gone, and what he feels about that is a confusing mixture of guilt and sorrow—and relief. At some point, he loved her. Or the idea of her. He chose her. 

She made choices as well. She chose death, rather than allowing Sherlock to take that bullet. When John came back to her, she understood that he would never completely forgive her, that he was doing it for Rosie. She’d chosen to save Sherlock, to die rather than live with John’s grief over losing him a second time.

Sherlock didn’t kill her. She chose to die.

But when he stood at her grave, he didn’t ask her not to be dead.

What he wishes now is that they’d never met, that he could rewind time and make a different choice. That she was still alive, a stranger living somewhere else. 

But then he wouldn’t have Rosie. He loves his daughter completely, protectively, without rhyme or reason. He wants the best life for her, the carefree childhood he never had. And he imagines her growing up without a mother—with a father who has chosen to be alone. 

He pictures her, a child with pigtails and a stubborn streak. A teenager able to go toe-to-toe with her father and still see reason, take a small step back when she’s wrong. A young woman with curly blond hair and a teasing smile. She leaves for uni, and he’s alone again. He grows old, and remembers.

Does he need Sherlock? 

Absolutely, desperately. Like air. 

Can he trust Sherlock? 

Probably not. And he won’t change him.

He misses Sherlock. Whatever they have been to one another, his heart wants him. 

Is it worth the risk?

He’s standing in the church reception hall, drinking a cup of terrible coffee. Sherlock is across the room, looking at him. His expression is sorrowful, not the fake sorrow he can put on during a case, pretending he cares. His hands are stuffed in his coat pockets and he’s slouching against the wall, watching John.

Coworkers from the surgery express their condolences. Mrs Hudson hugs him tearfully. Lestrade tells him they need to get together over a pint. He accepts their sympathy, makes small talk because that’s what people do. All the while, he feels Sherlock’s eyes like a magnet, pulling on him. 

As the hall begins to empty out, he can resist the pull no longer. Sherlock looks up, surprised, as John walks towards him. His pale eyes fill with tears. 

John has given up so much already. He doesn’t blame anyone but himself. Maybe he’ll never fully trust Sherlock, but he’s already forgiven him. 

Setting aside all his objections, laying down his anger and his regret, he surrenders.

When he pulls Sherlock into the hug he’s always wanted, this time Sherlock hugs back. John makes deductions. He can smell a cigarette, maybe two (nervous). He feels his ribs, still too prominent (unhappy). He’s trembling with the emotion he hates (love). The world may have lost a fine actor when Sherlock Holmes became a consulting detective, but this is not acting.

“Please come home,” Sherlock whispers.

John smiles into his shoulder, his own tears beginning. “Oh God, yes.”

[rockingrobin69]

Basic Maths

“Draco said he can’t sleep,” Harry admitted, half-mumbled into his coffee, for some reason blushing over this, mostly concerned, but Ron just hummed and said, “That’s sweet.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What’s sweet?”

Freckled nose scrunched up. “You said he can’t sleep. Because he misses you. That’s a bit sweet, isn’t it?”

“I never said,” gasping, “Ron, it’s been three days. He can’t be missing me so much after three fucking days.”

The look on his face, exasperated and something else. “Mate.”

“What?”

“You what. Why do you think—no, it’s too early in the morning.” Tapping his shoulder, this tired look that had nothing to do with the fact it was barely six. “Harry, you’re my best mate, but you’re rubbish at this.”

That’s exactly what he was so scared of. Being rubbish at this. He didn’t know how to do—any of this, didn’t know how to, say, think the right words. Worried he’s misinterpreting everything because he’s so desperate for the tiniest of shred of… Enough. Another sip of coffee, miserable: enough.

“Harry,” great, now Ron sounded miserable too, “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” rougher than intended. “It’s fine. Let’s just get to work, all right?”

Ron stared at him for the longest moment, but then he sighed, and his shoulders rolled with it. “All right. We’ll talk about this tonight?”

“Sure thing.”

They won’t.

*

“And he got me another one, although I specifically said not to,” trying for a pout, ending somewhere like a sigh, rolling his eyes at how ridiculous this man was, and Hermione smiled and said, “What a wanker.”

“Right?” twitching in his seat.

“Absolutely. Getting you the pastry you like even though you specifically told him not to.”

“It’s just, every time we go to his place he—‘Mione, he’s worse than Molly.”

Hermione’s eyebrow arched. “Uh-huh. Worse, you say. Harry, you’ve not stopped smiling all day.”

“What? No I’ve not.” Nonsensically offended. “I’m… just wish I knew what he’s thinking.”

The look in her eyes, something terrible, hot and itchy like pity. “Harry.”

“No, I know, I know. I’m blowing it all out of proportions and it’s not a big deal and it shouldn’t be, right, we’re casual, and we’re friends, and that’s a lot more important. There’s no need to overcomplicate it.”  

“Harry—”

“It’s fine.” Coughed until he’s convinced himself too. “It’s fine. Let’s just… eat, yeah?”

He could see she was dying to say it, but thankfully, mercifully, she just grimaced and shook her head. “Fine. You’ll figure this out, won’t you?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

He won’t.

*

“Then he knocked on the door with the scarf in his hands. Gin, I think he went all the way back just to get it.”

“Mad,” Ginny said and stole another chip from his Styrofoam tub. “No, that man is completely mad, so much is true.”

“Isn’t he just. He was soaking wet—I had to convince him to stay and take a bath while his clothes went in the tumble drier.” Left unsaid: how impossibly soft Draco had looked in Harry’s robe, with his hair curling sweetly and his cheeks all pink. How he curled on Harry’s sofa and watched the telly with an arched eyebrow, obviously not following but still enchantingly caught.

Left unsaid how Harry leaned closer just to smell his own shampoo on Draco, how it squeezed his chest so tight he thought he might die. How lovely, how brilliant, how terrible it was to have him this close and this warm and this wrong.

“Harry,” Ginny’s sigh brought him back to the café, to the bright lights and the ache that still didn’t quite leave his belly, “you’re such a bloody idiot, I could strangle you.”

“Hmm? What? Why!”

“Why. He asks me why. You practically have love-hearts for eyes and here you are asking me why.”

Harry grunted something not-quite in English. “I don’t… it doesn’t matter. How I feel. He’s the one who said about keeping it casual. He’s obviously not—” lost the rest of the sentiment to a sigh, bone-crushing. Ginny was staring at him with an open mouth.

“Doesn’t matter,” she repeated, sounding dazed. “Harry, you berk, just talk to him.”

“We talk all the time.”

“No, I mean, actually talk to him. Why's that so terrifying? You’re meant to be this fairly-brave man, remember?”

Meant to be, was the point exactly. If she asked him to step into a burning house to save him (and not that it was a fantasy that Harry spent so much time dreaming about, in frightening detail)—but this was something else. Harry’s never learned how to… won’t be able to handle this particular loss. After everything, this would be the thing to break him, of that he was sure.

“Just talk to him. You’ll see, everything will be all right.”

It won’t.

*

“Just wondering if, erm, you know when he’s meant to be back, or…” his voice died into a croak. Pansy, still with her arms crossed, glared.

“No idea. Now, if that’s all.” Going for the door, and Harry’s heart—

“Wait!” with his foot forward, with his chest writhing, “wait, it’s not all. I don’t understand why he’s so angry. What did I do? Pans, please.”

Must have been the tone that got to her, the crack in his voice, because Pansy’s frown softened. “You two will be the death of me. I swear, if I have to listen to him whining one more time—”

“What is he whining about? Why… he looked so miserable. And now I can’t eat anything or get any sleep and I need to know, I need to know why he’s so upset and how to make it right. How do I make it right?”  

Pansy’s wide eyes. “What… you’re joking. Why he’s upset? Not even you are that clueless.”

“But what if I am. What if I am, and I’m losing my mind. I miss him so terribly it’s like my belly’s on fire and it’s only been a couple of days and please, I just, don’t understand why he’s angry with me when I’m so bloody—” exhausted, and terrified, and mostly exhausted. Not the lack of sleep: the lack of Draco in his life, the lack of his smile and his snarl and his cologne, and his hair and his eyes and his hands.

“Shit,” Pansy said, something flashing on her face. “You’re bonkers for him too, aren’t you.”

Wasn’t really a question, but Harry still nodded, tragic. Swallowed. Swallowed again. Bonkers for him too. “You’re not trying to say…” but he couldn’t even finish. She was, he thought, trying to say. “Why didn’t he just—tell me? I’ve been—he’s—no, that’s not possible.”

“Not possible,” Pansy said.

“No, no. He would have—I’ve been—for years. He’d have said something. I couldn’t be more obvious if I fucking tried.”

“Have you met Draco?” sneering again. “Our Draco?”

Something like laughter, hot and terrible, itchy up his throat. “Okay, yes, but…” not sure how to, what to, so panicked because he couldn’t face losing him, not Draco, their Draco, his Draco. “How do I make him realise. That I—too. That I, more.”

