#which is something that robert definitely lacked

[scarletmika]

Peace and Quiet : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Former Avenger/New Avenger Witch!Reader

Summary: Sometimes the tower is too loud, and Bob can feel himself getting overwhelmed. He's always found comfort with you, in your room, where he can find peace and quiet whenever he needs it. And you'll never turn him away, finding the same comfort in him.

Warnings: fluff, idiots not realizing how in love they are, two generally kinda mentally ill individuals, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts*

Word Count: 2,369 words

Requests are open!

Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

If there was one thing the Watchtower, which stood high above New York and housed The New Avengers, lacked the most, it was quiet. Given the newest inhabitants of the staple tower in New York, it wasn’t surprising that peace and quiet were hard to come by, or even a moment alone to think.

Between Alexei running through the common room, ranting and yelling about his latest idea for a marketing opportunity for the team, or stories of his glory days, and Ava and John arguing about the smallest things in the world while Yelena tried to get them to ‘desperately shut up’ while Bucky mumbled about his ‘idiotic team,’ there were very few places in the entire building where one could go to find quiet.

Sometimes, peace was all that Bob wanted. There was only one room in his entire new home where he could find it most days, and it was your room.

The team wasn’t entirely shocked by how close you and Bob became in the few short months that Valentina had moved them into the Watchtower, after proclaiming them as “The New Avengers” to the public. From the moment you met in the vault to the moment you held him and helped pull him from his own Void in the middle of the city, everyone could see how much you’d come to care for him in such a short amount of time. Truthfully, of everyone on the team, they knew if Bob was going to lean on any of them for support, it definitely should be you, given you were the only one of them that was ever truly touted by the public as a hero, as an Avenger.

At the moment, you weren’t sure what kind of commotion could’ve been happening upstairs in the common room of the tower. This morning, Ava had thrown a knife across the table at John, who deflected it with his own fork while still digging into his waffles, sending the knife flying toward Bob as you stopped it with a flick of your hand from across the table, magic holding it in place as you send both of your teammates an unimpressed look. In the middle of the day you’d passed by Alexei trailing after Bucky as he left the training room, trying to convince the super soldier that they could make so much money doing their own “Super Soldier Swimsuit Calendar,” which left Bucky mumbling why he had even agreed to stay part of this team as long as he had.

You’d retired to your room within the tower long before you could witness the inevitable dinner fight or argument, as entertaining as it was sometimes to watch your new friends fight. Skipping dinner was something that you’d been doing for months, ever since Alexei wanted to make it mandatory that you eat in the dining room as a “family.” There were too many memories that resided in that room, in this entire tower. It’s how you found yourself on the piano bench by the windows of your room, fingers dancing across the keys to a familiar tune that you’d heard for many years as you hummed the lyrics you knew all too well to yourself. The music helped you not think about the past.

“That sounds really pretty,”

The voice at the doorway of your room startled you, fingers hitting the wrong keys as the progression of the song was interrupted. You whipped around, heart racing for a moment until it quieted, seeing who was standing in your doorway across the room.

“Bob-”

“I’m sorry!” he was quick to apologize, shaking his head as he wrung his hands together, actions that brought that soft smile you reserved only for him to your face in seconds. “I didn’t mean to startle you, or just barge in like this, that wasn’t okay, I’m sorry. You just left the door open, and usually you come grab dinner after everyone has left the table, but I didn’t see you up there-”

“Bob!” you cut in with a laugh, one that ceased Bob’s rambling and brought a shy smile to his lips as you looked at him. “It’s okay, I just lost track of time, that’s all. Also, I’ve told you before you’re allowed to come in whenever you want, when the door is open, you don’t have to apologize. I was just lost in thought, is all.”

Bob seemed frozen in his spot for a moment, just simply looking across the room at you with a smile, before he ducked out of the room for a second before reappearing with a plate.

“It’s not much, but uh…I made you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

He hadn’t admitted it out loud, though he’d thought about it daily, but your laugh was probably the best thing that Bob had ever heard.

“Shut the door and get your cute butt over here with that sandwich,”

Most of their interactions went like this, with a slight flirty edge to your words, something that Bob couldn’t quite decipher was legitimate flirting or just how you talked to him. John and Alexei tried giving him pep talks that you had feelings for him and that he should ‘man up’ and make a movie, all while Yelena tried to tell him to ignore their words and take it one step at a time.

Bob had gone with the ‘one step at a time’ approach, simply just inserting himself into your time over and over again every day. From the moment you’d first met in the vault and you’d flicked John across the room with a single wave of your magic because he’d rushed at Bob, he’d been drawn to your side. Now, living with you every day, he’d found comfort in your presence the most than in all of his new friends. When this sense of comfort turned into romantic feelings, he wasn’t sure, but Bob was terrified at the thought of crossing that invisible boundary in your interactions. He was a mess, and he knew it. What would a hero like you want with the mess of a man he was?

You’d moved over on the piano bench, leaving space for Bob right beside you. The smile hadn’t left your face, even laughing lightly as Bob still managed to sit as far from you on the bench as he could, terrified of invading your personal space.

With the plate placed on top of the piano, you quickly ripped it in half, handing the other half over to Bob. Slices in hand, you ‘clinked’ your half against his, the pair of you laughing quietly together over the little moment. Your eyes stayed on Bob for a moment, smile never leaving and softening even as he looked down at his hands, taking small bites of the sandwich as his cheeks flushed red.

“I uh, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you play the piano before,”

Placing your half of the sandwich back on the plate, your fingers quickly moved back to the keys of the piano, playing that same familiar tune you had before. She glanced over to Bob, his eyes following your movements over the piano keys in wonder.

“I don’t do it often anymore, usually just when my thoughts are the loudest and I need a distraction,” you confided in him as you played. “Piano was something my mother taught me when I was little, she was good at it. Told me I had a knack for it, had me in lessons the earliest that she could put me in them.”

Bob found himself looking at you again, observing you as you played and stared out the window over New York City before you both. He could see it, the slight frown in the corner of your mouth as you spoke.

“You…you said your thoughts were loud?”

You glanced over to him as you played, seeing the hesitation in his question. You gave him the softest of smiles to try and comfort him as you spoke.

“You know how I used to be an Avenger? Part of the original team?” Bob gave you a small nod. “There’s…a lot of memories in every corner of this tower. It’s different now, Valentina has made sure to give it a complete makeover, but I can still feel the memories everywhere. Especially in the dining room. When I saw everyone in there earlier together for dinner, it all came flooding back to me. I just needed to come and find some-”

“Peace and quiet,” it wasn’t a question, it was a statement. You and Bob shared yet another smile, a similar red flush to both of your faces in that moment of understanding. “I look for that too, a lot. Our friends they’re uh, they’re loud.”

Another laugh fell out of you as Bob spoke, nodding your head in agreement with his statement.

“You’re not wrong in the slightest, they’re the loudest people I’ve ever lived with. I’m glad that you’re able to find some peace and quiet here, though,”

“Yeah, it’s usually just when I’m with you,” even Bob seemed surprised at his own comment, stumbling for a moment as he tried to understand where that came from within him. “That uh…sorry, I didn’t mean for that to come off as-”

“If that was your first attempt at flirting in awhile, I have to hand it to you Bob you aren’t half bad at it,” the giggle that fell from your lips fell in line with the music that you were still playing as Bob ran his hands down his face, shaking his head over the entire thing. “Come here.”

Bob hesitated for a moment, but that moment didn’t last long. He slid across the bench to your side, legs pressed together and shoulders just barely touching. You stopped playing for a moment, turning to him with a smile as you flicked your hands, magic dancing from your fingers as it flipped the sheet music in front of you back to the beginning of the book.

“Have I mentioned how cool your magic is?”

“Just about every time I use it in front of you, though I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,”

“Well…it’s really cool. Do you think you could uh, maybe show me how to play?”

“Give me your hand,”

You took hold of Bob’s hand, placing it on top of the keys and laying your own on top of his, spreading your fingers to cover his own. Both of you flushed, silently hoping the other couldn’t hear the intense beating of both of your hearts at the gesture.

“Just relax and let your fingers do what I tell them to,” you told him softly, experimentally pressing one of his fingers down onto one of the piano keys. “This is a song Steve used to play all the time, here and in the compound. It was hard not to get it stuck in your head after so long.”

“Does it bring up memories?”

“Yes, but good ones,”

Bob felt himself relax, something he hadn’t truly done in a long time. In the rush of it all, there had been very few moments to relax since he’d awakened in that vault just a few months ago. He felt truly at peace as you worked your magic, dancing his fingers across the keys in the same patterns as the sound of the piano was the only thing playing in the room. Your eyes lay on your hand and Bob’s together as you helped him play the music, but his eyes rested solely on the side of your face.

“Can you…can you sing the words?”

You didn’t answer him, instead doing just as he asked.

“Never thought that you would be standing here so close to me. There's so much I feel that I should say,” you sang in the softest voice you could muster, glancing up at Bob’s flushed face as she smiled at him. “But words can wait until some other day…Kiss me once, then kiss me twice then kiss me once again. It’s been a long, long time.”

Bob smiled, every memory and bad thought tucked away in his head fighting to get out simply background noise at this point, every one of his senses invaded by you instead, and he never wanted you to leave.

“Haven't felt like this, my dear since can't remember when. It’s been a long, long time,” you bumped your shoulder with Bob’s, smile growing andchest fluttering with an emotion you knew was far some simple fondness at this point as he laughed at you. “You'll never know how many dreams I dream about you…or just how empty they all seem without you…”

Your singing trailed off as you and Bob simply looked at one another. The piano keys beneath your two hands ceased playing as you took a leap of faith, sliding your hand into Bob’s as you fingers intertwined together. You could hear the sharp intake of breath from Bob at the initial contact, but it didn’t take long for his hand to mould to your own, gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the world and keeping the Void inside him at bay. 

With one hand still playing the piano, music drifting through the room, your head made it’s way to Bob’s shoulder, tucking itself into the space between his shoulder and neck as you stared out at the setting sun over the New York City skyline. It didn’t take Bob long to rest his head back against your own, every ounce of tenseness in his body leaving as he settled against you, overwhelmed by the feel of you against him, grounding him in the real world and keeping his thoughts at bay. Just two people who found one another, basking in the peace and quiet they’d found in each other.

