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unsolicited-opinions · 2 months ago

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I wrote yesterday:

The Jew is a sort of Rorschach test. People see in the Jew whatever suits their agenda. Banker, radical, victim, conspirator, communist, capitalist... Just never quite human.

I know Jumblr prefers the pithy, but I want to extend the metaphor.

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The Rorschach test, as you might know, was meant to be a way to identify or classify difficulties of the human mind.

The patient was shown a series of inkblots, ambiguous shapes without any fixed meanings. The therapist would then invite the patient to describe what they saw in the inkblot shapes. Since the shapes were ambiguous, what the patient saw in these shapes, wasn't ever about the shapes themselves, but a means to supposedly reveal the structures of the patient's own psyche. Pareidolia as a diagnostic tool.

The Jew as a Rorschach Test: Antisemitism as Projection

How a society sees Jews has almost never actually described the Jews of that society as much as it has revealed something about the society itself.

The Jew, because he is not actually understood by the society, is, like the inkblot, ambiguous. Since he is other and unknown, he is subject to wildly divergent interpretations, none of which reflect the Jew's life/beliefs/practices/values. Instead, what a society sees in the Jew reflects that society's needs, fears, and crises.

In medieval, Christian Europe, the Jew was the other - falsely accused of killing Jesus Christ, desecrating the host, and poisoning the wells. These accusations were baseless and absurd, but they must have felt true and valid to those whose world was defined by the overwhelming, omnipresent Christian binary dualities of the place and time: good vs. evil, salvation vs. damnation.

The Jew, as the outsider, wasn't just not-a-Christian, but a Christ-killer. He was an inkblot in which the medieval Christian's guilt, anxiety about sin, and need for a scapegoat was projected. The very ambiguity of the way the Jew existed within Christendom without being part of it, made Jew the perfect surface for unconscious projection.

Just as one person sees a butterfly in an inkblot while another sees a bat, Christians saw in Jews either satanic enemies or (more rarely) proof of divine mercy. Either way, what the observer saw in the inkblot wasn't based on any reality about the inkblot itself, but based on the fears of the observer.

The modern period generated a new set of anxieties: urbanization, financial abstraction, and political revolution. The Rorschach Jew here reflected contradictions at the core of modernity itself. In 19th century Europe, Jews were simultaneously seen as both the faceless financiers of capitalism and the radical firebrands of socialism.

This is the classic Rorschach dynamic, isn't it? Contradictory accusations projected onto the same ambiguous stimulus. How could Jews be categorically both hoarding wealth and fomenting class war?

Such a thing was only believable because the image of "the Jew" was not based in reality, but in the social psyche.

Like an inkblot, the Jew became a surface onto which irreconcilable social and economic tensions could be emotionally "resolved."

The 19th century also brought us Modern Nationalism. The Rorschach test was also supposed to measure boundary confusion, how people respond to ambiguous figures that blur inside and outside, self and other. That's what the Jew was in the European 19th century nation state.

Jews in Europe and elsewhere were frequently depicted as simultaneously hyper-assimilated (too much like us) and radically other (an alien threat among us).

This duality in which the othered Jew was simultaneously the ultimate insider and the ultimate outsider provoked a special kind of nationalist panic.

Antisemitism here operates like a defense mechanism against that ambivalence and national identity anxiety. The Jew becomes the inkblot where cultural boundaries are tested and violated. The fear isn't of Jews themselves, but of what they symbolize: the failure of clear categories.

Haviv Rettig Gur talked about the advent of the new mass societies of modern nation states as social constructs in the 19th century.

And in this world of new Mass Societies, in this shift from small, agrarian, maybe religious identities to Mass National Identities...they develop these ideologies of nationalism that try and police the boundaries of these identities to firm them up, make sure that they stay strong.

The Nazi problem with the Jews, says Haviv, is seen in Mein Kampf, and was driven by insecurity about German identity.

If Germanness is tribal and blood and ancient and biological and we can measure it by testing your skull...and a Jew in the morning can be a German in the evening...?

[Hitler believed] the boundaries of germanness are hard, the membrane is impermeable. It is biology, it is real- and what is the Jew doing? He's popping in and out all the time! He's perforating the membrane of germanness! If a Jew could be a German and something else, if you can have layers...you can't have absolute identity. And if you can't have absolute identity what is the German? The Jews endanger Germanness!

In the aftermath of the Holocaust, the Rorschach dynamic persisted. The image of the Jew in the West becomes morally saturated: a figure of sacrosanct victimhood for some, a lightning rod for resentment in others. In each case, the actual Jewish person disappears, and what remains is a symbol - an inkblot onto which guilt, denial, and moral discomfort are projected.

Read Dara Horn's People Love Dead Jews. Horn argues that the world's love for "dead Jews" is a form of perverse moral posturing, a way for societies to affirm their own virtue by honoring Jewish suffering...but this only works if Jews are no longer alive to complicate the ego-saving narrative.

Horn notes how the Holocaust is sanitized, depoliticized, and turned into a universal morality tale that erases real Jewish lives, culture, and ongoing challenges. She contends that many memorials and educational efforts, while well-intentioned, often serve to comfort non-Jewish audiences rather than confront uncomfortable truths about antisemitism or support living Jewish communities.

Some in the post-Holocaust world, especially after 10/7/23, accuse Jews of "playing the victim" or "controlling the narrative." Again, these reactions say less about Jews and more about the viewer’s need to process trauma, responsibility, and historical shame.

Today, in both far-right and far-left discourse, the Jew remains a shifting inkblot: billionaire globalist or Zionist oppressor, cultural subversive or imperial power broker. In conspiracy theories, Jews are often imagined as orchestrating both migration and ethnonationalism, feminism and patriarchy, capitalism and Marxism.

This incoherence is diagnostic. It reveals the deep psychological fragmentation within those projecting the image. As in a Rorschach test, the lack of internal logic is not a bug, but a feature. The more the image can absorb contradiction, the more effective it is as a projection surface.

To treat the Jew as Rorschach test is to shift the analytical gaze from the image to the viewer.

It is the society looking at the inkblot - the anxieties, disavowals, and desires which are revealed in what it sees when it gazes on the inkblot and sees itself.

Antisemitism, in this metaphor, is not about Jews or anything Jews believe or do.

Understanding antisemitism through this lens allows us to see that no amount of Jewish integration, explanation, or visibility can resolve the problem, because the Jew is not being seen as a person. They are being looked through, like an inkblot, revealing the shapes of other people’s fears.

I suspect that Israelis generally understand this better than those of us in the diaspora.

What do you think? What lesson should we take from this?

#jumblr #antisemitism #Rambling #Rorschach test #Rorshach

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weaselandfriends · 29 days ago

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Paranoia Agent (anime)

Unlike most works I review, where I often seek meaning "between the cracks," Paranoia Agent expects its viewer to interpret it beyond the surface level. The plot operates almost entirely via metaphor, eschewing conventional or even fantastical explanations for its core events. There is no dream machine, as in director Satoshi Kon's followup effort Paprika, that contextualizes the surreal occurrences with a sci-fi veneer. Nor are these occurrences depicted as psychological stand-ins, like in his earlier Perfect Blue, where a bouncing ghost idol chasing the heroine is revealed to actually be a mundane middle-aged woman huffing and puffing as she struggles to keep up.

Instead, Lil Slugger (AKA Shounen Bat or Bat Boy) literally exists in the world of Paranoia Agent, but the show is utterly disinterested in explaining how or why he exists; Tsukiko makes him up to get out of a jam, the media runs with her story, people gossip about it, and suddenly he is really there, actually attacking people. Approaching the narrative logically is a fool's errand, which makes Paranoia Agent difficult to engage with on a surface level. There is no surface level. You can understand Perfect Blue or Paprika in terms of plot synopsis without engaging with their themes, but Paranoia Agent makes no sense unless it is understood metaphorically.

Which begs the question: What is the metaphor at the heart of Paranoia Agent? What does Lil Slugger represent?

The common refrain throughout the show, whenever people explain how Lil Slugger operates as a serial assailant, is that he "shows up and attacks people who feel cornered." The people he attacks (whether they survive or die) seem to be "relieved" afterward, as if the attack has freed them from whatever responsibilities or obligations cornered them in the first place. Ultimately, Lil Slugger is revealed to have been invented by Tsukiko when, as a child, she let her dog get hit by a car; by claiming she was attacked by a kid with a baseball bat, she shifted blame for the incident away from herself. From these clues, the basic interpretation is that Lil Slugger represents victimization, particularly victimization that enables the supposed victim to avoid responsibility for their actions.

(By the way, I wonder why there's that big mushroom cloud in the OP? I wonder what that has to do with this?)

Paranoia Agent, via its semi-episodic structure, applies this metaphor of victimization to multiple strata of Japanese society, using it to interrogate Japan's cultural ideals, its preference for escapism in pop culture, and its high suicide rates. After a first episode that establishes the primary characters and core conceits of the show, episodes 2 through 4 take on a tone of social satire, dealing with a series of stereotypical exemplars of Japanese society (the popular honors student, the demure tradwife, the hardworking family man) who conceal darker, id-driven impulses (egomania, sexual rapacity, avaricious corruption). The reason these characters feel "cornered" is due to a need to maintain their outward-facing persona despite the growing demands of the id. Harumi, the woman with split personality in episode 3, embodies this strife explicitly as her dual personalities fight each other for control over the same body.

Notably, these characters all suffer nonlethal attacks from Lil Slugger. Though there is a vague suggestion that Lil Slugger "gains power" over the course of the story due to his memetic spread, which provides some justification for why these early victims survive while most later ones die, the nonlethality makes sense on a metaphorical level too. These characters are not attempting to escape reality but rather integrate themselves into it despite their hidden sins. Lil Slugger's attack is convenient for them, as the narrative of victimization he enables papers over the cracks that were starting to show in their masks. The honors student Yuichi, for instance, is seen by his peers as a bully -- they even believe he is Lil Slugger -- so becoming a victim of Lil Slugger eliminates this narrative, though he really is a bully.

A major shift in the metaphor of Lil Slugger happens in episodes 6 and 7. The victim in episode 6, Taeko, is unlike the earlier victims in that she is actually a victim and not someone who has brought her predicament upon herself via personal failings. She is "cornered" after discovering her father's incestuous lust for her, and Lil Slugger "helps" her not by giving her a way to conceal this fact from society, the way Yuichi and Harumi do, but to conceal it from herself -- he gives her amnesia, the first instance of permanent damage a victim receives.

From there, Paranoia Agent extends the metaphor naturally to suicide. The copycat assailant Kozuka is, in episode 7, the first victim Lil Slugger kills. Kozuka is a bizarre character not simply because he looks identical to Lil Slugger but also because of how differently he is depicted in his three major appearances. In episode 5, he is a self-proclaimed "holy warrior" and appears to be unable to tell video games from reality, but after Det. Ikari commits a little police brutality on him in episode 7 he changes entirely, admitting to fabricating most of his story. It's here, actually feeling the threat of police custody, he becomes "cornered" and is killed by Lil Slugger.

Meanwhile, episode 8 posthumously sheds more light on Kozuka, revealing him to be a frequent poster (alias "FOX") on a forum dedicated to suicide, with a seemingly encyclopedic knowledge of suicide methods. This side of Kozuka is only hinted at once before, during his true confession, when he vaguely describes his motives for the copycat attacks: "So I thought, if... if I'm gonna do it anyway, then... before that..."

In Kozuka are unified the remaining two aspects of Japanese society Paranoia Agent explores via its central metaphor: escapism and suicide. Though it's ultimately unclear how much Kozuka actually believes his video game narrative and how much of it is him screwing with his police interrogators (he spends the entirety of episode 5 with a smug smile etched on his face), all versions of Kozuka are unified in their attempt to escape reality. In episode 5 this escape is via palliative fantasy media, in episode 7 this escape is from responsibility for his actions (most similar to the type of escape sought by the victims in the early episodes), and in episode 8 it's via suicide. He encapsulates all facets of Lil Slugger's complex metaphor in one character; it's no mistake that he is visually identical to Lil Slugger, a copycat or mirror, because he reveals everything that Lil Slugger represents in miniature. Kozuka's arc comprising the exact center of the show (in terms of episode count) also enables the show to pivot between these facets in a tonally succinct way. Well, almost. I actually attempted to watch Paranoia Agent once, many years before, and dropped it in frustration after episode 5, finding the ridiculous video-game-as-reality narrative too absurd even in the context of the caricatures of Japanese society that came before. Paranoia Agent's struggles with tone are the main reason why I rate it less highly than Perfect Blue or Paprika.

Nonetheless, after Kozuka's death the show segues into another stretch of episodic narratives, these dealing increasingly with suicide and escapism. It's here that the show expands on its other significant metaphorical character, the Sanrio-esque mascot Maromi, "The Healer Dog," who at first seems to act counter to Lil Slugger, but who is ultimately revealed to be "the same as him." This is literal in the sense that Tsukiko invented both Maromi and Lil Slugger, and both are inextricably tied to the same incident in her past, but it holds true metaphorically: if Lil Slugger is the victimizer who gives you an excuse to escape reality, Maromi is the inner voice calmly urging you to do so. "Stop thinking," Maromi tells Tsukiko. "It's not your fault, it's that Lil Slugger." The Good Cop to Lil Slugger's Bad Cop, not unlike Det. Maniwa and Det. Ikari in their interrogation of Kozuka -- Maniwa indulging Kozuka's video game narrative, Ikari breaking it with violence only to allow Kozuka to succumb to metaphorical suicide.

Maniwa and Ikari are their own metaphorical opposites, first explored through the comparison of Maniwa's youth versus Ikari's age (youth and age is another recurring theme in Paranoia Agent, though not one I'll talk about here), but later through their divergent attempts to fight Lil Slugger. Maniwa becomes a representation of fantasy. He fights Lil Slugger in a way that takes him literally, not metaphorically, donning a superhero persona ("Radar Man") and swinging a sword around. Hearing the cryptic line from Det. Ikari's wife that "Maromi and Lil Slugger are the same," he attempts to explain this literally, uncovering from Tsukiko's father how she invented the Lil Slugger story after she allowed her dog Maromi to die. Maniwa confronts Lil Slugger with this literal truth as though it is a coup de grace, but of course Maniwa has made the same mistake Paranoia Agent the show doesn't want its viewer to make; he has not engaged with Lil Slugger as a metaphor, and Lil Slugger defeats him instantly.

Ikari, meanwhile, becomes a representation of reality (along with his wife). He is defined in the back half of the show by the toiling, menial jobs he runs between to make ends meet. His wife is dying of disease. She fends off Lil Slugger not by fighting him literally, but by exposing the core of his metaphor; it is her line that he and Maromi are the same that ultimately causes him to retreat from her, after she has painstakingly explained as explicitly as Paranoia Agent gets that Lil Slugger represents escapism and avoidance of responsibility. Ikari briefly succumbs to fantasy (a fantasy rooted not in entertainment but in nostalgia, giving it a more "real" veneer), but ultimately destroys his fantasy world with a similar speech that makes explicit the underlying metaphor of the show.

After all, that's what metaphor is, right? It's representing one idea with another. Using fantasy as a metaphor moors it to reality and prevents the escapist impulse fantasy otherwise engenders. Maniwa only empowers Lil Slugger when he takes reality and breaks it apart into a fantastical narrative, because Lil Slugger is a being of fantasy; Lil Slugger is similarly empowered by the gossip of the masses, whose wholly fictional inventions (that he smiles before he strikes, and later that he is a massive hulking man with a freakish face) he absorbs into himself. Hence why Lil Slugger exists without any kind of literal explanation for how Tsukiko rendered him corporeal; there can't be a literal explanation, because to have one would make him no longer a living metaphor.

