#this is absolutely a ‘i didn’t deserve my adoptive family to begin with’ guilt

[wyvernne]

i keep thinking about how much blame i see being put on diluc about attacking kaeya and it drives me absolutely nuts that he’s painted unequivocally as the bad guy. i absolutely don’t think that is the purpose of that story at all. it’s about two kids, agonized by guilt and grief and horribly misplacing those emotions. kaeya went to diluc knowing it wouldn’t end well. diluc had just killed his own father. i feel like it’s wild to expect any sort of normal reaction beyond blinding anger. the point is, this is not meant to be a “who is in the wrong” backstory. it’s about two young men who, faced with a series of terrible circumstances, lost their last remaining familial connection. and in the current story, we’re seeing the clumsy, stilted journey the two make towards reconciliation.

[wpdarlingpan]

How would yandere Damian Wayne react to his beloved having a fondness for books? Will he get jealous that she keeps gushing about non existent fictional characters? Lol I have a feeling he will 🤣

I absolutely love this idea, it was fun to write.

Trigger Warning: Abuse

(Not on Damians end but Y/N’s father)

Nothing descriptive and very brief.

~*~

Damian had met his beloved at school after she was the only one who didn’t chase after him. She didn’t even seem to notice he was there. He was determined to change that.

The first day they talked he introduced himself, waiting to see her reaction to his last name but gained nothing more than a polite introduction from herself than she returned back to the book she was reading before he interrupted her. If she hadn’t got immersed back into the book than she would have seen the surprised look adorning the young Wayne’s face.

From there on he was determined to know everything about her. He used the bat computer to find out that she lived with her father in a nice house near his own. Her mother died during child birth and she had no siblings. Damian wished he didn’t have ‘siblings’ even if he never called them that. Well... maybe Grayson. But Todd could go along with Drake.

He decided to go to her house to check in on her and his excuse was to gather intel, but what he saw was not what he was prepared for. Damian saw Y/N’s Father yelling at her as if she had nine something terrible. Damian watched as the man cursed out his young daughter making Damian scowl and tighten his hands into fists. But they suddenly stopped fighting so Damian left as he had school tomorrow and he wanted to talk to you then. If he had stayed a second longer he’d have seen her getting locked into the cupboard under the stairs without dinner.

But luckily for her she had books. She read hunger games, Harry Potter, and many more. Even twilight even though she absolutely despised the ‘Bella’ character. But they all had love. She loved to read about love and the feeling of euphoria it gave people.

“Maybe one day.” She thought to herself.

The next day Damian Wayne talked to her again. He made more progress but it was hard to keep her away from her book.

It continued for weeks and then to months. He had slowly broke down her barrier and she finally stopped ditching him to read a book.

After 3 months of talking and Damian following her around daily to make sure she was safe he finally asked her on a date.

She met him at the park during sundown. When she arrived there was a picnic blanket with a basket on it and a couple of cushions. She saw someone walk up to her from where they were sat by a tree and they gently grabbed her hand and led her to the set up.

“Do you like it?” Damian asked nervously. He knew that this date was what determined his future plans. She was his beloved even if she didn’t exactly know yet. If she didn’t like the date or found out she didn’t like him the same way he loved her than she would learn to with force and time or she could love the date and he will spend every moment of the day with her after he asks her to be his.

She smiled widely, liked it? She loved it! It was exactly like something out of a book. A grand romantic gesture.

He smirked at her smile and he just knew he was already successful in gaining her feelings. He noticed the shiny glint in her eyes.

“I love it Damian. Thank you.” She spoke smiled at him and leaned over to give him a hug making his heart spike with happiness.

They had a wonderful date and it resulted with a 2nd and 3rd one. Then he dropped the question and she couldn’t bring herself to say anything but yes.

Even as she noticed that some of the few friends she had distanced themselves from her after she agreed to be Damians girlfriend after the 3rd date.

Even when some of her romance books began to disappear, which is what really made her sad. Once she told Damian with tears in her eyes that a. Few of her books were missing he gave in and hid them in her room for her to find the next day.

That’s when something happens. Y/N’s father was killed in a police shooting after he had assisted the Joker himself on a robbery. Worst part was Y/N found out over the news.

Damian was very happy with the news of the death fo his beloveds dad. He found out about the abuse after he snuck in to her house the second time and heard a lock click with no Y/N in sight.

Damian told his father about the girl and Damian played his fathers weaknesses against him he told him that she was abused and that she needed help. She needed to be safe. That thing that convinced him finally was that Damian told Bruce that she was the one and Bruce’s eyes widened greatly before he moved into a smirk. Of course his son had found his beloved, Bruce was a Yandere too of course, where else would Damian have got the tendencies from? His mother Talia or his grandfather Ra’s? They both would be caught dead saying the four letter word.

That’s how Y/N was adopted by the Wayne’s.

That’s how she ended up staying in the room next to Damians.

That’s how she ended up being with him 24 hours a day, since he got his classes switched so he was in all of hers but when it was questioned it was for academic reasons.

Y/N was sad though. She had no friends other than Damian. Her father was dead, her mother was dead, she had no family. No matter how bad her father treated her all she could think was that she deserved the pain.

A month after the shooting Damians Yandere side began to progress. She wasn’t allowed out of the Manor without being accompanied by him if she was allowed to leave at all.

She had been taken out of school alongside Damian by Bruce at the request of his son who didn’t like that boys and girls were looking at his beautiful beloved.

He was obsessed with his love.

A few months after living in the manor, meeting everyone, and adjusting to Damians possessiveness and rules she was doing okay. She wouldn’t dare go against Damian after he had guilt tripped her after she said she wanted to be alone for awhile and take a walk. Damian was glad that she was so easily manipulated that she didn’t even attempt to fight his love. He had to protect her form the cruel world he had experienced first hand. Her kindness, innocence, and trusting nature would get her killed in Gotham. But there was nothing to worry about because he was there to protect her. He always would be.

But she grew slightly distant from Damian after she began reading the books in the Wayne Library. There was a whole room stocked shelf by shelf with books.

She had been in there reading a book where the main character was trained with a sword and was a Assassin but he fell in love with his target. That’s where Damian saw her after he had been searching for after he began to getting annoyed after being away from her for so long.

“What are you reading My Beloved?” She had gotten used to the nickname and would slightly blush at every use of it. It was another thing that seemed like it was straight out of a book, he was her knight in shining armor.

“It’s called His Mission, His Love. It’s about this dashing guy who can sword fight and is a very skilled Assassin. He falls in love with the girl he was supposed to assassinate for his group of assassins. But he failed it by falling in love. I haven’t found out what happens yet. He sort of reminds me of Finnick from that other book I told you about, Hunger games remember? Well he wields a trident and it looks super cool and...” she was cut off from Damian snatching the book from her hands and shutting it without even marking her page making her lose her page.

“Hey!” She cried out as he tossed the book across the room. He scowled when she yelled at him which result in him standing directly in front of her as she sat on the couch and he leaned down to her height the grabbed her chin making her face towards him instead of that insufferable book he had tossed across the room.

“You don’t need that book got it? You have me, and you only need me.” He spoke looking into her eyes as his face was only inches apart from her own.

“But...” she began to say. She loved books, it was nice to image the love. But she couldn’t exactly say she didn’t know the feeling for herself now after dating Damian. He had done so much for her to keep her safe and well after he father died.

“I can sword fight, I’m a assassin, I am even more handsome and richer than any character in those terribly pointless books. You don’t need them when you have me.”

She looked at him weirdly and that’s when he realized that in a fit of jealousy - over a book character- he admitted by secret he hadn’t told her yet.

“Assassin? Fighting? What are you taking about Damian.”

He rolled his eyes at her but explained.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m Robin. My fathers batman, Graysons Nightwing, Todd is Red Hood, and Drake is Red Robin.” He watched as her eyes widened making him begin to lose himself in the beautiful eyes he loved so dearly.

“Really?” She said in disbelief but it did make sense. But that’s when she suddenly blushed at a thought and by the fact it took her so long to blush Damian was thinking that she was thinking back to her book character again as her eyes darted away from him coincidentally to where the book was.

“What are you thinking about My Beloved?” he demanded in a cool tone that was laced with jealously. He grip on her chin tighten a little more and his other hand laid on her waist.

She murmured something he couldn’t hear which was very surprising as he was so close to her.

“Repeat what you said but louder. Please” he spoke waiting for her to say she was thinkjnt about the assassin from her book but he wasn’t prepared for what she would say.

“I used to have a crush on Robin, he is my favorite.” She spoke then closed her eyes willing the blush that adorned her cheeks to disappear.

This would be the first time that Damian let out a huge smile and a slight laugh of disbelief.

“I pictured him... or well you as the character from my book because of the similarities.” She spoke still lightly dying from embarrassment which worsened when he scooped her up from the couch and into his arms before kissing her face multiple times while she laughed at the feeling. Then he sat down o the couch with her in his lap, not letting go as she tried to climb out of it.

“Stay here My Beloved. Why don’t I tell you real stories?”

And that was how Damian got jealous... over himself.

And how Y/N found out the identity’s of the Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and most of all Robin.

And it all started because of a book.

[seirclys]

hi! i apologize for the length of this ask ^^

basically, my question is: do you think there’s abuse apologism in VATD?

im just gonna put a caveat that i havent properly read the novel but i do know spoilers and some certain side stories.

in one of the side stories (if im not wrong) penelope basically transports back to korea through a mirror shard where she confronts her real family in the hospital and cuts them off completely before permanently staying in the game world. so ive seen some takes suggesting that the author excuses the abuse cha siyeon went through by painting the whole thing as some kind of misunderstanding because they didn’t know how to approach her? if my memory serves me right one of the few flashbacks the manhwa gave us in the earlier chapters literally shows them ignoring her and calling her a rat when she complained about her bullies, her second brother insulting her every chance he had, and the father and first brother flat-out giving her the cold shoulder the whole time she was with them.

in the end it was them that made her hate them so much and want to leave, and she still considered her experience with them neglectful and abusive. so i dont think its so much as excusing their actions but rather showing how such big POS they are who excuse their own actions because it hurts their pride to properly own up.

in the eckharts’ case to me just shows how overriden they were with the grief and guilt of losing yvonne, which made them incompetent bastards that brought an innocent young girl into their mess and saw an opportunity in her status to treat her like trash. throughout the novel, the duke –and though i absolutely hate the utter ignorance of this man– recognizes his failures towards penelope and decides to just let her do what makes her happy, so i can appreciate that. reynold i understand in the way that he was young when it all started and saw no problem taking out his feelings of sadness and anger out on her because no one really bothered to stop him, and im glad that derrick is just completely treated like a ghost because serves him right! still in no way justifies their abuse towards a literal child even if its ‘because of their society’ or ‘how they were raised’. then there’s this whole debacle around emily, and … i don’t know man. i don’t agree with the decision to keep her either, and i still feel iffy on the complete personality change of her character and her loyalty towards the supposed hated adoptive daughter.

in conclusion: both penelope’s real family and the eckharts and the echkart duchy got what they deserved by penelope’s hands. they had it coming.

id like to know what you think! :)

Orchid, darling, you've brought up one of the principal issues of VADD that I have with the novel.

Yes, there is abuse apologism in the novel: from the author, and to some extent, Siyeon herself(with Penelope's situation).

At the novel's beginning, Siyeon's family is portrayed in a way that is meant to mirror Penelope's circumstances. Abusive second brother, actively ignorant and "perfect heir" first brother, and neglectful father. We see the world through Siyeon's abuse-hardened eyes, and root for her. In the end, the "misunderstanding" bit seems to punch a hole through Siyeon's childhood.

After all, it was the abuse of her family, and the perspective she developed from that, which guided many of her decisions in the game and when dealing with the Eckharts.

To have that all be a misunderstanding, in my opinion, cheapens the story and lessens the important parallels between Siyeon and Penelope. VADD is unique amongst other transmigration stories in reminding the reader of the original villainess because Siyeon went through similar circumstances.

When the author decided to make Siyeon's abusive childhood a big misunderstanding, I thought that it felt a bit like the author forgetting what they wrote in the beginning. But in the end, Siyeon's family in Korea are the same— they're the types to want closure on deathbeds for peace of mind, and I'm glad that at the very least, Siyeon didn't forgive them at all.

The Eckharts are another thing, because I thought she should've cut them off in my humble opinion. They are what would've happened if Siyeon went back and her family tried to make amends. The duke is clumsy with his attempts and Reynold's still a child in a man's body, and don't get me started on Derrick. Sure, the duke and Reynold become better to Penelope in the end, but they shouldn't have been forgiven.

The whole "Penelope is Siyeon" plotline is bullshit in my opinion, as I have said many times before. Just because they had similar experiences, doesn't mean they're the same person. In fact, Siyeon is much more like Derrick and Penelope like Reynold personality-wise: we can see how differently they reacted and grew up as a result.

It wasn't Siyeon's place to forgive the Eckharts. She let them into her life in the epilogue, for fuck's sake. There was no justification for their continual presence, especially when she kept saying that "it should be the real Penelope who hears this". It was like all the abuse Penelope suffered through was water under the bridge.

And Emily. Gods, I can talk about Emily(negatively) for ages. The decision to keep Emily was pretty stupid, in my opinion. The sudden personality shift as well— she literally physically abused Penelope for YEARS and now she's an obedient puppy? I thought she was gonna betray Siyeon in her darkest hour when I was reading the novel. Siyeon described her as a spineless someone who knows how to save her own skin; I fully expected her to defect to Ivonne.

TLDR: IMO, there's abuse apologism in VADD, Eckharts didn't deserve any goodwill, Siyeon had no right to forgive them, and I hate Emily.

sorry if i went on a bit of a rant, and my ADHD does not allow me to focus and remember the ask so I might've gone off topic

[chasing-classics]

Lean Into What Remains- Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff/ Black Widow x Fem!Reader

 Warning: mentions of sterilization

 Summary: You and Nat have been together through thick and thin, nothing could ever tear you apart. An incident following the fight with Ultron leaves you both rattled and wondering whether the future you both dreamed of is still salvageable.

A/N: Inspired by my firm belief that Natasha Romanoff deserved the absolute world.

 ‘’Miss Stark I’m sorry to say-‘’ you held up your hand, cutting off the head doctor, biting down on your bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

 ‘’It’s Mrs. Romanoff, please. And if you’re about to say what I think you are, please,’’ unshed tears blurred your vision. You didn’t look up at the doctor as you sat on the cool hospital bed, the sheets were cold to the touch and crinkled under you. With sympathetic eyes the doctor sighed and lowered his clipboard so that you were able to see his findings.

 ‘’I’m so sorry, Y/N. The sheer force from the blast should have killed you, but given your armor, the impact was mostly absorbed except for-‘’

 ‘’Except for my uterus,’’ you finished, finally raising your head to look up at him. You didn’t dare look at Nat, who was on your left and holding your hand to offer any comfort you needed.

 The doctor nodded, ‘’the blast caused your armor to be weakened. Had it only been one hit the damage would have been minimal, but since the second blast resulted in a large piece of glass piercing your abdomen… your armor was unable to cushion the blow.’’

 You let out a shaky breath, not even bothering to wipe away the tears at this point. You felt Nat’s grip on your hand weaken for a second. ‘’So what are you saying, doc? I can’t have kids?’’ you could barely get the question out at this point. The doctor’s sad gaze confirmed yours and Natasha’s biggest fear; the incident left you sterile. The doctor offered his condolences once more before allowing you two to process the information. You rubbed a hand over your face and tried to even your breathing. Your eyes finally fell on your wife of nearly two years, her expression absolutely gutted you. Nat didn’t cry, she was the tough one in your relationship. The closest you ever came to seeing her cry was the night you got married, only your brother Tony and Clint being present as witnesses. She was gorgeous and you knew at that exact moment that life couldn’t get any better than this.