They were none the wiser to Yelena right outside the bedroom, peaking through the doorway that Bob had forgotten to close in his haste to enter the room, smiling softly at the pair closer together than ever before, and shut the door to give them the privacy that they deserved together.

[h3catee]

Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!  

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys. 

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*,  talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort! 

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813 

xoxox

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

“I need your help with something.” 

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line. 

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said. 

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname. 

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-” 

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age? 

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?” 

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.” 

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?” 

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself. 

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?” 

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.” 

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond. 

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight. 

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself. 

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s- 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her. 

Fuck you Bucky Barnes. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself 

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!” 

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator. 

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator. 

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val. 

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said. 

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone. 

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on. 

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit. 

“Meet Sentry.” 

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair. 

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out. 

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious. 

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders. 

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.” 

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt. 

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you. 

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again. 

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.” 

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue. 

“She left you, just like you told her to.” 

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin. 

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm. 

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him. 

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud. 

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him. 

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion. 

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp. 

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you. 

 You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up. 

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit. 

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.” 

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue. 

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-” 

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows. 

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street. 

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-” 

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?” 

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.” 

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.” 

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues. 

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.” 

“But Wanda-” 

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.” 

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at. 

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming. 

Typical avenger in New York occurrence. 

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building. 

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.” 

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy. 

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.” 

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you. 

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away? 

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges. 

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆⋆⭒˚.⋆

You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room. 

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain. 

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.” 

Younger you nodded. 

“N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,” 

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over. 

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire. 

“Y/n?” A male voice. 

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying. 

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized. 

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you. 

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts. 

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.” 

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands. 

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him. 

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.” 

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod. 

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic. 

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.” 

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after. 

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome. 

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did. 

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him. 

part two!

[monayen]

you said something about Nyon being one of the better head givers ... what about the rest of them ;3 ? maybe rank them PLZZZ - 🦋

Pussy Eatin' Headcannons (lol)

➷ Paring - Multi x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - explicit afab reader, oral (f. recieving) / cunnilingus, biting / marking, fingering

a/n - oh this is everything to me thank you for this ask. also throwing in the ratmen and satoru because i errr uhh CAN DO WHAT I WANT. i actually had a bit of a hard time ranking them specifically as i feel like #6-4 can be interchangeable if you think hard enough. but this is about eatin' pussy so have ur own thoughts frens

(from worst to best)

Tied for last place: Ratmen 3-5

These guys likely wouldn’t even know what to do with a pussy in their face

They’re used to rushed quickies, as they’re always afraid of being caught

Way too fast and sloppy when eating you out, leaves a mess of your own wetness all on their faces

It won’t be all that satisfying, so don’t expect to cum anytime soon. Because of that, they'll probably tap out after a while

They definitely prefer receiving head over giving it—after all, they’ll finish much faster than you. A shame, really

8. Micheal Jr

Like Ratmen 3-5, he lacks the time and experience to properly eat you out. The only reason he ranks higher is his sheer enthusiasm to do so

He wants you to squeeze your thighs around his face and tug his hair

Still messy and too quick, but with the right training and time, he might actually be decent at it. But that won't ever happen

7. Nyen

Rarely gives you oral which automatically puts him at a low spot

Which might be for the best, considering he ends up using too much teeth most of the time. Like he has literally bitten your clit before :(

His hands will also dig painfully into your hips and sides when he grasps onto you, which could make it hard to focus on the already sorta uncomfortable head

Definitely prefers fucking your throat and he’s clear about that

6. Randal

The neediest head you’ll ever receive. Laps you up like a dog and leaves you a sweaty, sticky mess

Loves come swallowing and is determined to lick up every last drop of wetness that leaks out of you

The 69 position is a must for him. Fucking your face while his tongue curls inside of you? The best (aside from actually fucking you)

"Head for head?” is something that unironically leaves his mouth way too often

Genuinely cannot get enough of it. Tires you out and still will stretch out his tongue for another round

Enough that it can actually be exhausting to deal with his constant need for your pussy to be in his face

Also bites, duh

5. Sebastian

Reluctant at first, wouldn't have ever propositioned if you didn't

Not because he thought it was gross or weird, just nervous to perform poorly and make a fool of himself

His inexperience makes him a bit awkward and clumsy, but his earnest desire to please you makes up for his lack of skill

Actually not bad at all when he gets into it though. Let his nerves settle and he’ll eat it like he's starving (which he is)

Likes for you to sit on his face and grind against him. Listen to his shaky whimpers against your flesh as he struggles to breathe properly. Don’t worry, he likes it!

4. Robert

Doesn't have an exact preference for giving or receiving, so a nice plus!

Again, he just has the similar problem the rest of the ratmen have: lack of time / opportunity

Though inexperienced, he’s much neater and more patient than his ratmen counterparts—not that it’s saying much, but it’s still an improvement

Has a tendency to nibble and gnaw at your skin, can get a bit too enthusiastic about it sometimes (ouch!)

Give him multiple tries to learn where the clit is, how to combo his tongue and fingers, and how to find a proper rhythm and I think he’ll do quite well :)

3. Satoru

Similar to Randal in how he loves to eat you out. Practically lives for it

He wants to try every single position possible (which is more than you think) and learn all the things that make your thighs shake

Never stops talking, even with his mouth full—mumbles against you, breathless words garbling out as he showers you with praise. He just can’t help it, you taste too good to stay quiet!

Again, can end up being a bit too much to handle if you're sensitive

A lot more accommodating than Randal though, if you need a break, he'll let you. It can be tiring to be folded with your legs in the air as he sucks on your overstimulated clit. You sweet thing ^^

2. Luther

Very delicate. Almost far too careful, treating you like a five course meal

Every part of you is so precious to him so he makes sure his long fingers and sharp teeth won't ever hurt you

His tongue likes to move in slow, deliberate strokes, thumb rhythmically rubbing against your clit as firm hands grip along your inner thigh

His ability to focus on a specific task means he’ll be down there for a while, so just keep your legs steady on his shoulders, pet ♡

1. Nyon

Gives the best head.

Doesn't complain, doesn't wait for you to initiate, isn't too fast or slow, knows all the right spots and patterns

He picks up on what you like quickly. Incredibly attentive to your tastes, loves to see you melt and moan when he eats you out just right

Secretly prides himself on making you come just from his mouth. Why shouldn't he? He tries very hard for you, Родная<3

Gets so much satisfaction from giving. Fully devoted to making you feel good until you’re completely spent

He doesn’t tend to ask for anything in return, content enough with just settling his face between your thighs. Ignore that wet spot on his crotch… you just get him so excited when you tug at his hair!

[vivalas-vega]

will you marry me? // dagger squad x reader

howdy y'all !!! this was a random idea I had well over a year ago that I never actually finished and just found when clearing out my wips and thought it would be a fun little thing to post, so please enjoy the dagger squad and what engagement ring I think they'd pick !!! I didn’t even intend for it to be a recurring thing that the proposals don’t go to plan or are silly but I guess it’s just on brand for them lmao

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

this man is all about the classics - I mean, look at his bronco... he wanted to get you something simple with a bit of a modern twist. he's also a very sentimental man. he'd play it casual all week leading up to date night but surprise you by taking you to where you had your first date, whether that's a restaurant or a bar or the beach, and after the most perfect evening he'd propose with his mom's ring. because he's bradley and incredibly thoughtful, he'd also want you to have a ring that's only yours and I think he'd surprise you with that one randomly -- maybe after celebrating the engagement in bed that night, or the next morning over breakfast. you end up wearing Carole’s ring on your right hand (sometimes putting it around a necklace of hers Bradley also gifted you when you want to keep it extra safe) and your new ring on your left.

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Jake is all flash, but that doesn't mean he lacks substance. he scours your pinterest board for weeks and asks all your closest friends for their input, but at the end of the day he trusts himself to get it right because he knows you like the back of his hand. you deserve only the best, and he wants you to park your pretty butt on the beach when he's flying by and to be able to catch a glare from the rock he put on your finger. he'd either propose in the ice cream aisle at the grocery store (which surprises him as much as you) after watching you hem and haw over which flavor to get and deciding to get all three - or, he'd go all out and plan the perfect vacation to a destination that's been on your bucket list and research the most romantic spot in the whole country and really there's no in between.

Robert 'Bob' Floyd

our sweet man of few, but impactful, words. his ring choice and proposal is no different. he wants to get you something beautiful and unique, but neither one of you are known for being frivolous. he picks something modest that shows how well he knows you and how much he loves you. something about him screams christmas proposal - either at his family's snowy farm early in the morning before anyone has a chance to sweep you up in the festivities or in your shared home before heading to Mav and Penny's holiday dinner. either way, its just the two of you wrapped in your own bubble and you tease that Bob should be writing the proposals for hallmark movies because what he says is so perfect. you'd open a suspiciously wrapped gift you think is the worlds lightest pair of shoes but to your shock you find a ring, and Bob always regrets not setting up a camera to capture the priceless look on your face.

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace

Natasha never thought she was one for marrying until she met you, and she'd definitely get you something beautiful and intricate without sacrificing delicacy. she'd plan the perfect evening in and cook your favorite meal, but absolutely ruin your favorite cookies and while she's flustered and panicking over a sheet of what looks like coal you're just laughing and gazing at her with this dumbstruck look that translates to you're such an idiot and I'm so in love with you and when she catches it she can't help herself and it just flies out, really she nearly yells and you're just standing watching her fumble to get the ring out her pocket not realizing you'd already said yes before you even saw it.

Javy 'Coyote' Machado

Much like Jake, he wants to get you something flashy but he was drawn to this one in particular because the band reminded him of airplane wings and he liked the idea of you not only having a token of his love on your hand every day he's on deployment, but one that has a little piece of his second love too. I think he'd definitely plan a big elaborate proposal but Jake's got a big mouth and didn't know you were at the bar and asks if he popped the question, only to see horror on Javy's face and you standing right behind him so he was really forced into it but of course you said yes because it was chaotic and imperfect and everything you could ever want.

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Mickey would definitely want to get you something a little funky - neither one of you are known for being super traditional, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to have the perfect ring. true to his nature as soon as it's in his possession he's a little too excited to wait to plan something out and while you're all snuggled up watching star wars for the hundreth time he just blurts out that wants to marry you and when you look at him in shock he thinks he's ruined it and offended you by not doing it properly but once you get your wits about you all you can say is 'of course I'll marry you, you big idiot'

Reuben 'Payback' Fitch

I think Reuben leans more towards the classics as well, but with a little something extra. your relationship has always been sweet and fun and lighthearted, and your proposal is exactly the same. he takes you to the putt putt course you had your first date at and proposes in front of the windmill, and you can't keep it together long enough to say yes because he dropped the ring in the hole and even when he retrieves it your 'yes' is hard to decipher around all your laughing.

