#why did i think googling an image of a known trigger would be. a good idea

[venomgender]

im a little stupid i think

[storiesforallfandoms]

small world ~ corpse husband

word count: 2053

request?: yes!

“Can I get a Corpse x fem reader where reader an corpse are both streamers and they meet each other for the first time and realize they used to know each other as kids? I know Corpse has said that he didn’t have many friends when he was younger so maybe have it where reader was someone that was really nice to him? Sorry for the long request and thank you if you do it! 😊🖤”

description: he never would’ve thought that the new addition to their friend group would be someone from his past

pairing: corpse husband x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

“Hey Corpse,” Karl said. Corpse hummed in response, focused on the drawing he was doing for their Jackbox game. “(Y/N) is also from San Diego. Do you know her?”

(Y/N) chuckled. “Karl, San Diego is pretty big. We’re not bound to know one another. Besides, just because he lives here doesn’t mean he grew up here.”

“I did grow up in San Diego actually,” Corpse said. “I don’t think we would’ve known each other though. Even if we happened to be in the same area, I didn’t talk to many people and I dropped out in the seventh grade.”

“I was, regrettably, popular in school,” (Y/N) added.

“Regrettably?” Karl asked.

“Yeah. Looking back, I hated being popular. I hated it when I was popular even. My friends were mega jerks and made fun of everyone, even me sometimes. I would try and make them be nice but they just let the popularity go to their heads. I haven’t spoken to any of them since we graduated. There was this sort of outcast in middle school I used to have a crush on. I tried to be friends with him, but he preferred to keep to himself. I always wished I had been friends with him because I feel like I would’ve been so much happier. I never saw him again either. I wonder whatever happened to him.”

Something about her story triggered a memory in Corpse. The year before he dropped out, there was a girl in is class who was always nice to him and tried to talk to him. He brushed it off as another way he was being made fun of. When it kept up, though, he realized she was likely being genuine. He still kept his distance, but he found himself gaining some feelings for her as well. When he dropped out, he never heard from her again.

I wonder where she is now, Corpse thought to himself. Man, what was her name?

Corpse accidentally gasped, drawing the attention of everyone in the Discord call.

“You good Corpse?” George asked.

“Y-Yeah,” Corpse responded. “Just uh...just realized I fucked up my idea a bit. No big deal, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The game started prompting for everyone to show what they had created. Taking the opportunity of not having to speak, Corpse went to Google (Y/N)’s YouTube channel. She had come into the game as a friend of Karl’s and Corpse hadn’t heard of her channel, but now somethings were starting to click together.

The first thing that popped up with the top Google Image for (Y/N)’s channel name. It was a beautiful girl laying in a garden of flowers with a wide smile on her face. Corpse sucked in a breath as he realized that the girl in the picture looked familiar.

“Corpse,” came Karl’s voice, snapping Corpse out of his trance. “It’s your turn.”

“Sorry,” Corpse said. “I was distracted.”

The rest of the stream Corpse felt like he was in a daze. He continued to play the games and forced out laughs when he realized someone was making a joke. Every time (Y/N) spoke, he felt his heart flutter with excitement. He couldn’t believe that after all these years he had finally been reunited with her. And what was better was that she had actually admitted to having feelings for him too!

Don’t get too excited, he thought to himself. She said she used to have a crush on you. That was a very long time ago.

He tried not to seem too eager when the stream finally ended. He waited for someone else to leave the call first before he exited out of it himself. He waited another few minutes before messaging (Y/N) directly on Discord.

hey. it was fun playing with you tonight. weird request, but can we voice call maybe? just the two of us?

Corpse didn’t expect her to respond any time soon. It was late in San Diego, like nearly 3am late. Most people were going to bed by now. She had mentioned once during the stream that she was starting to get sleepy. He figured she’d see it in the morning and either call, or just ignore the message.

To his surprise, near seconds later, she was calling him.

“Hey stranger,” she said when he answered. “Long time, no speak. You must’ve missed my voice a lot, huh?”

Corpse chuckled. “Exactly, I really did.”

“Makes sense. I do have the best voice on the internet.” She laughed this time. It sounded like such a perfect sound. “For real though, is everything alright? Why did you want to call?”

How did he even tell her? Hey, so you know that outcast you liked? It was me! Surprise!

No, he couldn’t say that. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember, or maybe she wouldn’t believe him. He had to figure out some way to bring it up.

“I kind of wanted to talk more about your popular school days,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and teasing. “It’s not every day I meet a streamer who’s in my own area code. It would be nice to get to know someone who isn’t like a five hour drive away.”

“Oh!” She seemed excited by this response. Her excitement was almost contagious. “Okay, where should I start? The shitty friends or the shallow popularity?”

Corpse chuckled. “You pick.”

She talked for nearly an hour about her high school experiences with her popular friend group. Despite how much she despised being popular, (Y/N) still spoke with a light tone in her voice. She tried to bypass a lot of the more negative details and speak only of the good experiences she went though, which was nice to hear.

Corpse nearly jumped with excitement when she began to talk about middle school unprompted.

“It really was the last good years I had in school,” she admitted. “All my friends, the ones who went on to be super popular with me, they were nice then. Annoying, but all middle schoolers are. We didn’t care about popularity or social rankings. We were just...we were just kids. We didn’t even really know the difference between ‘losers’ and ‘popular’, which was why it was so easy for me to talk to that guy that I liked at the time. My friends weren’t mocking me for having feelings for an outcast.”

“You said you never saw that guy again,” Corpse said. “Do you know what happened to him?”

She sighed heavily. “No, I don’t. He just stopped showing up before we hit high school. I thought he moved, but I knew his mom and I saw her around everywhere. I don’t even remember his name anymore to look him up. Wherever he is, though, I hope he’s doing better. Even if they weren’t sucked completely into their popularity at the time, my friends and the other kids were still awful to him.”

“I feel that,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly the most liked kid in school. Before I dropped out I didn’t even have any friends.”

“That’s awful.”

“It wasn’t too bad. I’m not really a friendly person I don’t think. I’ve worked on it since that time, but the thought of trying to maintain a social relationship still gives me anxiety from time to time. There was one girl who tried to be friends with me the year before I dropped out though. She was nice.”

“What happened to her?”

Corpse smiled to himself. She would figure it out soon, he knew she would.

“I just didn’t hear from her after I dropped out,” he responded. “I guess that’s mainly my fault. I never reached out to her or anything, but I barley knew her name. Just her first time, and she never gave me a number or anything. I couldn’t look her up online. Maybe we just weren’t destined to be together.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe you two were just right people, wrong time. Maybe you’ll cross paths again and finally have that opportunity to be friends with her again.”

“Maybe you’ll cross paths with that guy from your middle school, too.”

There was a prolonged silence. Corpse wondered if (Y/N) was starting to put the pieces together. He could barley even hear her breathe. The longer she went, the more worried he was becoming. He was about to say something when she finally spoke again.

“I made him a Valentine,” she said, her voice soft. “Special handmade one. He was the only one I gave it to. It had some really badly written, sappy poem in it. I watched him open it and...I really think he got emotional while reading it. Of course, he’d never tell anyone that.”

Corpse had gotten emotional over the Valentine (Y/N) had given him. It was the first real Valentine he had ever gotten. It wasn’t one of the generic ones that everyone gave out to every classmate so no one felt excluded. It was made from the heart, and that fact alone touched his. Like (Y/N) said, though, he didn’t let anyone know how emotional he had gotten. It would’ve just been more mental ammo for them to use to bully him.

He quickly got up from his chair, racing to his room where he had his box of memories shoved in his closet. It was little things from throughout his life that he kept in a shoebox. Whenever he felt particularly down or depressed, he would open the shoebox and look at all the things that made him smile.

At the very top of the box was (Y/N)’s Valentine.

He went back to his computer and took a picture of the Valentine using his phone.

“That sounds really nice,” he said as he went into the Discord app on his voice. “It must’ve meant a lot to him that you put so much time and effort into a handmade gift.”

“I don’t know if it did. I never got to ask him what his reaction was.”

“Oh, I’d bet anything he was happy.”

He sent the picture through Discord and waited for (Y/N) to open it. The silence between them felt deafening. The seconds felt like they had slowed to hours. He wondered what (Y/N)’s reaction would be. Maybe she’d be weirded out by the fact that Corpse kept the Valentine, or by the fact that Corpse was the middle school crush in general.

What if she’s upset that this is who I am now? he asked himself. What if her crush was just a middle school thing, and the moment you dropped out she moved on?

“I knew it.”

Corpse couldn’t help the smile on his face when he heard the slight excitement in (Y/N)’s voice.

“I knew it was you!” she continued. “Well, I didn’t know know, but when you asked me to call you I had a bit of a suspicion. I can’t believe it...it’s actually you!”

“It is me,” he confirmed. “And it’s you.”

“Small world we live in, huh?”

“Yeah, small world.” Do you still like me? Did you ever stop? Do you know that your kindness stuck with me for so long?

The silence returned. Corpse was starting to get sick of it, but he didn’t know how to fill the void between them. When he heard her yawn, he realized how late it had gotten. “I’ll let you go, you sound tired.”

“We just had this breakthrough and you’re asking me to sleep?!”

Corpse chuckled. “You have to sleep eventually, (Y/N). It’s like 3:30am, normal people sleep at this hour.”

“I am offended you would think I’m anywhere near normal.” She yawned again, cutting off her short lived rant. “But you’re right, I am tired. Listen...promise me you’ll answer when I call tomorrow. I...I’d really like to catch up. Maybe...to pick up where we left off.”

“Okay,” Corpse said, then realized that wasn’t really a response. “I promise. I’ll be waiting by the phone the moment I open my peepers.”

(Y/N) giggled. “I’ll be sure to call you the moment I open mine.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight Corpse underscore Husband.”

kind of a bad ending, but i wasn’t really sure where else to go with it as i wrote it. sorry! :(

[hauntedelation]

Seize The Throne

(Picture found on Google, I don’t own.)

Description: He was always so reckless, drawn and following the darkest paths in life. You can’t help but chase after him with stars in your eyes and a bizarre thrill churning your gut. Maybe this time things were too heavy for you.

Pairing: Black Female Reader x Will Shaw

A/N: I recently watched one of my favorite mob movies, Goodfellas, and fell back in love with that gritty image. A good friend of mine, @hope-to-hell, had already created her world of Mob!Will and has several parts out featuring him and his chaotic ways. Part one, part two, and part three explore so many depths to him and that heart-pounding life. I strongly suggest reading!

Her writing of this version of Will was my most favorite and I really wanted to try to pay homage to that. I hope I did good love, 🥺💗

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, gore and blood play, minor character death, reader sustains injuries, some fluff if you squint. I do not recommend if you happen to be sensitive to these topics. Please heed the warnings.

Proofread as much as I could, Please enjoy guys!

➽─────────────❥

The bottle is sat down next to your leg with a soft clink. Sand and sporadic rocks mold around the glass, holding the claret drink inside upright.

You feel your body hum pleasantly. The vibrations stem from the top of your head, down through your thighs, and settle in your toes, which are currently sunken into the warm clasp of the shore.

Salt and a hint of cinder brush your face and press through your hair, tousling the tight ringlets out of your eyes and behind your ear. You take in a breath while the wind dies down. To the very depth of your lungs, you allow the night to enter you. 

The water is cool; blue as can be. It just about matched the sky earlier that morning, save for the bunching of storm clouds trailing toward the horizon. 

It’s a wonderful feeling against your feverish skin, but it doesn’t fail to sting the cuts on your feet. You don’t move a muscle, not any closer to the swirling foam, but you ponder, maybe it will help.

You're unwound and you had been ever since you came closer to the sand. Head dancing blissfully and filling with each drop of the piquant wine, your visions were growing far more spirited than they had been for the last several hours.

The deal with Holford went to shit. 

➽─────────────❥

You weren't sure why you were strung along with this one. Will had been disrupted, true, but he was always that way whenever a deal this significant came along. The other guys were unknown, fresh in the game but garnered enough reputation to be talked to. He insisted that you were to not be left at the house, too much risk, he couldn’t see you.

Much of the originally agreed amount was lost, the usual inquiry and loaded threats were slung from either side. Forty thousand was at stake, and the bastards dared to show up with only a quarter of that. 

You were there resting two rooms down in a decaying office, listening to those voices, Will’s, Syverson, and maybe another. There was a restive silence,  before a guttural shout and a bang was sent out, followed by an explosion of more. You felt your heart throb clear in your throat.

It was difficult to keep track, and the walls of that building were already so abysmally thin. There was a good possibility that if a punch was thrown, it would put a hole right in the plaster.

Bullets went through the drywall and sprinkled chalky dust into your hair. You had the right mind to jerk away and hit the floor. The concrete was chilly and layered with the filth that reminded you of a public subway. Upon impact, you were no doubt painted with inky marks on your knees and elbows.

You didn't cry out, none of it could be heard anyway. Yet, you did a fine job keeping whatever you wanted to scream out on the inside. You held your breath and ducked your head to the lowest point of the room. 

It all tumbled over, that composure, soon after witnessing the man protecting you get his insides blown out.

From under the table, those projectiles continued to whizz in and out of the walls. Daniel, you think the kid’s name was, though he was only four years younger than you he had the face of a youth. He was always polite, getting you whatever it was that you wanted, afraid of disappointing.

They should have known he wasn't ready, wasn't skilled enough for any of this. 

The door was kicked at, the brass lock weakening and soon falling away. Daniel whipped around, his machine gun tucked against his armpit and trembling finger on the trigger. He let out a few shots at a sharp speed, laying more holes in the door before dashing to the side. 

He was panting, his big brown eyes glancing to you before pulling out another magazine from his pocket. 

A deafening boom went through the wood, and the door flew open revealing colossal-sized boots stomping in. You don’t recall a second shot. Everything had been stunned, from your ability to move to any volume in your ears. All that was, had been ringing.

That gunshot indeed came, because you saw the kid fall back. 

Crimson rained down over you and you felt the warmth dot your skin, covering the shade of your nail polish. Your eyes reopened and picked up far more carnage—tiny pieces of him all over the vicinity. Bone and flesh, some landing near your hands on the floor. 

His body toppled to the ground. You remember how he landed, head smacking against the solid concrete and his eyes opened wider than saucers. 

He was in shock, gurgling and spitting up blood down his chin. His fingers desperately scrambled for the handle of his machine gun, but it was kicked far out of his reach.

The faceless gunman placed Daniel’s chest under his boot, crushing the torn hole in his middle and forcing more distressed wails from the young man. Before the kid was able to cry any longer, he was cut off by another boom.

There wasn't much time to respond then. Your longtime guard was desecrated, all the life drained from him the instant the third shot was sent from the twelve gauge.

And all that you continued to hear, was ringing.

As that cliché says: time slowed to a standstill. Bullets pelted the surfaces, nonstop and in every direction. Devastation surged, wood chips and old papers swept up, and heavy footsteps trudged all throughout the concrete floors. You spent your lifetime under that table, cowering away from the turmoil. 

Along your cheeks, and falling to your hands you saw the clear, salty liquid bend and mix with that young man’s blood

The make-shift shelter lasted a mere five minutes, then it was flipped over. Glasses and other items shattered onto the ground and spread to every corner of the room. 

Directly after, your wrist was snatched in a viselike grip.