 That’s what you thought, at least. Not even a few months into your newlywed bliss, did the two of you talk about having a baby through a donor. While Natasha couldn’t have children due to the horrors she encountered in the Red Room, it was still possible to use her egg and for you to carry your baby via a donor. You were both excited at the possibility of bringing your love into the world, you vividly remember the night you agreed that you both would begin the process in the upcoming week. You made love to each other through the night and you often thought about that night. You two had experienced true hardships, life had been unkind to the both of you in different ways. You deserved each other’s love and to have each other in your lives, and Nat deserved to know what it feels like to hold her child and know what motherhood was like.

 ‘’Nat, I-I,’’ she hushed you instantly, bring your head to her chest as the sobs racked through your broken body. You knew she was crying too, the faint sniffles acting like little daggers through your heart.

 ‘’You can’t blame yourself honey,’’ she whispered as she stroked your hair.

 ‘’I was supposed to be able to do this for us, I wanted to give you the world. You deserve the world,’’ you sobbed, fisting the crinkly hospital sheets as if you could will this all away.

 She gently pulled away and bent down so that the two of you were eye level. Her sad green eyes pierced through your core as she offered you a sad smile.

 ‘’You. You are my world.’’

 Time went on. It went on slowly and painstakingly, but it went on nonetheless. You and Natasha had moved into a quieter house just outside of New York, both of you still continued to seek therapy. She never rushed you or pushed you to open up to her or to heal, she was your silent supporter and you loved her all the more for it. It was you who had mentioned adoption, to which she offered a smile and kissed your forehead. ‘’I think that’s a great idea babe,’’ she said as she offered that million-dollar smile that was reserved for only you. You kissed her, the kiss initially sweet and full of hope for the future quickly gave in to passion and lust. You never admitted it, but you were afraid the first time you made love after the accident. The once ugly gash on your lower abdomen was a constant reminder of what you lost, the angry wound mocking you every time you changed your bandages. Now it was an angry, but subdued, pink and silver scar. You wept with adoration when Nat kissed down your body, paying extra attention to the scar, as her lips trailed downward.

 Adoption was difficult, even with your brother constantly offering to locate and set appointments with the best adoption agencies around the world. You knew he did it out of guilt, that the guilt of creating Ultron was eating away at him.

‘’You can’t keep blaming yourself, Tony,’’ you sighed as the two of you overlooked the rest of the team as well as Clint’s family and Agent Hill with Fury, Pepper and Nat in a deep conversation. It was a rare moment for you all, to be at a barbeque as if you were all just a bunch of normal individuals and as if this was a typical Saturday get-together. Your brother’s brows furrowed in frustration as he leaned against the railing of the porch. Nat had suggested getting the team together before all of your schedules became too hectic, but in reality you knew she needed the distraction from all of the letters from numerous adoption agencies that cited the two of you as providing a ‘’potentially unstable, unsafe environment’’ for children. It had taken a toll on the two of you and you weren’t sure how much more you could bear.

 ‘’If I had just listened to Cap, if I had just left it all alone. . .’’ he trailed off, the way his adam’s apple twitched didn’t sneak past your observant gaze.

 You didn’t say anything as you put your hand on top of his, offering a small squeeze as you looked up at your only sibling.

 ‘’When mom and dad died, you were all I had Tony. If it hadn’t been for you who knows what would’ve happened to me. If it hadn’t been for you I never would have met Nat or joined the Avengers. We just need to lean into the good that still remains, you know?’’

 After a moment of silence he nodded his head, offering a small smile as he enveloped you in a warm embrace, kissing the top of your head.

Later that day you were in the kitchen helping Nat clean up. You didn’t even realize you were crying until Nat’s soft hands gently held the sides of your face.

 ‘’Baby,’’ she whispered, thumbing away the tears that streamed down your face.

 ‘’How much more can we take, Nat? I know, I know we’re different from other people. We’re stronger, built to take on the pain. But does that mean we always have to deal with this?’’ you waved your hand at another rejection letter from another agency. Natasha kept her composure as you let out a sigh of utter exhaustion.

 ‘’It was never supposed to be this way,’’ you whimpered as she held you tight. Her soft kisses against your temple and neck succeeded in calming you down.

 ‘’Lean into what remains.’’

 One year. One year was how long it took for the two of you to accept the possibility that children may not be in your shared future. Even with Tony and Pepper’s help, adoption proved to be difficult even for super heroes. Your pain waxed and waned, but you were able to carry on with your life without breaking down every time you heard a baby cry or saw children playing at the park you and Nat often jogged at. It wasn’t always easy, sometimes it ate away at you like something ugly. Sometimes Nat would break down and you had to be her anchor, other times you two argued about who forgot to take out the trash as a way to vent your frustrations. Other times it was through heated love making. You fought for your marriage, and now it finally seemed like the two of you were on solid ground.

 Until one day, it happened.

 T’Challa and Shuri had called the two of you with urgent news. In Wakanda, halfway across the world, were two orphans whose parents had tragically died in the incident in Sokovia. You two were on the first jet available.

 ‘’Given the extent of the tragedy, it took us a long time to identify all the victims and locate their families. Unfortunately, we were barely able to identify C’ora and Aron’s parents and locate the children. They’re very young and we’ve been keeping them here for the past few weeks to keep an eye on their health,’’ Shuri explained, the four of you walking through the corridors of the palace.

Nat and you shared a look, your shared guilt regarding the Sokovia incident was nothing new. You held onto her hand a little tighter.

‘’How are they?’’ you couldn’t help but ask.

‘’Not to worry Y/N. They have been through a horrible tragedy, but they were infants at the time their parents left for humanitarian work. It is unlikely the remember much, but all they have ever known is Wakanda so it will take time to ensure they adjust to the transition,’’ Shuri offered an encouraging smile.

 ‘’Transition?’’ Nat asked, your heartbeats began beating faster to the point you could feel the blood pulsing in your ears.

 ‘’You have been meaning to adopt children, yes? I see no better fit for these two children than the two of you,’’ T’Challa grinned, opening the doors of the throne room. You and your wife stood there in utter shock as the two most beautiful children were playing with Okoye and the other Dora Milaje. Twins. A boy and a girl. C’ora and Aron. They were small, couldn’t be older than two, if even that.

 ‘’Go on,’’ T’Challa smiled, the children already making there way to you and Nat. Aron had reached Nat first and your heart swelled as his chubby arms reached up for her. You only looked away to gently pick C’ora up, her warm eyes analyzing you as she giggled and touched your nose. Nothing was better than the sound of a child laughing, you quickly found. Nat’s eyes met yours and you both beamed, tears falling onto the pristine palace floors. Her forehead pressed against yours’ and she kissed you, the twins cooing and laughing with excitement. You didn’t even notice that everyone had quietly emptied out of the throne room as you leaned into your little family.

 That was the memory you kept close to your heart. A memory you often found yourself randomly smiling about, even today as Nat and you hung pink and blue streamers from your backyard.

 ‘’Alright where are my niece and nephew?’’ Tony’s booming voice caused you to break from your daydreams.

 ‘’Uncle!’’ two voices rang out, your children running as fast as their little legs could allow them as they tackled your brother in a hug.

 ‘’Shocker, always last to arrive,’’ Nat teased, but her smile was warm and sincere as she greeted your children’s godfather.

‘’Enough, it’s time for the cake,’’ you grinned.

 And as the two of you stood by your two children, the only people who you could love as much as you loved each other, you thought back to where you began. Just a girl in a suit of armor who fell for the Black Widow. Mrs. Y/N Romanoff-Stark. A scared, broken woman who believed her future was unfairly taken away. The loving wife. The determined mother of two beautiful children. The twins blew out their birthday candles on their own cakes, grinning when all of the Avengers and family friends clapped and applauded. You soaked up as much of this as you could, holding onto Natasha’s hand as you did. You closed your eyes when the sun hit your face, leaning into the warmth of your family.

[spiritclusters]

Thoughts On SPN Finale (Both Positive and Negative)

As a fair bit of warning here, this post is going to be a mix of both positives and negatives on the finale. I am happy to agree to disagree about this, okay? So no hate, pls. <3

After letting the finale sit on my mind for a week, spinning between frustration, tears and aching loss, I think I’m finally ready to say something about it. Honestly, with the way that the fandom has been kinda murderous the last few days, I haven’t been brave enough to take the heat yet. 

But yeah. Here we are. (This is both a mixed review of kind of 15.19 + 15.20)

Thank you for *giving me a meltdown so we could be here.

Firstly, from the standpoint of a fan, I was satisfied. Sam, Dean, and Cas were given rest. It wasn’t the rest that I’d wanted, but these characters that I have watched struggle with battle after battle for fifteen seasons (or eleven) were finally allowed to sit still and just be. No pressure on them to save the world, no one yanking strings; they are, for the first time in their lives, perfectly safe in a heaven controlled by their adoptive son. Ergo: an environment that will never, never try to backstab them. 

Cas wasn’t stuck in the Empty. Jack, who said that he’d be here and there, immediately went and rescued his angel father from the end. The duo can now be happily influencing creation for eternity to come. Cas can, at last, be happy, knowing that by raising Jack, he has atoned for everything. Heaven is fixed, the Winchesters are safe. Cas can rest. 

Jack is finally at peace with himself. He has no doubts about his character. He is happy. Jack has always wanted to be good, and he finally has the means to do it widespread. He is a balance of both light and dark with Amara, and he is finally capable of keeping his family and himself safe. Jack can rest. 

Sam got a family. Sam was able to be the one thing that he wanted when he was twenty-two: a family. A wife. (Of which I will fight for my dying breath that blurry woman in the background is Eileen.) Stability. The ability to step away from hunting. Sam was able to put himself first. Sam can rest. 

Dean was given peace. Dean has always had an incredible guilt complex about leaving hunting. He’s wanted to from as far back as season two, probably before, but he’s never been given a chance to stop. Chuck kept pulling him back in, over and over, because any peace that Dean had the chance to capture was taken from him. Dean was able to stop filling the void from Cas’s death and Jack’s disappearance by not having to hunt anymore. His death was bittersweet, but by being finally forced to stop hunting, Dean Winchester was finally able to rest. 

Am I happy that the only way the writers decided to give the characters rest was to kill them? No. But I understand that it was nessercary in the world of SPN that they move on. If they kept hunting, the show would have felt compelled to continue. I think we all knew that the finale was going to be one final sweep of the board to kill everyone.

I am deeply, deeply grateful for the effort that JA and JP put into the final showing of their characters. The performances were very alive and beautiful. I will forever be in awe of Dean’s death. The raw emotions between the two was absolutely gorgeous. I’m not a crier, and there have been very little scenes in SPN that have made me cry, but Cas’s goodbye and Dean and Sam’s were absolute beautiful. MC, JP, and JA gave their all into these characters write offs, and they were momentous. 

That said, from a writer’s stance, 15.19 and 15.20 were an absolute disaster. 

Random cameos that serve very little to the plot, fan services, and awkward conclusions that weren’t as well put together as I would have liked. Unconcluded dangling loose ends that can almost tear the entire season (series) apart because though we spent so much time building up to something--nothing of consequence really...happened. Yeah, Chuck destroyed creation, but Jack reversed uno’d that. That’s just the first one of many that comes to mind. 

I will say this only once and only once, but--a writer’s job is not to please the fans, it’s to tell a story. 

Yes, I’m happy that we got fan services, but I would have been happier if they had kind of...ignored us, and just told the story that they wanted to without fear of repercussions. As a wrap up to the series, I was deeply disappointed. Y’know what would have been better? (for all of s15, honestly, because s15 was a mess) Actually caring about growth and healing. If we had seen Sam recover from mental health issues (cage trauma, cough, cough), Dean recover from alcoholism + adjoining anger issues, and Cas manage to find healing from the loss of his family and the mistakes that he’s unwittingly stepped into. 

I guess, for me, I was hoping to see the boys + Cas actually...recover. For the writer’s to acknowledge the crap that they’ve put them through and see them to the end of it in life. Death is not healing, okay? Death is an escape for a writer to use as loophole. I know this firsthand. 

I also know, writer-wise, that angst and trauma are much easier to write and easier for an audience to follow, but I still. Frustration. 

And to those of you who might argue that Sam did heal--he...didn’t. Sam and Dean are soulmates. There is a connection that we cannot simply cannot understand or fathom there. (It is why, I believe, Dean made the deal for Sam in S2. It is almost physically impossible for them to live without each other.) Sam’s soul died when Dean’s went to heaven. What stayed on earth was little more than a grieving shell. 

Look guys, I’m not frustrated because of a lost ship. I’m not frustrated because the boys deserved better (even if they did), I’m flustered because we did. We deserved to see them heal and get better + move on from hunting while they were alive because that would have been incentive to always keep fighting. A promise that things do get better. For me, the ending didn’t feel like a promise to carry on it was just...disappointing. 

So yeah. Mixed feelings. I’m pretty sure I’m not the only non-destial (even though destial shipper’s feelings, like any other fan’s, are completely valid) shipper out there who wasn’t satisfied. I don’t know. I guess...after so long of watching these characters suffer, I wanted the peace to see them let go. For the ending to feel like a new beginning instead of the end. Still. I’m not going to go hate on CW, the directors, or cast. I’m still very, very grateful for the work they did put into the show. 

With that. 

Thank you Supernatural. Thank you Misha Collins, Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles for Castiel, Sam and Dean Winchester. You will forever hold a special place in my heart. <3 

[memelovescaps]

Avengers Endgame: Review

OBVIOUSLY SPOILERS:

Okay, now that I have a bit of peace and quiet, I want to talk about Avengers Endgame. I won’t comment on the whole thing or whether the movie works or not, only the stuff that caught my attention. There were many things I liked, and some others I didn’t, so let’s go bit by bit.

The first thing I want to talk about is the thing that destroyed me, and that’s Tony Stark.

Tony has been my favourite Avenger since I saw Iron Man in 2009 or 2010, and throughout the years he and Thor are probably the two Avengers that have more character development (I’ll go into Thor later). We see him grow from an egotistical, over confident man to someone who cares deeply about and is haunted by his mistakes and demons; someone who puts up a façade of over-confidence but who has night terrors, terrors which in Infinity War become real. We see him with PTSD and anxiety attacks in Iron Man 3, we see him so frightened of future threats he tried to build Ultron in the Age of Ultron, we see his love for Pepper grow from Iron Man 1 until Endgame; and we see how scared he is of losing everything he’s built with her.

What’s more, I think one of the core topics in Tony Stark’s life is fatherhood. On the one hand, we see him taking Peter under his wing, mentoring him, and when Infinity War comes we notice how close they have become that they fight together side by side, it looks like they’ve done it several times. When the snap happens Tony is absolutely devastated, and when he finally comes to Earth rescued by Danvers, the way his voice breaks when he tells Steve “I lost the kid” is heartbreaking.