[slenderfire-blog]

Book review: McCartney Legacy Vols. 1 & 2

I recently finished both of these (giant) books and thought people might like a review. They're definitely worth reading, even if they are long I found the narrative interesting and well-paced. They really benefit from being a collaboration - both authors bringing depth of research and Kozinn especially applying his skills as a long time NYT writer to give the text a fluency and depth that can be lacking from such densely researched tomes.

With that said, this is mostly a relatively surface-level look at what Paul was doing in the years 1969-1980 - the authors generally avoid in-depth psychological analysis. I don't think this is a a bad thing - providing a properly-cited scaffold of what the guy was doing (and it is a LOT) in that period is essential for any future biographies or psychological studies. The detail about every recording session might not be for everyone (I loved it) but it's good that it's included, as making music is the central axis around which everything revolves.

A few key themes that stood out:

Paul's working methods. The main takeaway is SPEED. Countless stories of him going to a gig, talking to someone, reading a book, and then a song coming from it literally within days (sometimes hours). Very move fast, move on. With that said, there's as many stories of him obsessively overdubbing track after track and fiddling endlessly in the studio, driving everyone mad. He seems to create quickly but finish slowly. There's also a lot of material that supports George Martin's quote that 'he doesn't know what his best songs are'. Sometimes he'll work on something minor for weeks, then bash out a classic in days.

Jet-setting lifestyle. While he and Linda had a more homespun image than most, they were always at parties, gigs, foreign holidays, award ceremonies, general fancy things, not to mention travelling to exotic locales to record albums (France, Nigeria, Nashville, LA, New Orleans, British Virgin Islands etc). Nothing unusual about that but maybe not expected because of their version of the Ballad.

MARIJUANA DEPENDENCY. The book doesn't editorialise on this but the sheer volume of smoking going on explains so much about some seemingly inexplicable decisions P&L made during this period. Their level of blaséness about being arrested multiple times is really striking, even for the 70s. I'm not saying it was at the same level as harder drug addiction, but I'm confident in labelling it dependency, probably even more on her part than his. If the story on @menlove 's page recently about P&L spending $1,200 a WEEK on weed is true, they definitely had a problem. Glyn Johns walked out of the RRS sessions because everyone was getting high all the time. I think some parts of Wings' output was negatively affected by stoner brain. Robert Christgau could be a real arsehole but his review that Wings was 'music for potheads' - while overly sweeping and not true of much of it - did contain a germ of truth.

The dichotomy between Paul's genuine efforts to build a new band of equals and the inevitable conflict that arose between them. I don't think he actually wanted a bunch of yes-men, but many factors including his own controlling tendencies, the fact that others would defer by default, and other members' drug and drink addictions made a band impossible to sustain long-term. Also a recurring theme of conflict with other members is Linda's lack of ability, which did improve later tbf, but was never at professional level. The book doesn't provide explanations as to why he insisted on her being in the band (other than what they said themselves about wanting to be together); perhaps it was simply stubbornness and above-mentioned stoner logic. Denny L seems to have lasted as long as he did because he was a bit of a yes-man.

Hostility from critics. Man the press were vicious! Especially the English press. I get not liking some Wings records (I'll never accept Mull of Kintyre, that song is an abomination) but many of the reviews got so personal and bitchy, with the exception of BOTR. As an aside: I've never been able to understand what makes BOTR so qualitatively different to its predecessors. Don't get me wrong, it's a great album, but as far as I can see it has the same strengths and weaknesses as many other Wings albums. I honestly think it was simply the song BOTR that people liked, and that coloured their assessment of the whole album. Similarly, I think part of the reason critics hated Ram was because the single Another Day came out with it (even though its not on the album) and critics hated the 'ditty' single, so wrote off the whole album as 'ditties'. Critics and journalists are very lazy: often when they praise or shit on a work, they're only thinking of the one or two parts that they like or dislike. Anyway, the extensive quotes from angry, bitchy reviews made for some uncomfortable reading. It definitely wasn't just about the music. You can understand why Paul could be so prickly and defensive at times.

Because it's written by men, there isn't much explanation of how they (Linda, really) managed family life on tour. There's lots of examples of the band recording in studio till 4am or P&L going to some event and I'm like WHO'S WATCHING THE KIDS. It seems to have sometimes been the housekeeper Rose, sometimes a friend or two, but I think there must have been more formal or informal 'staff' involved in the kids' rearing than they let on.* I was a bit disturbed by how casual P&L were about taking the kids out of school for long periods, commenting that education 'wasn't so important'. Probably it was better not to be separated, but I don't love the idea of breaking up kids' education in that way. (I know they had tutors but it's not the same). Another thing that can be chalked up to "stoner logic + 1970s", I guess.

There's not a huge amount about the other Beatles but they pop up regularly, especially John. The 1974-75 meetups and rapprochements are covered, no real new detail (except it's suggested that P&L got John's addresses in LA and NYC directly from Yoko, implying that she wasn't necessarily impeding them seeing each other at this time).

The authors don't usually look into the meanings of songs but sometimes they do. The criteria by which they decide to examine a song more deeply, both musically and lyrically, seems arbitrary and based on which songs the authors personally like. Which is fine! You won't get any McLennon here, though they concede Dear Friend and Call Me Back Again as being about John (without going into detail). Again, this is fine, the fact that they usually steer clear of song interpretation is probably a good thing, especially as the detailed timeline allows the reader to identify exactly when certain songs arose and lets them read for themselves about what Paul was doing/reading/listening to when inspiration struck. (No smoking guns in that regard, but interesting from a general perspective into the creative process).

The above-mentioned studio sessions are really well described, and they give a whole new appreciation for the different overdubs and layers involved in building up a song.

There's much more to be said, these are just my overarching impressions. I'd recommend these two books and don't be put off by the size, they're not difficult to read. I got my copies via inter-library loan which I was very glad to as the hardbacks are expensive.

*since writing this review I've seen the below linked account by a coupe of fans of meeting 9yo Heather minding her sisters with seemingly no adult supervision, which raises the possibility that maybe there were times on tour where nobody was watching the kids - not fun to think about :(

http://www.meetthebeatlesforreal.com/2014/11/babysitting-mary.html

[scrapyardboyfriends]

it really does feel like aaron’s writing has suffered for the lack of robert. i know we joke about danny ringing ryan every 5 minutes, and danny himself jokes about robert coming back being his financial adviser’s dream, but there really is something in your comment about them not knowing what to do with aaron without robert. it’s a shame for a properly iconic character with so much history on the show that he’s been so wasted for quite a lot of the last 5 and a half robertless years.

Sometimes it really feels like they just let Aaron's character stagnate on purpose because they just really wanted Robert back and wanted to be able to put them back together with relative ease, plus all the angst, but you know what I mean.

I do think it was a massive disservice to Aaron as a character, although I certainly understand the temptation.

If they'd actually tried and given Aaron a proper love interest or had capitalized on the interest in Mack and Aaron as a couple, and really built something for him that could last, it would be a lot harder now to untangle that in favor of Robert. Not impossible, obviously, serial killers and the like can still remove people haha. But it would have been a lot harder emotionally if they'd really let Aaron move on with someone real.

Instead they seemingly went out of their way to give him ridiculous love interests. I mean Ben was the guy he used to bully in school for being gay. How they ever thought that might be something that could last, I have no idea. Plus they literally wrote in the Robert appeal loophole there to give them an out during that story. They clearly wanted to go there then but obviously couldn't get Ryan to come back yet.

And John was obviously never meant to last and they specifically wrote him as Robert's long lost half brother so they could do this story. I really don't believe they ever brought him in to be a real option. I think certainly the hero complex thing was always the plan and I do really believe Robert was always the goal even if they didn't have full confirmation and a contract.

So while I'm selfishly glad he hasn't had a real love interest since Robert because it really sells the soulmate love thing now, it definitely made for a rough watch in between.

I mean obviously they didn't have a time frame on when they were going to get Ryan to come back, but I feel like they could have maybe had him just be unlucky in love in ways that didn't involve death and murder or anything more serious like if they'd given Belle's domestic violence story to Aaron. I mean we did want Ben to be out for revenge. That could have been a thing that would have given Aaron more material to play. But also he could have just tried to date some normal people and it not worked out because they were boring or not his type or they didn't like him in the end or whatever. And they still could have brought that stuff back around to Robert easily, either at the time or now.

And I mean I think the idea of the John story is fine now even if I don't think it's been executed in the best way. I'm more referring to 2020/2021 for those kinds of smaller relationship attempts without them trying to sell something like Ben and Aaron as way more than it was.

And there's the rest of Aaron as a character outside the romantic stuff. I mean they finally gave him a friend in Mack when he returned in 2023 and that's been fairly consistent since then. But they were sporadic on that in 2020/2021. And they really let the work side of him stagnate. I mean I know Aaron's never been Mr Ambition Business man but it wouldn't have hurt to do a little bit with his work life. I was also a big advocate of giving Aaron Seb in the past six years, which definitely would have created an interesting dynamic with Robert coming back.

I don't know. I sort of get why they did it but since they never knew for sure that Ryan was going to come back, it's sort of a shame they didn't at least try to put in a bit more effort for Aaron in the meantime.

Aaron may have said Robert's been frozen in time but Aaron really kind of has too because they never truly let him move on.

[slowburningechoes]

Controversial!!📌📰 ‼️🚨Bobby does not have great chemistry with a lot of stage actresses for some reason! (They still do amazing and touching art of course.)

I saw more than couple of opinions and reviews around about Him&Helen having zero chemistry?It was big critique for a Zoo story too.I think his most intense “romantic” stage bond was Violet Hour.Maybe it’s young passion idk.Camelot was definitely warm in feeling but it’s hard to judge because it’s different genre and lighter.We were robbed of a reading of “All the frozen ones” so we will never know but pics were sweet!