He had nails, this beast holding on to you. They were long, jagged, and digging far into your flesh. You sucked in the mucid air, holding back everything in your throat: bile, sobs, whatever it was. The man dictated something in your ear, along the lines of, 

‘Keep that pretty fucking mouth shut before I pack it full with lead.’

It was more than a motivator. He adjusted his hold and dragged you toward the entryway of the room, pushing aside Daniel's lifeless body. Your free hand braced against the ground, but your legs were left dragging. It was grueling, finding leverage to move with the man.

With each manipulation the brute had on your body, each step of his feet and yank to your wrist, your legs caught shards of the glass and were sliced open. Amid this, the lacerations on your wrist gradually formed under his nails and began to drip hot down your arm. He was moving with purpose until he stalled right near the doorframe.

More bellows and pops of machine guns echoed against the stone.

The man was waiting, probably for the next cue. Or, maybe he was considering that last threat to you, should he go through with it?

How could you know?

After a while, you couldn’t feel anything at all. You couldn't feel the barrel of the gun pressed against your temple, your vein pumping against the hot surface, and the circulation around your wrist anymore. Your skin grew cold, vision drawing away. The lights in the room dimmed and you finally lept in a dark tunnel.

The weight between your shoulders slumped toward the ground.

 .

 .

 .

 It was shortly thereafter, seconds later, that those same voices came much closer than before. Your wrist ached but no longer were you under that crushing grip. The steaming metal of the shotgun was absent from your skin, though the pressure would forever be burned against your skull. 

The only sensation that remained were calluses grazing against your skin.

There were no longer any gunshots, no more footsteps, or even glass shattering. The masculine tones in your ears surfaced and started to be particularly familiar. Those hands on your body, the clammy palms securing your jaw, it was real.

You felt how damp the thumb pads were and the sticky residue that was left behind along the line of your cheek. 

Opening your lids was taxing, but you saw dark curls stuck to a creased forehead. A fresh gash was drawn on an eyebrow and dozens of bruises on that handsome face. A pink lip painfully split nearly in two. 

The light was beaming around his head and the source was different than the one in that previous room. There were more windows. Natural light revealed one side of his form, highlighting his dewy skin and the dampness of his shirt. 

The deep red splotches covering his body.

Your pupils dilated and centered on his face. He was panting, tongue swiping at that cut on his bottom lip. His voice read a steadied, but fraught question.

‘Hey—hey, Doll. You’re here with me, yeah?’

Will’s focus was dashing across your face and the rest of your body. His breathing jolted when he caught your pupils, but never did he lose grip of that solid poise. He reached up and his fingers smeared more pungent liquid on your face, forcing the iron-laced odor into your nostrils. 

You coughed, grunting at the rough scratch along your throat. Your lips pressed together before you forced your head to nod weakly. You were sore, and you didn't really wish to move your legs at the moment. The hairs of his arm grazed against your fingertips. With a flex to your good wrist, you took hold of him.

You were breathing. You could see, you could hear, and while every bit of your nerves flared and pinched—you...were alive.

Will released a sigh low within his chest and out of his nose. The strain in his shoulders released a fraction, yet the muscles in his back maintained the stiff shape. His eyes were cognitive and lingered keenly on yours. He didn't choose to say anything else, and neither did you. 

Your throat and your lungs felt as if they were packed with dust. And, what was there to say?

He dismissed a question that was brought up by a ragged-looking Sy. The veteran stopped his pacing by a blown-out window and shook his head. In a blur behind Will, you saw him remove his cap and use his stained shirt to wipe at the sweat on his buzzed head. 

The air around Will's head was spiraling, the remnants of the firefight clinging to the air around you. You squinted and looked past the fog to see mutilated bodies, with thousands of bullet casings littering the floor. 

Limbs twisted around, mangled, with pools of blood swallowing up each of the remains.

Every member of the Holford group was dressed in matching tan-colored suits, the corpses' jackets now drawn with scarlet. You weren't sure if you could answer the question, which man had been the one who grabbed you? Who killed Daniel?

Maybe he was one that slipped away.

Your braids moved from your face, the soft hairs by your forehead pushed back and smoothed away. Will's fingers, thoroughly slick with blood, left behind glistening streaks in their wake. 

 .

 .

 .

 Following a short phone call made by Syverson, you three and the remaining number of Will’s men vacated the building. Duffle bags of cash and anything else that was of importance was secured.

While you made your way out of the structure, you caught the sight of armed workers, nudging the bodies of Holford’s group and aiming the end of their guns down at their heads.

The pops that rang out were sent past your mind. The air outside washed over you, fresh almost jarring. Under the occasional shots fired in the building, you could pick up the hum of insects and birds. 

Your eyes fluttered under the tepid sunlight, and instead, you occupied yourself with the feeling of that. Just for those short seconds, you were under those rays.

Will was hot on your heels with a vigilant hand on your lower back, his other arm providing support for your shaky footfall. He was still running on hot, that look in his eye reflecting off far away from here.

He directed you toward a black truck and carefully helped you slip into the back passenger seat. After clicking the seatbelt over your lap, he dragged his eyes over you one last time, persisting on your wounds. He drummed his fingers on the palm of your hand and parted from you a promise, 

‘It will be a little while, but I will be back. Sy will be taking us back to the house...we're gonna get you cleaned up.’

Through your lids and out the window of the vehicle, you observed the men’s work. Their actions were swift and it was clear to see that disposal of certain events was in their expertise.  

A few of the guards were gathering red gallons of gasoline, entering the building, and dousing every surface on the interior. Others were negotiating with Syverson and Will, the latter man speaking with venom falling from his mouth. The last worker exited the archway and tossed the red bin in behind him.

Your legs ached. Minutes trickled by, and at first, you withheld moving. But it was as if each laceration was prying open. You took your eyes from the scene outside the truck and grit your teeth to readjust your body. 

The window bore the weight of your head.

Will took a prolonged look at the decrepit building, his arms crossed and locked over his chest. The tendons in his jaw were spasming like a coiled knot and his mouth set at a firm line.

Whatever thoughts broke down in his mind, they were intensively racing and reflecting the failure of today. He sent a final nod to Sy before turning and making his way to the vehicle you were residing in.

Another man fished a lighter and cigarette out of his pocket, adjusting the strap of the rifle on his shoulder. He then flicked open the metal casting, lighting the end of the stick. Without closing the lid, he threw the lighter into the broken window of the building.

 .

 .

 .

That drive was long. Despite the many twisting roads and turns, you noticed the flames shredding their way through the sky several miles away.

There behind you, Will's lips pressed to the crown of your head, with your body tucked into his chest. In your lap, you watched his torn knuckles flex. He formed a fist and would do so every couple of seconds, tremoring and taut. Eventually, he would ease up and relax those fingers, still shaking, but it would return. 

Repeatedly, open and close...

 open and close,

 open and close.

➽─────────────❥

You flinched as Syverson carefully picked the glass out of your legs. You were sat on the granite countertop, bruised knees hooking over the edge and your foot resting in his camo-clad lap. 

He was in a chair located directly in front of you, with his cap sitting on the counter and an assortment of tools surrounding it 

Your wrist was the first that was looked at. It was throbbing, hardly able to be moved but the bleeding clogged. He cleaned it as much as he could and set it into a makeshift splint. Syverson then notified you that you most likely suffered fractures.

He would have a friend come tomorrow to properly take care of it. 

The tweezers were skinny and almost disappeared under his thick fingers. He had his palm wrapped around your calf, and with an attentive eye, he leaned closer to dislodge more shards from your skin. 

You wince as a jagged edge is plucked from your calf.

"Stop squirmin' little lady."

You tilt your head to the side and cradle your injured wrist in your lap. Your braids tangled and fell just over your shoulder. In a corner of your mind, you thought about a hot shower, scrubbing your skin, and taking the damn things down. To wash everything away. 

It was absolutely anticipated.

Sy resumed his work, wetting his lips and holding back that vexatious grin.

The only sound resonating throughout the kitchen was the clink of the splinters hitting the plastic bowl, and the music of a film playing on T.V. Here and there you could make out Will's voice in the other room, his timbre suppressing an unhinged man. 

How could he not? You knew how much today went south, it wasn't expected, but you didn't make an attempt to eavesdrop anymore.

Really, you didn't venture to do anything but sit and wait until the soldier at your feet was finished. 

Will had entered the house before you and with not another step further, he conveyed to his partner that same pithy look. The point of your shoulder was gently tapped and under his bushy beard, the southern man offered you an apologetic look.

Sy was nothing but meticulous. He had a way about his movements that indicated his substantial experience. While he was working, your eyes glanced over that brawny man, taking in the thick slabs of muscle on his shoulders. You had to figure he possessed more scars than five men combined. 

He had the look of a man who had seen a lot in his life and could destroy everything in his path, but to you, he was the sweetest he can be.

You withheld a moment longer, additional pieces of shrapnel were dug and removed from your limbs. He pulled back and sat down those tweezers, promptly moving his fingers to wrap around a cheap bottle of alcohol.

He doused a fresh white cloth with the clear drink and patted each of your opened wounds.

"Mwell...You're lucky you don't need any stitches, sweetheart," he husked.

Your lip quirked at his tone. He peered up at you with a ghost of a sanguine reflection in his eye. Remarkably, he was always the one to find a smile out of you, always after those wearisome days. You decided to indulge the man, forcing a curl to your lips. You then turned away and watched the images flash over the television screen. 

His fingers lingered on a bigger cut on the top of your knee, clearing his throat. The muscles of your thigh tensed, like acid on flesh. Your nails clutched the surface of the granite and scratched shallowly. 

Sy's thumb rubbed at the outside of your leg in return, applying a little more pressure to the wound before ultimately removing his fingers.

Your attention drifted away from the screen, you knit your brows down at your legs. You were sure that you would adorn some scars from today, the unfortunate memory coming in at each glance to your body. 

The bottle of alcohol was placed between Syverson's legs, tucked close to his groin. You clocked your eye from his face back to the container. He was occupied wrapping bandages over your wounds, soon finishing off the last one before catching your look. 

He took his hands from your legs, and palmed the neck of the bottle, unscrewing the cap. He tipped his bushy jaw back and poured the biting liquid down. Sy offered the drink to you with a crinkle of his nose. It was unspoken, but you chewed on your lip.

"Do we have anything else?"

➽─────────────❥

The bubbling of the ocean, that sparkling shore, and the break in the clouds, all of it was transfixing. You wanted to see the moonlight, to breathe the fresh air, and genuinely feel that you were alive. 

So you slipped into something willowy. You couldn't pinpoint where it came from exactly. The tag was black and stitched gold in a foreign language, far too small to discern without a magnifier. From a closer look at the skew of the words, you could guess it came from somewhere in southern Europe. 

The fabric was silk, completely pearly white with a sheer design layering over your chest. It was revealing, rightfully so though it was currently the dead of summer.

Moreover, it worked well to not agitate your wounds. 

You passed by the living room where Sy had his feet kicked up on the coffee table, fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose. The man was slumped as far as he could on that couch, all grime, perspiration, and fatigue.

You made sure to not close the glass-sliding door all the way.

Behind the sepia-colored bottle, you scanned about your surroundings. The palm trees strewn about the property swayed lazily in the wind, welcoming, disclosing to you: It's alright, you can relax now.

There was a blur of grey standing against the greenery, men in slacks with glimmering metal-encased by their arms. Those silent watchdogs weren't new to you, their presence would vanish from your mind from time to time. And even more so, the image of them called: It's alright, everything is okay now. 

Except it wasn't, it wouldn't be for as long as you would remember today, but ever since arriving at this location you had been trying to convince yourself otherwise. Best practice was to acknowledge, right? You wouldn't pretend that today never happened, that you didn't come a hair's breadth away from perishing.

Being wasted away far before you should.

It's not hard to think about. This lifestyle, the outlook, and the expiration date of it all. You've known about it ever since you were a teenage girl. 

The missing people that would show up in undisclosed locations, how strict your mother was with making friends, the luxury items in your home, and all of the days your father would be away, it didn't make sense until much later.

Securing all of your family's secrets followed quickly with your adulthood.

You think back to before everything split apart before you broke away. And now you stand outside of a clandestine house in God-knows-what country, you reflect.

It was never meant to last forever.

These nights you thought about many faces, strangers to the person you are now but people that blotched their fingerprints in your brain. Your mother comes around, stops during those times when you grow the most imaginative. 

She would adorn a knowing look on her face but waited until you asked her for advice. 

If you could just talk to her now. She'd probably kiss her teeth, cross her arms, and her heart breaking the longer she watched you. The dismay gone—no, she'd never forget what you did to the family, how you could give away your father like that with no further thought.

You hope that she would find it in her to understand, that she would look into you and see why you did everything. 

If you opened your eyes and saw her standing before you in the sand, you'd take her hands in yours and ask her—just how to navigate. How do you go day by day and still feel alive?

For the first time in your life, you had no clue what she would reply with.

You were close to lifting your foot off the stone porch and making your way through the sand until the slide of the patio door reached your ears. 

He sauntered out wielding a cup of amber, hair damp and pushed back from his forehead, his clothes changed to something fresh, new. He had just as much gauze wound around his body as you did, but he walked as comfortably as any man. 

Will was born for this life. 

He sat down by the outdoor dining table, placing his glass down and stretching his legs wide and relaxed in the chair. His fingers slid down the length of his shorts, stopping at his knees and staying there. 

You wrapped the gown around your body and brushed away the bumps rising on your skin.

There was a gale that blew through whenever he was near, more submerging than the humid air around you. Something close to those storms that frightened you as a child, the imminence and the pause between claps of thunder.

Yet, every time that they came, you ever ran away to hide. 

Will's brows creased, and he removed his attention from the undisturbed tide straight to you. His right hand moved back on his leg and pat the top of his thigh,

"Come here."

You were slow with approaching him. The bottle in your hands was replaced with his shoulders, the container clinking dismissively close by his drink. Will's arms opened up the moment you stepped between his thighs. His head tilted back, peering up at you. He wound his fingers behind your thighs and settled you astride his lap.

The way that you drew into him, there wasn't much helping it. 

You could feel him on your neck, your cheeks and your lashes, Will's breaths, and his utmost tutelage. Maybe this was your favorite. From your position, you could look down at him just right, draw the light in his covert eyes. 

You were able to capture all of the lines on his face, the shade of his skin, and those dots that appeared after being out in the sun. You could study this man, searching for whatever you wanted. Each and every time you tried discovering something new.

With all of the secrets he locked away from you, there were about a dozen escaping every other day. Tales whispered amongst the other members and strangers, lingering eyes on Will's back whenever he walked by. He carried himself as if he was grasping at direction, but it was well known how untamed he used to be.

No, he was still a wild animal in his soul, you knew that part about him wouldn't ever change. You bet if you took his hand in yours there would still be dried-up blood stuck under his nails. You knew this but here you are, towering over him and you still can't quite read the shadows in his eyes.

These times? Unfortunately, they were few and far between. 

Right now, he held onto you like you wouldn’t be slipping away anytime soon.

“Y/n.”

Will was mindful of your wounds, fingertips gliding over the sides of your legs and taking a cautious hold of your bound wrist. The bruising feeling shot through the crushed bones. Will gingerly placed his lips along the top of your thumb and followed the bandage wraps down your wrist. 

"How're you feeling?"

He didn't blink, and for an important reason, you wouldn't look away from him. He wanted from you, your reply, whether or not it was one-hundred percent.

"I'm okay."