On the other hand, at the beginning of Infinity War he tells Pepper that he dreamt about having a kid, and five years afterwards we see he’s a father of a little girl. And we see how he indeed has broken the cycle of shame, he’s nothing like Howard and the dynamics between Morgan and her dad are wonderful. He never once gets angry, never screams at her even when she’s awake late at night when she shouldn’t, he’s constantly hugging and touching her in a super adoring way and their conversations are pure fluff (“I love you 3000, that was sooo fluff!). Still, he hasn’t forgotten Peter (the moment he takes the frame of the picture of him and Peter…) and I believe that the main reason he never once stopped looking for a way to make them come back was Peter, because he feels tremendous guilt for having lost him. They all lost, everyone lost family and friends (Clint going crazy over losing his family is just an example) and in fact, Tony is one of the lucky ones, he has Pepper and Morgan. But he doesn’t have Peter, and that is breaking him.

Also, the way his sacrifice is done is utterly powerful. His trademark line, “I am Iron Man” is uttered with a lot of power and it’s a huge emotionally charged moment because it takes us back to the first Iron Man movie in 2008. I think in that moment everyone in the cinema was clapping and shouting. So, what were the things I didn’t like? Precisely the fact that Tony had to be the one to sacrifice himself. I understand why it had to happen, it had to be an Avenger that would shock everyone and create a reaction, it didn’t matter if you liked him or not. And for Iron Man to die, that was the ultimate sacrifice. Someone who previously only cared about himself, now is saying goodbye to a future, to a family, to finally rest; so that everyone else can survive. Pepper tells him that he finally can rest now, and in part it’s true, we know that Tony would’ve never stopped trying to save the world if he had any say in it. However, I didn’t like his sacrifice because for the last two or three movies Tony’s arc has pointed at retirement with Pepper. Buy a farm (they end up living in a house by the lake, surrounded by nature, so it’s kind of what he wanted), create a family, settle down… that was what was waiting for him after Endgame. And he leaves behind a wife, a daughter, and his sort of adopted kid Peter (who by the way had to suffer the death of FOUR father figures. It’s a miracle Peter doesn’t go rogue or loses his mind after losing Tony). So, my conclusion is: yes, I understand that for it to be effective for the audience it had to be Tony, but I also hate it because he was the one who left more people behind by dying. Thor didn’t have anyone left, Bruce doesn’t either, so it’s so unfair that the one who had to sacrifice himself was the one who left more broken hearts by saving the world. It’s heroic, but wrenchingly heroic.  

Another minor aspect within the plot but that I hated was the little time Peter and Tony had before Tony died. When Peter comes back and he helps Tony up, the way Tony was looking at Peter while he talked, like he was seeing the beauty of the universe for the first time, was mesmerizing and the hug was very emotional (remember that it’s Tony who embraces Peter, that shows the amount of love Tony has for the kid). However, that was all they had, when Peter and Tony are together again Tony is dying. And it’s even more heartbreaking.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

As for the rest of the Avengers, I have a few things to say. The first one that really pissed me off because the whole cinema was laughing at it was Thor’s arc in Endgame. He obviously has PTSD, he has severe trauma and deals with it by eating and drinking. It’s a very normal disorder and something very serious, not something to laugh at. Thor has lost absolutely everything, he’s lost his family, his friends, his home, his kingdom… he has nothing, except for the friends he makes in Thor Ragnarok. So, when he’s at his most vulnerable, do you think it’s normal to use him as the humorous part of the movie? I don’t think so. And it pissed me off because people were laughing and I was like “seriously? This guy has severe trauma and you’re laughing at his face?” it was so disrespectful for people who suffer these issues. It’s even more disrespectful when Tony Stark suffered the same thing but they didn’t use that as an excuse to make people laugh, the way they treat PTSD and anxiety attacks in Iron Man 3 is very understanding and kind; and I think Thor deserved something of that.

As for Steve’s ending… I’m a bit hesitant. I understand why Steve wanted to go back in time, he has always loved Peggy and never once has he forgotten her. However, war changes a person. Steve has gone through several wars, he has lived several years in the present, he’s made friends… true, he’s never fallen in love again, but has he even given the opportunity to himself? I don’t think the story with Peggy would’ve worked; Steve has changed too much for that to work, he’s not the Steve Peggy knew. So, I understand why he wanted it, but I don’t think it makes much sense.

 Great moments of the movie:

-          ABSOLUTELY ALL THE MOMENTS BETWEEN MORGAN AND TONY, they are so cute together and it really shows Tony’s change. He’s terrified of losing what he’s built and it’s obvious he’d do anything to protect Morgan. Even dying.

-         TONY LOOKING AT PETER LIKE HE’S THE CENTER OF HIS UNIVERSE AND THEN SHUTTING HIM UP BY HUGGING HIM THAT WAS TOO CUTE FOR AN IRONDAD FAN IT MELTED ME

-          I love you 3000. Tony’s face of pure love and adoration.

-          Captain America’s ass. Awesome cheeky moment!

-          Steve with the Mjolnir!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-          Pepper Stark-Potts using one of Tony’s armours. AMAZING!

-          The great moment when Danvers has to go through the hoards of Chitauri and all the women in the MCU, from Pepper to Valkyrie, defend her while she takes the gauntlet.

-          The beginning of the final battle, everyone returning from the snap and Steve shouting: AVENGERS, ASSEMBLE! God, that gave me goosebumps.

-          Tony’s last moments with Pepper. The way Pepper understands; how she talks to him to calm him and he tells him he can finally rest. It’s so heartbreaking because Pepper knows it was the only way Tony would finally be able to find the peace he so desired. But it’s at a great cost he finds that peace.

-          TONY’S FUNERAL. I literally was crying the whole time.

                         +AND HARLEY WAS AT THE FUNERAL TOO

                         + Morgan asking for a cheeseburger, same as his dad. And Happy’s sad smile, saying that he’d buy her all the burgers she wanted.

                          + Everyone paying his respects to Tony, from his family to the Avengers and their families, to Maria Hill, Danvers and Fury. The whole MCU was there, because he was the first, the one who created everything and the ultimate hero, the one who made everything possible. The whole funeral was huge but the scene where they show absolutely everyone dressed in black and saying goodbye; that was powerfully sad.

And I think that’s all. There were a few problems with the movie but overall I loved the movie, it got straight to my heart and I didn’t expect any less from the last movie. I can’t wait to watch it again!

[my-honourable-barbarian]

I doubt nicknames will be necessary - Part 16

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13 / Part 14 / Part 15

AO3 Link

One week and two days ago, Nikandros had received an interesting call. It had consisted of thumping and shrieking and a grunted laugh Nikandros very much never wanted to hear again.

As it had clearly been an accident, he had tactfully hung up the phone and then sent Damen a series of very annoyed texts telling him to keep his butt away from anything that could be dialled while having surprisingly enthusiastic sex with who Nikandros assumed to be the acidic slash deceptive neighbour.

He had received an image in return, and as he had been tapped into the work WIFI at the time, it had downloaded without his say-so. It had shown a kitchen – not Damen’s, but with a similar outlay – utterly wrecked with explosions of what appeared to be flour, splatters of dripping red Nikandros very much hoped was not blood, and balls of dough(?) stuck to the cabinets.

Before he had been able to translate this perplexing image into anything that made sense, Damen had sent a second one, of what looked to be a flawless pie with a couple of pieces missing. It had been followed by many exclamation marks.

Nikandros had… not asked. It stood to reason it meant Damen’s neighbour, fiend that he was, was becoming a permanent fixture and Nikandros would just have to get used to it.

But now Damen was sitting in his office pouting.

“You know,” Nikandros said, after knocking and hearing a muffled, ‘Come in,’ and pointedly pulling the door shut behind him again, “I remember the days when you proclaimed your door would never be closed to anyone.”

As expected, Damen was frowning and still giving his best impression of impeccable professionalism. “It’s not locked,” he pointed out, very likely only to piss Nikandros off.

“You know what I mean.”

Damen himself had implemented a literal open-door policy for his office, and had kept it in place all the years the company had existed. It had even survived the move to a bigger building. Before this week, the only time he had ever closed his door had been when someone had asked for a word in private.

Damen remained silent, and – as it often happened whenever he jutted his chin just so – Nikandros was the one to cave. Taking a fortifying breath, he pulled one of the extra chairs to the front of Damen’s desk and settled in for a longer conversation.  

“I realize I have not been very enthusiastic about your new relationship, but if something’s bothering you enough to affect your work ethic-…” Nikandros trailed off, unsure if he was supposed to approach this as Damen’s friend or his right-hand man at work. He settled on, “You can talk to me. I don’t have to like everything you say.”

Damen sank back in his chair and let out a long, frustrated groan.

While at the beginning of last week, he had shown up with a smile on his face that proclaimed he had definitely gotten laid after that food fight, his mood had gotten progressively worse the longer he had spent at work. Nikandros braced himself for the most logical explanation, which was a tale of unsatisfied libido.

Instead, Damen said, “I can’t look at Kastor right now without doing something I have been assured by at least two people and a snake I would come to regret.”

Perplexed, Nikandros took a piece of the pie on Damen’s desk and chewed on it while thinking things over.

Nikandros had, in fact, caught him glaring at Kastor on at least four different occasions. While the mutual avoidance was subtle enough to pass as coincidence, it was true that neither seemed particularly keen on talking to the other.

“Kastor, huh?” tried Nikandros between bites of (admittedly delicious if stress-baked) pie.

At least Kastor’s preference for submissive people (a role even Jokaste had often assumed in his presence, presumably to bait him) and Laurent’s supremely overwhelming personality (not to mention overall appearance of frigidity if not with Damen – yes, he had done a background check) did not add up to Damen once more getting cuckolded by his own brother.

“What did he do now?” Chewing.

“He’s plotting to ruin the company and then swoop in to save it from my incompetence.”

The last of the pie missed Nikandros’ mouth by a bit and smooshed against his cheek. Damen handed him a paper towel.

“And I’m not allowed to do anything. They won’t even tell me what they are planning because apparently I can’t be trusted to keep my cool.”

A fairly reasonable assessment if ever Nikandros had heard one. He asked, “And ‘they’ are?”

And Damen – as though unaware he was the sole reason Nikandros kept finding grey hairs in the mirror at the tender age of thirty – explained, “Laurent and Jokaste. And Berta, Jokaste’s snake.”

“Her what?” said Nikandros and massaged pie into his temples. Damen handed him another paper towel.

“Her snake. Laurent assured me she very much agrees.”

Nikandros rubbed the paper towel over his face and wondered if it could be justified for him to go on his honeymoon early.

“Uh huh. How exactly did your new boyfriend get involved in our company business?”

During the next paragraph, Damen seemed determined to cover a vast array of human emotion, beginning with fond pride, going on with genuine homicidal tendencies, and ending with determined contemplation.

“He discovered it, of course. And his uncle deserves to rot in jail for all eternity and then some. Possibly some dismemberment. We’re adopting a teenager, you know.”

Nikandros was not even going to poke at that with a ten-foot stick.  

“What,” he said, “are Laurent,” he said, “and Jokaste,” he said and realized this was the most unholy of combinations he had ever allowed to share a sentence out of his own mouth, “doing right now?”

Damen had the belated, appropriate and not at all sufficient grace to look sheepish.

“Well, currently they are planning your wedding.”

Nikandros let out a very long and very complicated curse in Greek.  

* * *

“They’ve assured me it’s not actually going to disrupt anything,” Damen said, meaning for it to come out a bit more convinced than it did.

Nikandros continued to look as though Damen had grown three heads, two of them belonging to people he really, really did not like, and the last quickly advancing to the same category.

“Whatever is supposed to go down to expose my brother’s intentions is meant to do so once you and Lykaios have already retreated.” As was their right. No newlyweds could be expected to entertain their families until even the last of them had passed out drunk. It was a two-day affair in a nice hotel for a reason.

“So all I will have to suffer is the fallout the next day?”

Most of what Laurent and Jokaste were discussing actually was about keeping the guests in good spirits, but that would probably not cheer Nikandros up. Understandable, really. While Jokaste might be trusted to at the very least display taste in her choices, Laurent’s mere presence would inevitably add an element of mischievous chaos that Damen knew for a fact no one in his family was prepared for.

“Nik,” he said, “you know our families. There hasn’t been a single gathering that didn’t end with at least one fistfight.” It was true. As dignified as they pretended to be while sober, between the inevitable havoc wreaked by a veritable mass of drunk Grecians and the usual sudden and intense feuds arising when spirits were elated, no one ever actually expected to get their security deposit back. “At least if we know which scandal is going to be exposed beforehand, we might be able to prevent anyone coming to blows.”

“I told you he was up to no good,” Nikandros said, with a deep sigh.

“Laurent?”

A scoff. “Him, too.”

Kastor, then. Damen had always assumed they simply did not like each other, but it would seem everyone around him had the decided advantage at not having been taught how to ride a bicycle by their very patient older brother.  

“I know you did. You were right, my friend.” Come to think of it, Kastor could have held the lessons at another place than a steep hill which had thoroughly skinned Damen’s knees. “Though I wish you weren’t.”

At long last, the air seemed to go out of Nikandros.

“He isn’t even invited,” he muttered with the deep resignation Damen with no small measure of guilt recognized from other such conversations. It wasn’t right. Nikandros was his oldest and most faithful friend.

But, “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that since before I found out,” Damen said. “I am aware it’s your wedding, but it does not look very good to invite absolutely everyone working for us except for Kastor.”

“Jokaste isn’t invited either.”

Damen shut his mouth and tried not to look as though he was frowning. But he could feel his forehead creasing nonetheless. His hands wrapped around the stack of papers before him.

“I do know our families,” Nikandros said, “and I also know you.”

“You can have Ios,” said Damen and held out the manuscript.

Nikandros looked up sharply.

Delpha Ios was an author they had been courting for the last month or so. She had spent a long time deliberating offers from several publishers, which in their industry unfortunately not always meant someone was actually good. In her case, it was a well-deserved wooing. Damen had received the confirmation she was signing on with them the day before.

It had been Laurent’s idea to bribe Nikandros with something he really wanted. Damen had hoped he would not have to resort to it, but he was starting to feel bad enough about the job he was doing as both a best man and best friend to be more than willing to give Nik this, at least. Besides, he would do a phenomenal job with Delpha. It wasn’t simply good connections that had elevated Nikandros to the status of Damen’s right hand.  

“Fine,” Nik said now, and Damen could tell Laurent had been absolutely right. He was clearly already itching to get into the manuscript. “Play it out at my wedding. But be advised I will be on my honeymoon for the duration of the fall-out.”

He stood up, and took the loose pages out of Damen’s hand.

“I also uploaded the file for you,” Damen said, because he sometimes liked to work on things digitally. Nikandros merely grunted.

On his way out of the office, Damen held him back for a moment.

“I know you’ve never liked Jokaste, but she’s on our side. This is not the first attempt at overthrowing me my brother has made.”

“A curse on both their houses,” Nikandros said, with feeling.

Without Damen bidding him to do so, he closed the door on his way out.

* * *

Damen, meanwhile, sank back down onto his desk and into what even he had to admit was more brooding than he was used to. He did not like the inertia of waiting, and he liked it even less now that he had been made thoroughly aware of all that was amiss not only in his company, but also in the life of the person he most wished to know happy and safe.

Having passed on the Ios manuscript, he was fresh out of work he actually enjoyed. There was ‘A Rose and Nothing But(t)’, but(t) he really, really did not feel like justifying why everything about it was unsuitable for publishing. And this tremendous pile of idiocy deserved more than a standard letter of rejection. It would have been the perfect work for Jokaste, if it didn’t mean she would also have to suffer through even one paragraph of it.

He eyed what was left of the pie, but he always enjoyed the baking more than the intake of sugar.