At the same time, Lil Slugger (and Maromi) are metaphors for something else, something far more tangible and real. This metaphor is never explicated by the show, but contained within a few key visual details.

Lil Slugger has a radiation symbol on his hat. His golden baseball bat combines the long tubular design of Little Boy atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima and the bright yellow color of the Fat Man bomb dropped on Nagasaki.

Meanwhile, Maromi's design, with the long body and fat bulbous head, evokes a mushroom. Given the mushroom cloud is shown at the beginning of every episode, the significance of this design choice isn't difficult to grasp. Lil Slugger and Maromi, who are the same, metaphorically represent the atomic bombing of Japan.

When combined with the rest of the Lil Slugger/Maromi metaphor, the suggestion is that the atomic bombing has created a widespread cultural trauma that has generated an impulse toward escapist fantasy, suicide, and avoidance of responsibility -- perhaps even the responsibility that led to Japan being bombed in the first place. Ikari espouses a nostalgic yearning for "the good old days" of Japan in the past (with a particular fondness for a brand of matches called "Rising Sun"). The nostalgic fantasy world Ikari falls into seems idyllic but has distinctively fascist touches; when he destroys Maniwa's broadcast urging him to bring Tsukiko back to reality, the townsfolk praise him: "Look, the officer stopped the poisonous broadcast!" (It's reminiscent of Ikari's police brutality against Kozuka, too.) Similar to the stereotypical exemplars of Japanese society from the early episodes, this nostalgic vision of Japan is a mask for a fascist underbelly, and the intercession of Lil Slugger/the bomb gave Japan an external victimizer that enabled the country as a whole to continue hiding its crimes from itself. Even today, Japan struggles with admitting to many of its heinous actions in World War II.

(I would also love to posit, though I have only circumstantial scraps of evidence, that the emphasis of Paranoia Agent's epilogue on the cycle starting anew, with the old man being replaced by Maniwa and the victimization of Lil Slugger being replaced by the victimization of the big flowing blob monster that swept through Tokyo's underground subways, is a metaphorical representation of Japan's next biggest societal trauma, the 1995 Aum Shinrikyo terrorist attacks, out of which -- via Evangelion -- otaku culture and escapist fantasy media exploded in popularity.)

This significantly darker undercurrent to the Lil Slugger metaphor manifests one other way in the show, one that's easy to miss given how the show takes great pains to conceal it. For a long time I had difficulty understanding the purpose of Lil Slugger's first victim, the sleazy reporter Kawazu.

Superficially, Kawazu makes sense as a victim. He is in debt after hitting an old man with his car, and desperate to score big on Tsukiko's sham story about Lil Slugger. Metaphorically, though, he's a major outlier. Unlike the dissemblers who comprise Lil Slugger's next few victims, he is openly, outwardly sleazy, with no attempts to conceal this nature. Similarly, though he is pressured by his debts, he is calm and collected immediately prior to his attack as he casually strolls after Tsukiko upon flushing her from her apartment. He smilingly describes Tsukiko to the man demanding payment from him as "a big job." Everyone else, immediately prior to being attacked, is in the midst of a mental breakdown; but Kawazu is bending down to pick up Tsukiko's dropped handkerchief, smiling calmly to himself as he does it.

Despite not fitting with the rest of the victims, Kawazu receives especial emphasis at the end of the story; he's the only character other than Tsukiko and the two detectives to appear in its epilogue, sharing a meaningful glance with Tsukiko as he passes her on the street. I couldn't understand why. What does Kawazu represent here?

Before writing this essay, I made a list of every Lil Slugger victim (cutting out the fake victims, like Tsukiko and the people Kozuka attacks) in sequence to try and detect any patterns. It was only when I wrote down the final victim of Lil Slugger that I saw the connection.

The last victim of Lil Slugger shown in Paranoia Agent is Hatomura, Tsukiko's boss, who is attacked fatally in episode 12. On his own, Hatomura is an archetypal example of a Lil Slugger victim, not even worth talking about. Pressured by deadlines that Tsukiko keeps missing, he threatens her in his car, before realizing what he has done and manically begging for forgiveness. He even states "I'm up to my ears in it too." His desperation is clear, he's having a breakdown, he wants to escape, and Lil Slugger does what he always does.

But I rewatched Hatomura's attack, and something happens right before it that happens only one other time -- right before Kawazu's attack. Tsukiko's Maromi doll flicks its eyes toward him.

Though Kawazu and Hatomura might be "cornered" in their own regard, Tsukiko is also cornered in both of their attacks. In fact, she is significantly more cornered than Kawazu is; she's running, desperately, on crutches, as he pursues her. The one quick shot of the Maromi doll shifting its eyes before the attack suggests that these attacks are done on Tsukiko's behalf, to protect her. And since Kawazu is Lil Slugger's first victim, the one that makes Lil Slugger real, the metaphor becomes complicated; is Lil Slugger a tool for self-victimization, or a weapon of victimization that can be wielded at others?

Maybe, then, that look Tsukiko and Kawazu share at the end of the show is one of forgiveness? Acceptance? Tsukiko's office lady outfit suggests she has "grown up," after all. Kawazu's smirk is the same one he gives when he picks up the Maromi handkerchief right before he is attacked. Is it that he knows the truth? Give the complexity (and vagueness) of Paranoia Agent, it might not be possible to discern an answer with confidence. Or perhaps I'm still missing something integral, still not seeing a side of the metaphor.

#paranoia agent #anime #reviews #essays #satoshi kon

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peachyynotesapp · 10 months ago

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A Taste of Normalcy

Pairing: f!Reader x Jason Todd

Summary: Jason is a nervous little dweeb and I want him so bad it’s criminal.

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Jason’s favorite game to play during the day, the hours before he went on patrol and the minutes before he slept, was to imagine a completely different world for himself. He’d been at this endless loop of waking up at 4pm, stalking around his corner of Gotham after dark, and passing out from exhaustion at around 5am every night morning.

He’d spend the time between intense combat and following leads letting his mind drift away from Gotham, pretending he’d gone to college; taught English or History or something completely different after he got his degree. He’d imagine a life in a little town somewhere farther up north, he didn’t like the heat of Gotham summers, he thought he’d enjoy seeing the frozen lakes in Maine winters. He’d thought of a family of his own, when he felt generous he’d let himself imagine a girl, too.

It was daydreaming that gave him the smallest taste of normalcy; a hint of what could’ve been, if things were different. He hated when reality pulled him back, when he was reminded of how truly impossible that dream was. Until he met y/n, that is.

Y/n worked at a coffee shop he sat in once after a lead ran cold. He had time to kill, and the cafe was advertising a new drink he wanted to try. He paid for the drink and sat down at the table, ignoring the way the cashier stared at him like he was carrying a gun. He was, of course, but it’s not like she knew. As the girl handed the order slip to barista and whispered, Jason kept his eyes fixed out the window like he was witnessing the Second Coming of Christ. He knew he had an intimidating appearance, he didn’t want to make anyone else sweat with his eye contact right now.

He heard chatter over the soft music and the burring noise of the espresso maker, and while he tried to tune it out, it felt impossible after he heard that voice. Her voice. She laughed at whatever her coworker said and Jason felt his heart twinge. He didn’t want to look over, he didn’t want to encourage his already concerning interest in a faceless voice.

When she said his name, he swore his heart stopped in his chest. He mentally cursed himself for his pathetic swooning, knew he needed to get out of the house more if he was lonely enough to get this excited over a voice. That argument would’ve worked, too, if he didn’t catch her eyes watching him as he walked over.

No one had ever looked so equally enticing and terrifying to him before. He was ashamed of the poetry that flew through his mind as he noticed the array of freckles across her nose, the way it wrinkled slightly when she smiled at him, the light rose on her cheeks, the loose strands of hair that fell behind her neck from her messy ponytail. He vividly recalls telling his brother Dick all of this over the phone later, claiming he must’ve met a Kryptonian, or maybe an angel.

He must’ve stood there at the counter for at least a minute in silence, the way she tilted her head slightly and lifted her brow with confusion.

“Does it look okay?”

Shit.

She sounded earnest in her concern, and it made it all the worse for his growing infatuation. He shook his head too quickly, smiled too awkwardly, spoke too loudly.

“No, no— I mean, yes, it’s perfect! Good. It looks good.”

He felt his cheeks burning and his hands clamming up. He coughed as he grabbed the drink, hoping she would focus on the sound and ignore the way his hands shook. She glanced down at his hands, anyway. He swallowed and pivoted around, beelining it to the door like he was trying to run from an explosion. Which, in a metaphorical sense, he was. He froze when he heard her call his name again, and turned his head slightly, praying the ever-loving terror in his eyes at speaking to a girl twice didn’t translate. Twenty-four year old men shouldn’t sweat so much at the mere concept of talking to a girl, but yet, here he was.

Her smile in that moment felt like putting frozen peas on a swollen ankle. He needed to work on his similes.

“You forgot your receipt!”

He swallowed and shook his head, turning back to the door as he responded.

“N-No, I didn’t need-“

She clears her throat and wags the paper out at him, seemingly refusing to accept his polite decline. He smiles nervously and walks back over, grabbing the receipt (too quickly, again), mumbling a quick “thank you” before he practically runs out of the cafe. He balls the receipt in his hand and reaches towards a trash can on the street, pausing inches away from the lid at a glimpse of pink on the black and white paper. He almost rips the paper in half when he unfurls the receipt, his lips curling into a grin when he sees 10 digits and a little message scrawled onto a receipt that, he realized now, wasn’t his.

Text me if you’re feeling brave, tough guy.

- Y/n :)

He thought he was pathetic for the squeal that left his body at some messy handwriting from a pink gel pen. He straightened up and cleared his throat, forcing the Jason-Todd-Scowl (trademark pending) to return to his face, ignoring the way his heart was racing. He couldn’t help himself, though, when he got home. He sat there on the floor of his nearly-empty apartment, his phone in one hand and the receipt in the other. Panicking.

“And that’s where I’m at now. What do I do, Dick? Is it too soon to-“

He heard wheezing from the other line and he knew he’d messed up, assuming Richard “Dickhead” Grayson would be of any assistance. He bit his cheek and wished he’d called Roy instead. After a while Dick catches his breath and speaks, his amused grin impossible to miss in his voice.

“Sorry, sorry, Little Wing. I just—- I’m confused. You somehow managed to get a girl interested enough to give you her number, but you didn’t even-“

“No, I didn’t text her, Dickweed. You should’ve seen the girl! What the hell do you say to that?!”

Dick stifles a laugh and tries to maintain his composure.

“Jay, you’re a dumbass. She obviously wants you to-“

Jason could hear a distant voice on the line. A voice that sounded a lot like a certain brat he avoided telling ANYTHING to in fear of-

“Is Todd still whining about his crush? Tell him to stop being such a-“

Jason hung up the phone before Damian could whip out any more of his Shakespearean insults, he’d gotten enough of those in the past hour. He sighs and rubs his eyes, checking the time.

5:57pm.

Three hours after he left the cafe, and he still couldn’t produce the courage to send one text message. He read the note over again, typing in the phone number and throwing up one last Hail Mary before he sent a quick “Hey, it’s Jason.” He dropped his phone back onto the floor and groaned, hiding his face in his hands and berating himself for his lackluster message. He prayed it would be enough to get a response, but he was a realist, so he knew it probably wouldn’t.

It only took 2 minutes and 32 seconds for his phone to buzz.

Took you long enough, tough guy.

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Hi guys, I originally wrote this as a way to feed my horrible and disgusting addiction to Jason fluff but unfortunately I got carried away and now I think I might make this a thing (writing fanfics). I think it’s the natural trajectory for a freak like myself. Anyway!

#tell me you think it’s good #author #fiction #original fiction #dc comics #fanfiction #dc fanfic #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd fluff #the red hood #red hood #red hood x reader #i need him

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endlessdreamworld · 7 months ago

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Under the Veil

An 18+ fic starring Aventurine X Fem!Reader as husband and wife. Minors DNI, sort of a continuation of the general headcanons post I wrote CW: infertility, A pretty harrowing dead dove do no eat flashback involving graphic depictions of sex trafficking, non con and SA for past Aventurine, as well as a brief mention of drugs. Wordcount: 4.5k

You felt grateful for your husband’s embrace now more than ever. It was warmth you desperately needed. It was security you didn’t deserve, not when you feel like you’ve robbed him of something he deserved more than anyone else in the world. Last but not least, it muffled your quiet sobs as you processed the reality you should have been expecting all along. After all, you and Aventurine have been actively trying for kids since the day you got married over three years ago. Something was critically wrong, but you both believed that this was something money could fix. You had already spent so much money crafting the perfect nest for all of the little ones you promised to bring into the world together. You promised him no less than half a dozen kids with eyes as bright and vivid as his and no one else’s. You weren’t one to ever break your promises, not until today.

A fresh wave of tears spilled out of the corners of your eyes and into your husband’s shoulder. You didn’t deserve to be comforted like this – not when you failed him so terribly, but you knew if you tried to pull away he wouldn’t have it. So instead you inhaled deeply, taking in his scent of today’s chosen cologne. You shuddered when you quickly recognized the smell of lavender. If anyone knew the first thing about scented oils it was the calming and anxiety relieving factors of lavender. Between the pacifying fragrance and the feeling of his sweater made from the cashmere of some rare creature, it was a matter of time before the tears finally stopped.

It was unlike Aventurine to wear a simple sweater as part of the ensemble of his outfit of the day given just how much fun he has peacocking around, but between the softness of the cashmere and the session of aromatherapy, his feelings on the matter of your infertility were obvious. He was fully prepared for this outcome and came deliberately equipped to ease you through the heartbreak. Your husband kissed the crown of your head and stroked your back until you found yourself kissing him back on the shoulder and the inside of his neck. After a few more deep breaths, you worked up the nerve to look him in his eyes. It was a relief to see them narrowed softly, exuding as much warmth as the day you both took your wedding vows. You felt lighter to see he loved you as much as ever. “I’m sorry honey,” you whispered into his neck. He gave you a squeeze, and laughed quietly. The soft melodic lilt tickled the tip of your ear.

You weren’t the same after receiving the news of your utterly barren womb. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes and you stayed in bed more and more. Aventurine was dying on the inside seeing you struggle like this, feeling entirely responsible for it. He’s always wanted to be a father, that much was apparent. He made it known countless times well before the talks of marriage. The Sigonian was quite good at dealing with the cards he was given both literal and metaphorical. It’s rare that he misplays so catastrophically.

Aventurine knew it would be no easy task to convince you how little this mattered to him in the bigger scheme of things, how it was you who was his everything. You saw through it all, the bravado, the bluffing, the bullshit. You barely had to try and you found the pathetic shell of a man beneath the fineries and you chose to dive in head first. It was a long and miserable road to get to a point where you were both happy. The fact that you were even engaging in regular intimacy after everything he’s been through is nothing short of a miracle.

Sex trafficking and slavery go hand in hand, and the life of a ‘pretty slave’ in the hands of society’s upper crust was one of unparalleled shame. He, of course, was mostly transparent about how… well used he was. Your husband never gave you the full details of what happened, favoring to spin the lie of how ‘he forgot’ which he hoped would become the truth like the other half dozen lies he continuously spun.