Your coils moved with your head, a chary nod. You knew that you shouldn't think too deeply about that question. You were patched up, scrubbed clean from all of the stains today, his skin was there and warm under your hand. 

So you scooted closer to Will, brushing your chest against his, and laced your fingers around the back of his neck. 

He focused on your natural hair, how the tresses flowed down your back and framed your face. You made good on your promise to yourself on cutting the old-style away. There wasn't anything quite like that feeling, that weight falling away and nothing but an utterly new look.

You turned your eyes toward the horizon, catching the distant twinkling of fishing ships and airplanes. The red and white were faint, and sometimes those lights blended in with the stars. But never had they been any closer than several dozen miles. 

On the shell of your ear and down your jaw, Will's facial hair started stroking and prodding.

"Doll…"

Your lips pulled tight. You carded your nails through his damp ringlets and twirled a few strands around, fidgeting. 

"Don't you go soft on me."

His fingertips sunk lightly into the flesh of your lower back and bottom. You heard him sniff quietly. For a second there, you thought he was going to apologize to you. Though, Will's thumb hooked under your jaw, caressing with a tender stroke before leading you to him. 

And he kissed you, real slow.

More than he ever had with you. Will was always messy—greedy, a palm on the nape of your neck and draining the oxygen from your lungs. 

He kissed you as if you were about to fall into pieces. You pulled away from him after a long while, still dazed. It was before you could slide off that white gown and unlace the waistband of his shorts. All in front of those men in the shade. It wouldn't be the first time, nor the last.

He was reluctant, his palms residual on your body, but you slotted your fingers through his and detached them from your hips. 

Will carried somewhat of a smile slanting his face. In the low light, you can catch a glimpse of it, how his cut lip stretched. You braced your hand midway on his chest and lifted yourself up from him. You then palmed the wine in one hand, tossing a look from over your shoulder before setting on your way. 

He didn't get up or try to chase after you, but the movement behind his eyes did. 

You went on to do what you originally wished to, feeling the salt and the sand. You had been neglected of this for forever it seemed, months, years maybe. Just like through the window of the bedroom there was still a spell of sorts being cast on the beach, you weren't going to fight it.

All the way to the mouth of the shore you went, taking in sips of wine and filling your vision with the stars. 

Never did he take his eyes from you.

"How's she holding up?"

Sy stood about two feet away with a towel draped around his shoulders and his back leaning against the patio door. Will turned his head to glance at the soldier, before returning to you.

"She's... she'll be alright."

Will sat up in his chair, sweeping his eyes through the backyard once again. 

"We lost five guys today, three including the guys from the inner circle, two others were regulars...Still have over  27K to retrieve," Sy reflected. 

He set his elbow on the armrest, rubbing his fingers over the stubble on his face and surrounding his lips.

"It's a shame what happened to that kid. I'll take care of his grandparents...send them a severance."

Christ, he was actually feeling a bit of guilt, more so with how the kid went out. But, he knew what this job was. He was told about the repressions and what was expected.

Daniel was a few months shy of his next birthday if Will had that right. And, now he wouldn't even be able to have an opened casket for his funeral. Not that this mattered in the end, though.

He wouldn’t have a casket at all.

"...They've fucking lost it if they think this is all forgotten."

Syverson nodded his head, already preparing his mind for any possible retaliation. No doubt much of the next few days will be filled with planning, making calls, and ordering more supplies. Maybe a few all-nighters just to get the deal straight, spending money just to make triple the return. He thinks that he might phone up Walker, the caliber of this situation had blown up in that man's range anyway.

"You have guys surrounding the perimeter?"

"Don't you go sweet on me, Will," Sy laughed. Of course, there were men around the perimeter. Not one spot was left open.

Will wrapped his fingers around the glass and took a small sip of the drink. His jaw twitched once again at that phrase, it just about mirrored yours, "I'm not." 

There was a brief silence between the men, Will wasn't looking at Sy but both of them had somewhat of the same thought winding through their worn-out minds. The soldier followed his partner's eyes, down the shore and to where those tan grains disappeared in the water.

"Then why are you sitting outside, watching her like a hawk?"

Will did not say anything in return. His tongue prodded again at the cut on his lower lip. He slowly lifted his glass and knocked back the rest of the liquor in his cup. The water and the trees moved in the wind and the sound filled their ears. Those low clouds were picked up by the gust and eventually revealed the moon. 

That cool blue light spilled down and radiated off your bronze skin. It was like you glowed, drawing Will's unreadable gaze. 

You were pushing your feet toward the ocean, just barely letting the water touch. Your fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, not moving the container but, letting your nails pick at the ridges in the glass. Will stared at how your head tilted to the side, and your lashes closing, taking in the breeze blowing through you.

There he was dwelling, fingertips tapping on his knee and another bracing on his face, ruminating through those long corridors in his mind. As he watched you he couldn't help but think in the past, back when he first laid eyes on you and took in that fear entangled in your soul.

He thinks back to your inconceivable proposition, you were on your knees for him, begging for a chance to show him what you got. You were dead serious in the end and you slid to him that folded up paper with the keys to the universe.

He shook his head and scratched at his hair, Will's brain repeated those words that your father said to him. Through grit teeth, spitting, and bloodshot orbs, his voice echoed that foreboding line up to Will.

‘Listen, son, you fall asleep at night with the visions of the world twirling in your palms. You are hungry for it and you run rampant with the darkness that resides in every man. You don’t lock yourself back and you will stumble. The time will come where your dominion crumbles and knocks the crown off of your head. And when you wake, a phantom won’t take you, but you will be rasping for it when you watch everything you breathe for get torn to shreds.’

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Taglist: @feralrunaway @inlovewithhisblueeyes @emyearns @mansaaay @cavillryarchive​ @thetaoofzoe​

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[novaiya]

After Midnight - Arthur Morgan, Micah Bell.

Summary: Having spent the entire day traveling with Sean, Charles and Micah, Arthur wants nothing more than to let the sleep overtake him. His plans are sidetracked when Micah wouldn't leave his hotel room, and Arthur has to concentrate hard to ignore the man and his talk as he tries to fall asleep.

Words: 2,313

Warnings: none.

AO3 Link.

A/N: Long story short, I was able to trigger a “Companion” bug in which camp members can follow you on your adventures around the world. Google/Search it on YouTube to get a better sense for what I’m talking about. Anyway, I got Micah, Charles and Sean. I robbed and killed with them for a few hours before deciding to call it a night and went into a hotel. I got Arthur a bath, and as I’m laying in the bath, I see an icon moving toward Arthur’s room. When I left the bath and went into the hotel room, who did I see lol? Micah wouldn’t leave the room no matter what, so Arthur slept with Micah watching over him. Only when Arthur woke up the next morning did Micah finally leave the room. Weirdly enough, only Micah stayed with Arthur in the room, not Sean or Charles, though all of them were supposed to follow Arthur wherever he went.

~ ~ ~

It was nice to hang out with the guys for a change. More often than not, Arthur was alone; he would go hunting alone, collect bounties alone and help people around the country, alone. He enjoyed the solitude, of course, but something about riding with his fellow gang members down the dusty plain, all of them on their respective horses, had him treasure every minute of it. The conversations that they engaged in were a welcomed change to the usual silence that accompanied Arthur on his journeys, and the safety in numbers did not go by unnoticed. He could feel, as they passed by fellow gunslingers and bounty hunters on the road, eyes watching them warily. No one dared to look at them wrong, just the sight of all four of them, with iron on their hips and scars on their faces, made any attempt dissipate as fast as their horses did down the dirt path.

The night had fallen when they rolled into town. The shops were closing down, saloons becoming quieter and streets emptier as they rode through the Main Street. Arthur could feel a yawn make its way up his throat and did nothing to stop it. The day was long, with enough endeavors to last some people a lifetime, and he wanted nothing to do than to wash it away and go to sleep.

As they continued their way up the Main Street, Arthur saw a hotel; a small construction that by the looks of it barely stood together with the rotten boards and rusty nails, but with no other options, it would have to do.

Despite offering them, Sean and Charles declined spending the night in the crappy hotel and said they rather camp outside of town. Arthur didn’t have a chance to extend the same offer to Micah (not that he wanted to either) for the fact that he couldn’t find him (he went to the general store), so after bidding the guys goodnight, he went into the hotel, paid for a room and a bath and went to the latter first.

The first few minutes of being submerged in the water were always the best. Arthur could feel every ounce of stress leave his body along with the dirt. These few moments of peace always made him think of his dog, and despite the fact that the boy was long gone, he always smiled when he remembered him.

As okay as he was with bathing in rivers and lakes, he much preferred the steaming hot water of a hotel bath. He took the time to thoroughly wash himself, sliding the wet rag up and down his arms, legs and back. A satisfied groan would leave his lips now and then as he washed his hair, adding a slight pressure to massage his scalp.

After he finished cleaning himself, he took a deep breath and reclined against the rim of the bath. The smell of peppermint soap filled his senses and with the soap bubbles acting as a blanket, he felt himself drifting off to the dream world. A commotion outside made him let out an exhausted sight and open his eyes. He furrowed his brows as he heard someone enter the room next door, his room.

Perhaps it was Sean or Charles taking him up on his offer, deciding against bunking with coyotes and skunks.

He heaved a deep groan as he exited the bath. After drying himself off and putting on a fresh pair of clothes, he went to his room.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Arthur said as soon as he entered the room.

Micah’s back was turned to Arthur as he stood by the window of the room, looking outside. The town was quiet and all its citizens asleep. Micah enjoyed the nighttime, the quietness and calmness it provided. Like all the nighttime creatures, Micah felt the most comfortable when the sun was set and the moon loomed over.

“Well,” Micah said as he turned around, holding a cigarette between his fingers, “As you forgot to invite me, I decided to take matters into my own hands and welcome myself in.”

“Get out of here,” Arthur said as he moved across the room to a nightstand by the bed, removing his satchel and placing it there. He made a point of ignoring the man by the window as he took off his gun belt and placed it next to his satchel.

Micah didn’t move from his spot by the window, though he wasn’t looking through it anymore. As he held the cigarette between his fingers, puffing on it from time to time, he watched Arthur remove his belt, his jackets and his boots, all while his back was to him.

As Arthur turned around, ready to start pulling down his pants, he saw that Micah was still there, eyeing him in such a way that Arthur all of a sudden felt flustered.

“You still here?” he said.

Micah motioned with his hands and shrugged his shoulders without saying anything, implying that Yes, as you can see, I’m still standing here.

Micah moved from his position near the window to lean against a dresser in the center of the room.

Arthur wondered why he hadn't pushed Micah out of the room yet, and why he was now pulling his pants down, stripping down to just his Union suit in front of the man he’s known all 5 months. Not that the length of time they’ve known each other would have an effect on whether he would strip in front of him or not, but still. Perhaps he was too tired to pick a fight.

When down to his sleepwear, Arthur sat at the edge of the bed. The sleep had long passed him, and he was sharply aware that Micah wasn’t moving from his place by the dresser.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” Arthur said.

“Do you want me to stand somewhere else?” Micah replied.

Arthur rolled his eyes before saying, “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

Micah placed the cigarette back between his lips and inhaled the smoke. He kept his eyes on Arthur as he let the smoke escape in a cloud in front of him. After wetting his lips with his tongue, Micah replied as a matter of fact, “I don’t sleep.”

“You don’t-You don’t sleep?” Arthur said, a genuine surprise in his voice at what Micah said. Now that he thought about it though, he realized that he has actually never seen the man sleep before. He’s never seen him sleep, never seen him in his sleepwear and never even seen him lay down. In fact, he didn’t even think Micah had his own tent or a cot to begin with.

“Nope.”

“That’s a load of crap,” Arthur said and waved his hand at Micah, “Everybody's gotta sleep.”

“Not me.”

Despite how outlandish the statement sounded, Arthur found himself believing Micah; If the wrinkles and bags under the man’s eyes were anything to go by.

As if it only now dawned upon him, Arthur cocked his head at Micah and said, “So what did you come here for then? Watch me sleep?”

Micah chuckled, the same way he did when he wanted to undermine someone or simply be an ass.

“If that’s what you want, cowpoke,” he said.

Arthur was far too tired to engage in a pointless verbal quarrel with Micah.

Without replying anything else, he shook his head, got under the thin covers of the hotel bed and turned his back to him, determined to not let the presence of the blonde man ruin his rest.

The sleep didn’t come to him as easily as he hoped. He was hyper aware of Micah behind his back, and in the dead silence of the night, could hear the faint sound of him inhaling the cigarette smoke. He squirmed in the bed, tossing and turning as if the position was at fault for his restlessness and not Micah Bell the Third’s eyes which he could feel on his back.

“I had a brother once,” Micah said, breaking the silence, “Suppose I still do.”

Upon hearing Micah’s voice, Arthur stopped moving and laid still, listening.

“We ran together for a while; me, him and our pa. Did a lot of good stuff. Did a lot of bad stuff. You might’ve even read some of it in the papers,” Micah added with a snicker. “I trusted him. We was brothers, beyond the sense of the word.”

Micah was silent for a good while after, letting his words settle in the air and letting his own thoughts settle as well. The images of all the vile savagery they’ve done together; robbing, stealing, killing, assaulting; flooded his brain, and he couldn’t help but smile at the recollection. The smile fell however, as he remembered what followed after; his brother's hesitations, his wanting to go straight and to leave the life behind. The anger that always boiled inside of Micah came on raging as he remembered the last time he and his brother talked before the latter bailed on him and his father.

Any jest left his voice as he continued. “And then he found himself a whore, knocked her up and hightailed to the West. Last I heard he’s living a cushy rancher life in California.”

The cigarette between his fingers was long forgotten, the cinder from it falling to the ground.

Arthur was now laying on his back, his head slightly towards Micah. “What’s his name?”

“Amos. Amos Bell.”

Arthur let the newfound information settle in his head, before he finally asked, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

Micah shrugged his shoulders before saying, “Thought you might like a bedtime story, seeing as you couldn’t fall asleep.”

Arthur groaned before closing his eyes and said, “Remind me to never let you near Jack.”

Whether it was Micah’s “bedtime story” or the exhaustion finally getting the better of him, but within a few minutes Arthur was out, sprawled out on the hotel bed, light snores coming out of his open mouth.

Micah, just as he said, didn’t sleep all throughout the night. He smoked a couple more cigarettes, drank some whiskey, checked the cabinets and the dressers, and even read Arthur’s journal. The man was deep in slumber, judging by his snores, so Micah didn’t feel any hesitation to reach into his satchel and pull out the one item that Arthur was always protective over.

He casually flipped through the pages; a drawing of a horse, a drawing of a bunny, another drawing of a horse, a portrait of a random camp member, another drawing of a horse?! For a moment, he thought Arthur was carrying around Jack’s drawing journal, with all the doodles of horses and squirrels and birds that he saw there. That was until he started coming upon short chronicles and daily logs, some of them detailing mundane things such as the bounties Arthur caught or strangers that he helped, other, more grim, such as plans of bank robberies and the friends who had fallen.

As he flipped through the pages, a log caught his attention.

November 12, 1898

Got into a bar fight when Dutch tried to sell that gold we found few weeks back. The locals don’t seem to take too kindly to strangers in these parts. Can’t blame them. We was fighting to an inch of our life when a stranger joined in. I wasn’t sure if he was on our side or not, but when the opposition started dropping, I understood. Micah Bell's name is, I think. Dutch offered him to join the gang, and he accepted. Not sure what I think of him yet. He seems hot headed and reckless, but he’s good with his guns and that’s all that matters. We’ll see.