Sighing dramatically: “I think you know how.”

Already taking a step back, still shaking his head, his whole chest fluttering with giddy panic: “I—I have to—”

“Go, you arsehole,” but she was smiling.

What if Draco refused to speak to him? What if he wouldn’t listen. What if it was too late. What if he didn’t want Harry anymore? Harry tried to breathe.

He couldn’t.

*

“Idiot,” Draco was laughing, dear and too bright in his arms. “I can’t believe you…”

“I can’t believe you,” delirious with joy, burst open with affection, “you git, why didn’t you just tell me.”

“Beg pardon? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

On the sofa, curled around each other, and this humming in Harry’s ears that could only be contentment, that could only be burning, aching relief. “Dunno. Suppose it was… I couldn’t bring myself to risk it. I was too scared.”

Draco’s eyes were so grey and so close. “I thought I was so obvious. I thought—”

“I know.” Couldn’t believe he just gets to kiss his nose like that. Couldn’t believe Draco’s arms around him or the little sound he made when Harry nuzzled his neck. “We were maybe being a little silly.”

“A little,” Draco said, fondness dancing in his eyes. “Come here.”

Harry would, always, always. “Kiss me, you silly man.”

“Impatient, are we. I’ve only wanted this for, what… what are you doing, you berk!” to Harry, lifting him in the air a bit with the jump and settling again, closer, ever closer. Draco’s laughter rang in his ears, soothed something in his writhing belly.

“We’re not casual,” Harry said. “I’m so serious about you, Draco.”

“Not casual,” he nodded. “Is this what you wanted? Are you happy?”

Too much for words: he was.

(Flufftober day 5. Find the soft AO3 collection here).

[femmefemmefatale]

Hey I have two request (seperate you don't have to do both or you can do them different times )

The first one is yandere Lucy from the fallout show x fem!reader who has been traveling with her but is planning on splitting off because the reader finally arrived to where she was going

The other one is yandere Ashe with gn!reader who is trying to collect her bounty

TW: Lucy uses her tranquilizer gun on you. Traveling with Lucy has been interesting, to say the least. Her vault-tech ways were refreshing but naïve. It made wanting to travel with her very easy. Especially since you were both heading in the same direction. That pip-boy of hers sure came in handy. For a wastelander you were better off than most. You weren't starving, you were literate, you had a weapon to protect yourself against others and you had enough medical knowledge to patch yourself up in case someone used a weapon against you. But in comparison to Lucy, you felt… unkempt and uneducated. While you did your best to manage your hygiene, water was a luxury, and educational books were a rare accommodation. Lucy however didn't share that sentiment. The girl was pretty much singing your praise from the moment you met her.

Lucy loved everything about you. From how resourceful you were to how despite the horrors of the wastes you were still kind to strangers. You were cautious, she had to earn your trust, but you were kind—a true diamond in the rough. You just needed a little polish and you would be perfect. You were already perfect to her of course, but a little cleaning up never hurt anyone. Of course, that polishing wouldn't be possible anywhere but in Vault 33.

She hoped that by the time the two of you reached your destination her stories of Vault 33 would've made you curious enough that you were willing to go with her. The fact that you hugged her when you got where you needed to be cemented that fact for her. Only for you to drop a bomb on her.

"I'm going to miss you," you said as you held her tightly. Your chin on her shoulder and your arms wrapped around her.

For a moment those words didn't hit her at all. She was too busy drowning in your embrace to listen to you. But when that initial hit of bliss was gone, she was left with the cold hard reality.

"Miss me? Silly, there's no need to miss me if you join me," she tried with her everlasting chipper tone. Reluctantly, she pulled back to look at you.

The sheepish look on your face was endearing to her. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear. The way your gaze drifted to the side even though she preferred to have your eyes on her at all times.

"Your vault sounds amazing, Lucy. And I would love to visit it one day. But I have… matters to attend to here. It's not something I can ignore," you explained to her. Your vague answer didn't bother her a bit.

Unlike Lucy, you've been a bit more secretive with your past. But that just intrigued her. You were a beautiful mystery she was dying to unwrap in more ways than one. You weren't from a vault but you had more education than most surface dwellers. She tried to guess where you came from by the way you dressed. But your generic leather armor didn't give any hints.

It took a while but she finally got a hint a week into traveling with you. You were unpacking your bag, looking for something, when you suddenly pulled out a dress. It was lovely and well taken care of. When she asked you why you had it, you grinned that grin of yours that made her want to pull you on her lap so she could take your breath away. The only thing you said was; "To dance, Silly."

While she had no dress of her own, she would still love to dance with you. And she was hoping that she would be able to dance with you underneath the artificial sky in her home vault.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to join me?" she asked. Feeling a bit daring, she pressed herself against you. This wasn't the first move she made on you. She was never afraid to get what she wanted, but you were the first woman she wanted. Lucy knew she needed to do things differently. Not just because you were a woman, but also because you awoke something in her.

You were stronger than her. More capable of defending yourself, but somehow still so sweet and kind. She wanted to wrap you up and take you away. Away from prying eyes and anyone who could hurt you.

Being your knight in shiny armor, however, wasn't a way she could sweep you off of your feet. While she was a good shot, you were faster. More experienced in a way she couldn't be because she grew up in a vault.

That's why she showered you in compliments. But you didn't seem to catch on that it was anything but friendly. Not until she started to get a little more bold. Complimenting your looks instead of a skill.

The first time you realized her compliments weren't as platonic as you thought they were, she was almost afraid you would pass out from how flustered you got.

Since then, her favorite thing to do was to make you as flustered as can be. The blush on your face now the reason why she decided to take drastic measures.

A quick look to take in her surroundings told her everything she needed to know. And as you did your best to formulate an answer all while being too flustered to look at her, she took her chance.

She slowly took one of the tranquilizer darts from her belt. With one swift motion, she stuck it inside of you. It only took a second for you to collapse onto her.

Lucy held onto you tightly. A loving embrace. While it would be a pain to carry you all the way home, she could never be upset with you.

Besides, she always wanted a chance to sweep you off of your feet.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Memories [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 4k

summary: the case of the self-appointed Fisher King comes with too many sentimental implications and you discover that you and Spencer had more in common than you imagined.

warnings: mention of mental illness and some trauma

A/N: directly based on 2x01 of the series "The Fisher King" part 2

people who might be interested: @c-m-stuff @no-soy-fer @synthsescape @bella-fics @cynbx (if you want to be removed or added tell me!)

To say that you were worried about the case was an understatement, you were actually terrified of what might happen. An unsub holding a hostage, who was also her daughter, and who knew so much about each member of the team, was worrying in itself. But Elle being in a hospital dying, the case being so tied to Reid's life, and you being so stupidly far from knowing where Randall Garner was, was what made you want to throw up everything you'd eaten during your interrupted vacation.

The team, as always, had split up and throughout the investigation you had stayed with Spencer and Garcia to try to crack the riddle, using the man's brain, the woman's internet find-anything skills, and your vast knowledge of the world of codes and literature. During that period you never believed that the doctor's mother would be involved, much less did you think that she would find herself in the… condition she was in. Throughout the time she was there, he treated her sweetly and calmly, but you couldn't help noticing the discomfort that was palpable in the environment. Not that he was ashamed of her, of course, although you figured he didn't visit her very often and it was obviously not her intention for the entire BAU to find out that her mother was a schizophrenic who was in a sanatorium.

You remembered, hours ago, asking Garcia to let you tell the man that his mother was fine when he requested a plane to bring her to Virginia, and all day you had that conversation etched in your mind like a tattoo on your skin.

"Your mom it's ok" you had said, approaching her desk and leaning on it to look at it "Agents picked her up. She's flying here right now” you completed, although he seemed too amused with the piece of evidence that he had in his hand and then you felt the need to say something else “How are you?”

"I feel kind of dumb, to tell you the truth," he replied. Most of the time he avoided looking at you, but you had already gotten used to it “I forgot she used to always read me this poem. And I think that I should have realized sooner than that”

"Why?"

“Nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me,” he said, with a guilt-tinged shrug. “People tell me their secrets all the time. Think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to… except… my mother. I... I tell her pretty much everything”

"It’s fine”

“Do you know that I write her a letter every day?”

"That's very nice," you said sincerely, for the idea of the man carefully writing a letter to tell his mother about the day was a sweet image to imagine.

“It depends on why I write her”

"What do you mean?"

“I write her letters so I won't feel so guilty about not visiting her,” Reid added. If it hadn't been for that case, probably you, or anyone, would have known that his mother was hospitalized and you thought it was completely logical that he didn't want others to find out about that part of his life about him, including that he didn’t visit her. Spencer was always available for everything, always working, always alone in his apartment and now that you knew about Diana you understood why. He waited a moment and then finally made eye contact with you, looking somewhat fearful “Did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?”