According to his clock, he couldn’t even make his rounds yet, since it would take another hour for the chances he might run into his brother to be diminished by Kastor’s rigid lunch schedule. And he didn’t much feel like putting on a fake smile and pretending everything was going well when truly, the brother he had loved and looked up his entire life did not even remotely feel the same for him.

But he never had been very good at sitting still for a longer period of time for no reason. What he needed was something to do. What he needed was-…

The phone rang.

“Akielos Publishing, Damianos speaking,” he answered, perking up.

“I have been thinking,” said Laurent in French, “that there is something I might enjoy doing to you. If you’re amenable.”

Perking up a bit more.

“I’m pretty sure I’m amenable,” Damen said, leaning forward onto his desk. “You are aware you’re calling me at work?”

“Don’t make promises,” chided Laurent mildly. “You might not like the idea. And I’m perfectly aware where you are, thank you. You’re sitting in your office pouting because you’re left out of our planning and aren’t allowed to confront your brother with all the crude honesty you have in you.”

Trying not to smile too audibly, Damen asked, “Why are we speaking French?”

Not that he particularly minded. Both the exercise of little-practiced skills and the even more pronounced lilt of Laurent’s voice were a most welcome addition to his day.

“Because, Damen. I’m standing in front of Erasmus pretending to have very important business with the CEO of Akielos Publishing.”

A grin tugged at the left corner of Damen’s mouth as he said, “Come up.”

“Not yet,” said Laurent, “I am here for a reason.” And Damen grinned a little harder, resting his chin on his hand and feeling at least as wooed as the heroine in the latest instalment of their best-selling historical romance series. If this neither pertained to things he was not supposed to know about nor about an actual visit, Laurent was calling simply to cheer him up. Which was… sweet. He had been oh so sweet in the last few days. Unguarded and – if Damen could dare make the assumption – a little less burdened as well. And Damen loved him so very much.

Laurent continued, with an enormous amount of non-chalance, “I wonder what you would be like spreading your legs for me.”

Damen’s elbow slipped off the desk.

* * *

It would have been quite simple to revive his role as Charls Merchant in the same outfit as before. It was fairly believable for a literature hipster to wear the same utterly pretentious combination of oversized sweater and tight blue jeans as a repeat offense.

However, there was more to get out of this role than one bad fashion statement. In fact, it was a shame he had not been continuing the ruse all along. The opportunity for casual mayhem, spying, and driving Damen mad with exasperation and lust was simply too good.

So he had acquired a sheer white shirt with the incredibly bold rhinestone print saying ‘Bedazzled’ and a plain jean jacket – again oversized.

Jokaste had braided his hair. A strange experience for both of them, as Laurent was not used to being touched (by anyone other than Damen) and Jokaste clearly wasn’t one for casual affection and playfulness. Nevertheless, she had offered and he had agreed her hairdo prowess likely surpassed his own and they had gotten through a rather stilted eight minutes of elaborate braiding and pretending the situation was not awkward at all.

In truth, he was having fun with her. In the way anyone could have with someone whose only reason for not carrying a switchblade was that her words were more cutting anyways. He liked the constant battle of wits and the combination of their cunning and the mere fact that no matter how brilliant she was, Damen had chosen him over her.

Point in fact…  

“I would like to take you, I think. I’ve never done it that way with anyone,” he was telling Damen over the company phone, while innocently blinking at Erasmus.

Damen’s voice was gratifyingly hoarse. It was fairly easy to picture him. He would be sitting in his office, in that giant chair of his that was probably just normal-sized for him, and his eyes would have gone ever so slightly glassy by now. “I haven’t either,” he said.

“Interesting,” said Laurent. “Is the thought off-putting for you?”

“I’ve never seriously considered it,” said Damen. “I am now.”

Laurent casually put one hand onto the counter, then settled his weight onto it.

“Hm, good,” he said. “Tell me what position you’d like to be in.”

“I-…,” a rather charming sputter, “Laurent-… I can’t just-…”

Smiling his best innocent smile at a passing employee (an accountant, potentially interesting to follow later), Laurent decided to have mercy on Damen.

“Let us start with something easier then. I could describe to you, perhaps, what it would feel like for you. Have you ever used your fingers on yourself?”

The lobby emptied again. Erasmus was unnecessarily straightening the stack of business cards. Interestingly enough, his ears were rather red for someone who claimed not to understand French.

“Not that way,” Damen said, with a heavy breath Laurent was rather sorry not to be able to enjoy fully at the moment.

“Your fingers are rather large for it. Do you enjoy opening me to you?”

“I do. I do. Gods, you know I do.”

Kastor was late in his usual rounds. Laurent had only meant to tease Damen for a little bit before hanging up on him, but with the delay, he would have to improvise. Not that he minded.

“What moment do you like best? Never mind, I shall tell you what I like. It is difficult to choose.” He deliberated, glancing around the lobby at the same time. A group of chatting people had entered. One of them – blonde, female, relatively new to the company – had a milkshake. Laurent briefly wondered if this was due to having been on a date with Damen, then waved the thought of as both uncharitable and irrational.

“The beginning, perhaps, when I feel the impossibility of compatibility and yet know you will fit. When I am closed and panting with anticipation, and you don’t even begin to push in a single fingertip until you feel me wanting to open to you.”

On the other end of the line, there was a very gratifying choking sound. Laurent wondered if Damen’s open-door policy would proof to fuel the fun of the game or if his ridiculous inhibition about sex in public would be a hindrance.

“Or when I do open for you and the crook of your hand makes me feel the first two joints of your finger on my rim until you are knuckle-deep. It feels like a lot, when you are inside me like that. I always wonder how I can take more until I do. I like it when you stimulate me, but sometimes I prefer not to be distracted by it. Incidentally, have you closed your door yet?”

A beat.

“Huh?”

“The door to your office. Is it still open?” He added, belatedly and with a smile, “This is not a metaphor.”

“It’s closed. I haven’t wanted to see anyone all day. I want to see you. I very much want to see you, Laurent.”

Laurent, meanwhile, was rather tempted to temporarily abandon his mission and gently ride Damen until words and deeds combined drove both of them over the edge. But his current situation had its own charm.  

“Hmm, yes, thank you for reminding me. I also quite like the way you look at me. You can never seem to decide what part of me you want to look at most. But this is beside the point.”

The words came almost without effort; the thoughts behind them as familiar as they felt natural; his current removal from their content nothing more than circumstantial. Damen was sitting in his office, in that absolute beautiful state where confusion enhanced arousal, and Laurent was the cause of it.

And while Laurent did not wish to make a habit out of playing power games in their sex life, whatever advantage he was gaining by being the one to remain unaffected while driving Damen out of his mind was nicely negated by the very personal information he had already offered. It felt like a fair exchange, particularly with the blush spreading from Erasmus’ ears to the back of his neck.

“I believe you would be different. I believe you would enjoy being overwhelmed by the pleasure. Perhaps that is how I would make you come, the first time. Two fingers inside you until it overtakes you entirely. You would be on your side, and I would be kneeling in front of you. I would reach between your legs. You would not even have to spread them much, merely lay one knee down next to my hip. I would see you. See if it was good for you. I could have my other hand in your hair. Fingertips trailing over your open mouth in the imitation of kisses to follow. You would require more care than I do, I think. It goes against your instinct. It feels strange. When the pleasure comes, you might reject it. No, I believe I would not fuck you, that first time, even if I found myself wanting you. I want you to have the time to understand whether you actually liked it.”

And perhaps Laurent had been thinking about it for a while now, between planning and studying and fucking and trusting. Perhaps he had been thinking about it a lot.

“Gods, Laurent,” Damen was groaning, “this is insanity. I’m at work.”

“Hm, yes I know. Erasmus is staring at me with an open mouth. I may have underestimated his dirty vocabulary in French.”

Erasmus actually twitched at that, looking up with the most wonderfully apologetic look that made Laurent feel almost sorry for him, but more importantly, Kastor was finally returning from his cigarette break.

“Laurent, I-…”

“Later, Damianos. I need to go now.”

* * *

Laurent did not introduce himself (or rather Charls) to Kastor so much as simply wander around after him wondering how long it would take for Kastor to notice a bedazzled hipster with fake glasses was trailing him. So far, he was astoundingly self-absorbed.

Who did notice him was Nikandros, who shot him a rather unamused look. Laurent wondered if Damen had spoken to him yet. Then Laurent wondered if perhaps he should try to make good with Damen’s best friend rather than gleefully antagonize him. Even if it was fun.

At the wedding, he decided. He would behave at the wedding. And Jokaste and he truly had come up with some good, wholesome elements to entertain Nikandros’ guests.

For now, Laurent would take full advantage of being unknown and unnoticed to one, and well known and unwelcome to the other.

Nikandros’ look actually turned even more done with everything as he turned away from Laurent lurking in the background and focused on Damen’s brother. Yes, Laurent decided, Damen had spoken to him.

“Ah, Kastor,” said Nikandros and Laurent observed with some fascination and no small amount of amusement how stilted he sounded, “You are coming to the wedding, are you not? I noticed we haven’t gotten an RSVP from you yet.”

“What wedding,” said Kastor.

“Uhm mine,” said Nikandros.

“Who are you marrying?” said Kastor, clearly bemused by this.

“My fiancé. Lykaios. You’ve met four times,” said Nikandros, clearly bemused by this.

“Ah,” said Kastor, and the awkward pause that followed was one Laurent would cherish for a very long time. That vein on Nikandros’ forehead was particularly active once again.

“I don’t think I’ve received an invitation,” Kastor finally said, and, “It must have gotten lost in the mail,” Nikandros replied, far too quickly.

It was incredible, truly, that even Damen was turning out to be a better liar.

After another very long and uncomfortable silence, Nikandros managed a, “I’ll send you another copy.”

“Please do,” said Kastor. Nikandros nodded and Kastor nodded and then they both very gladly and disgruntledly parted ways. Truly, if Laurent could paint, he would dedicate an entire series of canvases to capturing this.

After a moment, Laurent melted out of the shadows of the oversized office ficus. Without so much as a comment he changed direction to keep up with Nikandros, who with a curse had turned on his heels the second he saw Laurent emerge.

After a moment of steaming silence, Nikandros hissed what Laurent could only barely understand to mean, “I hope you’re happy now,” in very bad French.

Who had taught him this? It couldn’t have been Damen. Damen’s French was near flawless. An online translator maybe? Had this been what he had spent the last fifteen minutes looking up on his phone?

“Overflowingly so,” said Laurent, with a beatific smile.

To his further gratification Nikandros’ new vocabulary still did not seem to allow him any more understanding of what Laurent was saying.

* * *

Jokaste, it turned out, was not to escape her own cunning even for a day. Even having agreed to helping them both devise a plan to trap Kastor into falling on his own sword, she had underestimated just how much of her time would be taken up by Laurent’s sheer tenacity.

She had figured preparing Laurent for his day of oh-so-sneakily gathering information about Damen’s company at Damen’s company would relieve her of his presence for the rest of it.

He had, after all, never even met Kastor, and would hardly rely on information given to him by Jokaste (whom he rightfully so did not deem fully trustworthy) and Damen (whom he rightfully did not deem fully capable of understanding who his brother truly was).

But this, she should have considered as well.

Apparently having decided against spending his time in the presence of his over-eager and rather offensively in love boyfriend, taking a break from innocently stalking Kastor and having exhausted the last of Nikandros’ impatience, he had now chosen to spend his time following Jokaste around, chatting amicably in French about croutons and occasionally dropping laser sharp insight into the inner workings of the various employees in the exact same tone.

Jokaste was quite aware he was observing her as much as anyone, of course. He would have been stupid to dismiss her, no matter how effective their combined minds were proving or how many napkin swans (and snakes) they had folded together.

Well, there was nothing to do about it now except to sufficiently distract him.

The business that led her to Damen’s interestingly closed door was not a pretence, at least, though did raise his unfortunately perfect eyebrows at her.

Damen sprang up from behind his desk, hit his elbow on a shelf in the process, absolutely did not seem to notice that he had hit his elbow on a shelf, and exclaimed, “Laurent!” as though Jokaste were entirely invisible.

“Why Damen,” said Laurent as Jokaste discretely rolled her eyes and put the USB drive onto the desk which also housed half-eaten pie, all crammed conveniently onto the same side as the closed laptop “a closed door?”

Damen… blushed.

Good gods.  

“As I am sure your pet snake cannot wait to tell you, Kastor has officially been invited to the wedding,” she said, mostly to hurry this particular interaction along as much as possible. “I have in the last few days established enough social pressure on him that he will not be able to decline.”

“Good,” said Damen, still looking rather exclusively at Laurent, whose eyes were… sparkling.

“Which brings me to a concern I have,” she went on, barely keeping from rolling her eyes. If she wished to observe a mating ritual, she’d introduce Berta to a nice snake of whatever gender she preferred.

“While there are enough contingency plans in place that it is not a necessity for him to take me as his date, we have established that we are all in agreement it leads to the most easily controlled outcome. I believe he might not even ask me.”

This, at last, seemed to sufficiently catch their attention.

“Why not?” asked Damen, frowning slightly, while Laurent’s eyes were already narrowing as though to precede Jokaste’s answer. She did not give him the chance.

“I doubt there is much incentive now. Our liaison was hardly about me; its sole purpose was to keep you distracted while his coup was to take place.”

With the kind of innocent deadliness that Jokaste had seen rather too much of in the last few days of scheming, Laurent insisted, “Oh, don’t undersell yourself. I’m sure taking you from Damen and being able to rub his nose in it also played its part.”

“Quite,” said Jokaste, who had opted for the more tactfully phrased version.

“I don’t see how this might not still apply,” Laurent went on. “Would he not proceed in the exact same vein if encouraged sufficiently? Stage a scene where it becomes clear Damen asked you to accompany him and you did not accept his invitation and Kastor should be all over trying to one-up Damen once again.”

In other circumstances – and ones that would rely entirely on Jokaste’s acting skills, while Damen would resume pouting in his office as he had been doing for days now – this would be a solid approach. But clearly, as clever as Laurent was, he was astoundingly oblivious to the effect he had on Damen.

Predictably, Damen merely frowned and shook his head. “No, provoking him like that won’t work. I told him to not hold back on dating Jokaste for my sake weeks ago. On account of my very happy relationship with you.”

Laurent… blinked rather fast.

“That does,” Laurent said and paused only slightly too long. Jokaste wondered if Damen noticed it as well. From the way his smile broadened, he did. “…put a damper on things,” Laurent finally finished. “I was rather counting on continued pettiness.”

Perhaps Jokaste should be insulted Damen had at no point insisted her womanly wiles would be enough to win over any man, otherwise motivated or not.

“Sorry,” said Damen and did not look it.

“No,” said Laurent, quite quickly, “we can use this. It’s better, actually.” He turned to Jokaste, flustered expression turning shrewd again quickly. “Let him take you to the wedding to prove that he is, in fact, not petty and never was. His affair with you has hardly endeared him to the people of this company, let alone to your family, I would assume. By bringing you after having received your blessing he will show that he was not motivated by being jealous of his younger brother’s shiny toy, but rather establish him as a man who simply and tragically fell in love with his brother’s girl. It will help him recover some much-needed ground.”

Jokaste also did not take offense to being called a shiny toy, nor the reminder that apparently neither brother had ever given much of a damn about her.

With an internal sigh, she conceded, “I’ll make it work,” which she would, and left them to their heart-eyes.

Perhaps, it turned out, she was rather uninterested in ever actually falling in love. How could she ever be taken seriously again?