As he flipped to the next page, something that almost never happened with Micah did; he was caught by surprise.

The very next page after the previous log was fully dedicated to a portrait of him. His mouth hung ajar as he looked at himself on the paper. The carefully drawn eyes, the long, unkempt hair, the horseshoe mustache, and his classic white hat. Even the fire and the fury in his eyes was translated onto the paper, and in the top right corner, two letters in cursive, MB.

All of a sudden, Micah felt flustered, another emotion that rarely made an appearance. He shot close the journal, a little too suddenly, and his eyes flew to Arthur’s sleeping form on the bed. He was sprawled on the bed, sheets entangled in his legs and his arms above his head, still sleeping. Micah walked to the nightstand where Arthur satchel was and slid the journal back inside before going to his previous position by the window.

The night was as dark as ever, with the sky littered with innumerable stars. Micah lit yet another cigarette and brought it to his lips. He hesitated for a moment, sending a side glance to Arthur. Vulnerable and frail, asleep and practically naked, Micah could kill him right now. No one would hear a thing as he’d plunge the knife deep into Arthur’s chest, killing him so quickly Arthur would barely have a moment to open his eyes. It would take hours for them to realize something was wrong, and at that point, Micah would be long gone, his horse’s footprints the only thing left.

A small rasp from Arthur brought Micah back to reality. He shuffled a bit, turning to his side before pulling the covers tighter over his body. The night once again fell quiet, only the sound of coyotes crying in the distance. Micah stood motionless for a few seconds, his hands itching, before he turned his attention back to the window and put the cigarette back to his lips.

[the-broken-truth]

The Father of All Wolves (Havenfall is for Lovers)(Mackenzie Hunt x Roxie Brooks) Part 3🐺🐺🐺

🦇🦇🦇HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! 🦇🦇🦇

[While Mackenzie & Annabelle were talking to the Beast] [In The Depths of Roxie's Mind]

Roxie's ocean eyes blinked open as they began to adjust themselves to the foggy amber light they were met with. Roxie groaned as she sat herself to an upright position - one hand flat on the ground while the other reached up. clasping her forehead in hopes to subside the pounding vibrations in her head. Her eyes opened again once she felt the headache fade away and looked around to see her surroundings - there was nothing. She sat under a bright light that shined miles above her head but everything that was beyond the circle that the light overhead was encompassed in the void of darkness. Roxie began to slowly pick herself off the ground - standing in the center of the circle of light - trying to think of where she was and how it was she came to be there. That's when it hit her: The Beast of Gevaudan.

"That's right. That bitch did something to me - some kind of rite." Roxie lifted her hands and they confirmed her fears, for her hands were human. Her claws were gone. She reached them up to touch her hand and sure enough, the wolfish ears that she grew to love were gone as well. "If she separated my Human Soul from my Wolf Soul, and I'm the Hyman Soul...Where's the Wolf Soul?"

That's when a hot and heavy gust of wind breezed from behind her but it was not wind...

It was Breath.

Something behind her was breathing and from the feel of it...

It was big.

"You're here...aren't you?" Roxie asked with her eyes wide, her body lightly shaking in fear at what would answer her question.

"Why wouldn't I be here? I am the one who called you here." A deep masculine echoing voice called out from behind her. Then she remembered - while she was fighting against the Beast's Rite taking over her body, she heard the voice from deep within calling to her - the voice of her wolf asking for her to come.

Roxie turned 180 and her ocean eyes collide with eyes are powerful as leaves in the summer sun; and they were large. Roxie's eyes trailed along the figure that the eyes belonged to - she could make out the muzzle of the canine, his obsidian fur that was darker than the void he was resting in, his paws here crossed in a waiting manner, and his body was curled around the circumference of the light she was standing in - from what she could tell, the tip of his tail was behind her.

This is what Damien and the Beast of  Gevaudan were talking about - this was her Great Beast.

"You are...massive." Roxie's voice came out in a squeak.

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Ingólf." The giant wolf responded. The name confused Roxie.

"Ingólf? My name is..." The wolf's scoff cut Roxie off.

"I know the name you were given at birth, but to me, you will always be Ingólf - it means Little Wolf in my native tongue." The wolf explained.

(I got the translation off Google, please don't flame me.)

"That's not from any language I've heard before." Roxie explained.

"That's because the once great knowledge of who I was and where I came from - along with those I have shared the light with - are not very known in this new world." The wolf said.

"Just who are you? I know Damien and the Beast said I had a Great Wolf inside me but I was not expecting you." Roxie said making the wolf raise his eyebrow (If wolves have eyebrows and I think they do.)

"And just what were you expecting, Ingólf?" The wolf asked.

"From what the Beast was saying - I explained a rabid wolf, foaming out the mouth, ready to rip me apart and take control of my body & life." Roxie explained, the wolf just exhaled and rolled his eyes.

"If it were a normal wolf spirit - perhaps - but the Beast of Gevaudan does not know the true nature behind the rite she used because...there's no way I would have let that insolate pup turn me against one of my own." The wolf explained.

"The Beast of Gevaudan? An Isolate Pup? Do you realize who you are talking about? This...This creature was around before Wolf became Pack - she is one from where all werewolves hail and now she is here, trying me make me..." Roxie was cut off again when the wolf began chuckling again. "What's so funny?"

"Child, the Beast of Gevaudan might be ancient and she may be powerful but she is not the first - she is not the First nor is the Harold of Wolf Blood to mortals. She and all the others are simply...not caught up on the history of their true lineage." The wolf explained.

"Wait...if the Beast wasn't the first...Who was?" Roxie asked.

"That's simple - I was. I am the one from which all wolf kind spawns from. I am the Father of all Wolves. I am Fenris - The Monstrous Wolf of Norse Lore." The Wolf - Fenris - stated as he began to sit upright, showing Roxie is massive height.

"You're...The Father of All Wolves? Then...why are you inside me?" Roxie asked.

"Your Family's Blood has been tied to me and mine since the days of old - when humans built temples and shrines dedicated to their gods, giving them offerings to ensure good health or fortune; I - however - was nothing like that." Fenris said with a snarl.

"Then what are you and how are you tied to my family?" Roxie asked.

"For those who are familiar with my name - I am the Son of the God of Mischief: Loki. The Gods received a prophecy about me - stating that my growth would mean trouble for them and thus, they locked me away. I sent my sons - Skoll and Hati - to chase the sun and moon to devour them so that I may be free to exact my revenge upon the Gods but...I didn't need to." Fenris said with a smile as he replayed the memory in his head.

"What happened?" Roxie asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A Pack of Humans somehow managed to find and free me - they brought me to an abandoned temple that was long forgotten. The Leader - A young woman named Mara - told me that she had a vision of me, she knew I would have been wronged and she was not going to let that happen. As time went on, that temple became my place of devotion and I lived in peace with my followers and my sons - for those I found to be trustworthy, I shared my blood with them and rebirthed them in my image." Fenris's words made Roxie's eyes grow wide.

"They were the first werewolves." She said.

"Yes, and for the longest times, all was good...until one of my own befell my doom." Fenris said - sorrow laced in his voice.

"One of your own? One of your followers betrayed you?" Roxie asked.

"In an act of desperation - A young man - I have long since forgotten his name - his family grew ill with an unknown disease and he begged the God of Knowledge - Mimir - for any kind of a remedy to help those he loved but Mimir wanted something in return; knowledge in exchange for knowledge. That young man gave up the location of my temple and the fact that I was free from the god's prison. In exchange, the young man was given the information he wanted and returned home to save his family, but when he told his family want he'd done; he was exiled from his family's home, and his sister came to warn me...but her warning came too late." Fenris said.

"The Gods found you?" Roxie asked.

"Yes. Just her she explained what her brother had done - The Gods came raiding down upon my temple - killing my Lycans and imprisoning my sons. They were moving in on my chambers - where Mara and I were hiding. Mara didn't want me to be at the mercy of the Gods and thus...she made a choice. Using the knowledge she knew - she sealed me and my essence inside herself and ran away from the temple; the gods never found her."

"Mara saved you. What happened after she escaped the Gods?" Roxie asked.

"Mara began to document everything that happened in a special tome that would never age and she began a family of her own. My essence - my soul - and the knowledge of the Fenris Temple were passed down from old matriarch and patriarch to the newest but it was when humanity began to evolve in the way they have now when my knowledge and legacy began to fade from the family and I was sent into a deep slumber. Then your family began working for Code Black and I remained undetected...until now." Fenris explained as he looked down at Roxie.

"Wait...what triggered you to wake up? The Rite the Beast of Gevaudan did?" Roxie asked.

"No, Ingólf. I awakened the moment you met Mackenzie Hunt and began to bond with her. Two wolves know each other and while I was sleeping for so long, her wolf told me everything I had missed."

"Wait, you and Mac's Wolf know each other? How?!" Roxie asked with her jaw dropped.

"That's because Mara was the Mate of Mackenzie Hunt's Ancestor - Souls know each other and true love always finds a way, Ingólf."

"Wait a minute...If Mac's Ancestor was Mara's Mate...then that means Mara was..." Roxie said as she began to put two and two together.

"Yes - Mara was your Direct Ancestor, Ingólf." Fenris said. "And right now, Your Mate is in trouble."

"I know." Roxie's fists began to ball in tight fists. "I don't know what I can do. The Beast of Gevaudan is too strong for me to handle and without our pack bound, Mac isn't strong enough to take her down either. I don't know what to do...I'm confused." Roxie admitted.

"She may be strong but she is not the strongest. My Blood is the Oldest and those that fall under me will always yield to me." Fenris crouched down until his eyes were in line with Roxie's. "Join with me, Ingólf. You will have all my power and I will share in your consciousness. We will be one body and one soul. I shall defeat the Beast of Gevaudan and I shall teach her that her actions against my children are unforgivable." Fenris said with power in his voice- his eyes seemed to glow with promise.

"You won't devour my soul?" Roxie asked - her own eyes seem to glow as well.

"I will not commit actions against my own spawn nor against the soul that saved me from the Gods. We will be one but we will still be our own person. I shall bear no transgressions against you nor upon your human life." Fenris promised.

Roxie's hand reached out for him, placing the palm of it her the surface of his cold nose before she uttered a single word.

"Yes."

A bright light shined between them and their souls melded together.

Making something new...and powerful.

--------------------------------------------------

Previous Page - Part Two

[you-li-ya]

Happily Ever After

Pairing: BTS member x reader

Word count: 1431

Warnings: character death, murder, suicide

Summary: Writing has always been difficult for you. You loved to fantasize about stories, stories about dragons and fairies, magic and friendship and romance. For you, nothing could beat a good love story.

However, as much as you wished to write about all your dreams and wishes, you could never find the right words for it.

In which perspective should you write it?

How should you begin your story?

And how should it end? A happy ending? A tragedy?

You never really knew, but luckily, you had him. He helped you to organize your daydreams, gave you inspiration for an introduction and encouraged you to finish your stories. His love for your ideas, all the tales you tell, always animated you to keep going, to see his glowing eyes and growing smile, while reading your books.

He was your biggest motivation and no opinion was more important than his.

He couldn’t stand reading, never did. For him, it was the most boring activity one could do. He never understood how one could like it, calling it addicting. That was, until he read your stories. He saw the world with your eyes, felt fabrics with your hands. He learned to love reading books, reading your books. They were the biggest treasure in the world, right next to you. And in his opinion no one, except for him, was worthy enough to read your books. And nobody but him would recognize the value of you.

next part

Books. Everywhere were books. Stacked on the table, piled next to the bed. But they weren’t just any books. No, every single volume, every page, was written by you. He could open any of those, in his eyes, treasures and immerse into a new world, another universe, a paradise. Your fantasy, your whole mind was completely innocent, free of any filth. And your whole being was just as innocent as your mind. Once he saw you up close at a fan meeting. If he hadn’t known beforehand, he would have thought he was standing in front of an angel. You radiated such purity that he was afraid to stain you, when your fingertips touched while you took his copy of your newly written book. You gave him a smile, showing so much love in your eyes, he had to hold himself back to not whisk you away. Far away from all of the others preying eyes, who just waited to taint you, to let you wither like a beautiful flower in a field of weed. He could not allow that. No it was his mission, the purpose of his whole life, to protect you. He would be your knight in shining armor.

Covers. He loved the hardcovers the most. The printed picture of you on these had the best quality. It was easier for him to copy your face from them, print posters for his wall and small photos for his wallet, so  he could always look at you.

He remembered the first time he saw your face. It was on the back of the book, you flashed a big grin for the camera, showed how excited you were to publish your first novel. Your name was printed right under your picture, so perfect sounding and melodic that he couldn’t stop himself from saying it out loud.

But right under your image was his. In your very first book and in every other one as well.

Kim Namjoon. Your editor and the very first person in every of your acknowledgments.

He loathed to see this person soil your beautiful book covers and execrated him every time he read your thanks to Kim Namjoon. Him, being your biggest support, your help in dark times? Nonsense, he was your biggest fan, he read no other book than yours. Wrote you letters, was the first to inform you what a masterpiece you created. So why wasn’t he mentioned but this excuse of a man? He truly hated Kim Namjoon.

Pages. He always imagined you would smell like the pages of an old book. You mentioned once in an interview that you loved to collect antique novels. All of your book recommendations were on your personal blog. He read every single on of them and immediately purchased the next one if you updated your list, but he could never really find the reason why you liked those books. They were boring, completely ordinary and it made him feel sick, thinking how you would believe those are better authors than you. He just hoped you wouldn’t let yourself be influenced.

He loved you for your originality. If someone was to wear the same outfit as you or to have the same hairstyle, it would always be the other person who copied you, be it a normal person or a celebrity. Everything you did was better, and while he normally hated changes, he trusted you to make the right choices, be it on your body or in your books. The only thing he could never forgive was you talking down on yourself. He would never lean back and watch how someone, not even yourself, would dim your light. He would protect you, but how?

Words. Every word that passed you lips was like a spell that enchanted him. From your soft voice in the interview videos, the emotional whisper in your public readings to the happy laugh when you announced your engagement. The man next to you, Kim Namjoon, moved his arm around your waist when the desktop of his computer went black. He saw his reflection in the cracked monitor, the mouse he previously still held in his hand, laying behind the broken screen. Did he threw it? He didn’t notice it, still to enraged about your future plans to care for the damage in front of him.

You, engaged to him? Don’t make him laugh. You were destined to be with him and not with your editor. He had already planned everything, from your wedding theme to where you would live after your honeymoon. And you, you just destroyed everything. Yes, it was your fault that he destroyed his monitor, that he began to loose his mind. You should take responsibility for your actions.

He was out of his apartment and on the street, on his way to you when a different thought crossed his mind. What if it wasn’t your decision? What if it was this man, if he was responsible for all of this? Did he blackmail you, force you to marry him? It had to be like this, you would never deceive him without a reason.

He quickened his pace, you must be scared to death, completely alone with this monster. You were so helpless without his protection, it was almost cute.

Finished. Your book was finally finished. You told him, he inspired you to write it, the male protagonist was his role. He was thrilled hearing that. All those months he had kept you in his apartment were paying off. He was distraught when you refused to talk to him, completely ignored him. The only time you broke your silence was to yell at him or to cry. He hated seeing your tears, he never really knew what to say, none of his words helped you feel better. But one day he finally found the reason for all your sadness.