And when he mentioned that your world fell apart. You understood that this was the reason why he didn't go with her; because he was afraid. You didn't know how to react, at least not at that moment, and you just looked at him sadly, feeling your own heart tighten a little at unfortunate memories.

Although, for work reasons, the talk hadn't gone any further than that, you'd thought about it all along, even now that you were all gathered to put the last pieces together of what you hoped would be a successful puzzle.

"Nevada? So we don't even know what state he's in?” Hotch muttered, already quite frustrated at how fruitless the search was turning out. There was little time left and you all knew it.

“I'll search the tax records, see if he owns any property”

"Excuse me," Diana Reid intervened from the chair next to the blackboard and her son practically jumped to try and stop her.

"Mom, do you know we're..."

“Just before the agents got me from the hospital, a man delivered this to me” she continued, ignoring “It's a photo of a house with an address on the back”

After showing her direction she turned the image and you saw what was a house that looked just like a castle, with illuminated windows, trees around, and a night sky.

“Shiloh, Virginia?”

“That's only 10 miles from here”

"Well, there's no time to waste. Morgan and Reid are coming with me”

"I want to go too," you said immediately. Something about the whole thing gave you a very bad feeling and you wished you could help in any way you could, but you were surprised to see that Spencer was the first to oppose your request.

“We don't want anyone else to get hurt, Y/N,” Morgan added, his voice almost pleading for you to obey Hotch's orders. You were in no position to demand a ride and only agreed because you knew that an argument would only take away valuable time. “We have to get ready. Reid, let's go.”

"I'll be back soon, mom"

"I'll stay with her" you suggested, hastening to take a step towards him, in an attempt to continue your mission to help.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," you said to reassure him. Diana already seemed quite satisfied with the fact that you were going to accompany her and you still didn't know why “Go. And be careful, please."

"I will" he nodded and immediately went after Morgan and Hotch, the three of them leaving the room to carry out the rescue mission. You had your heart in your hand for thinking about what could happen to them and only the woman's voice brought you back to reality.

"I'm glad you're the one who stays"

"Really?" you asked, somewhat flattered to think that she had liked you within a couple of hours of knowing you. 

"Spencer talks to me about you all the time" she confessed and both you and the other two women present widened their eyes in surprise “He said you like literature"

"Yeah, I'd say so," you muttered, trying to smile at her to hide the nervous wreck you were, partly because of concern for your partners and partly because of what she had just told you.

"He's going to be fine, right?"

By God you hoped so. You didn't know what you would do if he got hurt or… he just didn't come back from there.

"Yes, I promise" you managed to say, as serenely as possible to try to keep your companion calm "And if you tell me about your favorite book? I imagine it will be a good one,” you said kindly, taking her arm and leading her to a couch where the two of you could sit. You knew that part of suggesting the talk was to distract yourself from the bleak outlook and thus kill time until the team returned.

Waiting was all you could do.

Diana had talked to you for a while until she ended up finding it more interesting to write in her notebook so you decided not to bother her, although she left you silent and ready for anxiety to grip you tight. After about an hour JJ herself had come to tell you that Elle was safe after surgery and you swore you could have cried with happiness when you found out. So, the pain that stayed in your chest was just from waiting for news from the three remaining agents and when what felt like an eternity passed without receiving any reports you couldn't take it anymore and apologized to Diana to leave the room. with the excuse that you needed to go to the bathroom. You were confident that she would not be a suicidal or aggressive patient, but you still wanted to hurry to get back to her as soon as possible, and when you had barely walked a section of the corridor you met a gangly figure who was already on his way to look for you.

"Rebeca?"

“She's safe” was the first thing you said, making the knot in your stomach finally dissolve “But Randall died. He blew himself up,” he continued, and you thought you wished you had heard a better outcome, even if the man was a criminal “And my mom?”

"Calm. Writing” you assured him, taking a few steps towards him to get a better look at him. He was dirty and what would later be a bruise could be seen on the left side of his face, but other than that he seemed to be safe and sound. "Is everyone there okay?"

"Yes," he breathed out. It was a relief to know that, it was a relief that things were finally over and that no one had been lost.

“I'm so grateful to hear that, Reid,” you said. You stretched your fingers up to his side and ran the tips over the mark that was beginning to form. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"No," he assured you, with a tight-lipped smile.

"Your mother. It will make her happy to know that you're back" you murmured immediately, and tried to go back the way you had come to go tell him, but he held out a hand to stop you "What's wrong?"

"Do you think I could take a moment before going with her?" he asked you and you retraced your steps to face him, still not letting go of his hand. You nodded and he sat on the floor with his legs drawn up and his back leaning against the wall in an attempt to calm down a bit from the adrenaline rush of all the previous events. You dropped down next to him in the same position and looked at his profile, thinking that if you had something to say, now was the time to talk.

“She told me you talk about me all the time,” you ventured, and he bit back an embarrassed smile.

"You weren't supposed to have found out about that"

"So you say bad things about me?"

"She didn't tell you?"

"No" you answered kindly.

"It's a relief"

“So these are definitely bad things, huh,” you teased, pushing your shoulder against his and seeing him shake his head slightly, too embarrassed to admit what he had written to his mother about you. You were silent for a moment as it didn’t seem that he had any intention of getting up to cross to the meeting room, you spoke again "Do you really not want to see her?"

“It's not that I don't want to see her, it's just that dealing with everything sometimes is so… so hard. You wouldn't understand,” he told you, his voice threatening to crack at any moment. You took a deep breath before opening your mouth to reply and the lonely hallway muffled your words, which were barely a whisper.

"What do you know about Alzheimer, Reid?" saying this, he turned a little to look at you, just in case he had misheard, but he realized that now it was you who wasn't looking at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Alzheimer" you repeated.

"Huh, it's a type of dementia that causes problems with memory, thinking, and behavior," he replied, still not quite sure why you were asking, “It is progressive, which means dementia symptoms gradually worsen over the years, and it is also the sixth leading cause of death in the United States. Live an average of eight years after symptoms become apparent, but survival can range from four to 20 years, depending on age and other health conditions. There is currently no cure."

“Have you ever lived with someone who has it?” you exclaimed and he shook his head. It was easier to look directly at you when you were the one who looked away “There are experimental treatments that reduce symptoms, but none are totally effective, appearing early in life in only about 5% to 6% of people. Although there is no defined cause, the genetic factor can affect you if you had a direct relative who suffered from early Alzheimer's” you exclaimed. He wanted to ask you why you were doing this exchange of information, but he thought it impolite to do so, so he just kept quiet "You said earlier that people tell you their secrets because you have no one to tell them to, but I'm sure it's not because that. We trust you because you are kind, understanding, but above all a good friend who we know will never judge us" you took a moment to take a deep breath again, feeling the nervousness running from the tip of your feet to your head and also to gather something of courage "I personally tell you because I am very afraid of starting to forget them"

It all clicked in Spencer's mind in a split second and he wished he was misreading things, searching your gaze so he could identify something that indicated you didn't mean what he was assuming.

"You…?” he started to say, but the question died on the tip of his tongue.

“It was my father. He was barely 35 years old when it all started, it was with the time he forgot to come to his birthday party. I remember it perfectly, he hadn't been feeling well for weeks due to the stress of work and the company decided to run all kinds of tests on him, without finding anything to worry about, so we just ignored it. But the symptoms recurred: he was disoriented, discouraged, sometimes he became aggressive with the family and forgot plans or things that we had told him. When he almost crushed one of his colleagues with a machine that he forgot that he was working, the company decided to give him a permanent break and we began to worry.

»By 36 it was already a fact that it was the beginnings of dementia. The doctors were surprised by the diagnosis because it is not very common to find the disease in patients of his age and for more explanations that we tried to find, we didn’t find any other. They prescribed a treatment that only kept him calm and it got to a point where it felt inhuman to drug him daily, and about two years after he got the diagnosis my mom decided it was better to put him in a mental hospital.

I was only fifteen years old at the time, but I already understood everything perfectly. I went to see him every day, after school, talked to him, read my homework to him, and we watched movies together, which to a certain extent made his illness feel tolerable. The worst thing at that point was that he asked me to watch the same movie as the day before or that he asked me if I was nervous about the exam I had done a week ago" you looked at the man just to make sure he was following the story, which that you verified with the way he was looking at you; fully attentive.

“Anyway, the years went by and it got more and more complicated. Sometimes a nurse had to remind her of my name and at some point my mother just gave up, probably when my father completely disowned her and started yelling all over the hospital that a woman was harassing him in her room. I continued to visit him, but when I grew up and entered the FBI academy my hours were cut down considerably, so in recent years I only went to see him once a week.