Very interested in your opinion!Do you see it differently? Especially interesting because you are psych!

that is certainly a hot take! here is my (excessively long) opinion…

i think there is more criticism for this lack of romantic chemistry the older he gets — many reviews from the 90s-00s do not express this concern often (even when he played opposite his Zoo cast-mate, Katie Finneran, 20 years earlier in You Never Can Tell) and especially not as often as they have in recently years. this is extremely frustrating imo and has prompted a lot of reflection…

ageism is something I’ve been thinking about since engaging more actively with the RSL community - especially as much of the fandom rn are minors. though they are often jokes in good humor (and I do, too, at times), I think there’s this huge focus on the fact that he isn’t 20-30-something anymore, calling him “peepaw” or making fun of his older physical qualities. it can be funny once or twice (mostly when it’s silly gen z humor), but it is important to acknowledge that society desexualizes people as they age because they lose many socially expected characteristics of beauty. Robert is no exception to that to many people (even some people who are “fans”), as he shows natural signs of aging… which society automatically finds deterring.

even just reading reviews about their age being a barrier to the believability of Betrayal brought this up. as if people who are in their 50-60s cannot have love affairs or have young children (which RSL does himself), or that their decisions would be that much different than if they were younger. I am SO glad that he was asked about this in his recent interview. Bobby’s response was wonderful and one that I agree with very much — age does not impact the relationships, script, and outcome of this particular show much.

additionally, it is difficult not to let reviews (even professional ones) sway our opinions of a production and cast performance. it is hard to say the quality of Bobby’s performances if we have not seen each of them ourselves. for example, many reviews of Betrayal were negative regarding his and Helen’s chemistry — but that did not consider how their roles were written or how every audience member would interpret it. when I went, though, I could not disagree more (at least on Robert’s end)! for other shows, we are only able to comment on clips or on those reviews we do have available, which isn’t necessarily an accurate depiction of his performance or how any one person may feel about it!

another point: plays are also very different than tv and film. I think in recent decades, we’ve really gotten accustomed to seeing this raw, hot, “I want to f*** you right now” energy between characters and calling that chemistry. but that’s not really true chemistry. while many tv and films do dive into the deep intimacy and true connection of both lust and love, theatre is able to show it on an entirely different level since it is live and in person. there are also many directorial choices which can impact performances across all forms!

personally — any time I have seen clips of Bobby as a romantic lead in a play (in person during Betrayal) or another form of media, I never doubt his romantic chemistry with his partner. he always seems to look at them with such genuine affection, speaking to them like he’d love to hear them talk forever, touching and kissing them like he truly means it. but I also adore him, which could also impact my own perspective in all of this.

overall, we must keep in context the play and the character he is playing, the potential for directorial choices, and our own biases (even if we don’t realize we have them - we all do, whether it’s ageism or loving Bobby or thinking he can do no wrong).

+ p.s. YES!!! we were so robbed with All the Frozen Ones not being recorded. :(

[eratos-girlfriend]

Tagged by @sopheadraws 👑👑👑

(I love music games so much!!!)

I would like to inform you all that my playlist is 66 hours long and I have a diverse palette so I am not responsible if The Cast Of My Little Pony Equestrian Girls 2 covers a Frank Ocean song or something

1. Johnnie Taylor’s cover of Vienna (by Billy Joel)

Okey this is insane this would be so good it would be different but still preserve the original feeling (I need this actually)

2.Hadestown Broadway Original Cast’s cover of Rehab (by Amy Winehouse)

ANOTHER MASTERPIECE like the fates would kill those ‘no, no, no’ s. Like this would be a fates heavy song with others chiming in and I would be obsessed thank you very much 🙏🙏

3. Rachel Zegler’s cover of Alejandro (by Lady Gaga)

I have never heard her sing a song badly but this song won’t go well with her voice. I think an acoustic version with harmonies would be good tho. (The more I imagine a soft acoustic version more I want it)

4. Billie Eilish’s cover of Hound Dog (by Big Mama Thornton)

no

5.Robert Cray, The Robert Cray Band’s cover of No More Rain (In This Cloud) (by Angie Stone)

I think it would be good but I feel like he would make small changes to the instrumentals don’t know what else to say about it

6. Lana Del Rey’s cover of Dance With You Tonight (by Laufey)

I think it would be different definitely darker/moodier but I love the original too much so I kinda think she wouldn’t do it justice especially if it was live cause I feel like the way she sings and the playfulness in her voice is very integral to the songs whole identity

7. Beyoncé’s cover of Forgiveness (by Rina Sawayama)

weirdly a huge YES from me I think she would lower the sound of the instrumentals and focus on her vocals which she would destroy (of course)“Sometimes I blame you sometimes I don’t” especially could be very lemonade

8. Hozier’s cover of Diamonds and Rust (by Joan Baez)

amazing. no notes. perfection. hozier covers are my mental health treatment

9. (again!!) Hozier’s cover of WAP (by Cardi B, Megan Thee Stalion)

I am conflicted…. slay?

10. (again!!?!!) Hozier’s cover of Nothing You Can Take Away From Me (Boot-Stomping version) (by Rachel Zegler, The Covey Band)

I interpret this as Hozier’s formal apology after the WAP incident (Handsome Squidwardian event for sure) He would do justice to this song, (very him) I would go insane if this was real

+11. (doing another one because hozier took 3 spots jdkdkdkdjsj😤✊) The Cast Of Hamilton’s cover of Dumb & Poetic (by Sabrina Carpenter)

I regret my choice to do another one and I don’t listen to Hamilton often so only thing I can think of is Lin Mal Miranda impressions on tik tok that are then used to make unserious gay ship edits so obviously.. 10/10 this is what the industry is lacking thank you for coming to my conference 🙏🙏📈📈👆👆😘😘

@simplysummers @angelhummel @freddieslater @bansheeheart @inlovewith-icecream

Also @ anyone who sees this and wants to ✨

[0bticeo]

j. sims, e. bouchard | knowledge is a double-edged sword

part two of four. (part one.) (part 3.) (part four.)

summary:

a low hum. there’s something sharp in elias' smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

wc. 3k

tw. reader's creeping paranoia, shockinlgy nothing smutty happens in this chapter, manipulation, graphic description of eyes, mild ptsd, nightmares, elias bouchard being a creep.

working in the archives has always been… a little off, for a lack of a better word. you are supposed to research and archive statements regarding “supernatural happenings” in a world where said supernatural has been swiped under the carpet, dismissed with a haughty scoff. still, it pays well. which is why you find yourself clocking in day after day. 

your colleagues… you don’t know what to make of them. not really. sasha’s been… off. you think there’s a void in the shape of her roaming about the place. she’s calm and focused. formal. has trouble logging in her computer - that’s… not right.

martin seems to be taking it well enough for someone who’s spent the past two months sleeping in the archives and then getting attacked by worms. sounds silly. definitely wasn’t. you think there’s much, much more to him than meets the eye and and accept the cups of coffee he hands you with a warm smile. you mean them. you like martin. his poetry a bit less. 

tim… is silent. he’s lost his smile. you haven’t fallen victim to one of his pranks in ages and fear you won’t ever have to worry about a sketchy statement being one of his little jokes. you feel anger bubbling inside of him at the mere mention of having to work in the archives. yet…

yet he’s helping you. 

the library is a quiet affair, the muted sort of silence that hangs like a comforting blanket over your shoulders. dust flutters away in the air, drawn by your steps. tim’s sigh cuts through the silence like a knife.

“why are we doing this again?”

you tuck back a book in its shelf. thankfully, not a leitner. still, nothing to do with architecture.

“because it is our job, tim.”

he scoffs.

“yeah, right. i wasn’t aware it involved risking my life.”

“look, you’re not forced to help me. if it makes you feel better to slack off, then i’m not stopping you.”

he laughs, mocking, almost cruel. the pressure at the back of your neck is near unbearable. you want to scream. you want to tear something apart.

“look at you! acting like everything’s normal! three months ago, you were bleeding out on my lap! how can you-”

“it’s either i focus on something else or i go mad.” you snap a book shut with a sharp intake of air. “you won’t like me mad, tim. now shut up and help me find robert smirke’s books, will you? i’m pretty sure they were there, but-”

his hand clasps around your wrist. 

“hold on. why are you looking for smirke’s books?”

“follow up on a statement involving urbex in the former church of saint james in west hackney. built by, you guessed it, robert smirke himself.”

you watch a flash of… something in his eyes. it looks like guilt in mourning, and you’re itching to pry, pry him open and unearth whatever secrets he keeps buried under a thick layer of good humour turned bitter. 

“it should be around here.”

you end up with three heavy volumes in hand, none of which feel like they’ll help with erin gallagher-nelson’s statement. then, something catches your attention. a small leather volume, tucked away behind the books you’re currently holding. tim’s already on his way out, much to your chagrin. you don’t feel too guilty when you reach for the small little book and tuck away those he’s helped you find, neatly ordered in their rightful place.

the little book in your hand is… not a leitner, which is a relief as you are not wearing gloves. no, it’s bound leather, with no title in sight. you open it, carefully, cradling it against your breast like something fragile, and cast your gaze upon its first page. the juts out in ink far too dark for its age.

the fears that bind us.

turn another page and see the summary. fourteen entries, neatly labelled. the Web. the Dark. the Spiral. the Buried. you pause.

the pinprick pain at your neck sharpens. you’re Watched. there’s nobody but you in the library, but there’s something, watching, always watching, and you can make eyes in the corners of the shelves and they’re peering down at you and they Know you’re starting to suspect something’s terribly wrong with this place and-

thud.

the book falls from your trembling hands. dust rises up, clings to the hem of your trousers. you stare at the dull, unassuming little leather cover and feel its magnetic pull. you Know there’s more to it than it lets on. you pick it up.

(somewhere, the chittering mass of the many-legged mother of puppets spins a chain of events into motion, weaving a pretty plan.)