He wanted to forget his first time, auctioned off to a man who was no less than thrice as old as he was, lusting over someone who was still more boy than man. He wanted to forget how that predator’s chest hair felt against his back, how the sweat slickened curls made him squirm while they left their slimy trails along his flesh. Aventurine wanted to forget the feeling of the man’s palm on his cheek as he forced the Sigonian’s face into the pillows and lined up their hips. He wanted to forget the pain of the violation. Most of all, he wanted to forget the humiliation of his body’s own betrayal as the high roller stroked him off, the little mewls and groans that slipped through his traitorous lie spinning lips before he made a mess on the bed. He wanted to forget the feeling of blood laced spunk dripping down his thigh that night. It was no small consolation that he at least had long forgotten that face.

He wanted to forget the taste of sweat and salt leaking from every cock he had to suck. He wanted to forget the shapes of them, the smell of them, the leers, the smacks, the feeling of strangers tugging on his hair. He wanted to forget the ‘parties’ his master rented him out to. He wanted to forget about the streaks of jizz on his lower back, how they wiped themselves off on him leaving hedonistic tallies keeping score of some sick game they played amongst themselves. He wanted to forget the drugs needed to perform when his body would no longer cooperate. He – “Honey, are you okay?” You asked him. He had been staring off into space for a while. Whenever he gets like this, it’s pretty obvious he’s stuck somewhere inside of memories he didn’t want to be shackled to.

Ah, even now you’re worrying about me? He thought, and tilted your chin up to give you a kiss on your cheek right below your eye. “Me? I’m fine of course but what about you?” He cupped your face. “You’ve been out of it for the past week. I’ve been worried sick you know?” Truth be told, he was giving you some space but he was always ready to come running when you were finally ready to share some of the pain you’ve been carrying lately with him.

“I’ve been doing some thinking, and I think we should talk.” Oh those dreaded words he always hated hearing. You’ve almost never said them, only when your relationship was in dire straits and you needed something from him in specific. It’s been ages since he heard them.

“Right, I’m sure we do,” he said and sat down next to you on the couch. He faced towards you and rested his arm along the top of the couch. You reached into your bag and pulled out a few resources, but it’s hard for him to pay attention to what’s in your hands when all he can see are the bags under your eyes.

“I’ve been looking into some options for us,” you presented him with some printed documents regarding surrogacy services. “So you can still be a father and pass on the bloodline.” He grew utterly quiet, but you’re undeterred, “Or maybe you could sign up at a fertility clinic and see if you can be registered as a sperm donor. I know Sigonians aren’t exac-”

“Stop,” he cut you off. Your hands froze and clutched onto your well intentioned but foolish research. His fingers rubbed against the backs of yours, coaxing you into giving up those unnecessary papers. You acquiesced and let him shuffle them back onto the table. “We can go to other doctors, get a second or third opinion or whatever.”

It hurt to hear him hold onto hope like this because the chance of having your own children was slim to none. “But what if it just can’t happen?”

“Then it just won’t happen,” he smiled but you could see the pain in his eyes.

“I don’t want you to give this up, Kakavasha. I know how much your Avgin heritage means to you. I–” tears threatened the edge of your vision, and your husband shushed you. “I promised you I’d –” he put his index and middle finger against your lips, sealing them in a gentle hold.

“Ishla rhim,” he addressed you with the Avgin term of endearment meant only for the most intimate of moments. One would be lucky to hear it more than a couple of times in their life. “Let’s pray together, do you remember how? Or do you need a little reminder?” His voice is as warm and sweet as his namesake.

“I remember,” you told him while lifting up the wrong hand.

He clicked his tongue playfully and retrieved the correct hand while kissing the other. “It’s our left ones. You’ll always see our commitment to each other when we pray,” he rubbed the pad of his finger along the skin of your wedding band seared into your flesh with the same ink that was used for his commodity.

“Right,” you nod and he kissed your forehead. You began to recite the prayer cautiously, “May the Mother Goddess thrice close her eyes for you…?”

He nodded, “That’s right. Don’t forget the part about keeping your blood eternally pulsing.”

You groaned, “You’d think I’d know the prayer by heart after all this time.”

He laced his fingers with yours pressing your palms flat together. “You do know it, but you’re feeling a bit nervous is all.” He squeezed your fingers together and peppered the backs of your fingers with kisses, one for each knuckle. “Your fingers are shaking. Let me take over.” He recited the prayer line by line, with you following along. Yet still, you didn’t seem to feel better and he could tell.

The air grew heavier between the two of you, and you finally broke the suffocating silence. “I think we should look into alternatives just in case…” “I’m not interested,” he said, leaving no further room for discussion. “It was only ever going to be you and I.” It was unlike you to be so pushy. You were always so mindful of his needs and careful with his boundaries.

Just as you were about to try to find another angle, he leaned over you, effectively caging you against the back of the couch. “Wife,” he begins, his eyes were colder than you’d seen them before and there was a hint of desperation in the calm black depths of his pupils that made the vivid brights of his iris seem to glow. “I think you’d benefit greatly from being reminded of our wedding vows.” His eyes roamed from your eyes to your lower lip. He grabbed your chin and tilted your face at such an angle where he commanded every last scrap of your attention. “Because you seem to be forgetting the part about ‘in sickness and in health’ and that simply won’t do. How about we renew our vows, right here, right now, hmm?” Aventurine brushed his lips against the corner of your mouth. He nuzzled his face against yours, the caress of his long and full eyelashes finally pulled you from this pit you threw yourself into. You took a better look at him and saw that look again, that one a pet would give you before you closed the door on them before leaving for one task or another. It was that look that screamed ‘please don’t throw me away’ at the top of its lungs.

How very thoughtless of you, ignoring what was right before your very eyes. You cupped Aventurine’s face with both of your hands and his eyes fluttered shut. Guilt twisted inside of your guts, knotting you in a way that made your stomach flip. It finally dawned on you just how bad of a spot you put his already tortured soul into. “I think I may need a reminder, but not here,” you patted the couch. “There’s not enough pillows.”

“Right,” he sighed in mock defeat, “What was I thinking?” Aventurine scooped you up as he rose to his feet. “Silly me.” Countless times you were the source of his comfort, his little slice of heaven molded into flesh and shaped into his home. Now here you are, in desperate need of comfort and it’s his turn to perform. The stakes have never been higher. He knew if he failed to relieve you of that all-devouring guilt of yours, then a part of you would never be the same and he was having none of it. Aventurine set you down in the middle of your marital bed and you started making quick work of your buttons. “Hey!” he called out to you in a pout, making you freeze. “Hi?” your fingers sheepishly fidgeted with the last remaining button that kept your clothes together.

Your husband approached the edge of the bed and sat down beside you. “That’s not how our wedding night went. This,” his fingers brushed aside your own as he ran the tip of his finger along the flat surface, “was my job. And you stole it from me. Guess we gotta change things up this time.”

Aventurine put his hand on your cheek and you took the opportunity to steal a little more from him. You pawed at his clothes before he had the opportunity to disrobe himself. He hummed in amusement, “Someone is very eager,” he mused, the corners of his lips curled up into that smirk of his that never failed to make you feel like a total mess. It did him well to see you perking up a bit. He playfully pushed you down onto the bed, “Roll over for me. I want to see you on your hands and knees tonight.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You rolled over onto your stomach, just in time to see Aventurine finish undressing. He threw himself onto the bed next to you and brushed your hair back, taking a moment to just… soak in the sight of you. Ages ago he’d lay down next to you, too scared to touch you, scared to make you dirty. You always took things slow, always left the floor open for every no he was brave enough to say. That’s why the talk of all of these ‘options’ felt so unnecessary.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You,” he quipped smoothly. It was clear his mind was elsewhere, but he seemed content enough so there was no need to press him on it. He weaved his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt before sliding his hand up the skin on your back. With his free hand, he popped open that last button you so graciously saved for him. Aventurine made quick work of the rest of your clothing and basked in the familiar sight of you. It would always only be you. He trailed his fingers down your back, leaving little paths of gooseflesh in their wake.

“That tickles,” you laughed quietly and rubbed your back against his exploring hand. As you went to roll over and swat his hand away, he held onto your wrist and kept you on your stomach.

“On your knees for me. Please?” He nuzzled the side of your cheek. This isn’t a position you took often, so it was tremendously exciting. You felt invigorated by the simple gesture of getting on all fours. Your husband placed a hand on your hip to savor the feeling of your skin and quickly clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Too cold.” He stepped away. You turned your head to see him fidgeting with the thermostat.

“It’s not that serious. I’m not cold, I’m lonely,” you whined from on the bed. He always doted on you so much, too much even – especially during intimacy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t understand it. His words from the day you finally bridged that threshold play inside of your mind on loop during times like these. “I’ve been embraced so many times before, but this is the first time I’ve been held.”

He laughed at how petulant you’re being, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it heartwarming. Aventurine returned to your side and placed his hand on your back once more. He slid the tips of his fingers past your hips, past your ass, until they settled around your already damp lips. He traced his fingers along your slit and felt your slick stick to his dexterous digits. Your husband knew your body well and didn’t even need to slip a finger in to know how easily you’d take two more. “Yes, you certainly feel very lonely.” The way he said it made you want to protest his teasing, but honestly? He didn’t want to leave you unsatisfied for any longer.

The bed shifted under his weight as he joined you. You bent your arms, your front half dipping low enough so you could feel your chest settle on those oh so familiar soft silk sheets. Your husband sighed in satisfaction as he settled his hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his hands radiated through the relaxed muscles of your back. Strands of his soft blonde hair tickled the side of your face before you felt his nose rub against the left side of your neck. He placed a tender kiss right on the same spot his commodity tattoo would be and you purred in turn, your hands already clutching at the sheets as you salivated in anticipation. Aventurine gave himself a couple of strokes before he nestled the head of his cock at the entrance of your snatch, the lips swollen and puffy from arousal. He smirked into the skin of your neck.

“Wow, I don’t even have to touch you anymore to turn your guts into tangled ribbons,” he whispered in such a sultry tone before running his tongue along the artery in your neck. Your pulse raced wildly against the damp muscle oh so deliciously. He loved driving you crazy like this, loved the way he could move your heart, loved the noises he was going to pry out of your sweet lips.

He was met with no resistance as he bore his weight down on you. The head of his cock breached your entrance before he carefully sheathed himself into you. A little sigh of delight huffed out of your partially parted mouth. You gave a light wave with your fingers as an invitation. Aventurine placed the palm of his hand over the back of yours, lacing your hands together. He gave you a light squeeze and finished bottoming out before kissing the side of your neck.

It was a bit surprising feeling him stop there, and you thought that maybe he changed his mind. Before you had time to overthink it, he murmured into your ear as a reminder, “We’re supposed to be renewing our vows, love.”

Oh yes, that’s right, you were already so cock drunk that you forgot that part. “Right, it was just the –” you felt the tip of the fingers of his free hand trail land on your sternum. They felt cold against your burning skin.

“Yes?”

“The standard ones, something classic.” It was so unbelievably hard to keep your head in the corporeal realm when Aventurine’s touch was propelling you to heaven.

“Right, I’m listening. I want to hear you recite them because I think you might have forgotten.”

“For bett-” he started to drag his fingers from your sternum to your navel, leaving a pit in your stomach. He felt your weeping cunt seize his shaft in a chokehold. Your voice pitched high, “better andpoorer.”

“For better and for worse,” he nipped your ear and trailed his fingers back up the center of your torso before they settled back between your breasts. You clamped down firmly on his hand in your own, an attempt at avenging your broken focus. “Come on, what was next?”

“For richer, an-” he dragged his fingers from above to further below this time, settling just over your womb. “Richer and for poorer.”

He placed a warm kiss on your temple. “Good girl,” he cooed, tickling your hair. “Next?”

Your tongue swiped at your lower lip and then spit out the next bit as fast as you possibly could before he had the opportunity to scramble your brains anymore than he already had. “Insicknessan-” You should have known better than to try something like this. The moment you committed to spitting out your wedding vows, Aventurine had already taken hold of your swollen clit in between his fingers. You stumbled, unable to hold your hips up for a brief moment. Not that it had any affect on your position with the way he was holding onto you.

“In sickness and in health, and don’t you dare ever forget it,” he threatened.

You shook your head and then laid it out one last time, “But what if this is it? What if we can’t have kids of our own.”

Your husband grew silent, and you’re afraid you broke the moment when all you wanted was to be considerate of what he was sentencing himself to.

“Then it’s very simple, isn’t it?” His thighs rubbed against yours as he rolled his hips. The way his cock grinds against your core makes your eyes roll back into your head. “I’ll be the last Avgin. The bloodline dies with me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Aventurine holds you still as he rocks back and forth in a steady motion. He sounded so happy as he said it, and the last of this festering worry was stolen away from you.

Fuck, he knew just the right thing to say didn’t he? It wasn’t fair. If only you could be half as good as he was but right now, all you could do was confess a sloppy “I love you,” into the mattress accompanied by a thin stream of drool.

He huffed a breathy laugh against your back, “Oh I know you do.” Cocky and self-assured, just the way you like him. Aventurine inhaled and lightly rolled his fingers, swirling your bead in pace with the soft rock of his body against yours. You sighed, you squealed, you sang – just for him. Oh how he loved to hear you, see you, smell you. He focused on those sensations as he tried to believe the lie he just told you. Was it a lie though, if it was one of omission? It’s not like he was lying to you outright. While yes, it was that simple, that this was what he wanted, he’d be lying if he didn’t say how painful the solitude would be.

But none of that was important, not when the scent of your shampoo tickled his senses, nor when he watched the wet spot near your face slowly grow from the steady stream of drool. It was some delightful proof of just how much you were enjoying yourself. He had you right where he wanted you, and although it was out of character for him to leave you hanging on the edge, there was something he needed to do for himself or rather for both of your sakes.

“I’m going to grab something to make things a bit more exciting,” he kissed your forehead before carefully disentangling himself from you. Aventurine had enough kink for a lifetime after all of the subjugation he went through so he didn’t own what he was looking for. A substitute would do. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time nor the last time that he would hide behind his wealth as a shield. He retrieved his favorite necktie, and swirled it proactively. It was some unintentional good planning on his part that he’s spent countless hours on sleight of hand tricks. He needed the practice now more than ever. If anyone would be able to spot his facade slipping, his fingers shaking and unsure, it would be you – his chosen life partner. “Here, let me put this on,” he said as he wrapped the makeshift blindfold around your eyes. A tool, a misdirection, a temporary respite.

Aventurine rolled you onto your back and you were none the wiser to the forlorn and broken expression on his face. He needed to cry, to mourn the family you were supposed to have. The nursery he’d disassemble by himself for your sake. He couldn’t worry you, not when you needed the comfort more, when he knew what it was like to feel small and helpless as your body betrayed what you wanted. It wouldn’t be difficult to pass his tears off as sweat, his shaking voice as swells of his own pleasure. Of course he felt good too. Everyone is more comfortable at home. He saw your fingers twitching in his peripherals, a tell that was far more consistent and obvious than the frenzied fluttering of your insides. Yes, now would be a good time.