»At 42 my father no longer knew that I was his daughter, he thought that I was a nurse doing social service by keeping him company. He talked to me all the time about his family and sadly told me that neither his wife nor his daughter had been to see him for a long time, but I assured him that they had both asked me to tell him that they loved him very much and that they would go soon” silent for a moment, careful not to burst into tears, and prepared to finish the story “He died during my first year as a BAU agent. I saw his decline over the years and even at the end I think he left thinking that his family had abandoned him. I don't talk to my mother anymore, because I think she feels very guilty about me for having left me all the burden of taking care of my father. But every day I feel at peace with myself because despite how painful it was to see him, I never left him.

»Many times I cried before entering the hospital and when leaving, thinking that I had to pretend to be able to spend a moment with the person I loved the most and who was now only a ghost of what my father once was. And it was terrible to look at it and think that this was my future, even to this day. They say that reading is a good exercise to reduce risk and that's why I always carry a book wherever I go, that's why I always want to do new things and that's why I strive every day to solve our cases because I don't know when the last. I have gone to specialists who have told me that there is nothing to worry about and that, if I have it, Alzheimer's could last until I am an old woman, but even so I am afraid every day.

If I really get sick and manage to get old, the most likely thing is that I will end up in a sanatorium, but right now what is worth it are the things I do every day. I'm scared, yes, but it's worth fighting for if I can help people in this job and especially if I can live with people like you.

I know you said that I wouldn't understand, but the truth is that of all the people in this building I can assure you that I am the one who can do it best. I know that you can't bear to see her because you are afraid of ending up with her like her and that at the same time you are so worried that you take the time to write everything about your life to her. I'm probably boring you with all this stuff that you never asked me to tell you, but I just wanted to tell you how important it is that you be with your mom. And more than doing it for her, do it for you.

I would only give you one piece of advice, which you can decide to take or not: don't waste your time, Spencer. Your mother loves you very much, go and talk to her, accompany her, listen to everything she has to tell you and forgive her faults if there are any. Because you don't know about her when it may be the last time you see her, either for your health or for hers”

There was total silence. You hadn't noticed until that moment that your cheeks were already wet from crying and you still didn't dare to look at his face. No person knew that part of you, because after your father got worse you had decided not to talk about it with anyone, so you could say that you were practically giving your heart to that man bruised by the mission a few hours ago. Suddenly you thought that perhaps you had talked for too long or that for him it had no relevance and he had only stayed to listen to you because he was not rude enough to leave you talking to yourself. But while your head was drawing the wrong conclusions, something you never expected happened: Spencer extended his hands to you and wrapped you in a hug.

It only took a bit of effort to make their bodies fit perfectly and he clenched the fabric of your knitted sweater in his fists, tucking his head into the crook of your neck to allow you to lean yours against his golden hair. It was as if all the time you had been destined for that particular moment, fused in that embrace that communicated everything that words could no longer express.

He wasn't the person who loved physical contact the most, all of you had noticed that, so hugging him was totally new to you. The feeling of peace that this brought you had no comparison point and the softness of his body covered you completely.

“I had no idea,” he murmured, the sound of his voice muffled by your skin. And Spencer was being completely honest, because he didn't even imagine that you could fully understand him after having lived through such a tragic story. He had understood many things thanks to your story and he was eternally grateful that he had felt the confidence to tell him something like this, so he also thought that maybe it was his turn to be honest with you "What my mom said is true, I always talk to her about you. I tell her that you are the sweetest companion I have ever had, that you always pay attention to me, and that you make sure that I feel comfortable wherever we go. I tell her that you are strong, that I want to be half as brave as you, and I also tell her that I have never felt affection and gratitude for someone as I feel for you, because you have made these two years different from any other time in my life” his words, whispered so close to you and drenched in so much love, only intensified your tears "And as long as my conscience remains intact, I assure you that if I need to remind you of all the secrets you have told me, I will do it"

That, more than a proposal, was a declaration of pure love that promised to reach many years into the future.

"Maybe we'll even end up in the same sanitarium, you and me, huh?" you exclaimed, with a slightly joking tone "And so I will have the opportunity to know your wonders again every day"

You felt on your neck that you managed to get a smile out of him and that made you smile too. That's when he pulled away so he could look at you.

“I think that… I will go with my mother back to Nevada. I guess we both deserve it, don't you think?" he told you and you nodded with a small smile. He didn't want to leave your side, but you got up first and held out your hand to help him do the same.

“She still has enough lucidity to tell me what your favorite food is. Maybe you should eat with her on the plane” you suggested. You didn't want to rob him of any more time he could spend with his mother, so you just wished him luck and started walking in another direction.

"Y/N, before you go" he called out to you. You were already a fair distance away, but it was enough for you to still speak in a small voice. "You know you're not alone, right?"

You smiled as he looked at you with those eyes that only showed sincerity, and you wished you could encapsulate that moment for eternity.

"I know" you replied calmly "And I trust that now you know it too"

[eruherdiriel]

After ruin

Jonsa ficlet Rating: T Universe: Canon Other: Angst, Sansa POV

Also on AO3.

She watches him slide the knife from its sheath and test the sharpness of the blade against a callus on his left hand.

“Must you go?” Sansa asks. Jon is always going to war it seems, and this time he would march right into the dragon’s maw. “Daenerys has already killed kin to clear her path to the Iron Throne.”

Aegon Targaryen is dead, so proclaimed the letter that arrived not five days ago with news from the south. Dragon fire killed him, as it kills many in the Crownlands and the Reach these days. But his death occurred after a challenge, a mockery of a test Daenerys must have known her nephew would not pass. She offered him one of her dragons to ride and then commanded it to breathe fire on him, the letter said. When he burned, she said it proved he was a pretender and that her true nephew died nearly two decades ago in King’s Landing.

Sansa knows better. Targaryens are not immune to fire; she has felt the proof as she traced the ruined skin of Jon’s sword hand. And yet, she has also heard the stories of when they tried to burn his body after the mutiny at Castle Black. She still remembers how Satin would not meet her eyes when he spoke of it, out of both shame for allowing it to happen and for fear of how Jon rose amidst the flames.

“I am a soldier. The battlefield is where I belong,” Jon says. The blade sings as he slides it back into its covering. “This is how I serve the North.”

“And how you run from love,” she says softly. She had not meant to say the words aloud, and hearing them nearly stops her own heart. It is much too soon for such a sentiment, but once it is out, Sansa knows it is true. She loves him. 

Whatever he feels in return, it is enough for Jon to run from her, just as he runs from his parentage. If he is fighting, he doesn’t have to face either thing. He doesn’t have to think about his mother dying after she birthed him and living her final months hidden away in a tower in Dorne. He doesn’t have to explain why he lets Rickon fall asleep against one side of his body and Sansa fall asleep against the other when they tell her baby brother a bedtime story. He doesn’t have to explain why he stopped letting Sansa come to his bed when she has nightmares, but she knows it happened after the morning she woke to feel him pressed against her, his hand wound in her hair and his breath warm on her neck.

He doesn’t have to explain why, when she tended his wound after fighting the Others and began to cry at the damage to his body that showed how close she came to losing him again, Jon lifted her chin with one hand and told her not to weep. Told her that he survived. That he could survive anything if it meant coming home to her. And then he kissed her tears away, his lips pressed against one cheek and then another before finding the curve of her mouth.

Her words to him now make Jon still, his back toward her, and he stays silent for some time. Sansa holds her breath and waits. Jon is always making her wait.

Jon, and the gods. And because of that, she has learned to be patient, learned through waiting to escape King’s Landing, and then waiting to escape the Vale of Arryn, and still she waits for Bran and Arya to come home.

“I do,” he says, head cocked slightly in her direction but still not facing Sansa. “Love you. But my love would only ruin you.”

This time, her heart does stop; she would swear to it.

If only Jon had stopped speaking after saying, I do love you.

“Ruin? You know nothing of love if you think it would ruin me.”

Now Jon turns. “Sansa, I’m—”

“A bastard?” she snaps. “A Targaryen? A deserter from the Night’s Watch? How many times must I tell you I do not care about any of those things? I care about how you treat your friends. How you respect me and make me feel safe. I care about how you’re the only person left that I can talk to about Robb, even though it hurts. I care about how you do your duty as a soldier despite how I know you want nothing more than to find out if Bran and Arya are alive and to search for them.”

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

But Sansa has more to say, so she continues before he can protest yet again. “When we find love in this world, we should cling to it. How much love does anyone know in their life? I once had a mother and father and siblings who loved me. And they are gone except for Rickon, swept off by war and violence, and that is ruin, Jon.”

His eyes soften, and finally he leaves his half-packed saddle bag and walks over to her. Then Jon takes her face in his hands, and for the heartbeat that he studies her, Sansa thinks he is going to give her what she wants—he will kiss her and say he is going to stay. But instead, Jon tilts her head down and presses his lips to her forehead, and the vision is dashed.

“This is all I can give you at present,” he whispers into her hairline. “My sword.”

Why, she wants to scream. Why can’t you stay with me?

But she knows why. The qualities that would keep Jon from her and drive her ire are the same ones that helped make her love him.