*

these days, stepping in the institute feels like being strapped down to a vivisection table and having your brain prodded at. it’s oppressive. you become aware of just how many eyes there are in the institute. coworkers from other departments glancing disinterestedly at you. strange motives in the nooks and crannies of the wooden doors and shelves and corridors and floors, eyes half-lidded. pictures and their faded edges, you, tim, martin, jon and sasha (?) huddling close, smiling. portraits - jonah magnus, high and mighty, immortalised in his seat of power. you think his painted lips are curled up a little more than they normally are. you’ve seen that floating smile before.

you take to having your lunch outside of the institute. you find you can breathe easier through the sharp cold of london’s winter air. needle-sharp, it pierces your lungs, scrapes your throat with every mouthful of curry you swallow. you don’t mind. you have jon to huddle close to, no matter how much he rolls his eyes and tells you to take a warmer coat with you. still, he wraps his arm around you and intertwine his fingers with yours.

tim and martin make no comment - you do feel the weight of their gaze on your shoulders as you make your way back to your desk ten minutes sharp after jon comes back to his office. doesn’t matter. by now, you’re used to being watched.

you’re growing tired of it.

going home is no relief - that damned gaze is there, too. you clench your teeth and turn all the mirrors around and tuck away what little pictures you have. your breathing stutters in your throat. there’s a cork board on your wall, now, and you think of the one that lies in jon’s office, red strings stretching and stretching and it still doesn’t make sense. not yet. 

gertrude’s dead - somebody’s murdered her, three bullets, bang, the body falls, bang, bang just to make sure the old bat is dead, a waste of an Archivist. 

jon wants to know who. he tells you, fingers threading through his hair, tape recorder still running, that it could be anyone at that’s been working at the institute since five years. you’ve been hired two years ago, so you’re good, but tim? martin? sasha? elias?

(you’ve pressed your lips to jon’s and sworn to help him, forehead pressed against him in the sweetest oath.)

there are scraps of hastily jotted down notes, pictures faded at the edges. recurring people from statements - gerry keay, michael shelley, simon fairchild, prentiss, salesa. hilltop road. recurring themes, artefacts you took pain to research, asking sasha for help - she did work in artefact storage before, right?

(her smile was sharp when she nodded. too sharp. she laughed as she led you to the basement floor, something like a deadly private joke. you didn’t ask for her help again.)

you take a step back and stare at the board. the strings make no sense, red over red over red, and you have an eye staring back at you, unblinking, thread burned in your retina. 

smirke’s book lies open on your couch. your cat wisely stays away from it. you’ve named him socrates for a reason. you wish you could be blessed with the sage’s foresight.

fears bind you. there’s a classification, Entities that sometimes bleed in the corners of this world, out-of-sight-but-there. you’ll only notice when they strike. when they show themselves, when you realise there’s something terribly wrong with the stranger’s edges peering out of an alleyway, anglerfish luring its prey. poor smoker’s fate. 

a classification. fourteen primal fears straight out of the lovecraftian mythos. the stranger. the Spiral - think of michael, smile curling endlessly in all his sharp edges, laugh like an alarm bell ringing long after he’s gone. the Corruption - jane prentiss and her loving smile and worms burrowing in her flesh and in yours. 

the Eye.

you take in a sharp intake of air and read. 

IT KNOWS YOU.

*

you cannot move. you’re crushed by the sheer magnitude of the structure spreading around you in concentric circles of power. panopticon. he who stands in the centre watches and knows all. is there anyone at all in its centre?

you. you’re kneeling, skin bare and bruised and scraped, the stone harsh and unforgiving, scraping the tender skin of your knee. humidity seeps in through the open pores of your skin. 

you can’t see. it’s too dark, the penumbra stretching and stretching for miles, near corporeal with how thick it is. you think it might be reaching out for your eyes with too long fingers, chipped claws sinking below your eyelid to rip them off. 

you startle.

eyes.

so many eyes, staring at you from the darkness encasing you, with no eyelids so they do not blink. there’s the dreadful suspicion that their optic nerves join, mingle into something you do not want to see. ocular globes, little gelatinous spheres surrounding you, Watching you, Knowing you. you, on your bloody knees, heart stammering under your ribcage like a chased rabbit, your bare flesh cold, cold, cold. 

it’s cutting you open, scalpel gazes making careful, careful incisions in the marrow of your psyche. they’re carving open your head, your skull a neat, organic little box housing the grey matter of your brain. cerebrospinal fluid drips down your cheeks.

you shudder. you can feel them, Watching, Knowing, the mere thought of it a burning streak in your consciousness, they’re picking you apart, they Know what you’ve done, how you break-

you only start screaming when you look up and See.

you startle awake with a shuddering gasp, trembling so badly you can’t even make out the familiarity of your bedroom. breathe in. the darkness isn’t cloying, the street lights worming their way beneath your shutters. breathe out. you can hear the cars running, the nocturnal hustle and bustle of london’s night life. the chatter, the laughter. 

you let out a trembling sigh and run your hand over your face. you find it damp with sweat and tears. a beat of silence. you rest your forehead on your palms, hands gliding down until the heel of your palm is over your socket and you push there until you feel the bone, the gelatinous fragility of your eye. it is not the first time you have these dreams. you wish you could sleep.

you trace the edges of your temples, those you know were left gaping, those you know had been wrenched open- closed. no scar. only those on your thighs, on your forearms, on your hands from these wretched worms.

you close your fingers, nails digging in your bandaged palm and feel a pinprick of pain. the other side of the bed is cold and empty. you glance at the analog clock on your bedside table. the time blares, angry red flashing 5:32 in your retina. three hours left before going to work. 

you get up from the bed and set about changing your sweat-soaked sheets. you’re not going to fall back asleep. might as well get ready for work. you do, body set in autopilot. breakfast. shower. lather hydrating cream over the expanse of you. disinfect the many, many patches of scarred tissues left by the flesh-hive. get dressed - black tailored pants, cream crispy ironed shirt. a spritz of perfume. white flats. a quick glance in the mirror - there you are, the epitome of professional perfection, little miss trust-me-i-have-everything-under-control. 

you don’t.

you’re tired. so, so very tired. exhaustion settles like a heavy weight in your bone marrow, anchors you down until your whole world is clouded. foggy. you don’t remember the last time you’ve pushed the door to the archives without a thin veil clouding your eyes. 

you think of the Narrator, unnamed, bone-deep tired, staring emptily in the camera in a film you can’t say the name of. first rule: you do not talk about it. second rule: you do not, talk about it. everything’s a copy of a copy of a copy.

as it goes, you push the door to the archives, step inside the quiet room, shrug off your coat at your designated desk, and go about making yourself some coffee. nobody’s there to plot your bloody murder as you blankly explain that, to you, tea is nothing but bland leaf juice. not that tim or martin would bother these days.

it’s quiet. nobody’s here to see you climb the stairs to the break room on the second floor. the one used by the human resources department. lucky bastards. bastards, period. refusing to hand over the necessary funds to buy another coffee machine for the archives after the first one broke during prentiss’ infestation. and they say their mission is to foster a safe work environment. such a shame your morning murderous urges are only quelled by your second cup of the day.

you grab a mug and press the button. whirring rises in the dry silence of the room. slowly, slowly, the mug is filled up. you inhale and feel your shoulders relax by half a fraction. the heavenly scent of grounded coffee beans percolating feels the room and you find yourself smiling. it doesn’t ease the fogginess clouding your mind. it will do.

large window panes offer a wide overview of the streets below, the early morning fog clinging to humid asphalt, the rare cars passing by. you let out a slow exhale, your breath clouding the window.

your mug is ready.

“is that one for me?”

you startle.

elias bouchard stands behind you, hands clasped behind his back, picture perfect manager in a crisp suit - too stiff, too out of place in his employee’s break room. he’s wearing a phthalo green suit, the one that brings out the green-grey of his eyes. your favourite. and he’s waiting for your answer, you realise after an embarrassingly long amount of time.

there are two mugs in front of you. you blink.

“oh. oh, yes.”

you hand him the first mug and reach for your own. he thanks you with a floating smile and takes a sip. a low hum. 

“so you do have taste.”

you blink.

he’s reclining on a table, watching you. you and your impeccably ironed shirt, cradling your mug like one would something precious. you and the bags under your eyes, so dark they might be embedded in the preciously thin skin below your eyelids.

you snort. 

“just because i have a massive sweet tooth doesn’t mean i’d put sugar in coffee. i’m french, not a complete barbarian.”

you earn a quiet chuckle. something like satisfaction purrs inside of you - you made him laugh, the sound low and rich and deep.

“one might argue that you are, in the literal sense of the term, a barbarian.”

“one might argue that the etymological definition of a barbarian doesn’t apply to me, as i speak your language.”

you watch him, from over the steaming rim of your mug. something like… elation flashes in his eyes. the thrill of debate, maybe.

“do you, now?”

you tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing by a fraction as you assess him. the perfect curl of his lips in that damning razor sharp half-smile. the relaxed slope of his shoulders. the soft stillness of his long, gloved fingers on the table. the glint in his green-grey eyes, daring you to take the bait.

you do, crossing your legs at the ankles, leaning back against the window.

“at first glance, yes.” you point an accusatory finger towards him. “but you, monsieur bouchard, don’t like sticking to first glances and faux-semblants, you’re sharper than that.”

a low hum. there’s something sharp in his smile. his gaze feels like it’s cutting you open. you hold your ground, unblinking, watching him and his annoyingly handsome face. 

“you’re wearing a mask, dear.”

“aren’t we all?”

he shakes his head.

“it’s convenient, isn’t it? not to have to bear the weight of your mother tongue.”

your shoulders tense. there’s that pinprick pressure at the back of your neck, standing poised and sharp against your vertebrae. he’s watching you, needle-gaze pinning you like a butterfly to a wall. 

“it’s a pain. english and french bleed into one another too much and it messes up my syntax.”

“you’re deflecting.”

“wasn’t your question rhetorical?”

silence. it feels like a loss. one beat, two beat, unsteady, hammering wildly like your heart, beneath layers of flesh and fabric, all perfectly controlled thank you very much.

he’s before you before you know it, close, close enough for you to smell his cologne - something sharp and cold with a faint hint of ink. you raise your eyes and meet his gaze. you think there’s a faint glow to it, irises flashing green for the briefest moments. 

“you’re hard to pin down, my dear.”

you can feel the heat of him, creeping closer and closer as he leans down ever so slightly, one gloved finger curling under your chin, tilting your head up, up, up until the angle makes you wince.

“coming from you, i’ll take that as a compliment.”

a low hum. the building pressure at your nape has you clenching your teeth. then, finally, he lets go, apparently satisfied with whatever it is he’s found in you.

“thank you for the coffee. it has been most… insightful.”

with that, he leaves, and you stand alone in the break room, coffee mug now cold. even without the unbearable weight of his gaze on you, you feel watched. the only thing remaining in the room with you is the portrait of jonah magnus, peering down at you with storm-grey eyes. somehow, it feels familiar.

you want to scream. you gulp down your coffee and leave an empty mug behind.