Your husband crashed his lips against yours, a calculated act of theft as he stole your cries of ecstasy right out of your throat. Some might call it slimy, some might call it cunning, he called it commitment as he used the tortured screams of your climax to mask his own erratic breathing and whimpers of heartbreak. You fell still beneath him and hummed in satisfaction. Your fingers peeled off the blindfold, and you could finally get a good look of his smiling face. He thanked Gaiathra Triclops for giving him the strength to pull himself together so he could face you with a proper smile instead of that hollow one you’d see right through in a heartbeat. “I didn’t know renewing our vows could be so fun,” you beamed up at him, a smile as calming as the moon. He found himself nuzzling into your hand. “Romantic right?”

You laughed and nodded enthusiastically beneath him. “Wanna get cleaned up?” You gave his cheek a squish.

“Now that sounds like a great idea.” Your life together carried on. This was just another point in time, one he wouldn’t deem as suffering no matter how painful. As a gambler he weighed the risks and rewards of every encounter, every interaction. Every move was calculated, every word was said with purpose. Who knows? Maybe Mama Fenge would bless him with a miracle. After all, as the fortunate boy born on the day of Kakava he was blessed from the moment he was born. All in, he didn’t even need to remind himself as he helped you wash your hair, relishing in the smile on your face, one you gifted him with today and tomorrow and every day to come.

#aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x female reader #yandere hsr #yancore #yandere imagines

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astra-ravana · 4 months ago

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Ancient Alchemy

Alchemy is one of the oldest mystical and proto-scientific traditions, blending philosophy, chemistry, spirituality, and metaphysics. It was practiced across multiple civilizations, including Egypt, Greece, China, India, and the Islamic world, each contributing to its development.

⚗Origins and Evolution of Alchemy

Ancient Egypt & Hermetic Alchemy (c. 2000 BCE - 300 BCE)

• Egyptian priests practiced early alchemical processes, such as metal purification and embalming.

• Thoth, later known as Hermes Trismegistus, was considered the patron of alchemy, giving rise to the Hermetic Tradition.

• The Emerald Tablet, attributed to Hermes, introduced the concept of “As above, so below,” suggesting the microcosm reflects the macrocosm.

Greek and Hellenistic Alchemy (c. 300 BCE - 400 CE)

• Greek philosophers like Empedocles and Plato theorized about the four classical elements (earth, water, air, and fire) as the building blocks of reality.

• The idea of the Quintessence (Aether) emerged as a mystical fifth element.

• Alchemy merged with Gnosticism and early Christian mysticism.

Indian and Chinese Alchemy (c. 400 BCE - 1200 CE)

• Indian Alchemy (Rasasastra) focused on immortality and transforming metals into gold, with mercury playing a key role.

• Chinese Alchemy (Neidan & Waidan) aimed at achieving the Elixir of Immortality, focusing on both external substances (Waidan) and internal spiritual practices (Neidan).

• Daoist alchemists sought balance through the Yin-Yang and the Five Elements.

Islamic and Medieval European Alchemy (c. 700 CE - 1600 CE)

• The Islamic world preserved and expanded alchemical knowledge, with figures like Jabir ibn Hayyan (Geber), who systematized laboratory techniques.

• Alchemy entered medieval Europe through translations, inspiring figures such as Albertus Magnus, Roger Bacon, and Paracelsus.

• The quest for the Philosopher’s Stone—a mythical substance granting immortality and transmuting base metals into gold—became central.

Renaissance and Early Modern Alchemy (c. 1500 - 1700 CE)

• The fusion of alchemy and early chemistry occurred through figures like Isaac Newton and Robert Boyle.

• Paracelsus emphasized spagyric alchemy, focusing on the medicinal applications of alchemy rather than purely transmutational goals.

• The rise of the Rosicrucians and Freemasons kept alchemical philosophy alive in esoteric circles.

⚗Core Principles of Alchemy

The Three Alchemical Principles (Tria Prima – Paracelsus)

Alchemy posits that all matter consists of three essential principles:

• Sulfur (Soul) – Represents spirit, transformation, and the volatile aspects of existence.

• Mercury (Mind) – Symbolizes fluidity, adaptability, and the connection between spirit and body.

• Salt (Body) – Embodies physical form and stability.

⚗The Four Classical Elements

Alchemy works with the foundational elements of Earth, Water, Air, and Fire, believing these are essential to transmutation and spiritual purification.

The Magnum Opus (Great Work)

The process of transmutation was divided into four symbolic stages:

• Nigredo (Blackening) – Death, dissolution, and breaking down impurities.

• Albedo (Whitening) – Purification and enlightenment.

• Citrinitas (Yellowing) – Awakening and the infusion of divine light.

• Rubedo (Reddening) – Completion, the birth of the perfected being, or the Philosopher’s Stone.

⚗Applications of Alchemy

Physical & Material Alchemy (Transmutation & Chemistry)

• Attempting to turn lead into gold symbolized the refinement of base matter into perfection.

• Alchemists developed early chemical processes, including distillation, sublimation, and crystallization, laying the groundwork for modern chemistry.

• Gunpowder, acids, and medicinal compounds were discovered through alchemical experiments.

Spiritual & Mystical Alchemy

• Many saw alchemy as a metaphor for spiritual enlightenment—transforming the “lead” of the mundane self into the “gold” of the divine self.

• The Philosopher’s Stone was also symbolic of self-realization and immortality.

• Theurgy and Hermetic practices integrated alchemy with ritual magick to invoke higher states of consciousness.

Medicine & Healing (Alchemical Medicine – Spagyrics)

• Paracelsus introduced the idea that diseases could be cured by extracting the essence of plants and minerals.

• Early homeopathy and herbal medicine developed from these alchemical principles.

• Some alchemists sought longevity elixirs, believed to extend life or even grant immortality.

Psychological Alchemy (Carl Jung’s Interpretation)

• Carl Jung saw alchemy as a metaphor for psychological individuation, where the Magnum Opus represented self-integration.

• The shadow (Nigredo), anima/animus (Albedo), and self-realization (Rubedo) were psychological processes paralleling alchemical transformation.

Occult and Modern Esoteric Alchemy

• Alchemical concepts remain central in Hermeticism, Thelema, Rosicrucianism, and Freemasonry.

• The idea of internal alchemy is found in modern spiritual traditions, focusing on energy work, ascension, and self-deification.

⚗Legacy of Alchemy in the Modern World

• Chemistry & Pharmacology: Many laboratory techniques originated from alchemical practices.

• Spiritual Development: The concept of personal transformation remains a key theme in occult traditions.

• Symbolism & Psychology: Alchemy’s symbols and processes influence Jungian psychology and self-improvement methodologies.

Alchemy is far more than just the pursuit of gold—it is a science of transformation at all levels: material, spiritual, and psychological. From its ancient roots in Egypt and China to its esoteric revival in modern mysticism, alchemy continues to inspire those seeking wisdom, power, and enlightenment.

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hellishfig · 3 months ago

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"you anticipate a landscape rife with the spirit and you sense a landscape devoid of spirit. the same dread that would fill you if you dropped a stone down an open well and never heard a splash fills you as your divine sense reaches out to feel... nothing."

this description was one of the best i've ever heard. a perfect metaphor for expectation versus haunting and unnatural reality

also interesting that for ame's nat 1 insight check which also gives her nothing, brennan uses metaphors and similes of cities. how the crowds and eternal noise of people living being absent creates that ringing silence when one goes away from a city for the first time. a broken ceiling fan. we- or at least i- often think of ame as of nature, similar to eursulon, but people are a part of her domain as well. and neither nature nor civilization exist in a war zone. only death

and yet. a firefly

and yes, the firefly is scouting ahead for eioghorain and his shapeshifter rebels and suvi. it probably wouldn't be here otherwise. but even when the world is razed and nothing can grow, that's not the end. death is here, but life will persevere. it can do nothing else

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innorogers · 8 months ago

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Heliophilia

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Why are you always hiding from him?!

Warning: Fluff / Fluff / Very Fluff / Comfort / Very Comfort / Sooth?

Characters: OC, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Natasha Romanoff

Also: This a new series ❤️ It's called: Burning Sun ✨

As far as Steve Rogers had been led to believe, the world adored Captain America—the symbol, the shield, the unwavering ideal. And not just the world—his teammates, the Avengers, and everyone he led—they liked him too. Sure, he was serious, but he was also kind, funny, and always a gentleman. He combined the decisiveness of a commander with the empathy of a brother-in-arms, leading not from arrogance but from an innate understanding of his soldiers’ hearts.

But beneath the weight of the shield and the praise, there was always one person whose gaze seemed to cut through the surface, treating him with an odd distance. It wasn’t disdain, though sometimes it felt close, nor was it indifference. It was something more elusive, more personal—a quiet tension that stirred between them.

Yeah that was the polite Jane Austen version.

In reality…

"What is wrong with her?" Steve exhaled after you’d given a laser-focused, perfect-in-every-way mission report, nodded politely, and walked away. Turning to Natasha, he finally voiced the question that had been nagging him for what felt like a million years: "Am I some kind of monster?"

"Who? Oh, her Captain...?" Natasha replied with your last name after the title, barely glanced up from the game on her phone, one she’d started five minutes after the briefing meeting started. "Why would you say that? Why are you picking on her… ?" Again.

"It’s just…" Steve ran his hand through his hair, a little more frustrated than he cared to admit. "She’s so… polite."

"Last time I checked, that was a good thing."

"And she’s always so… distant. If I’m standing here, she’s in the opposite corner, or hiding behind the curtains." That last part was an exaggeration, of course. You never actually hid from anything, but it felt like a metaphor for the way you always seemed far away from him.

Natasha didn’t blink. "I’ll tell her to sit on your lap next time."

"I’m nice." Steve said, walking by her side, nodding and smiling at everyone who greeted him with a courteous "Captain."

"Yup, you are."

"And respectful."

"No one like you, Cap."

"So why is she so strange to me?" Steve couldn’t understand. You’d been working together for almost two years, and still, your answers to him were: "Yes, Sir." "No, Sir." "Yes, Captain." "No, Captain."

Sometimes he ran into you in the halls or elevators. He tried making small talk—"Had a fun weekend?" "Yes, Captain." "Nice weather." "It is, Captain." But he quickly realized it was better to smile and endure the awkward silence.

You never looked him in the eye. You always looked at the floor. Sure, the Carrera marble on Level 2 was impressive, but it wasn’t that fascinating.

"So, is this a ME problem?" Steve resigned. He constantly reflected on himself, but this time, he couldn’t figure it out.

Of course it’s a YOU problem, Natasha thought, rolling her eyes. She had lost that level of her game anyway, so she pocketed her phone and shook her head.

"Look, she’s just a tough player, alright? She likes to keep people at a distance. You can’t blame her for not being a social butterfly. And she’s like that with everyone."

"No, she’s not. She’s relaxed around Clint, Vision, and Bruce," Steve argued, he knows that because you typically confined your hair in a sleek ponytail, but when you are at ease, you start arranging it by letting it cascade, and he seems you do that sometimes when you talk with these folks. Those lucky bastards.

"She has casual conversations with Tony, talks about pilates with Maria, and she’s practically friends with Sam."

"Everyone’s friends with Sam," Natasha gave him a 'duh' look. Then, resigned, she said, "Look, just talk to her."

"Talk to her?"

"Yeah, like normal people do." Natasha gestured between the two of them. "Tell her how you feel about the way she acts and maybe that you’d like to… be closer."

"I…" Steve wanted to say he tried so many times, but then he asked himself: why his immediate response wasn’t ‘I don’t wanna be closer I wanna know what’s going on’? Maybe it is because being closer is what he really wants.

"And maybe then you’d know why…" Natasha added, shaking her head. Everyone knows why, Rogers. The girl had been in love with you since day one.

“And Steve…” Black Widow opened her mouth but then decided to shut up. She glared at him and just said it in her mind: maybe you don’t want to smile like that when you are thinking about her? It’s a little creepy.

But she just smiled: “Talk to her tomorrow, you know, in a casual…encounter? So it doesn't sound like you are giving professional feedback about her behavior.” She waves her head in a suggestion: “You know, tomorrow's Family Day, I think it's a great chance to chat…”

“Hmm…” Steve nodded, hesitant. Good idea.

Miss Heleana Christensen from the Data Department was a girl everyone loved.

Silky skin, a petite figure, wavy brown hair, and dimples that appeared when she smiled. She wore large, round glasses that constantly slid down her nose, which she’d push back up with a finger now and then. When she was deep in thought, her lips would purse tightly, making the dimples on her cheeks flicker in and out of view—she was that kind of girl-next-door everyone adored, not just for her looks but because she was so damn cute.

Her job wasn’t fun—in fact, data analysis? Thank god there were professionals handling those never-ending Excel sheets and querying big data in the infinite Stark Industries database.

But she worked hard, striving to perfect every task, because she wanted the ‘mightiest heroes, the best team in the universe’ (her words) to receive only the most accurate and flawless reports. She put all her effort into making sure everything was right.

She actually believed she was saving lives, not excels.

Who wouldn’t like such a hardworking sweetheart?

So when Helaena asked Captain America if he wanted a coffee at Stark Industries’ Easter Charity Event, aka Family Day, with her sparkling eyes and cute dimples peeking from her smile, even Steve Rogers—who was always careful not to give any colleagues the wrong idea—found it hard to say no.

Family Day was held the Saturday before Easter every year. On that day, employees brought their families to the outdoors (the massive private Stark Industries compound) for games, picnics, barbecues, and maybe a picture with the Avengers for their kids to show off at school.

It was a huge thing, and almost everyone attended. Though family members were encouraged to come, most attendees were single, turning the event into something of a casual dating scene.

“I would be honored.” Steve smiled, accepting her offer, and of course, he wasn’t about to let her pay for the coffee. Ever the gentleman, he bought the coffee and cake himself, but when he went to pick them up, he noticed you behind the counter.

Fuck, you didn’t have the chance to hide.

“Hey.” Steve smiled at you. A little surprised. He actually was looking for you everywhere.

“Captain.” You glanced at him once before quickly lowering your eyes, instinctively taking a small step back. Ugh…look at you: white t-shirt, jeans, and a ridiculous pink apron with a coffee stain you poured on yourself two minutes ago. You really wished you were wearing your blood-stained, sand-covered badass gear instead, but no, you had to be like a first day in work barista.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, glancing up at the booth sign. “I thought this was the data team’s booth?”

The charity event was set up like a kermesse, with each department having its own booth, and all the proceeds going to Stark’s foundation. As if that would add any zeros to its wealth.

“Um… I’m just helping out a friend,” you replied softly, forcing the least awkward smile you could. “What can I get’ya?”

“Oh, um… two cappuccinos. And… I don’t know…cake?” He blinked a few times as he scanned the menu.

“The apple pie just came out hot.” You brushed a strand of hair covering your face, feeling yourself blush. “And I think it’s low-calorie?” You say that, but what the fuck would you know? You rolled your eyes at yourself in silence.

“Sounds great.” Steve smiled warmly. “I’ll take two, thanks for the calories heads up.”

He handed over the cash, but in an awkward moment, you missed grabbing it. The bill slipped onto the counter, and as you both reached down to pick it up, the moment your fingers brushed his skin, you recoiled like you’d touched a live wire.

“I am so sorry.” That was dumb as fuck. And you called yourself an elite soldier with these reflexes? God help this planet because you surely couldn’t.

“No, my bad.” Steve chuckled, shaking his head, and wondered—why are you acting like this, AGAIN? Was he really that intimidating?

Just as you turned to get his change, a voice called out from behind the booth, “Yo, I’m back! Thanks for covering.” Your coworker returned with a big smile. “Hey, Cap! What can I get ya?”