“And after?” she whispers.

Her head is tucked into his neck, but she can hear the frown Jon must wear when he speaks. “Let me deal with our enemies. Then we can talk about after.”

It is only half a promise, but she will take it, will hold it tight to her chest while she waits for the wars to finally be over.

[theladyyavilee]

the implication that eddie has been WATCHING buck ever since the lightning strike though and HAS been seeing buck and the change in him, but maybe not fully realized the extent of it and the way buck was struggling with it until this moment

but also, those looooong pauses between ‘but you are different’ ... ‘you haven’t been the same’ ... ‘how could you be?’ the comtemplativeness, THE REALIZATION, those lines are just as much about eddie as they are about buck

Eddie is only now seeing things fully, I think he might be connecting how HE has been different, how he himself has been changed by this experience too, he literally says it after ‘experiences like this change us’ and yes it’s about how his own brush with death changed him, but it is ALSO about how buck’s brush with death changed him, isn’t it? and that in an episode that has eddie remembering shannon and how she didn’t just have a brush with death, she died, more permanently than buck and that changed eddie too - the fact that they are putting such a spotlight on the parallel between buck dying and coming back and shannon dying just *screams into hands* and eddie very obviously remembering the sentiment of ‘tomorrow’s not promised’ in relation to his family, but did he realize it in relation to buck? who is actively slipping through his fingers and moving at breakneck speed towards natalia? because buck is VERY much feeling the ‘tomorrow’s not promised’ with the ‘which is why I have to make the most of every moment’ but he is once again misunderstanding what that means, clinging to the first thing that even remotely seems to resemble what he has been looking for, but eddie, eddie is different, he IS moving in the right direction with his family on the theme of using the time you have, but he is still not letting himself contemplate his own love life, he is still a little stuck on shannon’s ghost the way her picture is stuck to the fridge, but it fell and he FINALLY let himself contemplate her in all the somberness he’s been displaying this episode, which felt a lot like letting part of her ghost go and just

everything is connected to everything and they are pulling so many strings together at the same time that it feels like I keep missing references left and right (don’t even get me started on ‘I feel like she really sees me’ while not seeing that Eddie has been watching and seeing him and the whole ‘It’s like he is choosing not to see them’ from 6x1 of it all)

[audaciousanonj]

Concept: the senjuchiha feud was started when the Uchiha blamed the Senju and their mokuton for a new disease that started afflicting Uchiha, yet never spread outside their clan- a disease where flowers started growing in the lungs of someone in love, and never stopped until the one they loved kissed them on the lips.

Many years later, Konoha jounin Obito starts coughing up flowers...

Anyways the real concept for this fic idea is Obito starts coughing up flower petals, is in denial for the first few moments and thinks "Rin? I got over my crush ages ago..." and so to test, he thinks about kissing Rin, and keeps breathing normally. Then, his mind wanders over to when he was a genin, taping over a picture of Kakashi because he felt weird pretending to kiss Rin with Kakashi staring at him- and he starts coughing. (Obito internally: that's what I thought you'd say you dumb fucking flowers.)

And like! if it was Rin then he could summon up his courage to ask for a healing kiss, probably, because at the very least Rin is a medic and if he just made it seem like a version of cpr Uchiha need sometimes then he could probably get away with minimal awkwardness, but Kakashi?? yeah Kakashi and him are friends now but Obito doubts Kakashi'd be willing to kiss him, and if Obito's gonna die anyway then there's No Reason To Tell Kakashi His Feelings.

But the hanahaki reaches late stages (ie: coughing up whole flowers) and Obito is clearly very sick, but Obito is saying it's just an Uchiha Thing, don't worry about it, Obito's dealing with it, so while Rin is trying to help Obito, Kakashi barges into Kushina and Mikoto's tea party and asks Mikoto bluntly if coughing up flowers is really an Uchiha thing and if so how do they fix it-

Mikoto's eyebrows rise, but she is willing to overlook Kakashi's rudeness under the circumstances. "Normally, I would not share clan secrets, especially not to such a rude request, but since it's obviously about Obito... Yes, some Uchiha get it when they're in love. The only cure is for the one they love to kiss them on the lips." Kakashi nods, murmurs a cowed "Thank you Mikoto-san, Sorry for interrupting Kushina-san" at Kushina's glare, and leaves to head back to Obito. Clearly, if his idiot teammate isn't going to say anything, then Kakashi will just have to take matters into his own hands and tell Rin himself that Obito needs her to kiss him!

So when Kakashi gets back, he says Mikoto-san told him what's going on with Obito and what the cure is- Rin needs to kiss Obito! Obito flushes and mutters between coughs that it wouldn't work, and there's a back and forth of insults as Kakashi agitatedly asks why Obito won't try it, which is broken up when Rin says that if it's not contagious she might as well try. So Rin and Obito kiss! and they break away to stare into each other's eyes... and Obito turns away to cough up more flowers.

Obito can't say "I told you it wouldn't work" but he sure is radiating the sentiment, Rin sighs sadly and says it was worth a shot, and Kakashi...

Kakashi is honestly not having a good time of it. Obito is one of his most precious people, somehow, and now he is sick and dying and Kakashi is strongly in the anger stage of grief right now. so when the cure doesn't work, obviously Rin did something wrong!!

...Which Kakashi says out loud. He doesn't know what Rin did wrong, but it must have been something, so try again! and when Rin and Obito shake their heads, Kakashi's anger and frustration and grief and need to do something boils over .

So he says "Then I'll do it myself!", pulls down his mask, and shoves his face against Obito's to give him an emotional kiss.

It's... honestly not the best kiss. Very wet, very forceful, and Obito wasn't expecting it at all- but he can sense the emotion behind it, and his face and heart feel warm... and so do his lungs, actually-

Obito shoves Kakashi off of him and turns his head away from everyone, and Kakashi just knows that it didn't work- but instead of coughing up flowers, Obito breathes out flame... and then doubles over to wheeze out the remaining soot, but his lungs are noticeably clearer instead of the wet and full coughs from the flowers.

When he's finished, Rin silently passes Obito some more tea, and as he sips at it, Kakashi turns to her and says "I told you you were doing it wrong."

[naamahdarling]

Do you have a favorite musical?

If so, what are your favorite lyrics from it, and why?

ALW's CATS.

Is it a surreal mess? Yes! But I love it before everything else.

The lyrics are silly but very clever. Most are at least partly by TS Eliot, drawn from a wonderfully nonsensical book of poems.

I think my favorite song is the Invitation to the Jellicle Ball, neck and neck with Mr Mistoffelees.

My favorite cat is Mistoffelees by a lot, followed by the Rum Tum Tugger. They are in love.

But the part that makes me feel the most in my heart is Grizabella. The only cat I relate to is Grizabella.

Memory is the big number that everyone knows and I do absolutely love it, it's one of my favorite songs and probably the best in the musical as it was before CATS 2019 introduced a new song, but I feel that out of context it simply doesn't have punch. It gets trotted out to showcase a singer's skill, as a bit of a tearjerker if you're a sentimental person. It is so much more than that.

I didn't understand Grizabella properly until I was well and truly an adult and had taken in multiple cats off the street, and lived near a colony, and watched my own cats become frail, which are all painful things in many ways; AND until I had begun to really feel the weight of my marginalization as a disabled person and an ill person, which means confronting almost daily the fact that I am unlikely to come to the sort of end I would like.

Hold on because I'm going to be unhinged about this cat for a minute.

Grizabella is an aged stray, once welcomed, now abandoned and unloved, considered ugly even by others like her (who are shown to supposedly accept differences and value, or at least respect, most everyone...but not her).

She lives in a haunted, lonely state unacknowledged by anyone except to be driven away. She can no longer care for herself, she is filthy and matted and scarred and probably in a lot of pain, she is starving, and she has nothing but her memories of better times, and every single dawn is both a gift and a miserable curse. She gets to remember. She has to remember.

If you watch, Grizabella is onstage a LOT, she's just off in the background, usually poorly lit, where she tries to mirror the dances happening on the main part of the stage, dances she knows because that was once her, there in the spotlight, shining. But now she's in too much pain to dance and her body isn't working right anymore. I have no doubt Grizabella is dying. The question is whether she will get to do that well, comforted and with dignity, or do it badly and alone.

I cannot HANDLE Grizabella.

If you have even the tiniest inkling of love for cats, if you believe every cat's life is worth something, her story should destroy you.

The legendary Jennifer Hudson's performance in the movie brought a really angry and confrontational turn to her, and it was flat out amazing. A rebuke of a performance. It really hurts to watch but it's what the role has always needed. She isn't just weak and sad, she clings to the tatters of her dignity and is angry that the others don't see her as a whole person. Just a miserable shadow to be avoided. A cautionary tale. We are never told what terrible thing she did to deserve her fall, and given that most of the Jellicles are young, I don't know that any of them really remember.