[musingmelsuinesmelancholy]

Musings on titles and definitions

I've been listening to Radical Elphame and BiblioSophia. The interview they did recently with Marshal and Austin and the interview Biblia Sophia did with Shani Oates (my god that was fascinating) got me thinking about how we define and title the things we practice.

Why do we specify traditional witchcraft? Is there a difference between witchcraft and trad craft? What exactly is folk witchcraft?

I know we have all heard that tw is used to distinguish from Wicca; but I don't honestly think that's accurate. I know Cochrane disliked Wicca and did consider what he was doing diametrically opposed to Wicca. I do think the two are different, but are really different enough to define trad craft as non-wiccan witchcraft? I don't think so, we use similar tools, laying a compass is similar to casting a circle (having done both I have noticed differences), Sabbatic Craft works with Divine Male/Female pairings. No, I would think that its more accurate to describe tradcraft as non-new age witchcraft. When I see people complaining about wiccans, I find that often, not always, what they're actually complaining about is New Age! Both trad craft and wicca used similar ideas/material in their inceptions, it just seems like it was interpreted differently. They certainly are two different approaches to the craft but in the same way I do not think it would be helpful to describe a Baptist as a non-Catholic Christian, even though that is true, I don't think it's helpful to describe tw as non-wiccan witchcraft. Most trad witches would probably describe witchcraft as the art of trafficking with spirits, becoming like them and the practice of malefica. So why not just call ourselves witches? Imo it is because, generally speaking, the popular idea of witchcraft is more along the lines of energy manipulation, manifestation, angel numbers 'intentions' and tends to conjure up images of crystal healing, eclecticism etc and/or tends to be use as term to describe magic in general with no specific definition. (Not that there is anything wrong with that it doesn't matter what other people do, so as long as it isn't racist or appropriative). There is certainly still some conflation with wicca and witchcraft, but I don't think it's as bad as it was and therefore do not see the need to specifically set us apart from wiccans.

However, I do think wiccans and trad crafters approach the craft differently. (generally speaking!) I feel that the trad craft approach is more about connecting to rediscovering or reinvigorating the culture/traditions of a certain place. This often leads to a dual-faith observance, as our idea of witchcraft came to be in the context of Christianity. When I was wiccan, it felt more about re-inventing and reclaiming witchcraft and participating in a religion which, at the time, I felt made up for the lack of feminine/nature-based spirituality. We have different founders of course, Cecil Williamson, Robert Cochrane, Gardner, Valiente (though I think she was involved in both currents). The two trads evolved differently. Shani Oates said in her BiblioSophia interview "It [Wicca] is something that has no cosmology, and no end times. So, it doesn't have an eschatology, it just exists in its own creation, in its own bubble. Whereas The Clan of Tubal Cain and Robert Cochranes development of that very much has a cosmology and an eschatology, so it's a full rounded thing." I disagree about Wicca not having cosmology, the god/dess and belief in rebirth/Summerland's would be cosmology, no? I'm sure different traditions have their own too, which the public may not be privy to. The rest resonates very well with me and why I am drawn to trad craft specifically. Before I continue, I want to say in this I am comparing and contrasting my own experiences in wicca and tradcraft. I was wiccan for a while. I am not attempting to diss the religion as a whole, there's much about it that I appreciate! I can only speak on MY OWN experiences and in no way am trying to speak for or on wicca as a whole. I absolutely felt that wicca 'existed in it's own creation' during my time as one. It did not engage with culture or folklore. It had no connection, as far as I am aware, to a cosmology or eschatology that had evolved over time/within a certain culture or religion. (this is not a problem per se and I am generalizing). Trad craft gave me a way to connect to existing cosmologies which had connections to the land, the cultures and the histories I was drawn to. (local ones + my ancestors). I felt that I had more "scaffolding". What I was searching for, when got into spirituality, wasn't a re-creation or re-invention of a pagan/witch faith but rather connection to land, culture and its people. I didn't want to re-invent these things, I wanted to appreciate with and engage with them as they are. That isn't to say that a wiccan can't blend their religion with local or ancestral lore/culture or incorporate an outside cosmology into it.

This brings me to folk witchcraft. I'm seeing this word used more and I have a lot of feelings. I would think that a folk witch is one who is practicing the witchcraft of the area they live in or is one who has been brought into a living folk tradition. Can you call yourself a folk witch, if you're one such as myself? Raised in a white homogenous consumerist culture. No language passed down, no folk tales, very few folk customs retained. I seek out the lore and traditions of my state and of the cultures of my ancestors. I use folk spells. but who are my folk? folk magic is community based. I can't call myself a Canadian, French or Scottish folk witch, even if all the magic I did came from those cultures. I don't live in any of those places. I cannot claim those cultures. I suppose, as the lore of my state is a part of what I do, I could call myself an INSERT STATE NAME folk witch. But, again, who are my folk? The old French-Canadian culture that was once here is all but gone. Not that we don't have a distinct culture of our own anymore! We certainly do.

I like how Marshal described trad craft as "loric" as opposed to folkloric. The lore/history of Europe and America do inform my understanding of witchcraft, but folklore is regional! One cannot say their craft is based on European or American folklore. Who's folklore? Which countries? Which states? "loreic" is specific enough to imply that the lore of witchcraft shapes what one does while not claiming that one is part of a folk trad they have no connection to.

Certainly, one's craft being a melting pot of ancestral and local lore(s) while having to navigate practicing on stolen, colonized land, is very American in spirit.

Edit: Forgot to mention this! Honestly the biggest difference between trad craft and wicca is the "astral sabbath" I never encountered mention of a "sabbath" (I don't like the word tbh due to its antisemitic origins. I propose the use of Conclave instead?) as a nonphysical, spiritual event within Wicca. If you've spent any time in the trad craft sphere, you'll know it's a main focus of what we do. Idk if wiccans place emphasis on spirit initiation either. I didn't learn of the term until I got into traditional witchcraft.

[xxavengingangelxx]

Graves Defragged 1/?

As promised, here is the first part of deconstructing Graves. This part touches on the first half of the psychopath traits I want to discuss. Below is my take! I am NOT licensed to make these decisions. This is just for fun. It also touches on why I write Graves like a heartless mf'er in my longer fics. Because Graves is a heartless motherfucker.

Not proofread. I'm posting this before going to bed cause it's the only time I got between working 60+ hours a week, house chores, keeping hubby fed, etc.

To touch on my sociopath vs. psychopath post earlier, there are some in the field who argue that a sociopath is made and a psychopath is born. We don’t have enough information on Graves’s background to see whether or not he’s shown the same callous disregard for human life, disregard for rules, and narcissism earlier on. But he certainly shows those traits now.

And we do have this:

Graves: "That uniform was a limitation. I shed that skin..." Soap: "Like a fuckin' snake-" Graves: "Like a fucking soldier, son." — Soap confronts Graves about his past.

Let’s assume Graves was born a psychopath. It’s certainly possible. And if Adler is his father, then he’s got the genes for killing, anyway. Yes there are theories that say there are genes for criminality but I can post more on that later if y’all are interested.

How many traits of a psychopath does he actually have? Based on the behavior, we’ve seen, quite a bit!

Robert Hare, a Canadian psychologist, created the Hare Psychopathy Checklist (known today as the Hare Psychopathy Checklist Revised). Let’s go through the items with our crush man Graves in mind. Each of these items is rated a 0 if it does not apply, a 1 if it kind of applies, and a 2 if it definitely applies. They are added up at the end. Max score is a 40.

Item 1: Glibness and superficial charm = 2

You’re kidding me, right? Graves is the man of charm and glib. His good fuckin’ looks certainly help him out.

Image credit: @Vault21 on Tumblr

Remember Dark Water? Yeah…they trusted each other like brothers. Soap even hugged Graves! Graves had them  (and us) fooled because not much later he betrayed them like they were enemies.

Item 2: Grandiose sense of self-worth = 1

Graves is narcissistic. We can all agree on that, right? He thought he was too good for the Marines, that the Marines were not good enough for such a special person like himself. And I could be wrong here, but he is massively successful, likely a billionaire so doesn’t he get to be a little narcissistic?

Item 3: Need for stimulation/proneness to boredom = 2

Graves was so bored in the Marines, one of the toughest branches of the military, that he saw his uniform as a limitation and sought out to make his own company of mercenaries who don’t really answer to anyone. Also, how many CEOs do you see in the field like Graves is? Close to none. He lives for getting shot at and chased. He has a scar on his face to prove it!

Item 4: Pathological lying = 2

Is this even a question? Graves lied so well to 141 that they trusted him and saw him as a brother in arms. Also, remember the scene from Congress?

Image credit: BabyZone on YouTube.

Which leads me to…

Item 5: Conning/manipulative = 2

Phillip Graves is a conman. If you look up conman in the dictionary there’d be a picture of Graves or there should…it’d make the dictionary less boring. According to Google’s dictionary, the definition of conman is, “a man who cheats or tricks someone by gaining their trust and persuading them to believe something that is not true.” I can think of a few examples. Again, Dark Water

Image credit: Wallpaper Cave

Also, the Congress scene where he lies (about WAR CRIMES) like he’s talking about the weather.

And when he pulled the rug out from under 141 in Las Almas.

Which in turn takes us to…

Item 6: Lack of remorse/guilt = 2

Graves betrayed 141, the men he had fought next to, defended, befriended all while gaining their trust.

All while smiling about it!

Image credit: halgalvv on TikTok

Look!

Image credit: Call of Duty Wiki

Which also reminds me of the war crimes Graves committed in Las Almas. Some argue that Graves cleaned house by killing off people who were supporting the cartels but based on what I’ve been told there were children in this town as well.

This also brings me to the topic of Graves’s Shadows. These men are okay with war crimes. Shadows are okay with killing people just because Graves said to. In one (or more?) of my fics I portray Shadows as I see them: callous and even sadistic with how they agree to torture a prisoner of war (POW), going so far as using rape as a weapon if Graves gives the word.

Are there some Shadows who can’t engage in this kind of behavior? Perhaps. So Graves knows which men to pick to carry out war crimes. At least that’s how I see it.

Psychopaths have physical differences in the make up of their brain that make them UNABLE to feel guilty, remorse, or fear. So when I hear people asking how serial killers and other criminals deal with their guilt, I say they do not because it doesn't exist to them. They have no idea what guilt is.