“Hey, George. Got everything I needed already, thanks.” Steve greeted him with a smile and handed over the order. You were already stepping away, untying that ridiculous stupid stupid! apron.

Steve wanted to say something, but then a voice called from behind.

“Cap!” Sam appeared, clapping Steve on the back. When he spotted you, his grin widened graciously. “Oh man, did you finally make a move? Did you ask her out?”

That made you freeze. Your hands paused, still hanging up that pink thing. You held your breath, not daring to look back. Or to breathe. Damn it, Sam.

Steve exhaled in exasperation at Sam’s not-so-subtle comment. “I gotta go.” He muttered, giving Sam a warning glare. “Knock it off.”

“Oh shit.” Sam whispered, watching Steve hand the coffee to Helaena as they walked off together. Clicking his tongue, Sam shook his head. “That was awkward.”

Then when noticed you trying to walk away unnoticed, he approached with a sigh.

“You know…” Sam leaned in a little with a knowing smirk, “You should tell him something if you want anything to happen.” He tilted his head toward Steve, who had walked off with Haelena but still glanced back at you once more.

“I’m not…” You rubbed your forehead. “Is it that obvious?”

“I mean, no… not to everyone. But I’m The Falcon, ya know? Top-tier observation skills. So yeah, I noticed.” He grinned brightly.

“And so have Natasha, Tony, Wanda, Vision, Bruce, Maria, Clint, the Parker kid, Thor, the cleaning lady, your crew, my crew, even the bald guy with only one eye… you get the idea.”

“Great.” You were mortified. Maybe asking for a mission to Saudi Arabia tomorrow would be a great idea so you can get the hell outta here.

“Well, since we’re on the subject,” Sam added casually, “I think he knows, too.”

“What?” Nope, Saudi is not gonna do. Asgard now, sounds quite far enough.

“And I think he likes you, too.” Sam continued. “So maybe stop acting like a teenage girl, and be the badass sniper you are? Ask him out for a drink or something, I’ll bet first rounds he’d say yes.”

“I…” You didn’t know what to say. “I… I’m not…”

And your gaze wandered back to Steve, who was walking with Helaena, his smile as gentle and radiant as ever.

That smile.

It was like sunshine cutting through clouds, golden rain filtering through the mist at dawn. Warmth that chased away the darkness, scattering any lingering shadows.

You sighed, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“I’m not…that.” you finally said, looking at Haelena.

Look at her: she’s cuteness in person. The kind of girl who could open her heart and arms, ask for hugs and kisses with a bright smile, make people feel lucky to have met her, bringing sunshine, and stirring feelings of tenderness or protection.

You lacked many virtues, but self-awareness wasn’t one of them. You knew exactly what you were: ashes of war, bullets cracking in helmets, blood and sweat, sleepless nights, anxiety, stubbornness, and severe insomnia.

“Exactly.” Sam smiled at you, his tone encouraging. “You’re just the most badass woman I’ve met…”

He paused.

“...after Nat, Wanda, Pepper, Maria… but you know…”

“Nope.” You laughed softly, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t think I am.” At all.

So Family Day hadn’t gone as expected. Steve had done plenty of talking, just not with you.

He hadn’t seen where you’d been all day, so his last chance was on the bus taking everyone back to the facility. He noticed you slipping into the last row. As the door closed behind him, the bus started moving, and he caught glimpses of you in the front-row mirrors.

You sat alone at the back, no one nearby. Should he move closer? This might be his chance—maybe his last one—before you returned to your usual role as the distant, official soldier, always holding up an invisible shield against him.

Steve sighed, watching you. The sunset cast a glow on your silhouette, drawing a golden line in your contour, you looked like an ancient Greek statue, frozen in time and in eternal beauty, taking his breath away.

Then, without warning, you stood up, and Steve frowned.

What's wrong?

The attack hit before he could even turn around.

A missile struck from the right side of the bridge, blowing half of it apart. Fortunately, the traffic was sparse, but the explosion left a massive hole, and several cars couldn’t stop in time, plunging into the gap.

The air filled with the acrid scent of burning debris as the bus windows shattered. The bus collided with other vehicles that had braked suddenly, crashing several times before finally stopping. Instinctively, Steve threw out his arm, shielding those around him from the impact.

"Is everyone alright?" He called out, standing up and scanning the bus. His eyes anxiously searched for you among the dazed passengers. Natasha and Sam had already jumped out of the broken windows, moving into action.

"Open the door!" Maria, blood trickling down her forehead, kicked open the rear exit, supporting a nearby passenger. "Everyone out!" she urged.

"Three V65 drones." You muttered, pressing your hand to a cut near your eye as you struggled to your feet. The ringing in your ears from the explosion made it hard to focus.

"Northwest direction... G9 missile. Fires every minute and a half, maybe two." You reported aloud while helping Maria guide people off the bus.

"Evacuate everyone," Steve sighed in relief after finally seeing you. "Everyone." He repeated, his eyes locked on you.

But, of course, you didn’t consider yourself as "everyone." You were already off the bus before he could called you out. After helping Maria get the rest of the passengers out, you returned to the back, retrieved the gear, and took cover behind an overturned car.

“I’m a minute away,” Tony’s voice buzzed through your comms, accompanied by the hum of his suit. “I’m with Sam in the air. We’ll get the people near the river out first.”

“Make it quick!” Maria ordered, firing behind the defense line Steve had set up amidst the chaos. “Who the hell are these guys?” A second missile whooshed through the air just as she finished.

Iron Man deflected it with a repulsor blast, but much of the enemy fire began targeting him in midair. He barely managed to destroy the missile that posed the biggest threat before getting hit by another shot, almost knocking him out of the sky.

The missile struck the riverbed, shattering the bridge’s support. The ground beneath you began to tilt as cars slid down into the chaos, dust and debris swirling around. But the enemy fire didn’t stop.

"Sam, break through their front line!" Steve commanded, dodging falling cars as he raced up the slanted bridge, pulling Maria with him.

“Watch out with the cars rain!” Natasha called out with a hint of amusement, also making her way upward, dodging vehicles sliding into the water. "Feels like Washington all over again."

“Washington wasn’t that fun, we weren’t even there…” Tony quipped from above, just before stopping mid-sentence. "Cap, behind you...!"

Steve spun around, but he was too late. Two gunshots echoed, and a figure appeared in front of him, taking the hits meant for him.

You hit the ground hard but got up quickly, clutching your wounded shoulder, your fingers digging into the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Before Steve could react, you had already raised your gun, aiming past him. He hesitated, stunned, but two more shots rang out, passing a hair's breadth from his skin, followed by the grunts of fallen enemies behind him.

He couldn’t even process, and you were an all blur of motion, storming past him like a whirlwind.

You kneed the first attacker in the jaw, grabbed the second by the elbow, twisted his arm until you heard a ‘crack’, and used his own knife to dispatch him quickly. Then turned his weapon on the third, shot him down before he could even trigger the damn thing.

"Damn!" Sam muttered, watching in awe as you moved swiftly, fiercely.

Two bullets weren’t enough to slow you down. Pain was good. It kept you sharp, focused.

You surged forward like an arrow, calculating distances, the wind, mapping enemies at your sight.

You were pissed.

No, pissed was not even close to describing it.

You were furious.

The thought of anyone attacking him like that, of him being hurt, filled you with a fire that made you faster, deadlier.

This was the kind of soldier you were—driven by adrenaline, pain sharpening your senses, your fury igniting your determination, making you more dangerous with every wound. And that anger... oh that was just the cherry on top.

"Enemies at my 12." You reported, spotting the last of them. But before you could act, the ground beneath you cracked, and you slid down as the bridge crumbled.

Massive chunks of concrete tumbled into the water below, the steel and iron reinforcements snapping like fragile threads. You fell along with the debris.

“Get her!” Steve’s voice broke, filled with panic. "Now, Sam!!"

"On it!" Falcon swooped down, grabbing you just in time, lifting you across the collapsing bridge. As soon as you landed, you were already moving, sprinting ahead.

"Where are you going?" Sam shouted.

"The sniper’s that way!" You yelled back, leaping over overturned cars. "VG5 ammo—they’re likely still in the same spot. South of where I was."

You were fast, crouching down, and aiming. "Wind at 30 km/h, bullet speed at 400 km/h..."

"Distance: 200 meters..." You steadied your breathing, focusing. "This shouldn’t be a problem.." you muttered, despite the pain throbbing in your shoulder. Your left arm was nearly useless, but you gritted your teeth and kept your eye on the target.

You just needed to focus.

You’ve done this shit a hundred times and in worse conditions.

So, focus.

Two shots, and one of the snipers fell. The others scattered, but your bullets found them quickly.

"Wow..." Sam whistled in disbelief. "Girl…I didn’t mean this when I said ‘go back into badass mode’."

He reached to pat your shoulder, then noticed the blood soaking through your uniform. "Shit, you’re hit."

"You're hurt," Steve arrived seconds later. "Let me see—how bad is it?" His voice cracked with concern. “What were you thinking?! I could’ve blocked those shots with my shield…Why..." The thought of what could’ve gone wrong—the bullet straying, Sam not reaching you in time—tightened a knot of fear in his chest.

Before he could inspect your wound, you collapsed from blood loss.

Steve caught you just in time, lifting you gently as a groan escaped your lips.

"Nice catch, Cap," Sam quipped, still finding time to joke.

"Shut up!" Steve snapped, uncharacteristically irritated, as he cradled you in his arms. The scent of blood filled his senses as he looked down at your pale face. You hadn’t completely passed out, but you were clearly in pain, biting your lip to stay silent.

As he carried you, you curled away from him, avoiding contact.

Damn, why are you doing this again? Steve almost grunted in frustration, but then he saw your pale face and his heart just clenched.

"You’re making this hard for me." Steve sigh as giving up, he spoke as softly as he could.

"Here, let’s..." He gently moved your arm around his neck, tucking it in place. "There, better?"

"I... I don’t want to stain your clothes with blood," you muttered weakly.

Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stared at you, trying to not lose his temper in your stubbornness, frowning slightly. "You saved my life. And you’re hurt."

Quickening his pace toward the medics, he added. "You could burn all my clothes and I wouldn’t give a damn."

Of course nothing happened between the two of you after that attack, Steve was too busy getting his hands on whoever the fuck that was behind the attack, he was outraged.

Well, not only him, the whole Level 1 and above were in the same state, like…who the fuck would dare to attack the Avengers so publicly? They felt invaded and insulted, even if the whole enemy team was captured or eliminated, that didn’t take away the fact that everyone went through danger. On family day!

Steve was pissed. Not only because all the investigation took 90% of his time, but also because he didn’t even get the chance to see you while you were lying in the hospital. All that stuff he was planning to tell you in a private and emotional state? Didn’t happen, at all.

“What do you mean she’s been discharged?” Steve demanded, after reviewing your health report on the tablet. He set it down sharply on the desk and looked at Maria, his tone serious. “It’s been three days. She took two shots to the shoulder. How could she be discharged so soon?”

Commander Hill received the “I told you to go easy on this topic” look from Sam, and scowled to Steve: “I…don’t make the rules? She is level 1, Cap, I don’t think she received the same treatment as in a regular hospital…I bet this is where Stark’s healing magic tech kicks in.”

“Shit.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Alright... fine. Do we know where she is?”

How in the world would I know? Maria thought but offered, “We could track her mobile. It’s probably on 24/7.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Steve didn’t want to do that, to intrude your privacy, but he was worried. He didn’t even know why, or…as whom was he worried, as your supervisor, your team mate, your fellow work pal? Like, you weren’t even that close.

“Yes. Do it. Send her location to my phone.” Grabbing his jacket, he added, “I’ll be back in a few.”

“…” Commander Hill opened her mouth to say something like ‘I gotta more important shit than crashing to your crush’s mobile’, but Steve already left the room, she looked at the completely silenced room full of all the Avengers, and just did a ‘what just happened’ face.

“Five bucks says he doesn’t get the girl today.” Tony broke the silence.

“Yeah, I’m in.” Clint was the first to respond, followed by Nat and Rhodey.

While the others were placing bets on your so-called romance, Steve was already tracking your phone. At first, he thought the GPS was glitching because it was leading him to the MET.

Actually, it was working perfectly (Tony would later smugly confirm that). You were at the Captain America exhibition, which had been relocated from Washington to New York after the Smithsonian became a crater, courtesy of a Helicarrier.

Steve slowed down when he found you in the exhibition hall, his steps halting completely when he saw you.

It was a weekday, during work hours, so the place was nearly empty.

The natural light streamed in from the ceiling, casting large patches of sunlight that quietly illuminated your silhouette as you sat on a long bench, bathed in a soft, glowing light.

Your gaze floated, like a gentle river, to the black-and-white photograph on the wall in front of you.

It was one of the few preserved images of Steve before the serum. Back when he was a slender, delicate young man with refined features, frail and thin.

Steve barely remembered looking like that. These days, all he saw in the mirror was his current self—tall, strong, healthy. Now, standing in front of that photo, he found it almost unfamiliar, though he could still faintly recognize the determination in those unchanged, resolute eyes.

But you—he was looking at you. Your gaze was so tender, your head tilted slightly upward, a faint smile playing at your lips. The soft curve of your mouth radiated quiet contentment, and in your eyes, there was nothing but the reflection of that photograph.

Nothing but him.

That’s when Steve knew.

There was nothing else, in your eyes, but him.

All his nervousness and uncertainty melted away, replaced by a sudden warmth and joy.

Leaning against the wall, Steve realized he had the same look on his face. You were gazing at a photo of him, and he...was gazing at you.

And in his eyes, there was nothing else, but you.

You heard the soft echo of footsteps behind you and turned slightly, freezing in place when your gaze met his.

He was standing in front of you, every inch of his silhouette outlined by the backlight. Just his presence, just being in his shadow, made you feel incredibly safe. For a moment, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. But instinctively, you lowered your gaze, flustered.

You wanted to hide. You felt like a mess—a bandaged shoulder, probably some ash still in your hair, and the faint smell of the hospital clinging to your skin. But he was already sitting beside you.

“I used to get sick a lot back in those days.” Steve said, his eyes on the picture of his younger self. “Whenever the seasons changed, I’d get fevers and runny noses.. Spring was a little better, but the pollen made my asthma unbearable. And summers...” He sighed. “Brooklyn was a nightmare. Hot and humid. My joints ached constantly. Joining the army was probably the worst idea I had, but I was stubborn.”

He laughed softly. “Stubborn as hell. When it comes to what I want, the goals I’ve set... and the people I care about.”

His eyes never left yours, and you could see your own bewilderment reflected in his steady gaze.

“I don’t buy it for a second... that you don’t know.” He said softly, pausing for a moment before you lowered your eyes again.

You wanted to hide, but under his gaze, there was nowhere to escape.

“If you were so afraid... why did you take all those risks for me?” Steve asked, his voice quiet. Why were you so fearless on the battlefield but treated him like something to fear in everyday life?

“I remember everything, you know?” His voice softened, distant as he recalled the past. “All the risks you’ve taken. Sometimes... reckless, bold...”

He shook his head, a mix of frustration and admiration in his voice. “God, I remember our first fight, you broke enemies lines, just to get my shield back…I was desperate, and then you come back with that…impeccable yet stubborn as fuck attitude ‘I’m sorry Sir but I had to do it’ shit, drove me crazy. I didn’t know what to do. You wouldn’t step back, and I knew, even if I suspended you, you’ll just go and do the same stupid and impulssive thing next time.”