* * *

As the door rather pointedly fell closed behind Jokaste, Laurent was already turning to Damen again. His eyes were exactly as dark as Laurent had pictured them, his look as intent, his physique as proud as he unceremoniously crowded Laurent against his own desk.

In a rather giddy way, Laurent realized he must have spent at least some time clearing it. The space empty on it was rather conspicuously large enough to make out on.

Unable to resist gaining the upper hand again, he smirked and very gently said against his own finger which he’d laid over Damen’s lips, “Sometimes when you fall asleep, I reach back into the gentle ache you have left behind, and I enjoy knowing you have had me. I wonder if you would be the same.”  

This time, he allowed the sound Damen made at that to affect him.

[askthechaoticwitch]

• @xmalfoydracox

The Slytherin wouldn’t harm her since she was his friend but that didn’t stop him from doing innocent little magic against her, especially if it got her to stop running away from him and tell him what’s wrong. If it was anyone else then he wouldn’t care this much and let it go but it was her and he found himself caring about her as if she was family, that was saying something but it wasn’t as if he told her that. He just wanted her to know that she could tell him anything no matter what he was going through currently, sure his life was on the line but she was his friend so he’d put her first.

He let out a relieve sigh when she turned and released how serious he was, which only meant he didn’t have to use magic against her. It was something he really didn’t want to do it the first place, though when she looked a way from him another sigh escaped his lips as he put his wand away. At least she was finally going to open up to him right so he couldn’t complain about her not making eye contact, hell he would have stood there for however long he needed to before she spoke what was wrong - just as long as she knew he wasn’t gonna let this go til he found out what was wrong.

When she finally started speaking the male pressed his lips together and shifted his weight, not making a sound as he listened to what she had been saying. His lips curving downwards in a slight frown as he looked at her, he was semi glad that she wasn’t paying attention because he rarely did show his emotions or his vulnerability to anyone. But after hearing what the female was saying he couldn’t help but to feel something for her, to lose her family had to be rough. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d handle losing his family since they’re all he has, it would most likely destroy him completely.

Though as soon as he heard who was responsible his heart sank to the pit of his stomach, she didn’t deserve that cruel fate that she had walked in upon - no she deserved nothing but happiness. Scratching at his arm where the mark rested up as he tried to find the words to say that would comfort her but he knew there was none, all he knew as that he wanted to hug her and make everything okay again. “Oh no, I’m terribly sorry Wanda...” He muttered out as he looked down at his arm, biting his lip as he kept scratching at it from above his sleeve. He couldn’t help but to wonder if she would still wanna be his friend if she knew what he was now, especially after what the others like him did to her adoptive parents. Even though it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t blame her if she didn’t want a death eater as a friend anymore because that definitely was risky in itself.

Looking back up at her when he heard what she had to say next, swallowing a bit as he shook his head. If he didn’t think it could get much worst then he was wrong because it just did, to walk in when the body was still fresh from the kill had to be the worst imaginable thing in the world. Especially since the what if you made it just a bit sooner, could you have saved them lingered in the air. In this case probably not since the chances were more likely that you’d just end up being another causality, though when he heard the last part it completely stung since he was still here for her but he knew that there was a chance that he could end up meeting the same fate as her parents and he would never be good enough in the end.

A soft sigh escaping his lips as he closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, parting his lips as he opened his eyes and looked at her as he closed the distance. “I am sorry, I truly am but even if you got there moments before it happened the chances of you being able to save them from the cruel fate they met is slim to none. The most likely outcome was you joining them in the afterlife and I don’t think they’d want that, but you aint alone. They are always going to be with you even if you can’t see them, they are in your heart. And you have friends so you aint destined to be alone.” Draco mused out softly, tho the moment he saw her break down he couldn’t help but to wrap his arms around and pull in for an embrace.

“Oh babydoll, please don’t cry. Just close your eyes and take a breath, I know you’re hurting right now but I promise someday the pain will fade and it’ll be alright..” Malfoy hummed out softly as he began to rub her back in a comforting attempt, he definitely wasn’t used to this but he was trying.

Wanda listened to Draco speak, her gaze not meeting his. His words stung terribly, but she knew he was right, which only made it worse.

"That's true. I probably would have ended up just like my parents, but losing them still hurts me."

Guilt was eating her alive and she knew she wouldn't be able to forgive herself for doing nothing to prevent this horrible fate from coming true. However, as hard as it sounded, she'd need to learn to live with this burden.

Unable to hold it back any longer, Wanda began to sob uncontrollably, hot tears now freely rolling down her cheeks. She closed eyes, feeling absolutely vulnerable and humiliated for letting her friend see her in this broken state. HYDRA had trained her not to show weakness when she was still just a little kid, which made her hate herself for doing exactly the opposite of what she was taught.

The girl felt two strong arms wrap around her small figure. Draco was hugging her.

She was beyond stunned, but returned the hug with no hesitation, desperately holding onto her friend, fearing he'd leave like so many people had done before him. Wanda buried her face into his shoulder, aiming to muffle her sobs.

The female focused on Draco's instructions, steadying her breathing. She let her senses occupy her mind; Draco's warmth, elegant scent of cologne, gentle touch and voice helped her more than he could have imagined. She soon relaxed into his arms and her crying ceased.

After what seemed like a couple of minutes, Wanda pulled away, wiping away the tears that still remained on her face, and her eyes finally met Draco's. They showed her deep sorrow and pain, but this time they revealed burning fury and determination, something unusual for the girl.

She herself was radiating a new kind of energy - cold, hostile, malicious.

The female gave the blonde a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"You know what? You're absolutely right," Wanda spoke suspiciously calmly, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Someday it will be alright... once I find the murderers and make them suffer like my parents did. Those Death Eaters don't deserve to die. They deserve to have the Dementors suck their souls out of their bodies so they never find peace."

Her lips curled up in a yet another cold smile.

"I will hunt them down and end them."

Her eyes quickly shot down to her other hand, which had been radiating a dangerous red glow without her even noticing. The girl made the energy disappear as soon as she saw it and didn't acknowledge it at all. That was the result of Wanda being used for human experiments. Brainwashing, torture and training - that's what her young years in HYDRA consisted of.

She hadn't mentioned a word about this experience in front of Draco, she wasn't ready to discuss this dark chapter of her life with him yet.

Acting as if nothing had just happened, Wanda let out a small sigh and came back to her sweet, friendly self. "You're also right about something else - I'm not alone. You'll help me take those horrible people down, right, Draco?"

[cameronomicon]

Year One

On a hot Saturday in May of 2012, my ex and I found ourselves in sudden, standstill traffic. We were on our way out to West Covina to meet a dog named Hank who we were considering for adoption, but as the minutes passed and the horns blared it became increasingly likely that we might not make it there at all.

“Do you just want to go home? We can cancel,” I said, irritated.

“No, let’s go. We should meet him.” 

Traffic eventually eased and we made our way east, where we met Hank in the parking lot of a Petco. Erin fell in love with him immediately. I was less charmed but I thought he would make a good addition to our family. We brought him home later that day, renamed him Bodie, and he’s been my pal ever since.

In the summer of 2018, six incredibly long years later, I was in a free fall. Erin and I had divorced and I was living with Bodie in a small studio apartment. Work was chaos, and negativity and self-hatred ruled me absolutely. Alcoholism, combined with weed smoking and burgeoning Xanax abuse, had taken control of my waking life. I had begun to drink in the morning and spent nearly every minute of each weekend completely fucked up. The darkness and despair that I felt was inescapable, like I was trying to outrun the shadow of a sunset.

If it hadn’t been for Bodie, I would have tried to kill myself. The obligation to stick around to take care of him was very powerful, even though I thought about dying every single day. I actually messaged my ex to ask if she would promise to take care of him if anything ever happened to me, since that wasn’t written out anywhere in our divorce. Though I tried to word this as casually as possible, I can’t imagine how bizarre the message must have read.

I mention all of this because that one decision in May 2012, to not turn back despite sudden and unexpected obstacles, likely saved my life. Funny how things work out.

*

When you’re reading this, I’ve been sober for one year. I’m writing it beforehand, which might seem like tempting fate for anyone who has experience with addiction. I believe I will get there, but if you never see this, I guess I didn’t make it.

The past 365 days mark the longest period of continuous sobriety I have managed since I first tried to clean up about 14 years ago. I was able to stay sober for one or two years from 2006-2007, but I will admit that there were times I got drunk during those periods even though I claimed continuous sobriety. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever admitted this.

To say that alcoholism blindsided me would be a lie. I knew from the first buzz that something was different, because alcohol felt like the most incredible gift I’d ever received. Something inside my brain exploded, sending brilliance and beauty and confidence all throughout me. I was, as I’ve said many times before, finally comfortable in my own skin. I would spend the next 16 years trying to get this feeling back. I never did. No one ever does.

I would like to tell you that getting sober is a ticket to happiness for an alcoholic or addict, but unfortunately it is not. One reason that sobriety is so hard and why so many people fail is because life continues on regardless of us. When we take away the things that we relied on to kill the fear, anxiety, or pain we would have experienced otherwise, we are left feeling utterly defenseless. It is much easier for me to obliterate my feelings with alcohol than to process what it means to live and succeed and fail and fuck up and love and lose and simply exist in the world. To paraphrase what many have said: quitting drinking is easy, living life is the hard part. This is my way of saying that the past year has been very difficult.

I’ve thought about drinking many times, especially during bouts of severe depression, which have mercifully been in short supply. But the urge to destroy is real, and I’ve thought that if I do go back to drinking I should make sure to get enough so that it will kill me. It scares me to think how easy it would be. 

These thoughts always pass, which is the best kept secret in the world for an alcoholic. In the moment, the thought extends forever in front of you, an endless ribbon of road that is impossible to reckon with let alone travel, and the only thing to do--the inevitable thing to do--is to drink. But I am always wrong. The thought, the urge, passes. The traffic eases. The mirage dissolves before my eyes, always. It will for you, too, if you’re struggling.

What sobriety has given me is freedom. Unless you’ve experienced it firsthand either in your own struggle or in that of a loved one, it can be hard to understand just how much of an alcoholic’s life is devoted to the stuff. The act of drinking consumes only a small fraction of the energy expended in this pursuit; far more intensive are the efforts to acquire booze in sufficient amounts (and at different locations if you’re trying to preserve your dignity), the internal battle with feelings of guilt and shame, and the absolutely titanic task of hiding it all from the rest of the world. It is fucking stressful. I am free of all of that now, and it is an incredible gift. Even on the worst days I am able to live my life unshackled to alcohol. I carry no plastic shopping bags chirping with empty bottles to the recycling bin anymore. I do not double over in panic when faced with simple challenges. The successes, the failures, the highs and lows--they all belong to me now. 

For whoever needs to hear this, freedom is also possible for you. You deserve that life, even if you think you don’t. You deserve to be free. 

*

I remain deeply flawed. I still act unthinkingly and spend my time more selfishly than I should. I’m still impatient, petty, and I cling to a few resentments which do nothing but poison my soul. I’m crass and lazy. Most days I find myself feeling shattered and disoriented, like I’ve been in hibernation for the past decade and have just emerged to a life where I feel completely out of place. But I’m trying to be better. Even if I fail, I will continue to try to become myself. I will redefine or rediscover what it means to be a person who exists with this world, not despite it.

Year one is just the beginning, and god willing I have a long journey ahead of me. My body is healed, my mind is sharper, my spirit is strong, but none of this is guaranteed beyond the boundary of any given day. Sometimes I take that for granted. But I am grateful for the gift of a free life. I hope I don’t blow it.

As I’m writing this, the windows are open and a warm summer breeze fills the apartment. It’s quiet outside, which is a welcome change from the usual. There is a calmness to everything around me. This time last year, the blinds would have been tightly drawn, the lights turned out, and even though the air conditioner was running constantly, I was likely drenched in sweat. I often vomited what I solid food I did eat, my hands quaked, and my heart raced. I felt like the incarnation of doom.

But now, Bodie is asleep at the foot of my bed, and on her condo slumbers Church, the alleycat I’ve adopted. She lived under the building and used to play with me and Bodie when we’d go outside, and for about a year several of my neighbors would take turns feeding and caring for her. Last November, three neighborhood cats were killed when my leasing company failed to properly evacuate them from under the building during a fumigation. It was ghastly and horrible and sad. Church was spared, so I decided to bring her into my home. She deserved better than a life on the street where she could be so easily and thoughtlessly killed, and now she is a part of the family.

That one decision, to bring her indoors and share my life with her, has brought me so much joy. I love to watch Church just being herself. I delight in the alternating cool and frenetic energy she brings, and to see how she plays with Bodie in the safety of the apartment. When I take him outside, Church will sit by the door and cry until we come back. 

I do not have much, but what I do have is incredibly precious. The three of us live simply, and we are safe and healthy and we have each other. Right now, that is more than I could have ever dreamed of, and quite possibly a life that might never have happened at all. And, even though I often get sidetracked thinking about what I still don’t have or what I’ve lost, I can’t deny how miraculous all of this truly is.

Funny how things work out.

[bookishreviewsblog]

V.E. Schwab: Vicious (Villains #1) | Lara

Victor and Eli started out as college roommates—brilliant, arrogant, lonely boys who recognized the same sharpness and ambition in each other. In their senior year, a shared research interest in adrenaline, near-death experiences, and seemingly supernatural events reveals an intriguing possibility: that under the right conditions, someone could develop extraordinary abilities. But when their thesis moves from the academic to the experimental, things go horribly wrong.

Ten years later, Victor breaks out of prison, determined to catch up to his old friend (now foe), aided by a young girl whose reserved nature obscures a stunning ability. Meanwhile, Eli is on a mission to eradicate every other super-powered person that he can find—aside from his sidekick, an enigmatic woman with an unbreakable will. Armed with terrible power on both sides, driven by the memory of betrayal and loss, the archnemeses have set a course for revenge—but who will be left alive at the end?

“Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human.” When can I marry Victor and adopt the rest of his gang? Seriously, I would do anything (ANYTHING!) for any of them, but I’ll come to that later. Dark, twisted, vicious. This story reminded me all over again why I am such a sucker for hardcore anti-heroes. Victor and Eli are best friends and college roommates. Were. Before Eli shot Victor and sent him to jail after he killed his girlfriend. It is sure as hell more a little bit more complicated, but it started with Eli’s research on his class thesis about EO – the ExtraOrinary. Namely, those are people who endured trauma, more accurately near-death experience, and body’s chemical composition changed and gave them… powers. Naturally, what would two arrogant, rich, bored seniors do rather than experiment, on themselves? What could possibly go wrong? World building in this book is by all means astonishing. As in Shades of Magic, Schwab provides a whole new perspective on superpowers. This mixture of science fiction and fantasy makes a perfect foundation for an extraordinary story. I especially like the concept of EO’s getting their powers – persons last thoughts are somehow connected to the source of their newfound power. Genius. I have a sudden urge to write a poem about Schwab’s spectacular writing and pacing. This book is everything I didn’t even know I needed in my life. The whole book is, in fact, a big preparation for the epic encounter between Eli and Victor. The book begins with the opening of Eli and Victor’s story, how they got to where they are, ten years from the moment that changed their lives and where are they now. Then it slowly introduces backstories, development, motives and then it begins the process of including other characters who complete their story. I loved the way Schwab introduced her world and story, with all “10 years ago” “two weeks ago” chapters she created the rhythm of slowly unraveling the plot, and I could, indeed, feel the story piecing together like a puzzle. Tension is everywhere, all over the city of Merit, and it keeps increasing, chapter by chapter, hour by hour until I almost lost it from lunatic anticipation. It is growing slowly, almost lazily, that I didn’t notice it at first, but towards the end, it was so much of it that I was all nerves. Even though I knew (suspected,,) Victor had a plan the whole time, I felt on edge the whole time and just waited for everything to go wrong. The plot was really dynamic and it is so worth reading because I couldn’t part with my kindle for the most of the time. I really want to shout this aloud a few more times because I am afraid there is a person in some corner of the Earth that don't know it. Victoria Schwab has the absolute greatest characterization. Victoria Schwab died, was revived and received power to write the most shshiny, perfect, spectacular characters. That’s the only explanation for this perfection. Victor Vale“Because you don't think I'm a bad person," he said. "And I don't want to prove you wrong.” I knew I’d love a wonder that Victor Vale is from the moment he appeared on the pages. An introvert ambitious genius constantly overshadowed by his charming roommate. From early descriptions, I could see something that is going to be a big trigger for Victor – jealousy. He’s constantly envious of Eli, even though he does not know it. Whether of his ambition, knowledge, his girlfriend Angie or his ability to charm his way out of anything, he is constantly overshadowed by him. His chance to shine pops out during Eli’s research about EO’s – if they could do it and Victor became EO, wouldn’t that make Victor equally, or even more important for the research and force Eli to work together? Well, that is about to be good. His blind determination to become part of Eli’s research turns to obsession, and he isn’t willing to stop until he succeeds, no matter the cost. After a series of events, he ends up in jail for ten years. That is, like, “before” (before becoming EO) part of his character. I’m still missing out some of his backstory, but I hope Schwab will bless us with that in Vengeful. “I want to believe that there's more. That we could be more. Hell, we could be heroes.” The “after” part of Victor is insane. What can a guy do in prison for ten years? Well planning a vicious revenge sounds like a deserving source of entertainment. I love revenge and characters driven by it because it always makes things dirty. So, Victor breaks out of jail, with nothing on his mind but sweet sweet vengeance, no moral compass and ability to inflict or stop pain on anyone. The reason I said there is “before” and “after” of his character is that becoming EO changes people. It takes some basic but vital feelings, like grief, guilt, regret, empathy. He remembers what it’s like to feel those things, but can’t actually force himself to feel them, but has to constantly “remind” himself of it. He acknowledges something is wrong, because he set it like that in his mind, but he doesn’t sense it. (I had a quote but can’t find it, damn, but here’s one I found: “A pang of guilt, something foreign after a decade in jail, nudged his ribs.”). That I-don’t-care-but-care, ughgghghgg he’s so adorable, with a weak spot for twelve-year-old necromancer, old dog and his hacker cell mate. (“Victor fed it to him, and gave the dog’s ears—which came to his stomach, even sitting on the stool—a short scratch. He looked from the beast to Sydney. He really was collecting strays.”) Mitch Mitch aka chocolate milk is the most iconic character ever to exist. A kick-ass hacker, who constantly ends up in prison for crimes he didn’t commit. So one day, he loses it and decides to actually commit a crime, well, if he’s going to end up in jail anyway, better make it good. He’s actually the ultimate sweetheart and I love him. Sydney Sydney is also a EO, with a badass power – she can raise the dead. She grew up with manipulative older sister and parents who didn’t particularly care for her, so she isn’t to eager to go home after her sister and her psycho boyfriend try to kill her. I just have to say how much I love the three o them together. They are such a cute, badass little family and I love it so much how they grew on each other without knowing it. “She knew exactly where she was going. Serena hadn’t told Sydney to go home. She hadn’t told her to run away. She’d told her to go somewhere safe. And over the course of the last week, safe had ceased to be a place for Sydney, and had become a person. Specifically, safe had become Victor.” I’m melting inside. Eli Cardale “If Eli really was a hero, and Victor meant to stop him, did that make him a villain?" Eli Cardale the ultimate villain, who believes himself a hero with a mission from God to purify the world and protect people from monsters that are Eos. I guess he forgot that he’s an EO himself, whoops. “When no one understands, that's usually a good sign that you're wrong.” But it’s all good if he feels blessed. I actually thought I’d like him for his dedication to the cause, but he just annoyed me all the time with his god complex. Serena Serena is a really good female villain – always gets everything her way and know exactly what she wants. She has real ambition and is a type of villain I usually like but she possesses a dose of bitchiness that made me hate her. *spoiler* I was so happy when Victor killed her, but I have a bad feeling about her and that they aren’t done with bitch-siren yet. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go and read the second book in one go, probably regretting it later because I’ll miss half of my life 😊

[eowynfauchelevent]

Not According to Plan

Chapter 1

Cosette smiled as she finished hanging the last poster on the wall of her side of the dorm room. Everything was perfect. Her favourite stuffed animals were arranged neatly on her bed, which was made absolutely perfectly, her clothes were neatly folded in her dresser, and her supplies for class were all ready to go, three days early. It was Sunday, move in day, and classes wouldn't begin until Wednesday, so she was ahead of schedule on that, just the way she liked to be. Feeling a sudden twinge of nervousness, she glanced at the door again, wondering when her roommate would arrive.

She had been too anxious to go to her school's Facebook group for their year and try to find her roommate, so she had no idea who the girl would be. She hoped it would be someone nice and that they would get along. Just relax, Cosette, she told herself, taking a deep breath. Even if you don't get along, you just have to make it to the end of exams in April and then never speak to her again. Just September to April... Only 8 months. And you're getting ahead of yourself, maybe you will get along and will end up being the best of friends, like Elphaba and Glinda in Wicked! She hoped that would be the case, only without the arguing at the beginning. She hated conflict.

Feeling a bit anxious again, she sat on her bed, playing with her chestnut hair, almost wishing that she hadn't decided to go to university in the first place, and wondering why she had insisted to her papa that she was fine and he could leave. Just try to relax, take deep breaths and think happy thoughts. You made it here. You worked hard. You deserve this and you can succeed, you've got the right support system- The sound of the door opening pulled her out of her thoughts, and she quickly jumped off the bed and quit playing with her hair, eager to make a good impression on her new roommate.

A thin yet muscular young woman with dark brown hair and dark eyes walked in, pulling a suitcase with her, and Cosette could see a few boxes in the hall behind her, presumably also belonging her.

"You must be my roommate," the woman commented, giving Cosette no more than a single, momentary glance.

Cosette nodded, smiling. "Yeah, it's nice to meet you!" she said cheerfully. Her roommate nodded in response, walking over to the other side of the room and leaving her suitcase by the bed before returning to the hallway to get her boxes. Cosette hoped that she wasn't being too awkward. "Would you like some help bringing your things in?"

"No, I've got it. Thanks though," the woman replied without even bothering to look. Cosette felt her heart sink slightly, but reminded herself that this didn't mean she didn't like her. It was move in day, her roommate was probably feeling as anxious as she was, especially since her family was nowhere to be seen.

She nodded, and turned her attention back to her own things. Was there anything she had missed? Something she could do to at least appear a bit occupied rather than awkwardly watch her roommate unpack? She soon found herself rearranging her pillows and stuffed animals for the third time, absentmindedly chewing on the left corner of her bottom lip as she did so. Should she introduce herself now or later? What would be more awkward? Did her roommate even want to know her? Swallowing the lump in her throat, she finished rearranging her bed, deciding to rip the band-aid off and introduce herself.

She took another breath and walked over to the other young woman, who had finished bringing her things in and was beginning to unpack. "We should probably get to know each other," she said shyly. The dark haired young woman looked up at her.

"Yeah, I guess we should," she replied after a moment.

"So, I'm Cosette," she said, smiling a bit. Her roommate froze, staring at her as if she had just grown a second head.

"What?"

"Uh, Cosette... That's my name. Cosette Fauchelevent." She bit her lip, the anxiety threatening overtake her again. Had she done something wrong by introducing herself? Why did her new roommate look ready to explode? "It's just a silly nickname though, my real name is Euphrasie... But no one ever calls me that..."

Her roommate's dark eyes were icy, and she seemed to be trembling. Cosette felt her stomach twist and flip, and she began to wonder if she should just walk away. Something about the icy stare felt uncomfortably familiar though, as if she had experienced it before.

"This cannot be happening," she heard her roommate mutter.

"I- is something wrong?" she asked nervously, resisting the urge to play with her hair again.

Her roommate stood up, crossing her arms, continuing to fix her with the same, icy stare. "You're seriously going to just stand there and act like you don't remember me?"

Cosette blinked, confused. "Remember you? Why would I-" she frowned, trying to think of how she could possibly know the young woman she was going to be sharing a room with. Is she mistaking me for someone else? I've never met her in my life, unless... She looked again, studying the other woman's dark hair, eyes, and freckled face, trying to place her. There was something a bit familiar, she had to admit, but it couldn't possibly be, could it?

Her roommate scoffed. "You always were dim. I can't believe this."

Cosette felt her heart sink. It was. "Éponine...?"

"Oh, so you do remember. Great."

Cosette took a small step back. How could this be possible? It had been over ten years since she had last seen Éponine, and she'd spent all of that time trying to get a new life since then. How could she be stuck sharing a room at university with her?

"Well, it looks like we're stuck together again," Éponine said dryly after a few moments. "Great..." Cosette wondered if she should be happy or disappointed that Éponine appeared to be as frustrated with the situation as she was.

"I- what a coincidence?" she stammered, her voice shooting up an octave. Her brain chose that moment to remind her that it was only Sunday afternoon and that classes didn't start until Wednesday, and Éponine was the only person at the entire university she had met so far. Her heart pounded in her chest so loudly she was certain that Éponine could hear it as well. She wished that she could drop dead.

"Yeah. Just lovely..."

"I- I'll just let you finish unpacking..." Cosette managed to squeak out before backing away, returning to her side of the room. It was an absolute nightmare. How is this even possible? This isn't even the same province we were in back then! She sighed, and tried to ignore the sound of her roommate's grumbling as the other woman finished unpacking. First year was clearly not going to go the way she'd planned and hoped.

"Will you stop pacing? You're giving me a headache! God, you're even more annoying now than you were when we were kids." Cosette cringed at Éponine's comment.

"I can't help it, it's just something I do when I'm nervous."

"Well do something else instead of being a pest."

Cosette bit her lip again, her teeth settling into the same spot in the bottom left corner of her lip that they always did, ignoring the feeling of guilt that came with the realization that it had become such a habit in favour of the slight comfort it provided. Taking a deep breath, she quit the pacing, slumping onto her bed and hugging her pillow, carelessly sending a few of her neatly arranged stuffed animals onto the floor of the dorm room. Beady, empty black eyes stared up at her from the floor. Adjusting slightly, she covered her face with the pillow. This is officially the worst day ever.

"Oh, hi Marius!" Éponine's voice sounded cheerier than Cosette had thought possible. "You're all moved in? That's great! Want to meet up? No, I'm not busy at all, just hanging alone in my room. Yeah, I've met my roommate." Éponine moved past Cosette's side of the room towards the door. Cosette pulled the pillow closer to her face. "She's the worst so far, I doubt you'd like her..." Éponine's voice trailed off as she closed the door behind her.

So, Éponine had at least one friend at the school already. Cosette contemplated getting up and following her to investigate, curious about who could be friends with someone like Éponine, but decided against it. Whatever had made Éponine hate her when they had been children clearly hadn't gone away. The hatred appeared to be as strong as ever.

Sighing, she pulled the pillow away from her face. Maybe I should just go out to the common area and try to meet people, she wondered as she got up, picking the stuffed animals off the floor and fixing her bed. It's at least worth a try. A knot twisted in her stomach at the thought though, and she sat back on her bed, pulling her phone out. She had a text from her papa, asking if she was alright and if her roommate had arrived yet. For the second time in fifteen minutes her teeth found that familiar spot in the bottom left corner of her lip, and she considered lying.

How could she tell her papa that Éponine was her roommate? Her time with Éponine's family had been awful, and her papa had done everything he could to keep her far away from them once he had adopted her. She was certain he would be horrified to learn that their paths had cross again.

On the other hand, lying would be horrible. She had never lied to him before, and the thought of doing so made her skin crawl. Besides, how could she even lie about her roommate? He was bound to find out at some point, it would be impossible to keep it a secret forever. She chewed on her lip for a few moments before firing back a response, saying that she was fine and her roommate hadn't shown up yet. I don't have to lie about who she is, but he doesn't need to know just yet. She still felt uncomfortable about the lie, but the thought of having to explain the situation to her papa then and there was just unbearable.

Setting the phone aside, she lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She wondered who Marius was, and how Éponine had met him and become friends. She was always so horrid as a child, why would anyone be friends with her? Did she change? No, she seems the same now as she was back then. Marius must be a jerk too. She sighed and sat up again. Lying there moping wasn't going to fix anything.

She got up and looked in the mirror, fixing her hair and adjusting her clothes before grabbing her keys and chucking her phone into her bag and leaving, locking the door behind her. By the end of the day, she would have a new friend, no matter what.

Read the rest on fanfiction.net or AO3! Chapter 10 was just added a couple days ago!

[shareeanne-deactivated]

Everyone’s Doing The Best That They Can

“All I know is that my life is better when I assume that people are doing their best. It keeps me out of judgment and lets me focus on what is, and not what should or could be.” ~Brené Brown

My favorite principle is this simple truth: Everyone is doing the best that they can with the resources they have. Adopting this belief has radically changed my relationship to myself and to others.

This idea has been explored by a constellation of religious, spiritual, and wellness practitioners. As Deepak Chopra said, “People are doing the best that they can from their own level of consciousness.”

At first, it's a hard concept for us to swallow. In a culture that constantly urges us to do more, to be better, and to excel,  “I'm doing the best that I can” sounds like complacency—like an excuse. But what if we took a step back from our culture's infinite growth paradigm and considered, “What if, right now, there is a limit to what I can achieve? Can I be okay with that?”

I first stumbled across this principle a few weeks after I quit drinking in 2016. It was a challenging time for me. In the absence of alcohol, I watched my anxiety soar.

I stayed away from bars and clubs to avoid temptation, but then felt guilty and “boring” for spending Saturday nights at home. When I met up with friends who'd previously been drinking buddies, our interactions felt stilted. I knew sobriety was the healthiest choice for me, but I couldn't accept the way it impacted my ability to be social. I felt like I wasn't trying hard enough.

I spent weeks in a frustrated mind space until I stumbled across that precious idea: “I'm doing the best I can with the resources at my disposal.”

At first, I recoiled. The high achiever in me—the climber, the pusher—scoffed at the suggestion that I was doing my best. “But other people have healthy relationships with alcohol. Other people maintain active, thriving social lives.”

But in that moment, I realized that my negative self-talk was an exercise in futility. It never boosted my inspiration or activated me toward progress. It just sparked a shame spiral that sunk me deeper into inaction and guilt.

So over time, I began to internalize this idea as my own. And as I did, I felt like a blanket of comfort had been draped over me. For the first time in weeks, I could sit back on my couch and watch Vampire Diaries without hating myself. It enabled me to find peace in the present moment and accept—not even accept, but celebrate—that I was doing the absolute best that I could.

I've found that this principle has been easiest for me to internalize when I've been going through deep stuff.

After a painful breakup last August, it took all of my energy to drag myself from bed in the morning. My intense emotions were riding shotgun, which sometimes meant canceling plans last minute, postponing work calls, or calling a friend to cry it out.

Because I was so obviously using all of my inner resources to get through each day, it was easy for me to accept that I was doing the best that I could. Throughout those months, I gave myself total permission not to do more, not to be “better.” For that very reason, those painful months were also some of the most peaceful months of my life.