His clothes were soaked in blood when he came home later then usual. His feet carried him into your room, wanting to show you his gift for you. He saw tears well up when he showed you his surprise, but after this night you never cried again. He was more than happy that he finally eliminated the cause of all of your sorrow. To celebrate this, he hanged your present over the door to the kitchen, to always remind you, there was no reason to cry anymore. He never noticed how you refused to enter the kitchen since then or how your eyes were always down casted when you left your room, just to avoid the sight of Namjoon’s head over the door frame.

To be continued. Were the last words on your manuscript. His fingers caressed the letters, before he closed the book. A prince, you wrote him as a crown prince. But, why did he hurt you so much in the story? It wasn’t like you to write such cruel books. You normally would create your own world, so why did you pick the Joseon era? What triggered your change? His feet carried him into your room, wanting to confront you about your abnormal behavior.

You laid in your bed, blood dripping down your arm, your breath shallow. Your eyelids flattered open when his shadow fell upon you. You gave him a weak smile, to tired to show or even feel your hatred towards him. He didn’t understand, why were you hurt? Pieces of the mirror laid next to your bed, splattered with your blood, both of your wrists cut open.

He knelt in front of you and held your hands, which were getting colder and colder. You wouldn’t die, you wouldn’t leave him alone. Now that you no longer hate him, both of you could start a new life, explore the world and create your own love stories. Your last breaths came only slowly, you struggled with every gasp. Your eyes opened a last time and to find his.

“I… I am so tired about- About everything that’s happening… Why… Won’t you leave me alone… For the last few minutes… H… Hoseok?”, your eyes squeezed shut when you took an especially straining breath.

The corners of his mouth curved upwards. It was the first time you called him by his name, not just some cuss or insult. Now, you truly loved him.

He kissed your forehead, covered you with your blanket and turned the lights off, before exiting your room. The slumber you fell into afterwards was for eternity, but this was okay, because he was always there to care for you. He would never leave you alone.

And here is my first fanfiction and the start of my first series as well. M biggest thanks go to Google Translator and any other translating website, I feel like this fanfic sucked all of my English skills out of me. Thank you for reading and happy birthday to our Hope.

[s-and-n-writes]

don’t let this be the end

don’t let this be the end: part one (out of two) 

summary:

Sometimes, Peter Parker felt a little sad. 

Thinking back, it was nothing at first. There was only the feeling of being under the weather, something he often experienced when high school wore him down. He had bad days, like everyone else, and that was valid. 

How did he go from there to...here? His feet dangling off the bridge, his heartbeat quick and fast, knowing that one slide, one push right off the edge would end him forever?

It was… a long story.

warnings: mentions of suicide, suicide attempt, mature language

quick links:

| next chapter >

| mcu masterlist |

| series masterlist | 

a/n: i’m very excited for this >:) hope you guys like it, and shoot me a message if you wanna be on the taglist for this!

Sometimes, Peter Parker felt a little sad.

Thinking back, it was nothing at first. There was only the feeling of being under the weather, something he often experienced when high school wore him down. He had bad days, like everyone else, and that was valid.

But this day was different.

Somehow he’d ended up at an empty bridge after patrol at 1 am, when the bridge was silent and all was still.

He’d taken off his mask as he stood over the ledge to quiet Karen, who’d been reminding Peter of all the good things in his life. It was like she had instinctively known why he stared down into the water, like she’d known that he couldn’t swim and that drowning was his worst fear, like she had known what he thought of doing.  

But it wasn’t like he was going to jump.

Right?

Peter brushed away the tears in his eyes, and sat against the metal bars, his feet over the ledge. Taking off his web shooters, he placed them by his side.

You know, just in case.

He leaned his head back. Lately his days were full of flashbacks that triggered his panic attacks. Vivid images of Ben, of Mr. Stark's near-death state, of Toomes and the building burying him alive were fresh in his mind. Nights were no better, because the same memories occupied his dreams, and he always woke up screaming.

Peter sighed. He’d been so happy, so...full of life. How did he go from there to...here? His feet dangling off the bridge, his heartbeat quick and fast, knowing that one slide, one step right off the edge would end him forever?

Right, he reminded himself, standing up and looking down, one step.

One step, he thought, one step and I won’t be a burden to May.

He remembered when he was up late one night, doing a school project he didn’t have time to do before. He was focused, and the quietness of the city compared to daytime helped him. Because of the vast difference in noise, his senses tingled just as the door opened and May came in. She was close by, so he could hear everything she did.

It was nothing new. May had late night shifts once every so often, and Peter knew that, so he minded his own business, keeping quiet so she wouldn’t know he was still up. Spidermanning wasn’t supposed to interfere with his school work, so if May knew, she’d freak out, and probably ground him for the rest of his life.

And then he heard it.

The crying.

Peter was confused at first, seeing as he and May were the only ones in the apartment, but then it occurred to him that May could’ve been the one crying.

The thought was...weird. He hadn’t seen her cry since Ben’s funeral, and even then she’d hid it from him, so he only saw a few tears.

He snuck out of his room to where May was, peeking around the corner to see her sitting at the table with her head in her hands, bills sprawled out in front of her.

“F**k,” she said to herself, quietly sobbing, “There’s not enough, there’s not…”

Peter trembled. Why hadn’t he noticed before? May was always tired, constantly had bags under her eyes, and was taking shifts left, right, and center.

Was it because of him? Was he the weight she had to carry? Was the reason she cried because she couldn’t afford as much as she was giving him?

He glanced at May again.

The obvious answer was yes.

Peter retreated to his room, tears in his eyes. He was a burden to May, and it was because of him that she was crying.

It was all because of him.

One step and my friends won’t have to deal with me.

Peter remembered the last time he had been out to patrol. He was supposed to go home afterwards, but a random thug had shot his shoulder, and he was then nursing a bullet wound in his arm as he made his way to Ned’s house.

He didn’t know where else to go.

Mr. Stark would’ve gotten mad, and so would May. The longer he could hide this, the better, and Ned had taken a First Aid class for him anyway.

Turns out, bullet wounds aren’t really covered in First Aid.

“Hold still!” Ned pressed on as he tried to take the bullet out.

Peter hissed. There was no pain medicine he could take that would make a big difference, so Peter just had to deal with the ache in his arm as Ned dug around inside. As he removed it, Ned grabbed the gauze and started wrapping the wound, preventing any more blood from flowing out until Peter’s self-healing could kick in.

At least, that’s what Google said.

After treating the injury, Ned made sure to scold Peter for getting shot in the first place (as May would’ve wanted him to), and Peter felt more and more remorseful as Ned talked.

He shouldn’t have come and made his friend worried.

One step and Mr. Stark would be happy.

The last time Peter had seen Mr. Stark was when he was over at the Avengers Tower. He’d said hi to most of the Avengers, and he ran down to Tony’s lab to finish working on his new suit.

He had waited for a while for Mr. Stark, but when he didn't show, Peter decided to work on the suit alone. He'd been so concentrated that his spidey senses didn't tingle when arm grabbed him from behind, and right on the spot of the gunshot wound.

Peter tried to stifle his gasp of pain, and turned around to look for the person behind him.

It was Mr. Stark.

S**t.

“What. Happened. Spill. ” Mr. Stark said, a hard look in his eyes. There was no doubt that Mr. Stark had only grabbed his arm as a harmless prank, but unfortunately, it had gone in the wrong direction.

“W-what do you mean? Nothing happened,” Peter said, giving an unconvincing reply and mentally preparing himself for the lecture that was about to follow.

“Underoos…” Mr. Stark threatened. Peter shrinked back, and lifted up his sleeve.

“So, I-uh, I might’ve gotten shot..but it’s fine! First aid done and everything! No need to worry, Mr. Stark!”

Peter laughed nervously as Mr. Stark glared at him, raising a single eyebrow and sighing loudly.

“Jesus Pete, you need to come to the Tower for injuries! You've obviously treated it alone or with someone who doesn't know a thing about first aid, from what I can tell. How many times do I have to tell you that this is irresponsible and risky! I thought you knew better than that!” Mr. Stark sternly scolded, rubbing his temples.

Peter shrunk under his gaze.

His mentor sighed again. “Go down to Cho right now, no whining,”

“I don’t whine,” Peter mumbled, clutching his arm and heading out of the lab.

The tears in Peter’s eyes refused to cease as he walked out of the room. Tony, however mad he had gotten in the past, had never yelled at him before, and this was an experience he so desperately wanted to forget.  

Peter sighed. How many mistakes had he made? Going to Ned’s, having him treat the gunshot wound, not going to the Tower, lying to Mr. Stark and May, the list was endless.

He’d gotten everyone worried. He couldn’t do anything right.

So what if he didn’t try anymore?

Peter sniffled at the memory, and gripped the edge of the bridge, ready to push off. It was the last straw, the turning point, the only time when everything became too much and he had nothing left to give.

One step… Peter smiled, fresh tears running down his face, and everything will be better.  

He forced down any last thoughts of regret, feeling empty as he stared down at the water below.

And then he did it. Peter clenched his fists, and took the last step.

But the water never hit.

quick links: | next chapter >

a/n: i have the next chapter’s outline written and stuff, so it should come soon! if you liked this lmk! 

taglist:

i’m tagging everyone from discord who wanted to be tagged! if you want to be added to the taglist for part two, shoot me a message and i’ll add you to the taglist!  thank you!

@im-salt-but-not-salty @taciturnworm @kelieah​ @lehmehgeh @fancyxparker​ 

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and go to London chapter 17

Synopsis: This is the story of (y/n), a successful actress,  musician, musical producer and songwriter. After battling depression and  breaking up a long relationship, she seeks for a change of air,  escaping LA for a while going to visit some friends in London and there  she meets Henry. -Disclaimer: some chapters are mostly smut.

Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 (smut)

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 (smut)

Chapter 8 (smut/roleplay)

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12 (smut)

Chapter 13

Chapter 14 (smut)

Chapter 15

Chapter 16 (smut/ s&m)

Triggers:   Crying; talking about depression, low self-steem and body image issues; talking about toxic relationships.

Tag list:  Here’s the incredible people who showed me support (thank  you    so  much for that) and people who asked me to tag them too  ☺️   (I    think  I will write a few chapters of this story, if you want me to  tag     you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8     penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming    alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​  

Henry was playing games while you played with Kal, making the little bear follow you around the house. It surprise you the amound of energy that the puppy had. While running, you got caught in the the door knob of one bedroom and ripped the t-shirt you were wearing, living a little hole in it. You cursed because that was one of your boyfriend's t-shirts. You were in trouble, for sure. You put your best sad kitty face and went to Henry to tell him about the t-shirt. He was sitting on the couch with his laptop and closed it after you sat next to him, pointing out that you have something to confess. He put his whole attention on you as you showed him his peace of clothing and apologized, assuring him that you'd tried to fix it. He looked at you with a cute smile and told you that was ok. He was not mad at you at all, "it's just a t-shirt" he said and gave you a kiss on the cheeks to make you feel better and proved to you that he wasn't angry at all. You hugged him and kissed him. He was the best. - I'm still sorry, though. I know you love this t-shirt.- you apologized once again. - It's kind of special.- he admitted. - Where did you bought it? I can replace it, I'll buy you the exact same one if I find it. - I didn't bought it; it was a gift. - From Charlie? Maybe I could send him a direct message in Instagram and ask him where he bought it. I will ask you his phone number, but we haven't officially met yet so he might find it weird if I text him. - No, it wasn't Charlie.- he answered and then took a deep breath before speaking again.- An ex-girlfriend gave it to me for a birthday. - Oh, I see.- you replied and went silent for a moment. - Was it Lucy? You questioned curiously. He raise an eyebrow and looked at you. - No, not her. - he said with a suspious tone. - Tara, Gina? -you asked again. -Sorry, I'm really curious - you said smiling - Tara. - he informed you - Wait, how do you know my exs's names? I never said her names to you? - he pointed out and you blushed of embarresment. "shit" you thought. - Have you been googling me by any chance? - I had to make sure you were not a serial killer - you joked, making an "ops" face. - I'm curious. I wanted to know how were the girls that you dated before me. - That's ok. I must admit that I googled you as well. - And what did you found out about me? - you were dying to know - That you have more money than me; that you're on the top 20 of Forbes lists of most influencial people; that people adore you on the internet. Basically, that you're ten times more amazing that I thought. Oh, I also found out that you have a college degree from Harvard. - Yep. While it cost me a lot. I practically did not sleep for like 5 years - you joked. It was kind of true, though. - Did you not expected you girlfriend to be the kind of person who goes to college? - I didn't imagine that giving all the work that you've done in your long career you'd had found to study for a degree. - he explained - I'm awesome - you said proudly - Giving my impressive career and my high grades in highschool, I was accepted at Harvard. I had to arrenge a few things to make the time, but I reached my goal. So, now you're in front of a Master of Arts and Doctor of Philosophy. - My baby is smart, damn! - he replied proudly. You gave him the brightest smile. - I found out that you were enganged once.- you continue the topic discused before. - Yes. It didn't work out, though. - Yes, I figured that out. Otherwise, it'd be an interesting situation the one that we're in right now. - Yes, it'd be for sure- he admited while laughing for your comment. - Do you missed them? - you questioned. He gave you a look, trying to see what you expected of him by those weird questions. - Come on, I know that you have a past. I have one too. I won't judge you. I just want to know how you feel about them. Do you still care for them? - Yes. - he admited.- But I don't do it in a romantic way. They were people important to me. Now they're part of my past, but I still want them to be happy. Sometimes I missed them a bit, more nostalgia for the good memories than anything, but I wouldn't go back with any of them, especially since I've met you. Now, I only have eyes for you. - he assured you, kissing your hand. - I understand.- you say smiling.- I still miss Jared sometimes. Like you said, I don't want to be with him at all and I only have eyes for you, but he was a great part of my life. He was the first man I've been with and, until you showed up in my life, he was the only one. - you confessed. You've talked before about having intimacy with few men, but never actually told him that was actually only one man before him. He looked at you surprise. - You are telling me that you only been intimate with two men and I'm one of them? -he asked you, speechless. - Yes. Before Jared I was afraid of being intimate with someone because I've always had body image issues. I didn't felt comfortable with my body and didn't want anybody to see me naked. When I started to date him, I wasn't ready to sleep with him and he respected that. He actually waited a whole year for me to finally be ready to have sex. I think that was another reason why even though it was clear he was not a good boyfriend, I stood with him. I always remembered that he promised to be patient and wait and not force me and he kept his word. After our first breakup, I was in that angry stage of "I hate all men", then soon enough I went to the "I don't hate men, but I don't have time to date either" I concentrated in study and work. Then, when I got back together with him, at first we'd had sex all the time, because despite the fact that I took care of my own pleasure during my time alone, I enjoyed to be intimate with another person that I cared about. But soon enough, things started to go South for us, and we barely had sex or was boring sex and I did most of the work. On one occasion, after a month of not doing it because he was working in his latest album, I put on a sexy lingerie and try to seduce him and he completely ignored me, like I wasn't even there. That broke me. By that point, I was already having body issues again, but that finally got to me and, until I met you, never again felt confident with my body or felt sexy. Knowing that a man like you was interested on me, made me feel great and then my confident side came back to me. - you explain, smiling at him. He kissed your hand again. - You know, I used to like him. I've met him twice and seemed like a nice guy. Now, I kind of want to punch him for hurting you. - He didn't do it un purpose, though. I know, so typical of me to deffend him, but that's true. I've known him for a long time. We were friends before and went through difficult times together until one day our friendship turned into something else. But now, I think those hard times we went through and that we've been surporting each other is the reason why he wanted to be with me. Why everytime we fought and I said that I was leaving he'd beg me to stay... because he knew that not matter what, he could count on me to be there for him. He clearly lost all the love and desire that he once felt for me, on the last period of our relationship I was just his support system; the one person he could count to help him when he need it. He's not a bad guy, but he was selfish. He concentrated on his needs and did not think on what I need it or what was the best for me. When I was diagnosed with major depression last year and was on those periods in which I would cry for entire days, for the first time in our entire relationship, he cancel a few plans to stay with me and hold me while I cried. But he didn't do it for love, no; he did it because he felt guilty. At that moment, he realized that he probably should have let me go, but he couldn't do that. As much as he'd love to have his single life back, he wanted me to be there for him, but he also knew that as soon as I walked out of the door, he would never see me again. So he kept me, unhappy and miserable until I finally realized myself from that toxic life I was living. - you finished and looked at your boyfriend's eyes. Henry was stroking your face and your hair. He looked worried and sad for hearing all you went through. - Your ex girlfriends were lucky. - you told him smiling - They had you. - I'm not perfect. I made mistakes as well, but I always try to look after their needs as well as mine. - That sounds like perfect to me. Perfection is not about not making mistakes, but recognize that you make them and try to correct them. Is not bad to look after your needs, we all need that, it's part of loving yourself, but, in a relationship, you have to care for your partner's needs as well. So yeah, you're the perfect boyfriend.- you assured him and he smiled. - I've seen photos of them and I must admit they're pretty, at least base on looks. The blonde one, Tara, if it wasn't weird, I'd totally high-five you for getting that chick. Even I must admit that she's hot. Although, I'm hotter than her.- you smile devilishly. - One houndred percent, baby. - he agreed. - They must have been really special to you. All of them. I saw the pictures. You'd take them with you to premieres and be by their sides, looking at them with proud. You'd post pictures or videos of them, and even if you're not longer together, you never deleted those things. That proved that they were special to you. I'm really jealous of them. - you admited - Not jealous because they were with you, like I said before, I know you have your past and that's ok, the important is that you're mine now. I'm jealous because I would have loved to be with someone that did those things for me. I'd had been great if my ex took me with him to an event or came with me to one of my premieres or award shows. Or took my hand in public. When I won my last two Oscars, he was there, but he didn't sat with me. I had to hug a friend to celebrate the fact that I won. You didn't get mad at them and ignored them for suggesting going out and getting caught by paparazzi. You would not tell them that you could spend time with them or have sex due to the lack of time and the hang out with your friends and former lovers instead. Why I could not have their luck once? Just once I'd love to know how it feels to be with someone who would proudly walk with me, go out with me or take me to places, happy to know that I'm by his side. Just one time I'd like to know who it feels not to be scared that your partner is going to be mad if someone for being seen together or acted as if he'd ashame and embarrased if people knew we're together, as if he could do so much better than you... just once I'd like to know how that feels. - you said and could not stop the tears. The tears covered your eyes and cheeks. The lump in your throat hurt badly. Henry grabbed your shoulders and pulled you closer, making you rest your head on his chest as he stroked your face and hair. He knew that you needed to let go of your tears in order to feel better. He promesed you would heal. He'd make sure that your future is bright and full of smiles instead of tears.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