You smiled faintly, looking down. Of course, you remembered. You had a scar on your back from that mission. One you wore with pride.

“So why?” Steve whispered, searching your face. “Why would you risk everything... and then hide?”

“What about you?” You asked, finally looking up at him. “On that plane, at the end of the war, why did you stay until the last moment? You could’ve escaped before it crashed into the frozen sea. I’ve seen the reports. You could’ve swam away. Why did you stay until the explosion?”

“I couldn’t,” Steve answered without hesitation. “The stakes were too high. If it didn’t explode in the sea, it would’ve been New York. I couldn’t let that happen, not even a small chance. I’d rather die than…” He stopped, getting your point.

“Right?” You nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “…than having that risk?”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. Your sincerity, your determination—it made his heart ache.

Goddamn it…Why do you have to be so obstinate, inflexible, reckless…loyal, brave and fierce? He would spend the rest of his life worrying as fuck, fearing for this willingness to sacrifice attitude of yours.

Almost instinctively, he reached out and covered your hand with his. His voice barely above a whisper.

“What are you afraid of?”

Your lips move, you want to pull your hand away from his grasp, but you find yourself without the strength.

Because you wanted him.

As a leaf growing from a seed breaking out from the ground and reaching out to embrace sunlight and warmth. To embrace life.

You want to hold his hand back, feel his palm against yours. You know that feeling him, would be enough to know that all is well in the world, that there’s nothing left to fear. You could exist freely and quietly behind him, fearless.

This wish. So strong yet so powerless, makes you so vulnerable, you could barely exist in his presence.

You hesitated for a long time, trying to put the words together, trying to tell him the truth yet not burden him, and finally, you speak in a low voice.

“If the ending is something you can’t bear... isn’t it better to avoid it?”

Steve stood silent for what felt like an eternity.

“I promise you.”

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your cheek and lifted your chin so your eyes met his.

“There will be no ending.”

You could barely breathe at these words. Yet your heart was beating so strong, so fast, so loud, you felt it was going to explode.

“I'm scared too.” He sees your expressions, your broken soul, your fear of heartbreak and the endless uncertainty to lose something you longed for a lifetime.

“But…” He cupped your face in his hands as if you were something precious, something he had been waiting for his whole life.

“Being with you…it’s worth it, I’d rather have you and risk heartbreak than not have you at all.”

The sunlight bathed you both, it was so bright and dazzling that it brought your eyes with tears.

“And I know I can’t change you,” Steve continued, his voice filled with quiet resignation. “You will continue to be this… badass goddess of war, in the first row of any fight, any battle to come. But I’ll try my best to shield you, from any danger, any suffering, or any pain. I’ll do my best. With all I have.”

“No.”

Your expression shifted, and after a few heartbeats, you slowly smiled up at him.

“There’s no such thing… as suffering, pain, or danger…” You whisper, finally turning your head to meet his gaze. Your eyes seem to shimmer with unshed tears. “Not as long as it is with you. I’ll take it all, I’ll walk on fire and…”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, his lips claim yours.

That kiss… wasn’t gentle as you imagined. Instead, it’s forceful, filled with a possessive intensity. Maybe it’s because Steve has been holding back for so long, and now, that surge of determination finally breaks free.

His urgent need to have you, the longing that had kept him restless for so long, felt like a crashing wave, carrying with it all the emotions he had hidden away. Steve’s hand cradled the back of your neck while the other wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

It was like every first kiss in the world, filled with breathless exhilaration and the glorious wonder of a starry night.

His lips claimed yours with an intensity that took you by surprise, yet it felt natural, inevitable, as though this moment had been written in the stars long before either of you existed.

You didn’t realize it at the time, but something in Steve shifted. It was as if he’d made a silent vow in that kiss—one you couldn’t hear but could feel in the way he held you, how he kissed you like the world was ending.

In the quiet of the exhibition hall, surrounded by photographs and memories of his past, none of that mattered to him. Not the image of Captain America, not the accolades, not the expectations.

In that moment, it was just Steve, kissing the woman he loved. And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t care who saw. He didn’t care if the whole world was watching.

Every poster, every photo hanging on the walls was of him, of the man everyone else expected him to be. But right now, none of that mattered. He was making a choice, and it wasn’t for show, wasn’t for the sake of his legacy. It was for you, and only you.

The world beyond the walls blurred. There were no battles, no looming responsibilities, no enemies lurking in the shadows. Just the two of you, as though time itself had slowed to witness this one fragile moment.

As your lips parted, both of you breathless, your foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, feeling the shared pulse of your heartbeats.

There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, but the words wouldn’t come. You were there, in wonderstruck, as standing in the middle of a vivid dream.

Steve spoke first, his voice hushed but filled with a resolve you’d rarely heard before.

“I’m not going to let you run away again,” He whispered, his hand still gently cupping your face. “Not from this. Not from us.”

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze—those same resolute eyes that had stared back at you from that black-and-white photograph, unchanged by time or transformation. You knew then, with the same certainty as his, that there was no running away.

You won’t run. Or hide.

Not anymore.

End, but probably will continue ;)

Oh yeah, I love this fierce yet fragile OC. This is actually the translation of an original piece I wrote back in 2021? Originally in chinese so I'm SO SORRY if it's weird reading it in english cause...well, struggling with the words, hehe. But I loved this piece so much I wanted to share it with you, cause damn, I loved him so much in that part of my life :3 (I do love him still.)

And for my babes that are waiting on Miracle Nr. 12! I'm so sorry not posting about it this week cause I'm still trying to figure out whether continue with the angst plot, or the original angst and dark as f... plot that's leading the story to a very very sad and dark twist. Still has an happy ending, I promise. It will be there on next Friday!

Oh I'm sorry I got carried away writing so much hehe, hope you enjoyed it!!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

let me know if you want to be added! 🥰

✨ Miracle Nr. 12 ✨ Series:

#captain america x reader #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x reader #captain america x you #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x oc

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hmslusitania · 11 months ago

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Ask meme! For TimKon, either 17. “Please stay.” or 34. “When did you know for sure?”

May I offer you: an angst with a happy ending? (who am I kidding; it's you, of course I can)

“When did you know?” Kon asks, staring out well past the horizon. Tim thinks that surely, he must see it, must be able to tell, he’s got fucking super vision of various sorts, but… But he sounds so dejected about it. Like he… like he hadn’t been able to tell. “For sure, I mean, when did you figure it out?”

“Um,” Tim says, and picks up a handful of sand on this very not-at-all real version of Kon’s favourite beach in Hawaii. “Last… night.”

Kon’s face burns bright red and Tim can’t really look at him anymore.

It all feels too real, even though this place isn’t anything of the sort.

And he’s pretty sure that includes Kon.

It had been a smart plan, Tim can tip his hat at the villain du jour for that, at least metaphorically. Trap Tim in a simulated reality, but instead of making it somewhere he knows inside and out, like Gotham, like Happy Harbour, they’d programmed him into a place he only knows in story and rumour. Tim wouldn’t really have any way of determining if there were differences between the real Hawaii the real Kon’s been talking about for as long as Tim’s known him, and this fake, simulation of it. And the programmers had done a pretty perfect job with Kon, too, except for the parts where he can’t tell that this whole place is a simulation, and the part where…

“My Kon, I mean the one who’s not a computer programme, because, like, he’s not mine, mine,” Tim starts. “He’s not… y’know. In love with me.”

Kon is silent for a minute, just staring out at the water and at the small waves lapping steadily higher up the beach while the sun rises. Tim would find this whole conversation a lot less excruciating if computer!Kon was wearing more than boxers with the House of El logo on the crotch, but, well, this simulation was designed to trap and torture him, so he’s not.

“I don’t feel like a computer simulation,” Kon says finally, and buries his toes in the sand like he’s making a point of feeling the sensations. “I remember — I remember meeting you when you were still Robin and I didn’t know who I was beyond Superman’s replacement, and I remember Bart, and Young Justice, and Cassie, and the Teen Titans, and dying and—”

“They probably built you off a brain scan of the real Kon,” Tim says. Tact and gentleness have never been his fortes but, fuck he tries this time.

“Right, and just, like, tweaked my memories so that I can remember being in love with you half that time, and the entire time I was lost in Gemworld, and—”

“Yeah, I guess they must’ve,” Tim says, even though it makes him want to puke. “This place is too… it’s too perfect. You’re too perfect.”

Kon scoffs, and makes a choked off noise that’s all too familiar after last night and Tim flushes with shame that he knows what Kon sounds like now. The thing is, it’s a very, very good simulation, and this isn’t knowledge Tim should have, because out in the real world, Kon doesn’t want to share that information with him. It’s none of Tim’s business, no matter how desperately he wants it to be.

“Nice to know I’m apparently good enough in bed to convince you it’s all too good to be true,” Kon says, with forced bravado.

Tim swallows, because that assessment isn’t untrue, but it’s only part of the story. “Also I think my biometrics must’ve spiked high enough to temporarily overload the system, because a bird clipped through our room while we were, uh…”

“Oh,” Kon says, blushing even harder. “So, um, now that you know this is fake, does that mean you’re going to escape?”

“Yeah,” Tim says. He swallows. “I just have to crash the programme, make it generate something so insanely huge its processing power can’t keep up.”

“Oh, right, just that,” Kon says. He very gamely swallows, and because he’s built on a very convincing facsimile of Tim’s real Kon, he stands up and nods. “So what do you need me to do?”

Tim is not surprised when the explosion they trigger in the simulation tips him out of it’s destabilising pixelated mess into a sketchy futuristic lab. Spaceship? Probably spaceship by the black starfield outside the windows.

He is surprised when his own exit from the gel couch matrix situation is echoed by someone else in another matching chair thing behind him.

He grabs for any kind of weapon available and rounds the central structure, ready to strike, only to find himself face to face with—

“Kon?” he demands. “You’re here too?”

Kon defuses the heat vision that had been starting to build behind his eyes, and then just stares at Tim, blushing a violent red like the heat vision had dispersed through his cheeks.

“Of course he is here too,” an annoyed voice that gives major evil scientist vibes says over the PA. “The simulation traps work best when there are two parties within them to reinforce the shared folie à deux!”

“Sh-shared?” Kon asks.

“Both of us were in the same—” Tim starts, and he understands Kon’s blush better now because he can feel his own viciously taking over his face.

“You thought I was a simulation,” Kon says, floating out of his matrix plug in chair to loom over Tim even taller than he usually is.

“You’re in lo—” Tim starts, but their captor’s voice crackles over the PA system again.

“Yes, yes, teenaged angst. You may continue your argument once my assistants have placed you back in your simulation!”

“We’re twenty-one, actually,” Tim corrects. “And you can—”

He means to tell the disembodied voice exactly where he can expect Tim’s bo staff (as soon as he finds it in one of the cargo pods here in this space station situation they’ve got going on) but Kon cuts him off by pulling Tim’s face into his hands and kissing him.

No birds clip through the walls this time, and the sensation of Kon’s TTK sweeping over him, like it’s not enough to just be touching Tim with his hands, like he has to touch all of him at once, is one that Tim hadn’t been able to fully conjure up out of his imagination. It’s different enough that Tim actually forgets for a second that they’re imprisoned on a space station and have been under for god knows how long, and he seriously considers simply climbing Kon like a tree right then and there to get the actual physical details mapped out.

“I can’t believe you thought my love confession was a simulation,” Kon murmurs against Tim’s lips.

Tim hums and kisses him again. Really, actually kisses Kon. Who really, actually wants to kiss him, too. “I meant it when I said you’re too good to be true.”

“Good thing we’re in a really shitty situation we need to figure our way out of if we want to get back to earth so I can show you the real version of that beach,” Kon says. “Because that part feels pretty on par.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, and sighs. He can hear the distant thuds of whatever sorts of robocop automata their captor has coming towards them now, and this fight’s gonna kinda suck, he thinks. At least there will be one hell of a reward for making it through to the other side. “Ready to fight for our lives?”

“With you?” Kon asks, and can’t help himself but to pull Tim in for one more kiss. “Always.”

#timkon #tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #dc #the ghost ship scribbles

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sairenharia · 1 year ago

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Why Chloe Deserved A Miraculous

Its a thought that's been stewing in my head and the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was true. Chloe was entitled to a Miraculous.

From a Doylist Perspective.

When there is conversations of if Chloe was entitled to a Miraculous is always presented from a Watsonian perspective. For those who don't know, Watsonian means the perspective of someone inside the story. A character. Doylist is the perspective of those in the real world. The author and audience.

The problem I see from fandom discourse is how often people don't actually consider the tools in a story. Often they take a Watsonian perspective, talk about what is right and sensible and should be how things work if this was a real situation. But the thing about stories is they have messages. They have tools and metaphors and themes to help display these messages. Sure, shows are about entertainment, but a story always has some kind of point. It may not be a moral lesson, it may not be some grand philosophy, but any story worth telling says SOMETHING. It takes a stance. The Fast and the Furious is all about doing cool stunts with cars, but it also has a message of doing things for family because if you just want to see cool car stunts, just go watch cool car stunts, but no, people want at least a little humanity in the car stunts, so there is a message of family. Sharing is caring, do your best, the heat death of the universe comes for us all, the messages can be vast, but there's some point of emotional reality to invest us in this specific media.

If we talk about Chloe and the Miraculous from a Watsonian perspective, no, she is not entitled to a Miraculous. No one is entitled to an object of power. Not even Marinette nor Adrien are entitled to their Miraculous.

But superpowers aren't real. Superpowers have always been a tool to emphasize a point. The stories of superman only focused on his powers are boring, but when you tell stories of how he tries to fit into a world that is not made for him, stories of how much he loves this world despite how easy it could be to be cruel, it gets interesting. The reason superhero comics started is there was a want to show that there can be incredibly powerful people who choose to be good. To choose to make the world a better place.

Superpowers made just to be cool and show off are boring. There is only so much you can watch a fight with a cool power before it gets dull and repetitive. But you relate the powers, the struggles of using the powers, to the person wielding them, the story has a lot more staying power. The powers say something about the person, and is part of their development.

And honestly, Miraculous is a good case for why this is important.

Because good god, most of the superhero team is boring.

And I don't just mean because they're good people, so there's no spice, though that's also true, but because the powers aren't really used to emphasize anything about the character. Max has portals. Why? His mom wants to be an astronaut, but we never really hear about Max wanting to travel. Doorman is a better example of a portal hero because he loves going to other places and learning about them.

Now portals are good for a tactician....except Max is never the tactician despite the fact we know he's brilliant and is good at video games. He just does as he's told by Ladybug for where he should put his portals. Its so close, but its not utilized.

And that is the case for most of the superheroes. Like the bones are there, but nothing is properly utilized. Sabrina is definitely a dog, good at getting things, and is in fact well practiced in recognizing what things may or may not be important. But we've never actually gotten to focus on her BEING a superhero, she only had a small cameo with the power, basically. Same with Ivan, really. They're pretty perfect for their powers and it suits their personalities, but none of it is EXPLORED. And that's the case with most of the heroes.

Juleka and Rose were pretty good at using the Miraculous to develop more of someone's character and emphasize a strength about another in turn. These are good hero episodes because we learned more about them and their journey.

Kagami's first episode with the dragon showed off more of her, such as she could be reckless, which is new information, but we learn a lot about her without it, and nothing new beyond that.