Here's the thing, though: We don’t have to hit rock bottom in order to show ourselves compassion.

We don’t need to be heartbroken, shattered, or at wit’s end. Maybe we're just having a rough day. Maybe we're feeling anxious. See, our abilities in any given moment depend entirely on our inner resources, and our inner resources are constantly in a state of flux depending on our emotions (pain, stress, anxiety, fear), our physicality (sickness, ailments, how much sleep we got), our histories (the habits we’ve adopted, the trauma we've experienced, the socialization we’ve internalized), and so much more.

When we consider everything that affects our capacity to show up as we'd like to be, we realize how narrow-minded our negative self-talk is. We also begin to understand that everyone comes from a wildly complex, diverse array of experiences, and that comparisons among us are useless.

Consider how this idea can be applied in some more challenging situations:

The Friend Who Is Stuck In A Cycle of Stagnancy

This goes for anyone who complains about a monotonous cycle in their life but can't seem to break it: the friend who hates their job but doesn't leave it, or the friend who complains about their partner but won't end their relationship.

Those of us on the receiving end of our friend's complaints may get tired of hearing the same story every day. But our advice to “just leave your job” or “just break up” will fall on deaf ears because it's not that simple. They are doing the best that they can in that moment because their current need for familiarity and security outweighs their desire for exploration.

They are experiencing a tension within their desires, but don't yet have the ability to act on that tension. The limitations of their emotional (or sometimes, financial) resources make it difficult for them to move on.

By accepting that we're doing the best we can, we give ourselves the gift of self-acceptance and self-love. Only from this place can positive, sustainable changes to actions or behaviors be made

The Parents Who Hurt Us When We Were Kids

It can be especially challenging to apply this principle to those who have wounded us most deeply. But oftentimes, those are the folks most deserving of our compassion.

Parents have a responsibility to their children, and parents who hurt, neglect, shame, or otherwise harm their children are not doing their job as parents. But sometimes, our parents can't do their jobs well because they don't have the resources at their disposal. And even then, they are doing the best that they can.

More than likely, our parents didn't learn the necessary parenting skills from their own parents. Maybe they never got therapy to heal old wounds or never developed the coping skills necessary to handle intense emotions. This principle can be very challenging, yet very healing, when applied to parents and other family members.

The Binge Eater (Or Other Addict)

This used to be me, and it took me years to accept that even when I was in the thick of my eating disorders, I was doing the best that I could.

From the outside, the solution seems simple: “Put down the cake.” “Don't have a third serving.” But for folks with addiction issues—food, alcohol, sex, drugs, you name it—the anxiety or emptiness of not engaging with the addiction can be insurmountable.

Resisting the impulse to fill an inner void requires extensive resources, including self-love, self-empowerment, and oftentimes, a web of support from friends and family. Folks in the throes of addiction are caught in a painful cycle of indulgence, shame, and self-judgment, which makes it all the more difficult to develop the emotional resources necessary to resist the tug of the addiction.

But by accepting that they're doing the best they can, they give themselves the gift of self-acceptance and self-love. Only from this place can we make positive, sustainable changes to our actions or behaviors.

It's worth noting: Our actions have consequences, and when we harm others, we should be held accountable. But simultaneously, we can acknowledge that we are doing the best that we can, even when we “fall short” in others' eyes. Forgiving ourselves (and others) is an emotional experience that transcends logic or justice. We can make the conscious choice not to hold ourselves to a constant standard of absolute perfection.

Believing that we are all doing the best that we can opens our hearts to kindness and compassion. It allows us to see one another as humans, flaws and all. Next time you feel frustrated with yourself, stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, you’re doing the best that you can.

Sit down with a piece of paper and divide it in half. On one side, write down the voices of your inner gremlins. What exactly are they saying? Are they calling you lazy, selfish, mean? On the second side, consider what inner and external factors affected your actions or decisions. Consider the emotional, physical, historical, and financial obstacles you face.

As you review your list of obstacles in contrast with your negative self-talk, summon compassion and kindness for your inner self. If she is struggling, you can ease her burden by quieting the self-judgment and replacing those negative messages with an honest truth: That you're doing the best you can with the resources at your disposal.

About Hailey Magee

Hailey Magee is a Trailblazer Coach, writer, and digital nomad. She envisions a world where trailblazers are empowered to explore uncharted territory and unfurl a world of possibility - professionally, emotionally, spiritually, and more - to people everywhere. She has worked with over 100 clients of all ages across the United States and Canada. Learn more at haileymagee.com.

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[emilyyhill]

Covid said I could.

You all know what I’m talking about. The C-virus. The thing that’s turned everyone’s life upside down.

In some way or another, we’re all feeling it. I would bet my absolute bottom dollar that everyone is impacted by this in some way.

The world is changing. 

I have seen my world completely change around me. Friends are video calling, just because. I couldn’t buy peas at Coles. I am no longer seen as the “odd one out” for wanting to work from home. And my social media feeds are full of posts about how we need to wash our hands and stick together (not literally stick or you’ll be shunned).

I didn’t cope very well. At all.

It took me a while to accept that “it” (Coronavius) was actually happening. I spent the first two-ish weeks thinking that it nothing more than a media storm. That it wasn’t actually real, and within a week or two, the news would be on to the next thing (probably global warming).

Turns out I was wrong. My next response was panic. I Googled everything under the sun. I read every article. I watched every press conference. I subscribed to RSS notifications (which I now definitely regret).

Then – shock. I’m still kind of in this phase to be honest. Just repeating, “Wow. This is crazy. This is really happening. Wow. This is crazy.”

Creating a new normal.

But now I’m in the “Creating a new normal” phase. I’m trying to build new structures into my life to ease the confusion, anxiety and uncertainty. This doesn’t look like much – meditating, new morning and evening routines, writing lists of things I am grateful for, short online work outs.

I am not thriving right now – not at all. But I’m doing what I can to soothe my mind and soul.

Please don’t hate me. 

I know that I am writing this from a privileged place. Please don’t hate me for that. We are all handling this differently, each one of us feeling pain points in different areas. I am not trying to degrade your experience. I hope you know that whatever you’re feeling in response to the impacts of this situation is allowed, and in many instances – absolutely normal.

The impact of the situation on my family and I is relatively small. I am incredibly lucky to still have some hours of work, as does everyone in my family and most of my friends. I love living at home with my family. I have few ongoing expenses as I pay for things upfront in January (like registration, insurance and my phone bill).

This isn’t the case for everyone. For some, home isn’t a safe space. Or perhaps home isn’t secure as they are threatened with being unable to make rent or mortgage payments.

Sorry, this got a bit more doom and gloom than I hoped. But it’s the honest facts of what is happening in our world, and to the people we love. 

It’s why I feel so incredibly guilty for being somewhat thankful for some of the changes that have happened in my life from COVID-19.

Perhaps this comes from the gratitude mindset I’ve tried to adopt, or maybe because I’m an introvert. But some of the changes that have come from this have released a heavy burden on me. 

And I hope this can encourage you to find the good amongst the turbulence.

Covid said I could.

Tidy space, tidy mind.

Firstly, my house has never been cleaner. I finally cleared out that shelf that had a bunch of random stuff on it. I bought and assembled a new bed. I cleaned my room, the downstairs office, the bathroom. As someone who thrives in clean spaces, but also neglects tidying when she’s busy, this has brought so much relief for me.

I actually really like online study!

I am thriving with online study. I was working full time prior to now while also trying to juggle two internal subjects at uni. I explored external study options at the beginning of semester, but it wasn’t possible with the subjects I was taking. Covid has gifted me the online study options I wanted. I don’t have to travel 2 hours to attend classes, and I’m not missing out on tutorials by purely watching online. Covid said I could do online study.

I have time to focus on things I was neglecting before.

My colleagues have lost their shifts over the past week, and mine have been halved at best. This isn’t something necessarily to be grateful for, but the extra time is. It gives me an opportunity to finish this semester well – to be the best team member I can be in my group assignment, to finish this semester without intense stress. To graduate knowing that I gave my last two subjects the time and attention they deserve.

I don’t have to be sorry for protecting my health.

I have a weak immune system. A full, busy life isn’t healthy for me. I often bite off more than I can chew. Then I have to let people down when I can’t continue to maintain my commitments when a virus flares up in my body (cytomegalovirus, if you’re curious).

Recommended self-isolation lifted a lot of guilt from my shoulders – there were no longer gaping holes where I was meant to be. I am not cancelling on plans, or asking to work from home when I feel fatigue flaring up. I don’t have to spend every day asking myself if I am healthy enough to go out, because the answer for everyone is no.

Isolation is GREAT for intentional self care.

For those who know me, I went through a rough mental health patch on various occasions across the past two years. During these times, my self-care was amazing. But as I felt well again and life went on, all of my great habits fell by the wayside. Covid said I needed to start looking after me again. Yoga, meditation, good sleep routines. We’re back on baby.

Covid said, “Let’s be kind to eachother.”

Covid said that we could be kind, just because. I am someone that loves to serve, to help and to care. My acts of love and kindness so often get rejected in “normal life” – people don’t accept the free coffee or offer of help just because. But now, people NEED help and they are willing to take it with open arms, and even show gratitude for it (who knew!). I hate that it took a global pandemic for people to foster kindness – regardless of being friends, colleagues, or strangers.

[lindseysfandoms]

Emori Meta #1- Her Parents

I’m finally writing official meta, guys!

The following was greatly inspired by @bombshellsandbluebells‘ fantastic meta which you can read HERE, and is just some further thoughts. Go give them some love cause they deserve it!

And yes, I understand that I am about to exclude Otan greatly from this post. I don’t mean to undermine his importance to Emori’s life- because they were absolutely a united team- but sadly, the show gave us so little of him and their sibling dynamic that I in turn have so little evidence to pull from. I’m also trying to show how it should have Emori and Otan’s parents taking care of them both; the responsibility of raising a child should not have been placed on actual children cough. Don’t worry, this will make sense soon. So just keep this all in mind and forgive me as I focus only on Emori- I’m just trying to make a point and defend my girl. 

This will be quite a jumbled mess, and it’s gonna be a long one. Stick with me. Sorry for the language. I hope you all get something out if it. Enjoy.

Do you know what actually breaks my heart ten times over about Emori every single day?

The fact that she must have had parents. 

Yes. Emori had a mother and Emori had a father. That’s just simple biology- but it’s so much more than that. 

At some point in time, two people must have fallen in love and couldn’t wait to start a family together. Someone must have carried Emori inside her stomach for ten months, felt her kick and move, wondered if this little life would have her nose or her lovers eyes. Someone must have watched her belly grow from the outside, who’s heart skipped a beat whenever she felt her move. Someone must have prepared for her and sewed her baby clothes. Someone must have spent hours thinking of the perfect name. Someone must have imagined all the things she would learn. Someone must have been ready to teach her how to hunt, how to trade, how to walk, speak, read, love, grieve, grow, be strong. Someone must have been ready to show this child what the world had to offer, and, despite their challenges, how beautiful still life could be. 

Ask your own family- they did this for you. Whether they were your birth parents, adoptive, foster, two men, two women, multiple people, grandparents, aunts, uncles… SOMEONE out there took care of you when you couldn’t take care of yourself. You DO have a family, because they are the ones who raised you, and they love you. 

That’s who these people were supposed to be to Emori. I, for one, often forget that these people actually existed. They were already Emori’s parents. They already loved her, as any expectant couple does. They wanted her. They were ready.

Until she was born. 

These people- who had just spent months of their lives waiting and preparing for this little child- took one look at her and changed their minds.

These people took one look at her and didn’t see the beautiful baby girl of their dreams- they saw a defect. They saw a stain. They saw a mistake.

And you know what they did?

They threw her away.

…Okay, let’s step away from Emori for a moment. It’s crucial to note something that The 100 has shown us in seasons past- not every Grounder agrees that Frikdriena are stains on the bloodline.

Way back in S2, Jaha crash lands in the Dead Zone, remember? He is rescued by a little boy with a facial deformity named Zoran, and he brings him back to his family, who is on the run in search for the City of Light. His mother Sienna later explains to Jaha that even though their culture called for it, they never could have left their boy to die. That mother and father would rather struggle and suffer in the blazing desert than give up their child.

Emori’s parents didn’t leave their people and vow to raise and love her against all odds. Emori’s parents weren’t willing to risk their lives in an unknown land if it meant their baby lived. Emori’s parents didn’t fight for her. They didn’t even consider. 

They just got rid of her.

Let me restate that- nobody has ever fought for Emori in her entire life. Ever. Nobody has ever thought she was worth an effort. Not even her own parents. 

That’s why she has only ever known to fight for herself at all costs. She’s never known what it felt like to be protected unconditionally. Emori had to raise herself, do all the things her parents were supposed to, and teach herself all the things her parents never did.

And I’m sorry, but who the fuck just does that? Who just throws away their own flesh and blood as if it was an assembly line reject? Who just ignores their paternal instincts and blindly follows the crowd? Who just punishes an innocent (a fucking baby no less) for something they had absolutely no control control over?

A lot of things about Grounder culture terrify me… but this just infuriates me beyond measure. If none of the shit above utterly breaks your heart for our Emori, I honestly don’t know what will. 

And growing up, that hit Emori hard. Real fucking hard. I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the guilt she must have felt. She carried that burden day in and day out. She truly believed it was her fault that she and Otan had such difficult lives. Her fault, because she was born this way. 

Her fault that her parents didn’t love her, want her, care about her.

Emori thought this every single day of her life. That’s the mentality of her childhood. Can you imagine that? Living with the reality that your own parents didn’t want you? That no other human being around you didn’t want you? That humanity thought you shouldn’t be alive? 

In response to all the Emori haters of Tumblr who cannot seem to give her a break… try stepping into her shoes, just for a moment. Imagine living through the tragedy after tragedy that molded her, being rejected by the people that bore you, never having parents that loved you. It would destroy you. It would harden your heart. You’d do things you wish you hadn’t. 

This is the kind of shit that turns people into psychopaths. Emori’s past could have absolutely broken her soul. She could have given up on life, love, happiness…

BUT SHE DIDN’T! 

Emori is not psychotic. Emori is not selfish. She is not evil, or vain, or cruel. Emori is human- flawed, yes, but beautiful and worthy nonetheless.

Just as @bombshellsandbluebells stated in their meta (again, linked above the cut), Emori never killed or stole just for the sheer fun of it. She was forced to do it to survive. She literally said this to Clarke in 4x07, people. It probably still haunts her. 

If Emori had killed for the sheer fun of it, that would make her a psychopath, friends. BUT SHE ISNT BECAUSE SHE IS GUILTY AND IS STILL CAPABLE OF LOVING OTHERS.

Despite every terrible thing that happened to her in her terrible lot in life, Emori survived. Emori persevered. She got through that. She found acceptance. She found people. She found a reason to live. She realized what made life worth living- LOVE- in John Murphy, and the same goes for him. Emori found the good still residing in humanity after almost all of them let her down, time after time. 

Now look me in the eyes and tell me that Emori isn’t an inspiration. Tell me, after everything she’s been though, that she’s still worthless. Tell me that she doesn’t deserve a family. Tell me she doesn’t deserve love. 

The very people who gave Emori life didn’t think she should have survived- but now she isn’t just surviving; she’s living.

Emori will continue to be one of my favorite characters on this show and all of television. How did we get so lucky with her? I am more and more amazed with Emori each passing day, and I’ll love and defend her until the very end. She (and Luisa!) deserve so much more from the writers and the fans. I pray they receive it soon enough. Cheers to more Emori goodness in S5!