I will physically fight anyone who says she should not have been selected to ascend to a new life. She was the only choice. Even Gus. Even him. He can have his turn next year. Grizabella does not have another year in her.

And I'm going to make some folks mad but I love the 2019 movie (it's bad) and the new song, Beautiful Ghosts, is amazing, and I DO prefer Taylor Swift's version as the movie version is a little more timid (fitting the role and musical way better) but TS fucking BELTS IT and I get chills every time.

The lyrics are incredible and the song is gorgeous, gorgeous. And strung together with Grizabella's song, it finishes the musical in a way that it was a bit unfinished before. It uses an actual full song to connect Grizabella to the Ball and the Choice more directly than any choreography ever did or could:

Victoria, the White Cat and viewpoint character, still almost a kitten, has been dumped in the street and into a terrifying and beautiful new life.

After being swept up into its wonder, she sees Grizabella, utterly rejected, hissed at, made fun of, despised, and aches with the injustice of it -- Victoria was snatched right up by the other cats the instant her paws hit the ground, but nobody will take in Grizabella. Not even her own kind.

Victoria sees how strangely similar they are and feels a kinship that has no pity in it at all, but wonder and respect.

So Victoria sings this new song expressing the first admiration Grizabella has heard in god alone knows how long, reminding her she has had an amazing life worth envy and renown, and she pulls this horrible decrepit old mess of a cat into the Jellicle Ball, where she is FINALLY relieved of her pain.

Like? I'm crying right now?

It isn't a serious musical, but Grizabella's story runs through it like a cold current, something real and terrible, surrounded by absolute ridiculousness. Her numbers are deadly serious, never played for laughs. And ultimately it is her story that turns out to be the most important one, the truest one, and it is dark, and it is hopeful but only in only the most painful and grief-stricken way. She isn't brought back into a comfortable life with other cats to be happy and surrounded by love. She essentially...dies and goes to cat heaven. She embodies hope itself to the others, and her ascension represents a deeply humbling lesson in humility and grace. Her suffering and her ascent represent the possible future of every one of them, and now they have to confront that, and their treatment of her. She was rewarded, and for all their beauty and charm they were not.

Anyway I'm not normal about it.

The lyrics from Beautiful Ghosts that I love are:

Perilous night, their voices calling. A flicker of light, before the dawning. Out here the wild ones are taming the fear within me. Scared to call them my friends and be broken again. Is this hope just a mystical dream?

and

And so maybe my home Isn't what I had known, what I thought it would be. But I feel so alive With these phantoms of night, and I know that this life isn't safe but it's wild and it's free!

Like, come on. It's a lovely song and it took my breath away in the theater.

Ugh this musical touched me as a feral cat girl of 10 and it touches me again as a sad catguy in their 40s. Truly a very stupid work of weirdly meaningful art and one for the ages.

There are much better musicals, but none of them are part of me.

[monsterblogging]

How Pacific Rim 2013 is about killing the gods, and why we need to accept this

After years of researching the development of Pacific Rim, and learning more about its creators, I've reached a conclusion.

You cannot truly understand the narrative of Pacific Rim until you can wrap your head around the idea the kaiju are divine beings, their creators are functionally gods, and (at least sometimes), gods need to be killed.

This sentiment can be traced all the way back to Travis Beacham's draft script, where the Precursors were explicitly revealed as the creators of our universe, who made it so they could move here from their own dying universe. The script very deliberately codes them as gods, as evidenced in these quotes:

RALEIGH There’s things you just can’t fight. Acts of God or whatever. Like you see a hurricane coming, you just have to get out of the way, you know? But when you’re in a Jaeger, suddenly you can draw a line in the sand. You can fight the hurricane -- and you can win.

CZERNY Because I had to be quarantined. I looked into the abyss. I’d been infected with the truth -- that this is the end of us. We are the vermin of the gods. There’s no point in putting up a fight...

TAKADA I don't have it... We all know it's a siege. What can I say they don't already know? We call the enemy the Precursors... I may as well tellthe world the gods want us dead.

NEWT (CONT’D) I don't care if they are the creators of the universe. I like the universe. She leans her head on the seat and watches him with a pining look in her eyes. He turns to add with a chuckle -- NEWT (CONT’D) And I'm not a creationist.

The draft script is not fucking around. The Precursors are gods, and they must be slain.

The final movie retains the "acts of God" line, but the Precursors are never explicitly called "gods" like this. However - the subtext is still there. For example, Hannibal Chau tells us what the kaiju cultists believe:

HANNIBAL CHAU Look at 'em. They believe the Kaiju are sent from heaven. That the gods are expressing their displeasure with our behavior. The silly bastards.

The film also shows us kaiju sisters, who are very clearly meant to evoke Catholic sisters with their cornettes. And of course, we can't forget the kaiju church building.

And then there's the Precursors themselves, whom we only get a brief, blurry glance at. But their design had intention behind it, as we learn in Pacific Rim: Man, Machines, & Monsters (emphasis mine):

"When I was a kid," says del Toro, "we used to catch these bugs in the pool. They had a translucent, hard shell and you could see their organs. I wanted the design to evoke that. Wayne Barlowe and Keith Thompson worked the final design. We gave the Precursors elements of ecclesiastical royalty, dividing them into cardinals and bishops."

For anyone who doesn't know, del Toro is an ex-Catholic whose grandmother tried to exorcise him over his interest in monsters, and made him wear bottlecaps in the bottoms of his shoes as penance for his perceived sins. And Guillermo del Toro isn't shy about expressing anti-authoritarian sentiments. (Pan's Labyrinth and Pinocchio are very strongly anti-authoritarian films.)

Pacific Rim is using the godkilling trope the exact same way a lot of Japanese media does it: personifying corrupting ideologies and corrupt institutions as malefic gods that humanity must rise up against and destroy. (If you want to learn more about this, Moon Channel's video Why Do You Always Kill Gods In JRPGs? goes into this in detail.)

Where other western media that involves killing gods often aims to avoid controversy by reassuring its audiences that the god or gods being killed are false gods, or by targeting gods largely considered discredited (such as actual pagan gods, or fictional gods modeled on them), Pacific Rim refuses to pander to western Christian sensibilities in this way.

Had Guillermo del Toro had his way, this would have gone on to resemble the Japanese usage of this trope even more, where said divinities often are former humans, or are the product of human activity. He'd planned to reveal that the Precursors were humanity from the future:

And then we found out that the precursors are us thousands of years in the future. They’re trying to terraform, trying to re-harvest the earth to survive. (Source.)

Unfortunately, this didn't happen. The sequel to Pacific Rim was handed off to another director, and the Precursors were re-coded as demonic. All of the socio-political criticism embedded in the first movie were gutted - and I don't think it's any coincidence that the uberconservative weirdos I've been seeing in this fandom focus on it more than the first movie. (And if they aren't focused on Uprising, they're focused on The Black, which is even worse. I will suffice it here to say that The Black was practically tailor-made to attract young chuds. And while not everyone I've met who actually likes it was a chud, every one of them had extremely low media literacy.)

You see, when you remove Beacham and del Toro's careful symbolism and coding, the Precursors become nothing more than a vague enemy that you can project anyone onto. Hyperconservatives are free to compare the Precursors to whatever boogyman they've decided threatens Christianity and/or Western civilization, and engage in fantasies of using militaristic force to destroy them.

Failing to recognize or choosing to ignore how Pacific Rim uses the godkilling trope to criticize authoritarian religious institutions and late-stage capitalism is how a film directed by two anti-fascist creators gets twisted into a fascism-affirming narrative. And that, I think most of us can agree, is a problem.

[dontmindmeimjusthereforthesequel]

Ok, wait. Im currently on my third relisten of TMA and I'm at Mag 107 Third Degree. Jon is poking around America following Gertrude's trail and he just found out about Gerry's death and subsequent skin book entry.

And that has always bothered me to a degree.

I just couldn't figure out why Gertrude would do that. It seemed unnecessarily cruel and oddly pointless. At first I thought it was because she needed him for something or just didn't want to lose him, but when Jon interviews him he doesn't seem to have much in the way of information, and Gertrude doesn't strike me as the overly sentimental type; and if she needed him, why would she leave America without his page? She was able to talk herself out of being arrested, and she had plenty of determination and resources as well as a good six months before her own death if she wanted to get the book back, but it just... didn't happen. I just didn't understand why she would go to all that trouble to put him in the skin book and then just... leave him there.

And then... I had a thought.

Did... did Gertrude put Gerry in the skin book to prevent him from coming back as an avatar? Because Gerry died of a serious brain tumor and Trever Herbert had lung cancer when he gave his statement and died in the institute and then just got up and went about his business. And dying is sort of a right of passage into becoming a fully fledged avatar, right? Was Gerry becoming an avatar??? His entire life he was constantly surrounded by fear, (first as a child with Mary and her Leitners, then as an adult with Gertrude at the institute) so there is no way he wasn't affected by all that. The guy had a reputation! He was constantly interacting with people who were marked or in some kind of trouble! even if he wasn't in it to scare people, he was still around them while they were experiencing that terror. There is no way he didn't attract the attention of ONE fear entity that entire time.