Remember: It’s not that psychopaths choose not to feel/ignore guilt. It’s that their brain is completely INCAPABLE of this emotion.

You might be asking why/how: Psychopaths think the same thing about you…how can you feel guilt? Why would you want to?

Item 7: Shallow affect = 1

Only because we are unable to see how Graves functions emotionally away from the battlefield. My forensic psychology professor said that psychopaths have 2 emotions: rage and joy. Have you seen Graves portray anything else, really? In another fic, Graves supposedly says he loves OC. Like he even knows what that means. He doesn’t. He loves controlling her and abusing her, yes.

If Graves had a kid like he does in the same fic, he doesn’t feel much affection towards him. He just likely sees him as an extension of his partner. A future soldier, someone Graves can start training from young. Something he can use to control and keep his partner in line.  That child, from the moment he was born is seen as an asset by Graves. Plus, there are some good chances that kiddo might have inherited Graves’s genes that pass on his psychopathy. And even if that child does not, there’s a good chance he could develop as a sociopath because he’s not likely to see much more other than Graves continuing to abuse and control his partner and battlefield conditions.

Item 8: Callousness/lack of empathy = 2

This relates to a lack of remorse. You might ask how can Graves not feel empathy for how 141 must feel after he betrayed them? Because, like the shallow emotions and lack of remorse, Graves’s brain cannot do it. He doesn’t have the neurons for it. He doesn’t have the brain structure for it. It’s not that Graves chooses not to feel or ignore empathy. He CANNOT. It’s almost like asking someone with very low math ability to do a PhD in physics. It’s not that they’re lazy. They do not have the aptitude for it.

Graves does not have the aptitude for remorse or empathy because he doesn’t have the brain structure that makes that happen.

He think's it's funny.

Image credit: Einstein Ibraheem on YouTube

Item 9: Parasitic lifestyle = 0

Finally, one that does NOT apply to Graves. This man refuses to depend on anyone. He’s a fucking billionare that can get whatever the hell he wants whenever he wants it.

Item 10: Poor behavioral controls = 0

Hear me out! Graves is not impulsive. Lots of psychopaths are due to limitations in a part of the brain called the prefrontal cortex as well as other parts to include the limbic system. Graves is not limited in that manner. He plans, he’s meticulous, he’s detailed, and he gets away with a lot of shit because of it. Graves is not impulsive. Get him mad and he might smack the shit out of you (more than once if you make him mad enough) but when it comes to important decisions, he takes his painstaking time.

So fear we are up to the score of 14! He has scored positive on 14/20 possible points.

More to come!

[thelovetheystole]

Yeah, if you follow me or even just look at some of my posts, you'll know I have words to say about this here spoiler article...

Why don't we start with the picture? They just look so darn in love don't they? *thinly veiled sarcasm* Top image selection 👍

Moving on to the headline. Ah yes, finally, they profess their love. They've been through so much, haven't they? They way the fans have been kept waiting for this moment! *more sarcasm*

Who wouldn't be unimpressed with a camping trip in actual late December?? I still can't help but be conspirational about this need of John's to drag Aaron on this trip, where he then suddenly opens up about Aidan (which he can't do at home with all the pressure of everyday life!), and I love yous are said... It still sounds like something someone could have planned if they were told about SSW 2016 and wanted to recreate it...

I'm sorry, they are going to be kept warm by the glow of their hearts??!! 🤣🤣🤣

They've both dragged their heels? Okay, if you say so. They met in August and moved in together in November, seems pretty quick to me, by soap standards, but what do I know? (I know that Robron met in November 2014 and moved in together in July 2016...)

What emotional connection are they depening? They've never talked before this! Their off screen time together must be much better than their on screen one...

Aaron's been hung up on Robert for so long, you say? (Thought it was just Seb?) Also, poor ol' murdered Ben and the bloke Aaron was going to uproot from Italy. Guess we were right about them all along, huh 🤷‍♀️ Bet we are right about this guy too 😇

Not only are they in love you guys, they are deeply in love. This need to lay it on so thick in the spoilers comes directly from the lack of effort they have put in with this pairing from day 1. Classic case of tell, don't show that Emmerdale has favored so much these last couple of years.

Less dramatic times, you say? That's Emmerdale code for more dramatic isn't it? And more laughs means Aaron's going to cry again? Because Danny has not been working this much lately for Aaron and John to be having a laugh in the pub...

I'm not convinced that Robert will come back this Christmas, but I'm definitely not ruling out an early 2025 return 🤞

As a final note, the fact that the Emmerdale team and most of the media aren't trying to create suspicion about John makes me even more suspicious... Remember when they tried to make Ben interesting with secret phonecalls and mystery men in taxis? This John thing is the complete opposite, which makes me 👀

Right now, everything is too neat, too cute, too 'perfect'.

[dd-is-my-guiltypleasure]

About Time

Poems

by @davidduchovny

@AkashicBooks

September 2, 2025

From acclaimed author, actor, and singer-songwriter David Duchovny, a deeply personal, existential, and insightful debut poetry collection.

“David Duchovny has written a helluva book of poems, a volume I suspect will adorn many shelves. The collection is smart, smart-assed, and moving enough to reward study. Buy this book!”  --@marykarrlit , author of "The Liars’ Club"

“David Duchovny is known as one of the most talented, brightest, and wickedly funny actors in the entertainment business. He is also a wonderful writer, as evidenced by his many novels and this collection of intimate and humorous poetry.”  --@AlecBaldwin, actor, author of "Nevertheless"

“Why should I be surprised that the soulful actor David Duchovny is not only an accomplished novelist but also possesses the heart of a true poet? His verse effortlessly charts a course through a landscape of melancholia so rich with irony and humor that I found myself reading his poems aloud just to savor the depth of his emotions.” --Griffin Dunne, actor, author of "The Friday Afternoon Club"

“David Duchovny’s language is specific and surprising. Colloquial. In the tradition of Robert Frost and Vachel Lindsay, a tradition that has been eclipsed by Imagism. With modernist twists, he invigorates the tradition of storytelling poems.” --David Black, award-winning writer, producer

DAVID DUCHOVNY’S SEVENTH PUBLISHED―AND FIRST POETIC―WORK covers a range of intimate themes and topics, including love, the loss of love, parenting, Duchovny’s own parents (in particular his father, who looms large throughout the work), alienation, and other emotional quandaries. Fans of Duchovny’s fiction will recognize the insightful and clever play of words that, in this new form, distill to an emotionally impactful portrayal of what the author holds most dear.

Duchovny’s approach to poetry is beautifully (and, typically, humorously) encapsulated in his introduction to the work, in which he writes:

"Poetry is not useful. And that is exactly why we need it. It reminds us of two important things: our ultimate lack of agency (unpopular to say, I know) and our inability to say anything plain, our inability to capture what it means to be human with the imperfect tool of words; we come face-to-face with our shadow selves, for in the end we will all die and be forgotten, and come away with nothing, nothing in the way of utility anyway, no talking points, no bullet points, no propaganda, no resolutions, no policy, no knowledge. If anything, maybe we remember a few lines . . . something like a pop song from the collective unconscious, something like wisdom.

You see, I wanted to say it plain, but out comes that torrent of modifiers and adjustments, denials, double negatives, shading, stabs at wit, backpedaling, playing at capturing the lightning. Maybe this time. Maybe that’s what a poem is―that glorious feeling of Maybe this time I’ll get it right. If that’s the case, it seems a worthy enterprise to me. You see, I got somewhere, but the way back is unclear―that’s a good enough definition of poetry for now. No, it’s not."

Duchovny’s efforts at achieving such clarity range in this collection from laser-sharp, single-sentence poems to emotionally sweeping ruminations. With "About Time"―perhaps his most personal work to date―Duchovny continues his journey as one of the most prolific creators of his generation.

DAVID DUCHOVNY is an award-winning actor, director, New York Times best selling author, and singer-songwriter. With an acting career spanning more than three decades, Duchovny is a two-time Golden Globe winner and four-time Emmy nominee. His novels include Truly Like Lightning, Holy Cow, The Reservoir (novella), Kepler (graphic novel) Miss Subways, and Bucky F*cking Dent which Duchovny adapted into the film Reverse the Curse. The film, directed by Duchovny, premiered at the 2023 Tribeca Film Festival. As a musician, Duchovny has released three studio albums: Hell or Highwater, Every Third Thought, and Gestureland, and his next album, Prince of Pieces, will be out next year. He is the host of the Lemonada podcast Fail Better.

Author events:

Sep 3, 2025: @BookendsNJ (Ridgewood, NJ) 

Sep 4, 2025: @strandbookstore (New York, NY), in conversation with @jiatolentino

www.akashicbooks.com

[mattsmithinanewwig]

Love the details in your Cat and Sansa portraits so feel free to use this as a prompt to tell us about your thought process of these artworks!

hi!!

right so before i can get into the details about the specifics of cat and sansa, i'll give the longer explanation on how i came to those specifics! this is also super long so very sorry!!

so westerosi fashion is something that i feel most people in the fandom have headcanons about so here are my specific ones! right so as much as people draw the comparion of the wars of the roses to the wotfk, i actually prefer the comparison to robert's rebellion. considering the wotr were literally called the cousins' war i feel that is thematic as well as robert resembling henry tudor, a distant relative seizing the throne through conquest and a flimsy royal connection. (also robert's physical resemblance to henry viii, with him being fit, lean and strong in his youth before becoming unhealthy and obese over the years due to gluttonous intake of wine and food).

all that to say i place westerosi fashion at the start of agot to be around the early 1500s.

i place the starks, the place with the least contact with king's landing and likely to take longer to adopt new fashions in the 1500-1510 era. so there is still the old silhouette which is very classical medieval and curvy as well as the old style of "french" hood. i also give northerners the borders of fur in the under kirtle which was common in the period but would have been far less visible. dresses were also squared with them being pinned together in the front.

for the main chunk of the southerners i'm placing them around the 1530s. so the very classic anne boleyn fashion. so the dresses have moved to having the straight fronted bodices with the very foat stomacher and wide necklines. jewels are common around the neckline and the hood have become more decorated with different jewellery sewn in.

but for king's landing and therefore cersei, i'm putting her the furthest possible with it being around 1540s. so very decorated gowns with super wide necklines and structured farthingales underneath. these hoods will also be the most decorated with elaborate billiments around the edge. (will be doing a cersei portrait soon that will really show this!)

for the other regions, i place the tyrells in the italian style 1540s gowns. so think the slashed puffy sleeves and laced fronts along with golden hairnets. the dornish i see as ottoman or early islamic styles, so lots of draping in thin fabrics for the heat and both head/facial coverings used for sandstorms. the targs i heavily see as byzantine inspired, with the beaded necklaces and headdresses and cross over gowns. would love to talk more about this but this post is already super long so i'll leave it!!!