Wowza. That was long. If you actually made it to the end, bless you. Sorry that it’s all a big old mess, but I warned you, lol. You also might want to read the paragraph above the cut again if you need to, btw. PLEASE let me know your thoughts/responses to this, and anything important I could have missed! (But you know the rules, keep it nice)

Rock on -@lindseypeicott

[drowngrief]

   written    on     RELIGIOUS  PERCEPTIONS     in    relation    to    my    portrayal    of    brooke .

A . )       parental    influence    played    a    considerable    role    in    brooke’s    views       &       alignments in    regards    to    the    aforementioned .    

  –  quinn      subscribed    somewhat    silently    to    christianity ,         only    occasionally     attending      masses    for    christmas           (      &     easter ,       sometimes     )         in    order    to    maintain    a    stronger   public    image       &       appeal to a broader audience when the time came to run for mayor    ;         while    he    ran    as    a    republican    candidate ,          he    was    aware    that    there    were    always    a    handful    of    more    radical    people    who    were    likely    to hold what he did    in    public    against    him    if    he    didn’t    make   a    point    to    show    any    form    of    religious    faith .  

  –  monica ,    however ,       with    her    long  -  repressed    wanderlust       &       recurrent    need    for    something    new ,       found    her    form(s)    of    solace    through    gradually    increasing    absences       &       vagrancy ,        the    latter    both    in    a    literal       &       religious    sense .      she was brought up by catholic  parents  ––        her    mother    on    the    more    devout    end    with    her    father    more    untraceable    due    to    his    absences ,        which    overshadowed    his    wife’s    desire    to    make    spirituality    more    of    a    method    of    family    bonding  ––     but    fell    into    the    common    currents    of    her    father’s    absences come the later end    of    her    sophomore    year    in    high school .         she    didn’t    ‘fall’    into    partying ,      necessarily ,         but    slowly    realized    that    she    could    manipulate    herself    into    a    sense    of    belonging    somewhere    with    the    help    of    more    open  -  minded    friends       &       a    less    restrictive    environment .             she    then    fully    adopted the    more    open  -  minded    outlook    that    she    had    never    been    allowed    to    embrace    due    to    a    sense    of    obligation .       this    newfound    freedom    led    to    her    looking    into    different    belief    systems with    unparalleled    alacrity .        she    was    both    in    search    of    with    which    she    felt     most    connected    to      & ,       perhaps    more    importantly ,         which    could    be    used    to    help    her    to    achieve    the   furthest  �� distance    from    her    mother’s    looking  -  over  -  her  -  shoulder    nature    of    imposing .                                  +     this    also    serves    as    an    example    of    a    subconscious    imitation    of    her     father  ––         not    being    around    the    house ,         not    being    direct    in     whether     or    not    she      parallels    with    her    mother’s       (     rather    filmsy     )        set    of    rules    or    not .  

 in    regards    to     the    afterlife    specifically ,         quinn    feigns    whole  -  hearted    belief    in    heaven       &       hell ,       when ,       in    reality ,      he    is     too    reluctant     to    accept    anything    so    abstract    as    a    stone    cold    truth .         monica    appears    with    the    family    in    church    when    they    go      (    until  her    substance    abuse    worsens     )       to    help    promote    the    maddox    image ,       but    is    more    into    the    idea    of    reincarnation    than    anything    else   ––     at    least,        that    has    been    the    most    sticking    of    the    many .  

                            SO  WHERE  DOES  THIS  LEAVE  BROOKE ?

B . )       confused ,       perhaps ,      if    she    cared    a    bit    more    about    it    as    a    child .     when     once    asked    by    a    classmate    in    primary    school ,       brooke    told    them that    the    family    was catholic    without    giving   the    matter    much    thought  ––         it    was    hardly    discussed    in    the   house ,       &       they    went    to    a    catholic    church    to    celebrate    christmas    mass .        that    must    be it ,      then .         but    monica ,       who    had    jumped    at    the    first    opportunity    to    break    away    from that    mold ,           made    a    point    to    tell    her    that    they    weren’t    a    part    of    that    particular    denomination ,          leaving    her    with    no    solid    answers .

                                             so  brooke  didn’t  ask.

she simply assumed her family to reside somewhere on the spectrum of christianity ,         not opposing to mass until she reached the fifth grade      (     &       only because she dreaded the great  lull of the service     ) .          she assumed the same beliefs that her father projected for a while ––   life   after death ––   but rapidly began to question them with the influence of   online information      &       conversations  heard       &       had  among      /      with    peers.        (     not much was really questioned or challenged ,         as   the image of the family’s spirituality was fabricated      &     rarely touched upon as a family ––    monica stuck to her own on her wavering beliefs for a while.)  this went on through until brooke’s junior year of high school  ––      an idly lying    belief   canceled out by latent skepticism was forced to its crux   with   the string of murders    beginning with nina patterson .

   this ––    nina’s murder standing alone ––     was not what brought the question to its pinnacle.     brooke thought nina’s murder to be a totally freak,   one-time thing .     so ,     what was it  ?

                                                                     RILEY’S.

C . )    riley’s death  is what confirmed brooke’s original theory ––    that an attack on the second generation after the brandon james attacks would just be too lifetime movie esque to come true ––   to be fallacious .

   brooke finding out that ghostface’s texts put her    &    riley as the choose-between would  absolutely have the fault    /    responsibility-inducing effect on brooke, but from a smaller, more basic       &       emotion-desiccated viewpoint, the event & choice could be seen as something of a miracle .      don’t misinterpret––   brooke is nowhere near grateful that the victim was riley,     &      she would have rathered it be herself, but having fate twist in her favor in that way       (     beyond what money or her family is able to provide     )        would feel surreal for anyone.      she often finds herself consumed in the butterfly effect regarding this tragedy more than any other in her life,    leading to dreams in which she was the one murdered, in which she was the one who actually killed riley,        &       in which she feels the link on the handcuffs attaching her to the bedpost gradually growing white-hot until the pain is too much to bear. (the beginnings of survivor’s guilt.)

    brooke has never been one to look for the paranormal elements in her day to day life,     nor is it something that she’s into at all, but after riley’s death, there occasionally seemed to be a sort of unspoken presence in brooke’s house  in her bedroom      &     living room (a cooler draft, the creaking of floorboards under prodding feet). there also seemed to be more starless nights ––    even though louisiana offers no stunning view to begin with ––    after riley’s death,       &       things as simple as light refracted off of a glass     &     thrown into crystalline patterns on the walls brought back broken memories of better days .

basis  :       riley’s murder simultaneously heightened brooke’s belief in a god        (     without her even being that aware of it    )       &       made her internal denial of god’s existence even stronger .

D . )       the second influential event  on brooke’s faith was jake being stabbed in the chest in 1.07.     she tells noah in the beginning of 1.08 how the doctors described the knife missing jake���s organs as a MIRACLE,     &      to a logistical extent, is inclined to label his survival the same way.

   this was even after she did the inadvisable out of panic ––   pulling the knife out.     once again,    some bizarre,    too-good-to-be-true outward thing has righted one of her committed wrongs,      &     she does not at all feel deserving.

                                                  so one miracle kills while another saves .

   with her mother’s well being dangling in midair at this point in canon, she almost feels the twisted luck to point more towards the wanchancy of further familial corruption gone unseen  ––    it gives her a reason to be more suspicious that quinn might have done off with monica.

    in her childhood, she was fairly used to getting what she wanted ––    perhaps, she thinks, her mother’s fate being the opposite of what she hopes it to be would serve as another example of the universe putting her in the balance’s sternum, if only to see the next move she’ll make. it may also serve as some twisted form of karma –––   a way for the world to reinforce the mantra of “you can’t always get what you want”.

basis  :      jake surviving the bowling alley attack throws her for a serious loop in the attempt to determine exactly where she stands on the existence of a god.     here ,     she begins to lean more towards belief.

E . )     closely following the description of jake’s survival, however, arrived the news of will’s death.    this marked the loss of four of brooke’s closest acquaintances at the start of the series.      while it didn’t have as distinctive or lasting of an impact as some of the other losses suffered in brooke’s life,    the timing of it offered a wall for the gaining momentum of her blossoming belief to crash full-force into.      it seriously challenged any form of optimism that came with the ‘miraculous’ survival.      here is where she is forced to come to terms with agnosticism,      &      it only continues to sprout from this event      &      the conflicting viewpoints that came with the real-life contrast .

F . )     the deciding event in terms of her view on the afterlife occurred in 1.10, when she was locked into the freezer & stabbed at.    this event is later referenced in her carnival speech in 2.08 :    

         “  i almost died.    & you know what i saw ?    nothing. no white light.    just big,    black,    empty nothing.  ”

    in a world where near death experiences are so often exalted      &      then used as fuel for intense cultural involvement          (     books ,      movies ,       constant news interviews     ––––––      think of colton burpo’s experience      &     how it was made into something for everyone to know every detail about    –––––     brooke not only felt for some time as though she had gotten the short end of the stick,     but also thought this even more of a reason to keep her own experience to herself.       she didn’t open up to anyone about how the freezer incident felt         (     in the heat of it or the aftermath     )       until intoxication blended with fury on the stage at lakewood’s carnival .    

    in the future,       brooke will not find spirituality as a stronghold in difficult times or when memories trigger pain.    the concept makes her feel too vulnerable,         &        the slope has proven itself to be far too slippery to place any trust in.   

[gayazrael]

Cuddling prompt: Out of necessity (trapped in a small space, etc.) for Quinn and a character of your choosing :3

cuddling prompt!

(So of course I had to do Vasili for this, because yes, and uh. It kind of got away from me? In ways I wasn’t expecting? Crap. Unintended angst ahead, why am I like this.)

The chamber is small, about the size of the Cart'ar's cockpit, and sparsely furnished. A few crates line the walls, and a single bedroll lies in the middle of the floor—the only shield between those who would occupy it and a frigid, unforgiving stone floor. The Chiss officers had apologized, in their own way, for the accommodations; it's all they have available, Lord, but at least you and your comrade won't freeze to death. 

Said comrade is still shivering quietly at Vasili's side, and Vasili feels a stab of guilt. Quinn had asked not to come planetside, after all, but Vasili had felt it best to have a trained field medic on hand—and besides, while Jaesa may have volunteered, she simply does not look built for Hoth's deep freeze. And now Quinn is miserable and his teeth are chattering, and they're about to sleep on a single bedroll in the middle of the floor in a barely friendly Chiss military base.

"I'm sorry about this," Vasili says quietly, moving towards the bedroll. At the very least, it looks Chiss-made, which means it will withstand the chill and insulate them from the stone floor. "I shouldn't have forced you to come."

When he glances back, Quinn is frowning, confused. His arms are folded over his chest to stave off the cold, despite the heavy coat he's wearing. "You haven't forced me into anything, my lord," he says. "There's nothing to apologize for."

Vasili starts setting up the bedroll for the sake of giving his hands something to do. There's little point arguing, he knows, so he lets that matter drop. (That doesn't mean his guilt is assuaged, but he knows a losing battle when he sees one.) "How are you holding up, then?" he asks. 

Quinn hesitates. Vasili can sense the internal battle, the need to be honest against the need to show his lord respect. Honesty wins out. "I have had more enjoyable assignments," he admits, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. "But I feel a great deal better now that we're out of the wind."

Vasili smiles weakly back. "We'll stay here until morning," he says. "It'll be easier to travel when the sun comes back up."

"Yes, my lord." Quinn kneels down beside Vasili, doing what he can to help set up for the night. "If I may, my lord, where should I sleep?"

It's Vasili's turn to be confused. "What are you talking about? I'm not about to make you sleep on ice, Captain. Especially not when you've been half-frostbitten all day."

Quinn eyes the mat, then looks at Vasili. The next question is fairly evident in his eyes, but he still gives it voice. "What about you, my lord? I know you are more suited to the cold than I am, but I'd rather you not sleep on the floor either."

Vasili pauses a moment. There's not much left to do to set up, and it's getting late, and dealing with those who had once been his people had left him exhausted. "We should share," he says. "That way neither of us ends up on the floor, and you can get a bit of heat back." He gives a small chuckle. "I know I'm not the warmest being to sleep with, but I imagine it'll be better than nothing."

Quinn doesn't balk, per se—he almost never does—but the faint shock is still evident in his eyes at the suggested breach of propriety. "My lord—" he begins, but Vasili raises a hand.

"I'm not going to let you freeze to death out of some misguided sense of respect for someone who's lost his name," Vasili says. Stars, he hadn't meant to let that part slip, but now it's out there and all he can do is hope Quinn doesn't pick up on it. "Come on. Let's get you warmed up."

Quinn opens his mouth as if to protest, then evidently thinks better of it. "Yes, my lord."

Vasili slips beneath the thick blanket with a mildly theatrical yawn, holding it up for Quinn to crawl in after. To his credit, Quinn only hesitates for a few seconds before taking the invitation, the cramped size of the bedroll forcing him to press up against Vasili until he's practically draped over his chest. His warmth seeps through their clothes, held in by the blanket and leaving Vasili feeling sleepy and more content than he has been in years.

"My lord," Quinn murmurs, his voice muffled somewhat by Vasili's clothes. "I apologize if I overstep, but may I ask what happened back there? I didn't wish to eavesdrop, but you seemed... troubled by what the officers were saying."

Kriff. So much for that. "I... it doesn't matter, in the end," Vasili says, swallowing his emotion. "I don't count as Chiss anymore. That's the long and the short of it. I should have guessed that would be the case the moment the Sith took me in."

Quinn lifts his head to look Vasili in the eye, concern and confusion etched into his forehead. "What do you mean?"

Vasili glances away, a weight starting to form in his throat that he'd told himself he wouldn't let happen. "You know my people," he says. "We—they value logic and practicality. Passion clouds judgement, and so on. When I became Sith, I had no choice but to turn my back on the philosophies I grew up with." He tries to blink away the sting threatening his eyes. It doesn't help. "I wasn't privy to the process, but from the way they were talking just now, I lost the name of my adoptive House when I came to Korriban. Past that... I come from a disgraced family to begin with. My father left the Ascendancy when I was a child, before I can even remember." He sighs. 

Quinn is silent, his expression somber. This is, Vasili thinks, perhaps not the best time or position to bare his soul like this, but there's no taking it back now. "I mean no disrespect to your culture, my lord," he says quietly, "but in my opinion, you are both an exceptional Chiss and an exceptional Sith, and those things do not contradict one another."

That weight in Vasili's throat just gets heavier with Quinn's reassurance. "...thank you, Quinn," he manages. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

Quinn hesitates a moment, looking away before resting himself back over Vasili's chest, propriety apparently forgotten. For now, anyway. "You honor me, my lord."

Vasili shuts his eyes, tilting his head back and folding his arms around Quinn. (It'll warm him faster, Vasili tells himself. That's all. It has nothing to do with the fact that it's been so long since he's had someone else next to him at night that having someone makes him want to cling to Quinn and never let him go, or the fact that Quinn makes him feel more at home than his own people do. It's for warmth's sake.) 

Silent tears begin to trickle down his cheeks, hot and miserable and kriffing hell he's glad that Quinn isn't looking—while he has no doubt the human wouldn't voice any judgment, openly weeping in front of him about something that, in the end, was a foregone conclusion is just humiliating. 

He waits until Quinn's breathing has slowed, until he's absolutely certain he's asleep, to let himself mourn the people he isn't sure he ever really had.