20. Sink

Word Count: 3989 Trigger warnings for religion and mentions of child pornography

Previous

Lord, if it’s you,” (Simon) Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.” “Come,” he said. Then (Simon) Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Matthew 14:28-30

Simon had never been very religious. Scratch that… Simon had never been very mystical about religion. Whenever he was younger, his family went to church and he was quite studious and learned a lot in that time period. His father still believed in God and country or whatever and his grandmother, he imagined was praying over his mom every single day. But, he had never really known what it felt like to have that kind of faith in anyone or anything… until he was given Grace. It wasn’t lost on him the religious implications of being a boy named Simon (like Simon Peter, aka The Apostle Peter - huge name in the Bible world) being granted a savior, being blessed with Grace after a terrible sin, whether intentional or not, of killing Hope… His mind was in a daze right now. 

It was the fourth religious dream he had since that interview, and in this one, he was Simon Peter, calling to his Savior in the storm. Grace was just across the water. All he had to do was get to her and she would rescue him from all of this, just like she always used to. But, he looked at the impending storm, instead. He had Grace, but he was focused on the storm, and he sank… He jumped up from his sleep and literally felt like he had been drowning. Ugh. 10 years of church and 4 years of private school could definitely mess with one’s mind. Then again, so could 6 years of Grace and 5 years without it… her… 

He had begun to try to stop rationalizing that she wasn’t human. Unfortunately for him, before he considered her the void, she hadn’t been human for him either, then. She had been a deity. He worshipped her. She had been a vessel to save him, to help him, to comfort him. She had been what he built his faith system upon, his religion, his Apex, his lifestyle… Then, she was gone and he tried to continue without her. He tried to rebuild in his own image, in his own name. He tried to walk on water, as he had seen her do, now all he was doing was sinking…

In the aftermath of the interview, Simon noted that his faithful followers went on one of their ravenous attacks in Shana’s comment sections. She could even just post a photo of herself in the newsroom at Spelman as an inspirational post and they appeared in her comments to berate her for speaking about inspiration when she would attack an abuse survivor and have his abuser on her show, trying to make her sympathetic. Shana seemed entertained for some of the comments, replying things like a simple “K” or “Lol” and never addressing the person again, even if they supplied a melee of character attacks at her.

But, on the video link, whenever people started also attacking Grace’s fakeness and the fact that she still gets to abuse Simon indirectly by doing things like this, Shana had enough. She let them know that she had no regrets about the interview with Grace, no regrets about anything that she said about Simon, and none about all of her opinions of him. “Even if he’s a different person today, considering that he never got any backlash for the sex tape from high school, which i firmly STILL believe that he should be held accountable for, which I am convinced that he leaked, and I think that if he’s truly changed, he would have wanted to make that right at some point and free Grace from the uninvited attacks for that CRIME AGAINST HER, committed by him.”

There was an explosion of mixed reactions. Everything from, “This is the first that I’m hearing of this” to “Simon would never have done anything like that to Grace” to “WHERE CAN I FIND A SEX TAPE OF SIMON AND GRACE???” Many people were blocked. Many people were rocked, as Shana went live to address the massive amount of comments coming from her spilling that tea.

She made mention of the facts that while the statute of limitations of revenge porn had been exceeded, they didn’t exist for child porn. “And in case anybody is confused, yes, I am including links to inform you about how what he did is in fact child pornography creation, possession, and distribution, AND what the law says concerning them.” After replying to many of the comments, mostly in an amused fashion, she got bored. 

“Listen, I’m getting ready to go chill with my lady and get ready for class tomorrow, but I’ll just say this one more thing, “I’m not taking my foot off of Simon Laurent’s neck. As long as Grace has had to suffer in silence, because she’s no longer the vengeful type or whatever, she’s on right now in her journey, the journalist in me and the enraged victim in me will always come for Simon and the way he used the privilege that he did have - not to say that he didn’t lack in certain areas like money and common decency, but the ones he DID have - his race, his gender, his orientation, his proximity to education, etc, in order to vilify and humble this girl with false accusations of crimes, and get away with unconfessed crimes. Yeah, this IS about my Sassy Strawberry keychain, Simon you bitch! I know you watching. To those of you who can’t be bothered to use your Googles, I don’t know what to tell you, kinfolk. Shady Shana has said all that she needs to say for now. Tata, from the perfect place for shade.”

Then her accusations, the search for the information of said accusations and the buzz from back then resurfacing went even more viral than the things that he had said about Grace whenever he reached notoriety from the stories. Now that the Internet and social media were even bigger and just kept growing with time, Grace still being a huge public persona, despite the few short years that she wasn’t online and the time she had been inside, she made an explosive comeback at least as an Internet personality, and Simon was never as frequent online as he was a short time in the eye of the public to get himself established, but several professors had used his story for various seminars and lectures, his books did pretty well, and he was a very established young mind in his academic circles… So, he was a big deal in his world, but on the grand scale becoming infamous for this new attention. 

Shana and Grace’s worlds were very large, and both of those were combining to infiltrate his world with these not necessarily new pieces of information, but things that he thought would have been forgotten or left alone. He had not even considered that Shana would ever… Like… why was SHE so damn upset? Because of a small scuffle? Because of somebody else’s alleged injustice? Somebody that she didn’t even LIKE for most of her life? “Journalist” she was a shit-stirrer! All of her muckraking was making things complicated for simple Simon. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like dreaming about Grace as his savior. He didn’t like the idea of reaching out to her to get her to grab her dog. He didn’t like that he was suffering from nights more sleepless than usual and beginning to become counterproductive in his work.

Worrying about ramifications of the words “child pornography” and “sexual predator” being tossed about in conversations with his name led to nightmares, paranoia, guilt, intrusive thoughts, and mistakes in class and at work. One of them turned out big…

Amelia came up to him in her lab, with her arms folded and her face stern, “Is there anything you think we should discuss, Mr. Laurent?” He frowned and glanced her way, still working on the formula for the next tests in the prosthetics serum they were spending time discussing as one of his potential next big things. She raised her eyebrows and asked, “Not even an acknowledgment of what I’m speaking of?”

“I know what you’re speaking of and I decided that no, we don’t need to discuss it. It’s a personal matter.”

“A personal matter? Simon, you are supposed to be seeing a counsellor once a week, and now I find out that not only did he recommend that you see him twice a week, but that you haven’t seen him in several weeks! It is part of your ability to stay here, and I don’t appreciate that you’ve ducked out on this requirement, especially considering the personal matter you’re referring to.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows and set down his supplies. “This is about the shrink? I haven’t been able to see the guy, because I’ve been working on the new formula nonstop. I need a breakthrough, and if I can get the formula right for enhancing the prosthetics, I’ll be famous for that. I’ll be closer to the goal of enriching artificial organs, maybe even organic ones!”

“I know what this work would mean if successful. That isn’t the point. The point is that you are not allowed to be here without the help that you need and you agreed to. I’m going to have to speak to the committee, now that I know you haven’t been…” She turned and he caught her wrist really hard. The woman jerked away. She was stronger than he thought.

“Amelia… Please. I need this. People are out to get me. Out to destroy everything that I’ve built for myself, without parents, without love, without an inheritance. I got here on my own merit, my own mind! I can’t have it be the thing that gets me sent away.”

“You needed to consider that after we gave you another chance! We can’t keep going back and forth with you while you refuse to take the help that you need in order to get to your next rung!” She was loud. He felt like she was yelling at him. He didn’t like people yelling at him, especially women, especially older ones… It made him extremely angry and he yelled right back at her, only to find that she either hadn’t been yelling or she had an even louder yelling setting.

“I’M DOING MY GODDAMN BEST!”

“MAYBE YOUR BEST ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH!”

And in addition to the yelling, the thing yelled was extremely hurtful. But, Simon was an angry hurt type. So, he was hurt, but it manifested in anger, “LIKE YOURS WASN’T! YOU HATE ME BECAUSE I CAN BE A BETTER YOU!” She laughed. That made him even angrier. “ADMIT IT! YOU’RE SO HARD ON ME BECAUSE I AM BETTER THAN YOU!”

“Simon, you’re a child. A foolish, often incorrect child. There are many things that I credit as better than me. You aren’t one of them.” He was breathing hard and clenching his fists. “I advise you to immediately set an appointment with your therapist and I demand that you leave the lab at once. At the very least, you need to take a break. At worse… you broke our agreement, Simon.” She began to touch his research, to put everything away, as he stormed out, trying not to let her see him cry and trying not to explode in the lab and further mess things up for himself. He didn’t get far before there was a different explosion in there. Not an extremely loud one, but loud enough that he turned around as others rushed in. 

Simon got on the phone, calling the last counselor that he had spoken to as everyone else scurried about trying to get help and rushing in various directions. “She was just arguing with Laurent, he rushed out and then this happened,” he heard someone say and he watched the three students who had been talking stop and look right at him.  “Are you calling 911?” One of them asked. He shook his head, because he hadn’t been. Once again, it wasn’t his first thought when he witnessed an emergency. One of them grabbed their phone out, presumably to do so and he… left. He probably should have stayed, but he couldn’t breathe and needed some space and needed to rage.

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It didn’t take others long to start whispering. Simon had found a dumpster to kick for a while before returning to the scene and seeing them rushing Amelia into an ambulance. Police were there and wanted to talk with him. He knew that people would talk. They had been talking. He also knew that sometimes he imagined that people were talking more than they actually were and he hoped that perhaps, this would be one of those times that he imagined the criticism. It was not.

On top of the internet’s allegations of child pornography, learning that the state of California might be investigating these allegations, for the Monroe Estate, and being questioned about his chemical engineering “mistake” with the formula that became unstable as Professor Hughes attempted to put it away… 

Simon was whatever the opposite of numb was. He felt all things, everything, anything, all at once and at a peak. He hadn’t felt this way in a really long time and the only times he had, he had Grace to think of and settle him. After that, he had his own greatness to reflect upon… but that was slipping away from him and Grace had slipped away… No… He had shoved her away, and he needed her so much right now. Because he didn’t know if he could pull himself up from sinking. “Lord save me!” He heard himself yelling from the water in the storm… But Grace couldn’t hear him. She was too far away, and she wasn’t his savior anymore. He looked up for something to latch onto, but all there was, was the Void.

Its big black, form, with an aura of fluid black smoke, and hovered over him and charged at him, its face stopping just short of his own and he looked up to see it. It was nothing but a pale mask, much like one of the ones that Grace used to wear. Maybe… Maybe she was still inside of the void somewhere. Maybe she would rescue him after all. “Grace?” he called, “Is that you?” It had nothing in it’s face. No feeling, no warmth. There was no way that Grace was there. It had no reply. He blinked it away and looked at the police. They had just released him… so… something had saved him… for now. Probably just dumb luck, or lack of evidence. There had to be a lack of evidence, because he knew that he had done nothing wrong.

Despite having done nothing wrong, he had apparently made some type of mistake with the formula, but he figured it was more likely that Amelia had made some mistake in putting it away. It was too soon to voice that opinion. Students were upset, like she was some lovable figure. She was a bitch. He didn’t feel bad at all that she was hurt and he hoped that nobody expected him to act like he did. But, they were talking again. He felt like whenever he was a freshman at the academy and the staff and students didn’t appreciate him because they hadn’t seen his value yet… but these people knew him. He was important! He was significant now! He had done everything to become valuable and honored, including giving up Grace when she was holding him back! 

“Simon, it sounds like you’re just blaming everyone else for your problems again.”

“I’m only saying what happened. I matter, and they treat me like I don’t. They look at me like I’m a criminal. They’re handling me like I haven’t done great things! Like they haven’t heard of me or something! Who do they think they are?”

“To not value you? Maybe they’re just strangers, Simon. You’ve spoken to me a few times, and I don’t know you, either. That doesn’t take away from anything that you might have done, but it doesn’t give me the insight that you have of yourself. The same can be said about any of the people here,” the counsellor said. Simon resumed his meetings, but it was too little too late, as he was called back to the committee.