Luka could have actually been incredibly good because the snake both emphasizes a big part of him, and something he needs to work on. Luka is someone who steps back and watches. He observes. However, he has a problem where he often is too willing to step back. But with the snake needs someone who can observe AND act. So its a Miraculous that uses an important part of his personality, but could have also helped him grow.

And the rest are just...nothing.

There is a little for Nino and Alya. Nino is definitely more bold about defending his friends than he was at first, and Alya learns to be better about secrets, but these are the primary secondary heroes. We should have seen a ton of impact and development due to them having the Miraculous.

Here is the stance Miraculous should be taking in their story.

The desperation of those trapped and the power of being given good options.

Most of the Akumas are people who are trapped. They feel powerless. They are desperate to escape their problem and feel like they have no proper recourse with things are they are. How accurate this is varies, but this is how they feel in the moment, and that is what Gabriel preys on. These people agree to the deal because they don't feel like they will be helped any other way.

Ladybug and Chat Noir are meant to bring hope to those who felt hopeless and chose a terrible way to try and escape. They are support. They are a hand people desperately need.

So by that same token, the Miraculous should be a good way for people who feel trapped to be given an option, OR give those people the ability to extend their own hands to help others.

While it doesn't have to every time, it should often be the case those who are given a Miraculous; A, dealing with a huge problem and the Miraculous helps them solve that problem, regardless to the Akuma being related. Like if Juleka was working on trying to speak up even if the Akuma wasn't her parents and the Tiger still helped her do that. B, they are related to the Akuma and why they feel trapped, so they are working through their own issues with the important person. Like Rose when Juleka felt guilty. Or C, the person wants to find a way to help in general and kind of go how it went with Nino becoming Carapace. Where they were trying to be that hand a person needed, and earn the Miraculous, and that helps them on their journey to provide more support and help.

But its often it is someone they know, but them being the hero doesn't REALLY matter. Penalteam, the people were just there, these specific people didn't matter. Why did Zoe need to be Vesperia? Anyone could have taunted Chloe and she got turned into a banana real fast, her being the Bee didn't really bring a lot, to the bee, to her, or even to Chloe, and then she proceeded to just not bring much as the Bee, to the story, or herself.

Now part of this problem is that Marinette is not allowed to not learn a lesson, and has to be the one to save the day. These heroes do have skills. They have things they could be good at. But often....the plan is just what Marinette says. These heroes are not allowed to have agency.

They can't make decisions on their own.

Often times, they're just bodies being told to do the power without the ability to make the decision how and when. Sometimes they let the heroes do things and make decisions, but nine times out of ten, its Marinette who says who does what and when and her mental health is degrading because of it.

The Akumas are stories that always at least tell us something about the person because we see what problems hit them hard. There is something to learn, a bit of conflict to develop from.

The Miraculous should be following that trend, but in a positive way, but...doesn't.

All that being said.

Chloe was entitled to the Miraculous.

Because here is the stance Miraculous takes.

Someone is trapped in a situation and chooses to lash out violently and while that violence can not be permitted to continue, the heroes offer their support so the victim can feel like they have another option.

This is the story of Miraculous crystalized. People who feel alone and helpless are easily convinced to hurt others until someone is willing to help them despite this harm.

Chloe is the story of Miraculous.

Akumas are a metaphor.

And Chloe is the reality.

A child who is alone. Who feels trapped in her situation. Who doesn't know what else to do. So she does the only thing she knows how. She lashes out. She hurts people. She keeps them distant because then it doesn't hurt as much when they leave, or when they treat her like dirt.

Chloe is an Akuma personified, but her problems are brief moments. They're not a bad day that someone took advantage of. They are ever present and continuous and more over, reinforced to continue.

Chloe knows being a brat gets her what she wants from her father and was never taught to not be like that. Because he didn't discipline her, because her mother acted like that, because all adults around her was staff. Making demands is what she was TAUGHT and learned, through observation and guidance.

A behavior she continued to do with kids, and she found out teachers responded to the same threats and was never properly stopped. Other kids, reasonably, didn't want to deal with her, or submitted to her like Sabrina.

Chloe was not never taught how to be good. She was, in fact, very much taught to NOT be good. Her parents both set a terrible example. Her father is a corrupt politician. He may spoil her, but he we know he bribes and blackmails people, plus, you know, abandoned his daughter and technically kidnapped Zoe. This is not a paragon of a man. Then there was her mother. But she had a choice, listen to the man who had to weasel and cheat and play back handed games to get what he wanted, or the woman who got anything and everything she wanted...of course she would try to be the woman who seemed to get everything her way.

Because if her mother got everything she wanted, if Chloe was like her, maybe she could get everything SHE wanted.

Except it wasn't working.

But Chloe wasn't taught it was because she was cruel. She just started to believe she wasn't GOOD ENOUGH.

Maybe if she was as great as her mother, it would work.

By the time she would be old enough to recognize that wasn't how the world worked...well, by then, most of her peers hated her.

And here is something I think goes under the radar about Zoe.

Zoe knows how to act like Chloe. Audrey didn't blink at it. Zoe defaulted to the same behavior as Chloe. Zoe said she put on an act and she was tired of it.

Zoe WAS CHLOE.

And we know what happened with Zoe. Zoe stopped acting like Chloe. And then she got bullied. People were mean and cruel and put cockroaches in her locker and she only had one friend.

I'm sure that's why Zoe moved to Paris. Zoe went to her mom because she wanted a clean slate. She wanted the bullying to stop.

Even then, she struggled to stop. She defaulted to her habit, and we see that she CONTINUED the act around the hotel for some weeks after, because it was a hard habit to break.

But then...

Zoe got support. A hand was held out to her. Marinette gave her a chance, and so did everyone else, and Zoe took it because she wanted to be herself and she wanted to stop being cruel. Of course she's nice. She was given the space to be so.

Chloe is never given that support.

Chloe doesn't know how to be kind. She doesn't know how to be nice.

But the greatest tragedy is Chloe does know how to be GOOD.

Out of all the heroes, besides Chat, to a lesser degree Alya, and Alix and Luka by nature of their Miraculous, Chloe shows the most agency as a superhero. All the other heroes have their hands held by Ladybug. She tells them what to do, to an overly specific degree, and they are just bodies to use a tool. Chloe? Chloe acts on her own. To good and bad effect. Discounting the whole Queen Wasp break down, just when Chloe is actually acting as a superhero, she doesn't wait for Ladybug to tell her everything all the time. She calls out to her father, which was a mistake, but then there is every other time she's Queen Bee...

And she's fantastic at it.

Miraculer, she almost had Mayura's Miraculous.

Star Train, she gets people away from the Akuma.

In Bakerix, she's the last the to leave the train car.

In Ladybug, she's defending Sabrina.

In Style Queen, played Style Queen in an effort to find a way to save Adrien.

In Heroes Day, she is a great teammate. Keep in mind, everyone on the team knows who Chloe is. Ladybug was desperate and doesn't fully trust Chloe as a general rule. Rena Rouge and Carapace definitely don't trust her at all. Chat Noir is the only one who believes in Chloe as a person.

And yet, throughout the entire fight, Chloe is keeping up and picking up the slack with everyone else. She fights, she keeps civilians from being hurt, her synergy is on fire despite the lack of trust. When Rena Rouge and Carapace go down, she is quick to try and protect them and even after two EXTREMELY dangerous Akuma show up by way of her parents, who are both gunning for her real hard, she holds her own for a while and even then, she had to be mind controlled to stop and to feel negative emotions. It took FOUR AKUMAS gunning for her specifically to corrupt her, akums who are made to mess her up mentally to boot. When they confront Gabriel at the end, she prepares venom without being asked, to have a back up for taking him down. She makes decisions and when she was trusted to act as a hero, they are largely good ones.

And she never once complained about the mental hardship of what she went through. Because that's the thing, all her times as Queen Bee are super intense. They are her loved ones she's fighting, they are incredibly powerful Akumas. She fought a frickin' army.

And everyone...

Just insults her.

She risked her life for people and no one cared.

She fought her family and no one cared.

Chloe doesn't know how to be nice. Nor kind. But she was so good. And while the next day, people appreciated her, it was only a day.

And the tragedy is Chloe didn't immediately go back to being a bully. After Despair Bear, Chloe's bullying habits took an extreme nose dive. We only see her being unreasonably cruel a few times. After Maledikator, the only time is when she bullies Aurore and when she teamed up with Marinette, but also Marinette was with her and they were both doing it for fear of losing Adrien reasons. Not reasonable, but also not just to be cruel and honestly, her plan was fairly benign. She wanted Kagami to leave, not even humiliate her. And even Aurore is because Chloe was reaching the point she did in Miraculer where she was doubting Ladybug's trust in her and as she is want to do, she lashed out.

Most of the time when we see Chloe, what we see is her bragging about being Queen Bee. Which, sure, isn't a great thing...

But better a braggart than a bully. And when things go wrong, she tries to use her status to help reassure and guide people, which is actually a pretty good idea. Akumas are attracted to negative emotions. If she can reassure them, then less likely of them getting akumatized. It may be bragging, but it could help.

Chloe may not have been picture perfect nice, but we literally have an entire classroom full of perfectly nice people. She may not be humble, but bragging is not a damnable offense. But Chloe was legitimately trying to be a better person. She put herself in between others and danger. She had faith and belief that there were solutions. Even without the Miraculous, she tried to help people.

She may have wanted appreciate and gratitude for it, but what's even sadder is she didn't require it.

Chloe believed in Ladybug for a long time. She believed Ladybug would trust her again. She believed she could be given a Miraculous again, and all on her own, ALL ON HER OWN, she was trying to be a better person.

Its actually amazing how good Chloe was being despite the fact no one was helping her.

Because that is the thing.

Zoe got support and help.

Chloe didn't.

Every. Single. Time. Chloe tried to do something different, something not cruel, she is rejected. She tries to join the art club and she's mocked out of it. She tries to be class representative, a job no one else wanted for years, and she loses it as soon as someone did challenge her. She auditions, legitimately, for a music video, with eight years of practice, and she loses it because she isn't nice enough.

She stops bullying, tries to be a reassuring presence, and she is treated with suspicion and derision.

And still.

And STILL.

That isn't what breaks her.

What breaks her is the realization the only time where her efforts were appreciated was taken away. And even then, she holds onto the pieces. Holds onto hope that maybe she would be given a new chance.

Her parents are in danger. The reason she was given she couldn't be a hero is because she and her loved ones would be in danger.

Except her loved ones were in danger.

She was in danger.

Not having a Miraculous didn't change anything. It didn't keep them safe, it didn't keep her safe.

And its only then, after months of no one believing in her for more than two days, of no one holding out their hand, helping her, supporting her, believing her, with the one person she thought DID believe in her proved that she didn't believe in her, and couldn't even give her the safety that not having a Miraculous was supposed to bring.

For months, Chloe only thought Ladybug believed she could be good.

Adrien wanted her to be less cruel, but Chloe knew her being good wasn't necessary for him.

Nor was it for Sabrina.

But Ladybug?

Ladybug needed her to be good to believe in her, and she thought Ladybug did.

Chloe was able to largely bite back her desires to lash out at people based purely on the fact one person, ONE SINGULAR PERSON, needed her to be good, and believed in her ability to be so. It got her derision. It got her suspicion. It got people comparing her to villains. It got her dismissal. But she still tried. She still believed.

A person who didn't really believe in Chloe very much.

And there is also the Watsonian argument that Marinette doesn't owe it to Chloe to help her improve AND THIS IS INCREDIBLY VALID and honestly, in a perfect world, it would be great if it was Adrien who helped Chloe improve.

Or you know, Zoe. Someone who has a clean slate with Chloe and understands where she's coming from and could help her.

But no, this is the Marinette Has To Solve Everything Show.

So from a Doylist view, it IS Marinette who has to help Chloe, but also the Watsonian problem could be helped if it was CLEARLY ESTABLISHED that Marinette knows she doesn't HAVE to help Chloe, and people aren't pressuring her to do so (coughBustiercough) because that is a bad message...

But Marinette can CHOOSE to help her and make that clear.

Because Marinette has seen a lot of Chloe and could understand that she really does just need a little more help. That Chloe needed just a bit more support and help. And, you know, didn't actively encourage Chloe to please her abuser.

But we're going from the Doylist view and we can solve the Marinette being the one to help Chloe problem by not having it be Marinette, but LADYBUG.

And this?

This is why I say Chloe was entitled to a Miraculous.

Because Chloe is the reality of the stance of the show, and so helping her problem with the metaphors would go a long way.

You see, Chloe doesn't know Ladybug is Marinette. And Marinette knows being Ladybug means being the bigger person. Ladybug believes in people. Ladybug helps everyone she can. Its not about the victim helping their bully, its the superhero choosing to help someone who NEEDS HELP.

Chloe is stuck in her situation. Her mother will always be emotionally abusive. Her father will always be an enabler. She can try to change, but no one will BELIEVE in her change. She will be derided and mocked and treated poorly because no one is willing to give her the chance to grow, and they certainly won't help.

Frankly, its a miracle that Chloe's Akumas are so merciful.

Because Banana Queen is the most destructive of Chloe's Akuma forms. Most of Chloe's Akuma forms don't care about HURTING people. They care about WINNING. She either wants to win or for people to just listen to her.

But give Chloe the Bee Miraculous, and suddenly things change.

Chloe feels like she has OPTIONS as Queen Bee. She doesn't feel she has to meet her mother's expectations as much if she's Queen Bee. She has people who trust and depend on her. At least right after she saves people, she gets a little praise, a little belief.

And people may say being a hero for glory and attention is a bad thing, but the thing is, Chloe's need for glory and attention is about being ACKNOWLEDGED. As feeling like people value and care about her. This is a BASIC HUMAN NEED and she doesn't know another way to get it. Its not like she's demanding physical things for her heroics.

She just wants to be appreciated.

By giving Chloe a Miraculous, she is given the tools to try and be good. She is given an escape from her situation. She is given SUPPORT in her efforts because the other heroes have to support her.

And over time...

That trust will grow.

Because what Chloe doesn't know, all her classmates are the other heroes.

And suddenly, all her classmates will see her as a different person. They will see what she's like when the chips are down. How much effort she's willing to put in. How seriously she takes the job.

Is she still a braggart? Sure. Is she still rude as hell? Absolutely.

But she will risk it all to help people, without asking for anything in return except a little faith.

Chloe is entitled to a Miraculous.

Because her story without a Miraculous is a story of a little girl who no one wanted to help, who were unwilling to offer her help because she lashed out while trying to survive a situation she couldn't escape, and because it wasn't super charged by a terrorist, she was deemed unworthy of it and instead deserving of isolation and constant emotional abuse.

But with a Miraculous?

Chloe is a girl who, when given a little faith, a little trust, a little help, returned it tenfold. Who puts her all in trying to be the best hero she could be. Is she imperfect? Sure. But she's giving it her all. (And frankly, she's spicy and it makes for entertaining character dynamics. You can have a character be a jerk and good, tsunderes are popular for a reason.) And as she gets more trust, as she gets more help, as she is offered that hand of help over and over again, she would continue to improve.

And as she's given power, she uses that same faith to figure out how to offer her hand to others. To help them. To spare them the same pain she suffered.

Because that is what given to the Akuma victims. They are given a little help, and a little power to break free of their magically abusive mindsets.

To have someone go from the continuing the cycle of abuse to someone who would save other people from that?

That is a real superhero story.

Chloe is undeserving from a Watsonian perspective.