And if he was becoming an avatar, what entity was he aligned with? I know The Eye seems like the obvious choice, what with his tattoos and working at the institute, but I'm not sold on the idea. Gertrude and Mary (and presumably Gerry as well) were very careful to walk the tightrope between entities, never giving themselves over to just one, and if Gerry was eye aligned I would think that Gertrude would not approve. To me the tattoos seem almost like a preventative measure of some kind? Connecting himself to Beholding to prevent another fear from sinking its claws into him. Personally, I feel it is more likely he was part of The Hunt (tracking down Leitners for Mary and rituals for Gertrude) or The Desolation (destroying things that are precious to other avatars like the Leitners or rituals). Hunt seems more likely in the long run, especially since we find Gerry's page with two avatars of the hunt. Just saying.

Idk. Maybe this has already been discussed at length somewhere in the community, but if it was I certainly missed it, and it has been bothering me for years.

tl;dr - Gertrude put Gerry in the skin book to prevent him being reborn as an avatar

I need to go lie down

[chronicbeans]

hehe im back 🤓

ok, sally is actually my favorite cos shes a star n idk thats just soooo cool ; anyway, sally n the gang with the reader introducing them to other musicals? Like Ride the Cyclone? (*cough* specially ballad of jane doe *cough*) and reader helps make the play with them???

thx !! 🤩 pls drink lots of water btw 🥶

OMG this is great. Sorry it took so long omg- (at least it feels like it took a while)

Sally and the Gang being Introduced to Musicals by the Reader:

TW: Mentions of Death and Ride the Cyclone Spoilers, Fear or Forgetting (Athazagoraphobia)

⭐Sally is all for this. She is going to beg you to show her more and more musicals. When you decide to show her Ride the Cyclone, she decides it would be perfect to show her friends. She is probably the most excited for all of the musicals you are showing them. She is definitely willing to make a play out of it!

⭐Wally's favorite character is Karnak. He even tries to dress up like him, saying that is Sally were to put on their own version of Ride the Cyclone, he calls being Karnak.

⭐Frank is kind of meh. He likes all of the musicals he is shown. He just finds Hamilton to be the most intriguing, because he heard it was based off of history. He finds that history is usually not that popular in a lot of mainstream media in your world, so it becoming popular is interesting. He would most likely be in the audience, watching the play.

⭐Poppy is a bit anxious after watching Ride the Cyclone. Those poor kids got injured without even doing anything wrong! She is also worried about Eddie, too. He doesn't seem to be doing so well. She would help with the play, but she wants to check on Eddie.

⭐Howdy enjoyed it! He enjoyed all of the shows you introduced them to. He, along with the others, needs a crash course on dying, though. He seems to think dying is something you can come back from.

⭐Julie loved it! She wants in on this play! She wants in on it NOW! The bright lights, the colors, the interesting story! It might just make her a musical fan.

⭐Oh, poor Eddie... he really isn't doing that well. He appreciates the sentiment behind showing him and his friends Ride the Cyclone, but uh... He took one listen to The Ballad of Jane Doe, and unlocked a new fear in life: Athazagoraphobia (the fear of forgetting and/or being forgotten). Think about it. He doesn't remember his hometown, he keeps forgetting small things... now, he's worried that he will forget everything, one day! What if the others forget who he is, too? What if he, and nobody else, remembers who he is? Oh no...

⭐They all like the ending of Ride the Cyclone, though! They think it is a great lesson in being charitable to those who are less fortunate than you. A lot of the concepts in a lot of musicals, including Ride the Cyclone, tend to fly right over their heads, unfortunately. They mostly just see pretty lights, colors, costumes and music! The only reason why it seems to have gotten to Eddie so bad is because he already has a lot of experience with forgetting important things...

[sapphire-weapon]

Hi! Love reading your writings on the whole RE franchise, and I just would like to know what you think about on a certain part regarding Separate Ways. I bought the game a while ago and have been replaying it nonstop. One thing though that always sits with me (and that I can’t seem to find any other type of discussion for) is the scene where Ada comes across Luis’ death and as she watches it from afar.

Do you think Ada genuinely felt upset and angry at Luis’ death like Leon and Ashley did? How did she feel about it in general? How she did it affect her long term or short term like it probably does to Leon? I know she chases after Krauser, but Ada constantly gives me mixed signals on how she feels lol (but I am autistic and may not be able to read her tone, face, etc, etc.). So some different perspective on it would be nice :) Thank you!

I've found that Ada gets sentimental and develops attachments to people and things. This is a character trait that she carried from OG to Remake. She's of course not a bleeding heart "save the children" type, but people grow on her and she gets attached to them. Think of the three people we actually see her interact with meaningfully in the Remake series so far: Wesker, Leon, and Luis. Ada develops some kind of attachment to all of them.

Incidentally, I think this is also why she refuses to call Ashley by name at any point in SW. She doesn't want to get attached to her, too.

We know that Luis's death affected her because of this moment:

Ada wouldn't have fucked with the bombs to save Ashley if not for Luis's influence.

In fact, Luis's death was the catalyst for a lot of change in her.

So, when Ada witnesses the "For Luis" scene and she stands up and says:

That's her own way of joining in the chorus of "For Luis" -- because helping Leon and Ashley was Luis's dying wish.

I think what would be helpful would be mapping out Ada's character arc in RE4make:

the lie she believes: looking out for myself is the most important thing

doubt moment #1: helping Leon during the village fight and at Mendez's house

test moment #1: Wesker taking her blood and yelling at her for incompetence

test moment #2: Luis expresses a desire to help Leon and Ashley

doubt moment #2: learning that she's infected, too

doubt moment #3: chasing Luis into his burning lab

doubt moment #4: sending Luis away as U3 approaches

CHANGE MOMENT: Luis's death

reinforcement of change: Ada fucks with the bombs even after Wesker pointed a gun at her

further reinforcement of change: refusing to give Wesker the Amber, despite knowing what he's capable of and willing to do to her

moment when she's actively realized that she's changed: encountering Ashley

ending mindset: helping others helps me help myself; I am not an island

I think Ada realized that she couldn't have gotten as far as she did without Luis's help, and she saw that Luis was sincere in his desire to help. So, to watch him fail sparked an "I can't let it end like this" feeling in her, which then prompted her to honor his dying wish.

What's interesting about Ada -- and what probably makes her so hard to read for a lot of people -- is that she doesn't realize right away that she's changed. Most characters have their "aha!" moment as part and parcel with their change moment, but not Ada. Her change kind of sneaks up on her and hits her all at once when she encounters Ashley and finally sees the face of the woman she's been helping all this time.

But, again, none of that would've happened without Luis.

[thatstonedwriter]

⋆｡˚ 「 Family History 」 ⋆｡˚

◉ Sinopsis; Blitz tells Loona about the Circus Fire...

◉ A/n- this scene takes place following the events of the party in the Queen Bee episode. Tbh I'm not quite sure how much Loona canonically knows about Blitzø's past, so this is written under the assumption he hasn't said anything to her at all. This is also my first attempt at a longer fic (other than the song drabbles), so hopefully all goes well.

◉ Warnings; mentions of injuries (severe burns), trauma, vomit, swearing

___˙•˚∘✮🌙ᯓ🪐˙•˚∘___

It's not often Blitzø is genuinely vulnerable. It doesn't come easily to him, knowing that talking about his mistakes could mean his worst fears coming to fruition- that everyone he loves will see him the way he sees himself.

After taking care of Blitzø, Loona goes to her room, closing the door and sitting on her bed.

What did he mean about "dying alone"? Sure, Loona has been around Blitzø enough to know he has something going on, but it's not like either of them has sat down to have in-depth emotional discussions. Now, Loona thinks maybe they should.

Loona's snapped out of her thoughts when she hears Blitzø in the living room.

"Fuuuuck.. I did need to throw up."

She chuckles lightly, debating on going out there to clean up and make sure Blitzø was alright- but then she hears him snoring and decides whatever mess is out there can be cleaned in the morning.

Of course, Loona comes to regret that sentiment. Cleaning dried puke off the floor first thing after waking up isn't how she wants to be spending her time. On the couch, Blitzø groans in his sleep, rolling over, only to fall off the couch and land on the floor.

"You're so lucky I'm almost done cleaning or you would've landed in your own puke," Loona snickers.

"Ugh.. Fuck. Thanks, Looney.." Blitzø groans, bringing a hand to his head and wincing. "Shiiit.." Blitzø stumbles as he stands up, falling back onto the couch and sighing as he gets comfortable again.

"There's pain meds and some water on the side table for you.." Loona says as she finishes cleaning up. "You should take it easy today. You went pretty crazy last night." As Blitzø reaches for the pill bottle and water, Loona sits on the opposite end of the couch, casting a concerned glance at him.