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Grace was really just trying to enjoy her life. She only did the interview with Shana because Shana had REALLY come through in finding Hazel for her. She explained to the people keeping Hazel how she knew her and how she found her (not mentioning Shana’s name, but that she “hired an investigator”) mainly because she just wanted to see how Hazel was doing. The short answer was “not great,” but the long answer was Grace hated the fact that everyone that she talked to about Hazel didn’t seem to really know her or how to deal with her. That made her afraid that Hazel would continue to get bounced around, and eventually be lost to her again. After being approved as someone who could visit and spend time with Hazel (a longer process than she would have liked, and one that she knew could have been shortened if she just went crawling back to her parents), but one that was worth the work, because not only was she able to see Hazel and talk to her, but she also got her a phone, in case they were separated again and Hazel needed to reach out to her. 

The last thing that Grace wanted to do was be dragged into Simon’s situation. So, whenever people asked her about him, sent her messages, intruded into her comments, @ her in posts… she declined from responding. She made a statement on her linked social media accounts, reminding everyone that 1. She doesn’t speak about Simon. 2. She said everything that she intended to say to people outside of the situation to Shana in the interview. 3. She is not responsible for Shana’s feelings about the incident in question (the recording and sharing of the recording) 4. She has never spoken to anyone but Simon about the incident in question and doesn’t plan on going much more in depth with anybody about it any time soon. 

Whenever asked about the recording, since she did say in the statement that she had spoken with Simon about it, and it was presumed that meant that maybe they had made it together and it got leaked, as those things tend to do, she confirmed that she didn’t know anything about the recording until after everyone else had seen it, that she doesn’t like to think about it or that time in her life because it was one of her most embarrassing and painful experiences and she doesn’t want to have to relive it simply because people are curious about these details that don’t affect them one way or another…

People were relentless and dedicated to being in other people’s business. What about Simon? It affects Simon! Why aren’t you helping clear Simon’s name? Why are you still hurting Simon? What about affecting Simon? She’d punch every last one of these people in the mouth, just like she did Simon when she found out, if they were in front of her. Even, now, being  someone trying very hard to be peaceful and patient… “Simon already knows everything about that time that I would be able to say, so telling anyone else anything wouldn’t help him or me. If I was silent about it whenever it might have actually changed my trajectory in a favorable way, I’m certainly not going to begin going off about it now that I’ve been given another chance at a positive life, despite the things that caused me pain. Simon knows more than I do and more than you. Perhaps you should ask him, if you want someone who doesn’t seem to mind speaking about these subjects.”

That was what did it. Simon watched in a panic as former Apex members, arose to defend Grace and admit that during the time, Simon was open with certain people about having orchestrated the recording and using it to oust Grace from her throne. “We were mean kids, and I don’t know if we thought far ahead enough to really see what something like that could do to somebody. We all found it either funny or scary and weren’t brave enough to stand up for her back then, but Grace did nothing wrong and people should let her live her life instead of bringing this back up and hurting her again.” They basically all said some variation of that.

He became immediately notorious as #GraceDidNothingWrong began trending and multiple Apex members, former nonessentials, declared nulls, and actual victims of some of Simon’s direct attacks come forward, opening up about their experiences with Simon’s Apex, the Apex in general, including anecdotes, quotes, confessions, etc to further prove Simon’s guilt. To top it off Simon was put on academic probation as everything unfolded including the way he had been handling his psychiatric deal with the committee being unmet and the negligence that led to Professor Hughes’ accident. When he began losing various deals, gets major backlash for the accident, on top of the allegations of child pornography being investigated, he began to spiral as he considered possible charges from CA to MA. He deleted all of his social media accounts and shadow cyberstalked Grace, only to see that she really wasn’t participating in all of this.

He was SO CLOSE to his first Master’s degree. He couldn’t let all of this throw away his future! He was young and stupid and maybe he was wrong, but he wasn’t going to say that and he definitely didn’t feel like he deserved to be punished for it right now! 

He had been trying not to think about that interview, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more he obsessed over it - over her wondering how he was doing, over the potential for her to actually still care. It was so stupid. It was foolish. There was no way that she really felt like that, but all of his distraction had caused him to possibly make some type of stupid mistake. The police were investigating, but he was the main one working in the lab, so whatever happened was most likely due to some type of misstep on his part. He certainly had not rigged anything to explode in Professor Hughes’ face, like some seemed to be trying to suggest! 

The fact that they did not get along wasn’t very helpful to him. The argument right before it happened made it even more suspicious, and where they should have been able to speak with his psychiatrist to ensure that he was doing fine… he hadn’t been consistent with any long enough for them to know that he was doing fine… which brought attention back on him from the committee, which he guessed felt like he was jumping through loopholes in their deal. He saw the Void again, it's voice like a chorus of succubi singing, “I’ve come to take everything from you. It’s what you deserve.”

He rushed to the airport. He didn’t even have a place to stay. He rushed to the Monroe’s, snuck into their gate and beat on the door. It was 2 am, but he couldn’t wait. The Void was after him, and he NEEDED his Grace.

Next

[jewelthomasson]

Art Reading Response:

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⭐️Summary of Emerge pages:

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🔸Ideas~pages 56-66:

In this section of emerge, Perini discusses the topic of ideas. Ideas are what change the world he states, which is definitely true!(56). Ideas come from everything and anything at anytime (57). But most of our ideas come from us being in a alpha state (57). A state where someone can be in a place of relaxation and peaceful wakefulness (57). Then Perini talked about through what we generate our ideas, he stated that it is from ideation (58). He goes to tell how thinking in the alpha state isn’t the only way to come up with ideas; someone needs to purposefully set time aside to think (58). And through this we learned that coming up with these ideas can only happen when we start our endeavors (58). Meaning procrastination will get us NO WHERE. And through coming up with ideas by actively starting projects we need to let whatever we were working on to sit so that our brain can take a break (59). This will help generate new ideas as the worker has to bring their mind to a refocus to start back up on the project.

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🤔My Thoughts:

I think that this was very interesting to see that there is a specific name of where our ideas come from. The hardest part for me in this chapter was when Perini tells that we have to start on our projects in order to get ideas flowing. This is often so very hard sometimes because I put whatever off; and in the back of my mind I’m thinking, “I’ll have some good idea later.” And guess what?! Often I —don’t. This can be so very difficult and stressful at times. But as hard as it is I know I have to start my projects at some point. So, now I’m going to try to go into these projects wholeheartedly with the mindset that I can think of anything because I am not procrastinating and I truly want those good ideas.

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🔸Master~pages 81-87:

In the master section of the emerge book Perini helps the reader understand how to master certain goals people have. He first states how nothing can come of anything if you don’t work (78). He then talks about how dreams are good, they help spark something in us, but if they aren’t acted upon then nothing comes from them (78). He states that mastery comes from experience; and as we master different things in life more doors will open (81). Overall, there are 3 stages of talent development (84). “#1 developing and interest in a field or domain” (84). “#2 honing technical skills in your field of domain” (84). And #3 mastery and artistry in your field or domain (84). And then Perini states how we can achieve all those things. He states that if we put in 10,000 hours of work with purpose, in whatever we want to succeed at, then we will become the master of that (84).

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🤔My thoughts:

The concept of mastery is hard for me to wrap my brain around. Sure I want to be really good at certain things but, to me I rather be good at a lot of little things. Rather than be a master at maybe one thing. Does that just sound too lazy? I don’t know, but being a master at something sounds like way to much work. Like almost unappealing. I feel like if I committed to something to master it then I could potentially lose the love to do it. Maybe I’m just thinking this way because I haven’t truly tried to master something. But overall, right now it just seems kinda intimidating...😬

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🔸Messiness~pages 100-107:

Overall, this chapter about messiness just goes to show that messiness can bring great break throughs for creatives. Perini states how fear paralyzes us (99). We come from a world where if you don’t win you fail or lose. But this isn’t the case for creatives. “Creatives view failure as a win-learn” (99). This can help the creative process because then one can be more open and not scared to fail. He states how if you are not willing to fail then how can you create anything new?(102). This is so true because artists are always revising and making things better by learning from mistakes. So with that—art is messy. Life can be—messy. But that’s not a bad thing.

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🤔My thoughts:

I personally love this section. I love learning from my mistakes! That is how I know I am actually growing and learning. With that, I completely related with Perini when he talked about how art is messy. For me, personally, my first draft to anything creative is always super rough. Sometimes it won’t even look like the picture/image I was going for, but it’s a the start that helps me create my final product. Without that first messy step my whole process for the whole piece would be thrown off. So I need my messy failures. It truly helps me create my greatest works.

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🔸Habit~pages 108-116:

This section talked about how to form effective habits. Perini states how we need to make habits making habits (109). Habits are good for our life and minds. Through this chapter Perini walks the reader through 7 steps to creating good habits. #1 create triggers. Triggers help us to take the thinking out of performing takes because they are an automatic occurrence (111). # 2 create rewards. By rewarding ourselves habits become more fun and enjoyable to do—which makes us want to use that habit again (112). #3 visualize. With those first two in mind we need to be able to visualize ourselves actually doing the habit so we know that it’s a realistic habit to strive towards (112). #4 add a village member. This simply means that it can be easier to make a habit effective if someone can keep you accountable (112). #5 repetition. By using repetition the habit can truly be formed because your telling your body to not stop and keep moving forward (113). #6 believe. Honestly, if you don’t have this one it all kinda goes out the window because if you don’t believe in yourself then why go to the trouble to make a habit that won’t be effective? And the last one, #7 renew the mind. This one holds everything together because as we renew our mind all of the others fall into place creating a healthy habit.

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🤔My thoughts:

For me this was very helpful because often I find myself needing to create better habits just to make my life easier. The step that’s always really hard for me is the repetition one. Sometimes it can be very hard for me to stay motivated to do something I believe is best for me. Sometimes I don’t have to do much to be committed to a healthy habit but other times it seems like the hardest thing ever is to make my bed. Like why? It’s so easy. But that lack of motivation can seem to override it all. I think this is partly because I generally just skip the reward aspect. I think I can just be committed because if I think I can. But in reality I need those rewards to at least get me started. Wow this chapter just made me realize that. Huh 🤔 I guess I really need to read this today. Thanks Tina 😂

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⭐️Summary of the video, “The Habits of Effective Artists:”

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The video starts with the speaker sharing a personal anecdote of how he made a bet with his younger cousin. This bet completely relied on creativity. The bet was to receive 1,000 likes on his art station. And if he succeeded he would get nothing, but if he did not hold up his end then he would have to give $1,000 to his cousin. He put himself through this to get motivated because he would of had something to lose. He then gives 7 habits that the world class professionals use. #1 is daily work. We need to work on whatever we want to, to achieve a skill in everyday life. This will only be beneficial if the skill can be worked on everyday so that one can make a habit to achieve that skill they want. #2 volume not perfection. Being a perfectionist hinders because you are focused solely on specific things your doing; but if you do volumes of work then you can potentially close that gap of certain struggles. #3 steal. Our human brains are always built upon things before it. If you steal from one person then it’s plagiarism if you steal from many then it’s original because it’s a new complication of work. #4 conscious learning. Not everything is practice. Mindless learning is often bad because most mindless work doesn’t show progression. #5 rest. When removed from the art work you can have new ideas and see that things from new vantage points. #6 get feedback. Artists seek feedback from anyone. And this is often shown as one of the most crucial/important parts that can strengthen the art work. By having people express what ever they are feeling no matter how harsh the advice can be, receiving that feedback can help make the art great. #7 create what you love. By creating what you are personally interested and can make the work thrive in the best way. Overall, you’ll make better work because you have drive to complete what ever you want.

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🤔What I thought about the video, “The Habits of Effective Artists:”

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I found this video very insightful for how to truly become successful as an artist. I now have better knowledge of how I can strengthen my skills as an artist. For me it’s odd, I feel like I don’t normally follow along with any of these seven things listed. Which tells me that I need to start creating better habits to help my overall creative process. I’m glad he made this video because if I hadn’t of watched this I probably wouldn���t have known I needed to change. This video has really opened my eyes to see how being a good artist is about process. Up until now, sure I knew that, but for the most part I thought that people are just born with it. But now I realize that to achieve anything creative you need to cultivate good habits so that overall you can flourish in the art realm.

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📸Image above:

[cindylouwho-2]

RECENT NEWS, RESOURCES & STUDIES, June 2019

Welcome to my latest summary of recent news, resources & studies including search, analytics, content marketing, social media & ecommerce! This covers articles I came across from May 31 to June 21, although some may be older than that.

(Unfortunately, a few of this edition’s entries were lost somehow, & I could only remember one of the missing, so if you know of an article/post that should be included, please let me know, & the piece will be added here as well as to the next post.)

My busy few months are now mostly over, so I will have more time to get working on this Tumblr, new blog posts & the new forum I want to start; expect more frequent updates starting in July. 

TOP NEWS & ARTICLES 

Shopify is going to run fulfillment centres for its US customers within the next 2 years. “Right now Shopify will offer early access for merchants who ship between 10 and 10,000 items per day, and by the end of the year the company aims to offer two-day shipping to 99 per cent of the United States.” They announced other plans at the same time, including better shop tools. 

If you have your own website, conversion rate optimization is something you should be looking at. Why? Because “[a] simple tweak on a landing page can double or even 10x that page’s conversion rate” which can be much easier to do than doubling your traffic. [Note that this is not a short article; it’s a full guide.]

Matching searcher intent is a crucial part of great rankings. This long article tells you pretty much everything you need to know on making that happen with your content, with real examples for their site. 

Mary Meeker released her annual internet trends report; shorter summary here. “If you're looking to connect with the next generation, you should be maintaining at least some awareness of gaming culture, which is where attention is increasingly shifting.” “Some 51 percent of the world — 3.8 billion people — were internet users last year, up from 49 percent (3.6 billion) in 2017...E-commerce is now 15 percent of retail sales. Its growth has slowed — up 12.4 percent in Q1 compared with a year earlier — but still towers over growth in regular retail, which was just 2 percent in Q1...Customer acquisition costs — the marketing spending necessary to attract each new customer — is going up.

ETSY NEWS

Etsy retired several of its Support/Help email addresses, including support@etsy.com, all without any official announcement. 

You can now link photos to variations - but only with one variation, not both. 

Etsy’s annual report for 2018 is out; I didn’t see much new here, but if you catch something, please leave a comment or send me an email so I can add it to this summary. [They actually mentioned “abilities” in their list of things they accept diverse ranges of, but as usual, they only give any details about gender, race/ethnicity and sexual orientation. Disability is invisible for them.]

A new bunch of US states will have state taxes charged for online sales as of July 1. 

Ryan Scott will be Etsy’s new Chief Marketing Officer as of June 24. 

SEO: GOOGLE & OTHER SEARCH ENGINES

Google broke with tradition & decided to warn SEOs about the core search algorithm update that started rolling out on Monday June 3 and ended on the 8th. There are multiple reports of some UK news companies taking a hard hit while others picked up visibility. It’s still too early for much comprehensive analysis, but here is a summary and another more recent one. 

At the same time, Google also rolled out an update that increases site diversity in search results, often limiting each website to 2 entries in Google’s top pages. Think of it as Google's approach to “clumping”. They insist it is separate from the core algorithm update. Early analysis finds that it didn't change much for most searches. 