But she's so very deserving from a Doylist perspective.

#chloe bourgeois #miraculous ladybug #character study #story elements

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omniverseexplorer · 4 months ago

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Unique Analogy for Awareness and Reality Shifting: Jellyfish 🪼♾️🫧🌌

Jellyfish are some of the most unique and fascinating creatures in the ocean, and they serve as the perfect analogy for awareness itself and even for reality shifting. These incredible beings don’t have a heart, lungs, or brain, yet they are fully alive and capable of movement, surviving in a vast, unpredictable environment. Jellyfish are made up of 95% water, and they have no traditional senses or nervous system, yet they still interact with their surroundings in a way that shows they are experiencing life in their own, effortless way. This is where the parallel with awareness becomes clear. Awareness doesn’t need a brain or a mind to exist. It doesn’t need effort or force, it simply is. Like a jellyfish, awareness flows effortlessly, existing without trying to control or manipulate anything. Jellyfish move with the current, responding to their environment without any conscious thought or intention. Similarly, awareness moves through all realities and experiences, simply being, without needing to control what it encounters. Jellyfish demonstrate how awareness functions beyond the structures we typically associate with consciousness. Their existence proves that awareness doesn’t require thought, memory, or sensory perception to be present, it is the essence of life and the entire Omniverse itself. They are a living representation of awareness flowing freely, fully in tune with their surroundings without resistance. Their simplicity highlights how awareness is the foundation of all existence, beyond complexity or limitation. This effortless state of being directly mirrors reality shifting. Just as a jellyfish moves with the ocean’s currents, we shift realities by flowing with the current of awareness. Shifting isn’t about forcing or controlling, it’s about becoming aware of a different experience and allowing ourselves to move into it naturally. Reality shifting, like the jellyfish’s movement, isn’t about striving or pushing against what is. It’s about realizing that reality is fluid and that shifting is as natural as floating with the tide. Jellyfish are a reminder that existence doesn’t require struggle or control. They embody the purest form of awareness, moving through life without resistance, simply experiencing. Just like them, we don’t need to overcomplicate shifting/manifesting, awareness is all we need. In a world full of noise and overthinking, the jellyfish’s quiet existence reminds us of the beauty in simply being. They are a perfect metaphor for how we shift realities, not by effort, but by awareness. Just as a jellyfish moves with the flow of the ocean, awareness moves with the flow of existence. Effortless, fluid, and free.

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hopelesshaidys · 1 year ago

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.・。.・゜✭・.✫・゜・。.

Ever since you were young, you always dreamed of having that special someone. Seeing couples everywhere you go, always giving your toys the most intense love stories. You were obsessed with having a soulmate, the person who got you, who could finish your sentences.

When you got your first heartbreak, it shattered you, broke you. You were never the type of person to have people falling at your feet, so when someone did like you it was special. You thought that would solve all your problems, and for a while, it did. Until that relationship ended as well. Trying to find someone after your first breakup was hard, but you had to keep moving on. As you grew older, you dealt with a constant pain in relationships. Always being the person to feel the most no matter good or bad. You were empathetic, a curse and a blessing.

Never knowing what true love ever felt like, you trudged on in your journey for a real romantic relationship. Someone that made you shine, someone who made you feel good and at peace.

Then, Katsuki Bakugou appeared.

The clouds had parted, and suddenly you felt the warm rays of the sun soaking into your skin. Starting to eat healthy, go out into the world more, working harder; that was all because of Katsuki. He was there with you every second of the day, even if it was metaphoric. Your childhood perception of the perfect lover slowly transformed into reality. Katsuki was undeniably the perfect match for you, even on your darkest days could no one convince you otherwise.

So why were you running? Why did you deny the fact that you were in love with him for so long?

The two of you weren't friends, you were more than that. Yet, that feeing was denied over and over again, even to his face you denied the obvious. Hurt over and over again, too scared to go through the same pain you felt at your adolescence age. Such raw and intimate feelings would be able to be recreated, because it was Katsuki. Katsuki, the most stubborn and determined person you’ve ever met. He put his mind to have a future with you, it was apparent. After all the hurt his faith in you did not waver. The most perfect person for you, the person you'd been dreaming of.

And now, Katsuki was here, standing in front of you right now, holding flowers.

He was dressed nicely, just as he usually did when the two of you went out. Perks of being a model. Models get a lot of nice clothes and jewelry sent to them, and Katsuki used that to his advantage. His cologne overwhelmed your senses, not expecting such a familiar and comforting scent to throw you off so intensely. The worst part was his eyes, always his eyes. Blazing red orbs as intense as everything else about him.

What felt like another lifetime ago, you remembered the first introduction to him you felt as if those eyes were boring right through you. Now, those same eyes indulged in you, searching through every inch of your existence.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

His voice. It was always different with you. To others, it was curt and rough, always had such a strong and distinct tone. But with you, it was soft, almost shy. It was as if he was worried his natural inflection might be too brash for you. It was gentle, never failing to tug on your heart.

Everything about him was overwhelmingly perfect. Over time you had come to realize he was the missing puzzle piece that’s been missing for all these years.

Nevertheless you felt as if you couldn’t afford to let him in, to be selfish. Was that one step, worth the brick walls you’ve been building for so long worth any detrimental aftermaths? He was right there in front of you, despite everything. All the lies, secrets, and fights…he’s still here. Literally.

You stayed still, watching his every move. It wasn’t until his eyebrows burrowed that you softly smiled, reaching your hand out. Gently and hesitantly, he took your hand into his. Unexpectedly, it quickly took a turn when Katsuki pulled your body into his. All of your senses were completely and utterly engulfed in everything that was Katsuki.

Buried in his chest you could feel his heartbeat, running a lot faster than expected. You smiled, allowing yourself to become comfortable in his arms. Not that he was letting you go any time soon, his hands firmly on your waist and face resting on the top of your head.

“Missed you.”

The smile on your face stretched out, making you giggle. You felt giddy, your crush likes you back and he was holding you so tightly in his arms.

As much as you wanted to stay, you realized that you were hugging Katsuki in the hallway of your apartment floor and all of your friends were in the living room watching. (You didn’t have to look at them to know, you knew they were watching).

You pinched the blond making him yelp in surprise. Backing away you felt how wide your grin was and you were sure you looked lovesick but you just couldn’t help it. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion but his eyes were still soft and kind. You cupped his cheek, making his blush spread from his ears to his cheeks.

“I’m guessing you have something else in mind for tonight then?”

There was a spark in his eyes, then a smirk formed on his perfect face.

“You know me too well.”

The two of you held contact for a moment, before you dropped your head and snickered. Looking back up you gently pried the flowers out of Katsuki’s hands, making his body relax. Turning around, you saw your friends all suddenly move and start talking to each other making you roll your eyes. You moved to the kitchen and put the flowers down so you could look for a glass to put it in.

“Hey Kacchan!”

The group all accepted Katsuki’s new presence, welcoming him into the small circle. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Katsuki ruffle Izuku’s hair making him yell out in protest. A comfortable conversation settled over the area as you filled a glass with your new flowers. You were starting to get nervous now that you were alone with your thoughts because being in Katsuki’s arms felt so right, but the two of you had a lot to talk out. There was so much to sort out, secrets to be explained and boundaries to be set. Did you believe that you are worth the work? Should Katsuki take the risk of loving you? He’s a model and you’re photographer you’re going to run into each other! Hitoshi and Kaminari are dating the two groups are going to combined, he’s Izuku’s best friend for crying out loud!

“Oi.”

A stern but comforting voice broke through your train of thought. The blond was standing with his hands on his hips, cocking his head at you. Of course he would notice that you started to get in your head, maybe you should try to make it less obvious next time.

“None of that idiot, we have plans.”

Switching moods quickly you moved over to Katsuki, wanting to leave the presence of your seven friends. However, Katsuki has always fit right into your apartment.

Seeing him in such a domestic setting has always made your heart feel an unexplainable infatuation. All you could imagine was the impossible, where Katsuki would wrap his arms around your waist and you would hold his warm, soft face. The more you looked at the man entering your kitchen the more you wished to reenact the night of the party that started it all.

“And what exactly do you have in mind Kat?”

You matched his energy; arms crossed, a single eyebrow raised, and leaning against the kitchen counter. That seemed to amuse him, because his eyes lit up and a smile formed on his face.

“You’ll see. Come on.”

Katsuki reached his hand out, and for the second time that night you felt frozen in place. You had to swallow your fear, because he was here despite everything. If Katsuki could risk everything about the relationship the two of you have formed, you could to. You kept reminding yourself that this first step was for him. It quickly became a chant, because you had to. You had to push yourself into the unknown.

So you take his hand, and you let him lead you out into the hallway with echoes of ‘goodbye’ and ‘good luck’ trailing behind you. You let him hold your hand all the way down the elevator and out of the apartment building until you made it to his car. You let him open the passenger door for you and you let him drive you to what you assumed was his home based off of the familiar route. You let him put on a playlist saved on his phone of all of your favorite songs, and you let him smile at you as you sang along with the music. When you got to his apartment, you let him open the door for you again and you let him find comfort in intertwining your hands together. You let him lead you all the way up to his apartment, and you let him make small annoyed comments about something wrong with his apartment complex or neighbors. He was only saying those things because he was nervous, tapping his fingers against your knuckles. And you let him.

When the elevator door finally opened you were smiling peacefully watching the blond squirm to get out of the small space. Katsuki looked your way and saw the small grin on your face, causing a deep shade of pink to form on the tips of his ears (hard to notice unless you're looking for it). Whipping his head away, he practically dragged you out of the elevator making you yelp out with surprise. Giggles from your mouth filled the hallway and you didn’t even have to see Katsuki’s face to know he was smiling wildly.

The door opened and closed in an instant, your body still being dragged around. It wasn’t until the two of you made it into the living space of his apartment that you were able to be face to face.

Once again you found yourself in complete awe of the man in front of you, and something told you that Katsuki thought the exact same way about you.

The warmth of his hand in yours must have become overwhelming because the blond started to pull his hand away. However, you didn’t want him to pull away, physically and mentally. You squeezed his hand into staying, and with a reassuring smile Katsuki stepped closer to you. You found his other hand to accompany your other hand as you stayed looking up at Katsuki. You knew his face and you knew what every expression he was making meant; he was nervous.

“Katsuki.”

It was barely above a whisper, your voice only meant to be heard for him. His expression morphed into concern which made you smile.

“I have to tell you something.”

Air felt heavy in your lungs as you waited to gain the confidence needed to say those three words. Every inch of you ached to tell him, to yell it off of the rooftops for everyone to hear. And yet your tongue sat heavy in your mouth.

Unexpectedly, those warm strong hands that rested in your hands quickly moved to sit on top of your hips. You searched Katsuki’s face to see what made him make such a gesture, and you were surprised to see such a soft expression on his sharp face. He was comforting you through his own nervousness. Knowing Katsuki, he was most likely worried about crossing any boundaries, along with his inexperience to any form of intimate affection. Nonetheless he was still giving you butterflies, and the newfound proximity wasn’t helping either.

Either you were imagining it or Katsuki was starting to stare intently at your lips. You licked your lips at the thought, and when you did Katsuki leaned his face closer.

Before you could fully grasp what was happening, Katsuki was pressing his lips firmly against yours. He wasn’t very skilled, so his movements were cautious and gentle. You were astonished such a driven and confident man could be so terrified of something as simple as a kiss.

Similarly you are just as terrified, but only of what happens after the kiss.

Katsuki was kissing you with the intent of having more, because he loves you, and he trusts you.

So you slipped your unoccupied hands into his hair, tilted your head and slowly began to find a rhythm in the movement in your lips. Surprised, Katsuki faltered for a moment before working his lips against yours. He was a quick learner, and from what you remembered of your first shared kiss he was doing much better comparatively.

The kiss started out slow, but just as Katsuki’s personality, passion and eagerness translated through your movements.

Katsuki gripped your body with more intention, drawing you impossibly close to where your bodies felt as if they were melting together. Your hands stayed where they were, and you took the moment to introduce your tongue which pleased Katsuki’s standards.

Instead of saying all that has been resting on your heart, Katsuki gave you the chance to show him instead. Through every moment of your shared kiss the two of you channeled months of unspoken words into each other’s bodies.

It wasn’t until you felt the emergent sensation of needing oxygen that you had to push Katsuki away. As if you didn’t already find the blond attractive, seeing him out of breath, wet lips, and a red coat of blush painting his face made him insufferably ravishing. He was equally out of breath, but clearly upset that your physical time together had been cut short. However, the wild grin that was placed on your face caused Katsuki’s form to relax.

“I love you.”

Voice raspy, you breathed the air out of your lungs as that long awaited phrase left your lips. Your eyes were stuck looking in the crimson eyes in front of you waiting, watching for him to convey some other emotion. Instead, his eyes stayed steady, and his hands grasped at your waist harder. It wasn’t until you let your hands drop down to his chest, pushing him away, that he reacted. His hands snatched yours in an instant, causing you to perk up and meet his fiery eyes.

“You mean it?”

Without hesitation you slipped your hands away and cupped his face. Katsuki’s face instantly lit up in a beautiful blush and you forced him to look at you to make sure he sees the determination in his eyes.

“Always have. I really do love you Katsuki. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

A moment passed like that, hands holding his face until his now free hands pulled your body closer making you adjust to the new position. Tracing your hands on his tricep you watched as Katsuki observe you just as you did with him a moment ago. Then, you saw the blond realize that you were telling the truth, and to your surprise Katsuki smirked.

“Good, ‘cause I fucking love you too y/n.”

Before you could answer, he kissed you. He kissed you softer, but still full of compassion and adoration. Engulfing any anxiety of what lies ahead. Katsuki kissed you, and you let him.

Throughout life, Katsuki continued to love you, and you continued to love him. Fulfilling each other’s needs beyond any way you thought was possible. The love that you’ve been longing for all these years was in your reach, and for once in your life you reciprocated every ounce of love back without worry. You were no longer scared, and no longer felt the need to run. Katsuki was there to receive and give. You were finally whole.

After all these years, you watched all of your wildest dreams come true.

.・。.・✭・.✫・゜・。.

wildest dreams

aaaaand that's a wrap! but don't worry folks...

if you haven't alr noticed i've added extra content to first couple episodes, because I didn't feel like there was enough smau in the...smau so please go back and check that out it would mean a lot to me <3

now that the series is a wrap, PLEEEEAASSSSEEE send me prompts for either written stuff OR smau

i will be doing an account master list on there i will list all the fandoms i write for <3

big thank you to @kovu-bunnbunn for letting me use one of your lovely characters, i adore them 🫶

fun facts! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

- no matter what you have gone through you will come to have the life of your wildest dreams. you will be loved and appreciated so much and you will feel at peace with who you are and the people around you. you are worthy of love, and you are an astonishing person.

← Prev┊˚✧ ┊Done

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ updates are no longer needed bc the series is done! thank you all so much for supporting me. Happy last wildest wednesday ✧.*

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ TAGLIST: @lovelytayy @0anodite0 @bakugouswh0r3 @amethyst123 @nijirosz @dabis-vigilnate-girl @allnamesredacted @ch3rryhaze @ectoplasmictoast @cathwritestragediesnotsins @tati-the-fangirl @autumnfay @call-me-prodigy @chuugarettes @sammyam @bubblewordsofsodapop @biggestbeequeen @tqnk @el-hart @i-simp-for-mha-men @kovu-bunnbunn

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