(left to right: the reach, dorne, targaryens)

now for sansa and cat i made some quite deliberate choices. first of all i hope with my explanations you can see that they are both a mix of north and south with fashions but in different ways, as cat is a southerner who has assimilated to the north and sansa is trying to look like she's from the south.

so for sansa, she wears the new flat stomacher gown with the super wide neckline. she also wears a more southern side of hood like her mothers, though it definitely isn't as embellished as cersei's would be due to lack of materials and her young age. instead of the long back veil, she has a hairnet instead which was common for preteens in the period. however sansa has decorated her's with a gold net to look like the tyrells who are peak fashion.

she also has a partlet which is heavily embroidered as well as her gown being embroidered to show off her talent. i imagine embroidery is a northern craft as jewellery making is more southern decoration.

as well as little things such as her rounder and pinker appearance making her appear younger as well as her zuko strand of hair falling down. if you know, you know.

now for cat, she is also a mix but in a different way. her hood is more embellished that sansa's, which for me is based on the jewels she brought with her from riverrun. however her gown is the northern shape, with the front split in the middle and while her dress is less curvy than a fully northern style gown, it's still very obvious that it's made in the north. cat also wears her tully necklace, a reminder of her heritage as well as a southern craft!

thank you so much for the ask <3 sorry it took so long to answer and is so so long

[aro-geo-turtle]

MALEVOLENT PART 48 LETS GOOOO

Oh boy coughing up blood! That’s funnnnn

New characters: Barnabus and Gerard…and the absent Lord Everard. And now Friar Halbrook and Langward.

I’m worried about that “lesser house of god” comment. Alter to the great old ones hidden away somewhere maybe??

This feels like the start of a murder mystery, is this about to turn into a modern mystery?

I vibe with this Barnabus guy, I like him.

Lol cartoon villain beard

Alia Showl—don’t like that comment about her “maintaining decorum,” just what is she capable of?

Has…has Arthur just accidently joined the proto-Order of the Fallen Star??? That’s what this sounds like

Halbrook’s first name is Dorian, oooh he’s a polymath and scientist? That’s rad

Oh no now we find out what kind of person Arthur’s impersonating, what’s it going to be? “Aristocratic, captivating, and clever, your ability to fit into most any situation and do whatever you see is necessary…debate, beguile, manipulate.”—well that’s not too bad. Arthur certainly is clever and the people constantly becoming obsessed with him would probably call him captivating. He’s also very adaptable. The one thing I’m not sure about is the manipulation part, Arthur doesn’t usually think things through enough to really manipulate, lol.

The French guy, Gerard, is an architect. Reminds me of TMA’s version of Robert Smirke. Langward is a doctor, maybe he can help out Arthur! Barnabus is an astronomer and an alchemist??? RAD. And he apparently has…visions?

This is definitely the start of the Order of the Fallen Star

BLACK STONE! Well our quest just got a hell lot easier.

Wait no ok, I was wrong. The Order already exists, Langward is involved with it.

…but we’re not going to see the stone until tomorrow. Somebody’s about to get murdered and/or steal the stone for themselves and this is going to turn into a mystery. 100% certain on this.

Hmm yeah the ring thing is an interesting dilemma. That’s going to come into play later

I love how comfortable John is when giving confident advice and instructions to Arthur about what to do and say

Ahahahha what god do you follow Arthur? which one? One’s certainly been giving you instructions that you’ve been automatically following this entire time! I’m so curious about what John would have wanted him to say. …I’m not so sure saying that you’re an atheist is going to go over very well in this time/place/with this person.

…yeah, about what I expected.

Hah, maybe John can make up for Arthur’s lack of manipulative instincts

This is a murder mystery, this is a murder mystery!!! It’s been too long since Arthur got to be a proper detective, this is going to be funnnnn. Arthur’s picking up my vibes. Love this analysis

Aaaaand there it is! Here we go folks!

The friar was probably in bed at the time of the crime, but Arthur and john can’t confirm it! John you should have let Arthur confirm his location. …though waiting longer before going to the scream for help might cast suspicion on Arthur himself.

Oh yeah the death vision power! Honestly its been so long since that came up that I forgot it was something that they had. But they’ll still have to prove to the group that whatever they see is true

Langward is the victim, that’s interesting. And the friar is deeply suspicious. I look forward to whatever excuse Arthur is going to give for why a prince is also an excellent detective and why he should run this investigation

So Gerard is with the Order as well, and by Everard’s smile, he knew this, but didn’t out it to everyone earlier. Why? Seems almost as if he wanted Gerard to admit it himself. Now there’s two rings in play! Check the corpse for the order ring.

I’m with john, having the ring is way too dangerous. Still, having dallied that long is also dangerous, especially if anybody finds it. Arthur’s best bet might actually be claiming to be an order member himself or coming up with another excuse for having it

Of course there’s no ring, that’s what makes this mystery so interesting! The best way forward for Arthur is to be as honest and open as possible.

Arthur’s trying to piss off Barnabus for some reason, see if he slips up and reveals something in his rage? Arthur definitely can be manipulative sometimes actually, he just doesn’t get much opportunity to show it in this show

Oh that’s despicable Arthur. poor Barnabus. Still, it’ll buy Arthur time to figure out what really happened and they aren’t going to do anything to Barnabus on that much evidence.

Yeahhhhh Arthur! rally everybody, organize them! you’re the expert here, even if they don’t know that

I’m worried about Everard stepping out for a moment, even if he has the excuse of going to get Alia.

“Do you believe you are a decent man?” UH THAT’S OMINOUS.

Ok Everard exposition time I guess. OH is the black stone gone? Is this why he’s acting weird? …ewwww.

WAT. Okay she’s telekinetic I GUESS?

Okay maybe the stone isn’t gone, but that doesn’t explain why he’s acting like this. …it sounds like he gets something about of showing the stone to others and that makes me anxious that he’s planning to sacrifice them to it

DAMN EVERARD JUST DUMP THAT ON EVERYONE. …why is Barnabus smiling?

NOW I HAVE TO WAIT A MONTH TO SOLVE THE MYSTERY! I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH AT MYSTERIES TO FIGURE IT OUT NOW! Ahhhhhhh noooooooo. I love this episode. Glad to see Arthur doing some detecting again.

[lepertamar]

I've referred to this before but anyway for some baffling reason one of the best reviews of the oeuvre of any literary author is sandwiched in a compendium of videogame reviews by an indie videogame creator and reviewer who is also the author of my favorite videogame reviews of all time:

SELECTED STORIES, ROBERT WALSER, 1878-1956

The sentimental is a sensation of being imbued with some of the static and assured character we ascribe to other people’s lives. The dream of an imaginary community that allows total identification with ones role within it to an extent that rules out interiority or doubt, the fixity and clearness of an external image or cliche as opposed to ephemera of lived experience, a life as it looks from the outside. I think Robert Walser’s prose voice is that of someone deeply fascinated by this image of community and deeply doubtful of his own right to participate in it. He uses cliches constantly - every woman is “undoubtably charming”, every landscape is “exceptionally beautiful” - and with a genuine relish, as if overwhelmed and delighted by the confident sureness of each phrase “If I now exclaim in a booming voice ‘Natureleh!’ - I have in mind the artist of aviation who, with an energy to be wondered at, flew across the ocean; and of course I number myself among the innumerable people who revere this happy dominator of difficulties.” Look at the strange, contorted syntax of this sentence, the way it almost bends double on itself to accomodate more happy adjectives, so that a pilot becomes an artist of aviation, revered by not just people but by innumerable people. It doesn’t gel; the slight meaning of the sentence loops strangely around the grand phrases, like a stream through boulders; there’s a mixture of the dolorous and the discomfited which lingers throughout all his works, a kind of ambiguous catch in the voice talking on autopilot. The opening lines to his story “Nervous”:

“I am a little worn out, raddled, squashed, downtrodden, shot full of holes. Mortars have mortared me to bits. I am a little crumbly, decaying, yes, yes. I am sinking and drying up a little. I am a bit scalded and scorched, yes, yes. That’s what it does to you. That’s life. I am not old, not in the least, certainly I am not eighty, by no means, but I am not sixteen any more either. Quite definitely I am a bit old and used up. That’s what it does to you. I am decaying a little, and I am crumbling, peeling a little. That’s life.”

Grinding, chattering, circling, the rote words, hastily modified, the string of declaratives, overshadowed by adjectives that seem to stand apart from the text as a whole, that have to be juxtaposed and reiterated and taken back and put forward again in order to express anything at all, like a binary chain of tiny, exhausting affirmations and negations trying to approximate something more complex, squirming, like on a hook. Walser’s short stories are for the most part entirely lacking in characters, dramatic situations, or discernible structure - there are exceptions but the form I associate most with him is that of the brief, essayistic nothing, in which a trivial fragment of anecdote, argument or narrative is brought up only to be nearly immediately overwhelmed by digressions, doubts, elaborate description, self-mockery and excuses before being quietly dropped again after maybe a page. Bold statements are hurled down, tactfully modified, drawn out while the author acknowledges the respectable possibility of contrary sentiments being held by the intelligent and unredoubtable reader, and finally retracted. Sentences, paragraphs, pages that seem to exist only to politely extinguish themselves, silently imploding, every trace of meaning hunted down and graciously annihilated. “We don’t need to see anything special. We already see so much.” is a quote that the critics favour for containing the essence of Walser the scrappy miniaturist and outsider artist. I think it can be read a different way, in the context of works that frequently feel overwhelmed and crushed by an intrusive yet irreproachable weight - of language, of nature, of everyday experience, crowding out thought and being. The strange collapsing structure of the stories suggest a world where nothing is too small to annihilate us.

Robert Walser can be found in all good electronic stores, he has 12 levels and comes with a cloth map of nowhere in particular. You wouldn’t know it from reading this but he’s the funniest writer I know.

ROBERT WALSER: A MODERATE AND CERTAINLY NOT UNDULY EXCESSIVE YET STILL EMINENTLY RESPECTABLE 5 BILLION STARS