"You uh.. Wanna talk about why you drank like five gallons of Beelzejuice?"

The question is more loaded than she realizes, and it hangs between them like a dense fog. That fog had always been there, but only now is Loona realizing how much it obstructed her view of Blitzø. She knew he crossed himself out of pictures, joked about his relationships and therapy, and had.. unusual coping mechanisms- but she never considered why. Loona had no reference for how fucked up either of them were, because they'd both been through so much.

"Dad...?" That tentative question is enough to get Blitzø's attention. His neck practically snaps with how fast he turns his head, but upon seeing the worry on Loona's face, the excitement of being called "dad" wore off, and a new, hauntingly familiar feeling began to creep into his chest.

"I'm sorry, Looney," Blitzø's voice wavers. "It was just.. a rough night."

"You'd said that.. but I'm worried about you. I should know what's going on so I can help you. Loona's eyes dart towards the photos on the wall, and she sighs. "Please?"

Blitzø breathes in deeply and turns to face her. "I.. went to Ozzie's. With Stolas.. and I ran into a couple people I used to know..."

There were so many questions Loona wanted to ask- when had he invited Stolas on a date? And why? Who does Blitzø know that would even be working at Ozzie's? As curious as she is, she doesn't want to get side-tracked.

"Who was it?"

Another loaded question. For a moment, Blitzø doesn't answer. It was bad enough seeing Verosika when she'd been working at their building over spring break. How was he supposed to tell Loona that a pop star he dated- along with his former best friend who he never told Loona about- verbally harassed him in song at a nightclub? A nightclub he was at with his... Stolas- all because he wanted to stalk Moxxie and Millie.

"It was- um- ugh, fuck it. I ran into Verosika and my old friend, Fizz. It wasn't- I didn't know they'd be there."

As interested as Loona would be in hearing about what happened with Verosika, she'd never heard Blitzø mention any past friends before.

"Fizz?"

"Yeah, Fizzarolli. I was in the circus with him for a long time, but.." Blitzø's vision gets blurry as tears well in his eyes. He's quick to wipe them away, clearing his throat, "But that was a long time ago and that asshole doesn't know anything about me anymore!" Deep down, Blitzø knows it isn't true. Even after fifteen years of not speaking, Fizz probably knows Blitzø better than the I.M.P squad.

Loona racks her brain for any memory of Blitzø bringing up this "Fizzarolli" but nothing. But if he's on par with Verosika in Blitzø's mind, he must be pretty important. There are still so many questions jumbled up in her head- and before Loona can think about it, she turns to Blitzø and asks,

"What.. happened.. between the two of you? Why haven't you brought him up before?"

Of all the questions Blitzø dreaded, those were the top two. He tenses, and this time, the tears form and fall faster than he can wipe them away. His chest begins to heave as his eyes dart around the room. "It- It was all my fault.. He has every right to hate me for what happened. But still, for him to fucking take those shots at-"

Blitzø slows down when he feels Loona's hand on his back. "Woah slow down.. what happened?"

Blitzø sighs, scooting further away. It's probably time Loona knew the truth...

"Fifteen years ago, when I was still in the circus, I- I was trying to give Fizz a letter. Fuck," he groans, "It was an accident! I didn't do anything, I just-" Loona stops him. "Hey, you're getting ahead of yourself. It's okay."

Blitzø nods, still not able to meet her gaze. "It all happened so fast. I didn't give Fizz the letter- I shoved past this guy- I didn't see he had candles.." Blitzø decides to leave out the facts that 1, the letter to Fizz was a confession, and 2, it was Fizz's birthday when Blitzø caused the fire.

"The next thing I know.. the tents are up in flames. I went to go back for Fizz, but then," his hand comes up to the scar covering the side of his face, "I tried- I tried to get help but my family's tent was on fire. I had to find-" Blitzø chokes back a sob and wipes his face again. Loona gets up, grabbing some napkins from the kitchen and handing them to Blitz before joining him on the couch.

"I started the fire that burned down the circus. Fizz.. his injuries were so, so bad. I wanted to visit him in the hospital but he didn't want to see me.. and I guess I can't blame him. I wouldn't want to see me either.."

He sniffles, staring down at the floor. He may have adopted Loona, but she's an adult- and could walk out at any time. After this? Why wouldn't she? A moment passes before she speaks up.

"But it was an accident."

"What?"

"You didn't start that fire trying to hurt anyone. It was an accident- a big one- but still."

"I know, but-"

"Listen," Loona said sternly, just to get Blitzø's attention. Once she does, Loona softens her tone, "what happened sucks, and I don't even think you told me everything." She shoots him a knowing glance, to which Blitzø shrugs. "Either way, that doesn't define you. You.. you're good.. and you matter to a lot of people.. so don't act like you're some irredeemable monster! You made a mistake.

Blitzø doesn't say anything. He's not sure if what he heard was real or a projection of what he wanted to hear. But then Loona brings him in for a tentative hug, and he knows for sure; he's not alone. He's not going to be left. Loona doesn't hate him the way he hates himself.

Blitzø's arms tighten around her as he begins to cry.

"Thank you, Looney.. I love you so much.."

He can't see it, but Loona smiles, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you too, Dad."

[endcant]

tw for mentioning transmisogyny and suicidal ideation, but this is mostly a long uninteresting wall of text about my evening of browsing the dying internet

fascinated by this twitter scam thing using bought profiles all pretending to be twoc from the UK. i know this sounds like just completely run of the mill dead internet shit. everything is scammers and bots and no real people. but i’m interested and it’s my blog so whatever.

i got dmed by a profile (pretty unassuming hello message but i have no mutual connections so i was like ok time to see if there’s any likelihood this person would actually have any business messaging me) and noticed a clone in her followers. identical profile except for the name.

here’s the bio: ✨ one day your entire life will flash in front of your eyes; make sure it is worth watching. ✨ | 23 | UK (unfortunately) | cat 🐈 lady | she/her ⚧️ |

that’s a pretty specific description for two different women to have

i was like ok time to look up this description. unfortunately all major sites are trash now, so the IDENTICAL DESCRIPTIONS turned up no useful results, but searching just the first part of the url linked in each of their identical bios turned up more twitter profiles. (not sharing that url yet for reasons youll see later)

all were accounts set up in the 2010s with random retweets, seemingly left to sit since 2018, but they were activated on election day to retweet like 1 woke post a day.

what disturbs me is that all of them have a pinned tweet that’s some variation on the sentiment of “idk why conservatives think being gay is a choice i’ve been suicidal my whole life”. this is the non-identical part of the accounts, the pin expressing internalized transmisogyny and homophobia to the degree of suicidal ideation. either someone is using a completely non-moderated AI for this, they’re copying tweets made by real LGBT people, or they’re coming up with their own suicidal lgbt people posts.

the one post on the internet about it is a reddit post that says in the google result that it’s an “amazon scam” and it was deleted, so the content of the post is not visible. but ppl in the comments shared screenshots of other accounts like this that have been deleted, though the accounts in this post were activated and dming people 6 months ago rather than in the election. before the election their pinned posts were about how lucky lgbt kids are these days to receive so much love and support. one comment posted DMs and the bot/scammer was asking for $10 to help with rent.

ultimately the actual actions are not unusual at all. lazy scammers making identical accounts to dm from, relying on the brokenness of most search sites (including the built in search on twitter) to cover their tracks.

however, the interest to me comes from the fact that all of them link to a seemingly possibly real blog owned by a cis white male professional in the UK who i found on linkedin. i’m wondering if the scammers link to his blog because it’s not obviously connected to a specific personality and because the url for it seems nebulously woke. but all of it could be fake, right?

in which case, i’m amazed by the idea that a person set up a fake DEI blog, published a book on amazon linking to it, and linked it to a (his?) linkedin account belonging to an imaginary DEI trainer with the same name as the book author. and then they set up a bunch of at first envious and now weirdly self-hating twitter accts to get money from sympathetic people. i would consider this to be a low effort AI grift if the blog didn’t have posts from the 2010s as well that have innocuous writing. i remember waves of regular markov chain text bot generated fake content back then, and that was certainly not this. but even as a low effort AI grift to sell a low effort DEI book on amazon it’s just an absolutely insane set of tactics. anyway, why not make the fake linkedin account match the literally identical twitter accounts?

but the most interesting scenario in my mind is that this scam is completely unrelated to this guy and they just chose his blog to make it seem like their dozens of identical suicidal woke OCs were writers for a real site with a woke sounding name. and it’s entirely possible this guy is a real DEI worker who did real trainings for the real NHS thru the 2010s and he is selling his real book on his real expertise thru amazon. and his real actual DEI training blog is being linked to again and again by scammers who like to spend a good amount of time roleplaying as suicidal twoc from the UK. in which case, holy shit, i wonder if he knows.

anyway i’m gonna message him on linkedin.