Websites sometimes rely too much on Google traffic, which is dangerous whenever they change something (i.e., daily). Here are 5 ways to make your site/pages more resistant to algorithm updates. 

Most decent SEO tools cost some money to get the full value, but here is a list of 55 free tools including keyword research, stats, linking, and technical tools. (Some have paid versions as well, but just ignore what you don’t need.)

SEO sometimes requires stating the obvious; check out this tweet with a graphic from an SEO conference. 

Rand Fishkin did a major review of clicks from Google search, & found that nearly 50% of US google searches result in a click (often questions such as weather, or spelling). Only 45% led to clicks on non-paid links, & non-Google companies. But “for every click on a paid result in Google, there are 11.6 clicks to organic results. SEO is far from dead.” Search Engine Land did a TL;DR (too long; didn’t read) summary here. 

Fishkin also has some good insights on making a profit through SEO. [video and full transcript] I think the point about having a strong profit margin is really important - it is going to get more expensive to sell online as time goes on. Etsy is not the only provider trying to squeeze more pennies out of its customers. (Fishkin’s whole push lately is that you must be a known brand to survive; I am reserving judgement on that for the moment.)

Most blogs haven’t done their SEO correctly, but you can fix that. [video & full transcript]

Hate it when your site/business gets mentioned online, but they don’t link to you? There are ways to get other companies to link to you. 

The latest Google mobile search redesign has folks pitching fits about how ads now look like organic search results. For your own website & other sites where it is possible, make sure you have a favicon that stands out from paid ads. [If you Google “CindyLouWho2″ on mobile, my blue fossil coral avi shows for my website & this Tumblr blog.]

Voice search isn’t taking off like people thought it would, although around 30% of Americans use virtual assistants regularly. 

Is audio SEO going to be a thing? Dr. Pete looks at Google’s decision to post podcasts in search results. 

CONTENT MARKETING & SOCIAL MEDIA (includes blogging & emails)

Facebook announced its move into cryptocurrency with Libra, which will launch in 2020. 

Contrary to some reports, it seems that fewer people are using Facebook regularly. While time spent on FB drops, Instagram in particular is seeing more interaction. 

Getting the right image sizes and dimensions is really important for each platform; here is an infographic on all image sizes for Facebook. 

“[T]he right time for you to post on Facebook will be different than the right time for someone else to post on Facebook.” A summary of multiple studies on the topic, with tips on using your Facebook Analytics to narrow this down for your business. 

After banning mass messaging earlier this year, WhatsApp is prohibiting sending newsletters through the app as of December. 

A decent guide on using Twitter for your business. “...tweets with images get 150% more retweets”.

Thinking of running a Twitter chat? Here’s a complete guide, including Hootsuite templates. 

You can get new content ideas from Reddit. “Reddit.com saw 542 million visitors in March 2019 alone.”

Pinterest is expanding its shopping program, now called Pinterest Partners, to provide more shopping opportunities on the site. 

A study of the 500 top-followed Pinterest accounts shows that home decor is most popular among influencer topics. [infographic with text.]

Short video platform TikTok is still showing rapid growth. “Digital wellbeing is more important than it has ever been. Since tech companies started optimising for user engagement, the user is unable to escape the app. You will always feel dissatisfied when you close the app, because the notifications keep on coming and the content never seems to end. To us it seems, TikTok has taken this idea to another level and built the user experience to deliberately create addiction.“

ONLINE ADVERTISING (SEARCH ENGINES, SOCIAL MEDIA, & OTHERS)

Using Google Ads for your website? Make sure you avoid these 7 common mistakes. 

Google now allows you to target people who are “regularly in your target locations” - but it doesn’t really define how they calculate that.

Instagram Shopping is most popular with younger people (at least in the UK).

Good tips on improving your Amazon ad effectiveness, especially cost-effectiveness.   

Some tips on Microsoft Audience ads, and how to get the most out of them. It includes some good general tips, like looking at your profit margin. 

Facebook produced an infographic on how to best create FB ads, especially, for mobile. 

STATS, DATA, OTHER TRACKING

Google has purchased analytics company Looker; Etsy uses the platform already. 

The Google Search Console is now giving users 90 days of data for some reports. 

Here’s a new WordPress plugin that tracks clicks on pdfs on your site through Google Analytics. 

ECOMMERCE NEWS, IDEAS, TRENDS

Paypal has developed “a customizable e-commerce platform”. 

Amazon has extended 1-day Prime delivery. Their ability to do that largely depends on how they are taking control of the shipping methods used, moving away from using other big companies. 

Amazon closed Spark, its social media competitor, and it redirects to a page of customer-curated collections. 

Some Goodwill stores are now selling thrift items on online platform OfferUp.

Opinion article: is feature-driven retail preventing people from buying?

BUSINESS & CONSUMER STUDIES, STATS & REPORTS; SOCIOLOGY & PSYCHOLOGY, CUSTOMER SERVICE

Human brains like stories, which is why you should use them in your marketing. “Stories do another thing: They trigger the release of this neurochemical called oxytocin, which is known in some circles as the love drug. About 10 years ago, all we really knew about oxytocin is that it’s released when, say, a mother is with her baby. But what we’ve discovered since then, through the work of neuroscientists like Dr. Paul Zak, is that stories trigger the release of oxytocin in much the same way.” 

Sell luxury goods? The market is changing as younger people make up a larger chunk of the core. Millennials will make up 50% of the market by 2025. The article has some interesting stats on the luxury resale market: “Overall 45% of true-luxury consumers participated in the second-hand luxury market, and more than one-fourth (26%) have bought pre-owned goods”  which is a trend some luxury vintage sellers might want to watch.

Generation Z prefers personalized content & isn’t as worried about privacy as older generations. 

US adults now spend more time on mobile devices than they do watching tv. Much of that time is spent on mobile apps instead of browsers, & audio (podcasts & music streaming, mostly) accounts for a large chunk of time spent. 

US retail sales grew by half a percent in May, less than predicted. 

MISCELLANEOUS 

As the US looks at starting an antitrust case against Google, articles are reminding the government what other countries found, and what they should be looking at now. Businesses big & small have filed complaints. 

The Google Cloud outage on June 2 that took down YouTube, Snapchat and Shopify among other sites points to the need for everyone to have a backup system. [Remember, Etsy is also moving all functions to Google’s cloud.]

Sick of writing product descriptions? Imagine if it was your full-time job, and you didn’t have any hand in making or curating the products.

[gorgonwoman]

can you rec good female monster horror movies?

asdfghj to be completely honest i don’t actually know a lot of horror movies? i’m not very good at watching movies and i get scared really easily so i don’t often watch them. i think joey @tenderbeasts posted a rec list of monstrous female horror movies here. 

i can recommend other things though? some of these women won’t be technically monstrous but run maybe parallel to it. 

the claymore series; it’s a manga/anime, and it’s my absolute favorite. the summary is this: “in a world where monsters called Yoma prey on humans and live among them in disguise, humanity’s only hope is a new breed of warrior known as Claymores. half human, half monster, these silver-eyed slayers possess supernatural strength, but are condemned to fight their savage impulses or lose their humanity completely.” it’s got very nearly everything i like in a series. it doesn’t sexualize them really either, which is honestly huge for a manga/anime? it does have nudity, but it presents it in a way that is meant to be horrifying. it doesn’t have explicit gayness but if you read between the lines it’s there. it has women who fight their monstrosity and women who embrace their monstrosity, it’s got a majorly female cast of characters (claymores are only women). and the main character, clare, is so interesting; she’s obsessed with vengeance, stubborn as hell, never gives up even if every odd is against her, and we get to watch her grow emotionally and physically stronger throughout the entire thing. i’d really recommend it. (if you want triggers you can message me -- it would make this too long if i listed them here.) 

the monstress series; this one is a comic by marjorie liu and sana takeda. it’s ‘set in an alternate world of art deco beauty and steampunk horror.’ i’ve heard it called an asian matriarchy. it’s about maika halfwolf, a ‘teenage survivor of a cataclysmic war between humans and their hated enemies, the arcanics.’ marjorie liu says this about it: “monstress was more a desire than an idea. an impulse that came over me, something i’d think about in the shower or when i was driving and listening to janet jackson on the radio. i had this image in my head of a battered girl standing alone, absolutely furious, and behind her a battlefield that stretched for miles. i didn’t know what to do with it -- and i’’m not all that patient -- but i had no choice in this matter. nothing was there. no story. just the girl. i don’t know anything about war, not having lived through one. but my grandparents experienced the devastation of war firsthand in china. in their stories surviving was more horrifying than dying. surviving required a desire to live more powerful than any bomb or army, a summoning of superhuman resilience to keep going, day after day. [...] and the victims of this horror had to learn how to first survive...and then survive the surviving. [...] and the root of my desire, i finally realized, was to tell a story about what it means to be a survivor. a survivor, not just of a cataclysmic war, but of racial conflict and its antecedent: hatred. and to confront the question: how does one whom history has made a monster escape her monstrosity? how does one overcome the monstrousness of others without succumbing to a rising monstrousness within?” the art is beautiful. the story is deeply enchanting. i’d recommend this one perhaps more than claymore.

and i darken, and its sequels, by kiersten white; this one is not technically about a female monster, but i’d say lada comes as close as a human can get. it’s about the historical vlad dracul reimagined as a cis girl. she’s brutal. she’s wild. she’s angry, she uncontrollable, she’s badass, she’s amazing. i’ve read the first book honestly dozens of times -- once i got to the end i’d flip back to the first page and start again. lada is incredible. the writing is beautiful. i love it. the book also has a sympathetic portrayal of islam -- lada dislikes their kingdom for personal reasons, but her brother radu (who is everything she is not: beautiful, tender, kind) converts to it, finds home and safety in it. spoiler -- he’s also gay. (lada appears to be straight, which is ridiculous, but there are other lesbians) i haven’t read the last book yet because i’m rereading the other two first, but i’m sure it’ll have a good ending. i really trust kiersten white on this one. 

sharp objects by gillian flynn; this one is more female villainy, but still. i posted a quote from her about this book not too long ago; i’d repost it, but i don’t want to make this post too long dfghj -- in essence this is gillian flynn’s exploration of female cruelty and villainy -- it’s about bad women, it’s about female dark sides, none of the women in this are portrayed very kindly and that’s the point. it’s flynn getting tired of sugar-sweet women-are-meant-to-be-nurturing women-aren’t-cruel-like-men women-can’t-do-genuine-bad-things narratives and writing her own where absolutely none of the women are 2D kind and simple. 

the last werewolf series by glen duncan; this one i’m a bit iffy on recommending -- it’s got beautiful prose, and talulla is just as much a monster as her male counterparts are, but it’s got some.... issues. for example, the first book (with a male narrator) -- jake never refers to cis female genitals as anything other than c*nts. (at one point he literally says he’s not a misogynist because of the way he fucks women.) the ending of the first book is interesting though, and unexpected. the second one is with talulla’s point of view. she’s better than jake, but there is a point (spoiler) where a man is raped, and she’s mocking about it. (”women go through that every day, why are you whining?”) that part honestly kind of ruined the book for me, and duncan does punish her for this mentality, i’m sure you can imagine how (only attempted though, we don’t read a graphic rape, which i’m sure duncan would have included if he thought it would have worked). i haven’t read the final book and i’m not sure if i will -- the things i’ve heard about it are -- strange, to say the least. 

the book of the ancestor series by mark lawrence; beginning with red sister, followed by grey sister, and the third one not due to be released until april 2019, this is honestly one of my new favorite books. it’s brutal and incredible and it’s about assassin nuns with a completely new religion in a fantasy setting (and some of them are lesbians!!). nona’s growth is really interesting to read and her interactions with her fellow novices are kinda what makes red sister. i’ve talked about this series a lot so i won’t do that again here but honestly, read it 

carrie, of course, the book and the movies, i love the book more though, probably just because it gives more information on what carrie is thinking, i haven’t read it in awhile so i don’t have very many thoughts on it rn to give fghjk

ask baba yaga: otherworldly advice for everyday troubles by taisia kitaiskaia; this book is absolutely gorgeous, the writing is haunting and incredible and i’m really into baba yaga lately so finding this book was a godsend. it’s based on an actual advice column the author ran on a website whose name i forget atm -- she collected some of her answers into a book and published it, and i’m so glad she did.

i’m just gonna end this here because this got a lot longer than i intended sdfghj (i had more books planned to share too!). i’m sorry i couldn’t exactly give you what you asked for, i really don’t watch that many horror movies, i’m not into gore or too much violence or anything like that, and i dislike having to google triggers before a movie and getting spoiled for the whole thing. if you want more book recs though you can hmu :0

oh also! the monstrous feminine by barbara creed! it’s not fiction but it’s an examination of female monstrosity in film and i’d really recommend it! 

[llexeh]

Santa Baby (2-2) - Steve Rogers / Tony Stark

Part 2-2 of “Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind”

Summary: All Steve wanted was to make some nice memories with his new family. You know, get a tree up, have a nice dinner, sing some carols. So what if he got a bit overenthusiastic? He absolutely did not want to google Tinder, or be struck by how attractive Tony Stark was. Again.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, ridiculousness, sad handjob, mild angst  

Potential trigger: Brief scene that can be construed as self harm on Steve's end. Just for full disclosure purposes, he uses scalding water knowing it would heal almost instantly. This is not done in a fit, or with the self harm end goal in mind. But I know first hand it can be triggering so I thought it would be worth mentioning. (Stay safe x)

Rating: mature

Pairings: Steve Rogers / Tony Stark, Darcy Lewis / Bruce Banner

Tags: pre-slash, crack treated seriously, slowburn, everyone is alive, Christmas fluff, group chat trope, auto correct trope

Word count: 5592

Pietro was allowed around the tower on the 24th. They’d visited him and decorated his hospital bed and even put a nice wreath on the door. Wanda tied bows on it, and Darcy covered it in glitter and silver beads. They took to singing loudly whenever Pietro’s whining got too much, which was roughly eight times a day that they knew of. Bruce kept feeding him sweets to quiet him, and Clint smuggled pizza in one night.

When he was finally allowed to leave the room, his anticipation was palpable. He literally shook with excitement, although if it was for the holiday or for being anywhere else, Steve didn’t know.

He shrieked when he saw the tree, trying to make his wheelchair go faster. “It’s so great,” he said in awe. He turned to Wanda, then to all his teammates gathered around it. “It’s been -”

“Yeah,” she said and ruffled his hair. “Come on, we saved the star for you.”

Pietro’s eyes widened. “Really?” he asked Steve, who was always the man he turned to for confirmation and orders.

“Really,” Steve replied and handed him a large silver star. “Darcy and Clint insisted that we put the A on it,” he said and pointed to the cardboard letter that was glued to the glass ornament.

Pepper pushed Tony in, throwing a sweater at him. She put the large box she was carrying on the floor and joined them. “Hello Pietro, are you excited?” she asked, a beaming smile on her face.

“Yes!” Pietro said and turned to Wanda. The girl gently lifted him up to the top of the tree. He slid the upright branch into the ornament and clapped loudly. The A was truly ugly. Steve loved it more than anything. Wanda lowered Pietro to be at their level.

“Do it, Tony,” Pepper ordered. “Remember I have blackmail material and I am not above using it to make you do things for me,” she said, her voice getting that singing lilt again.

“You used to be such a nice girl, Pepper,” Tony said, sliding the sweater over his head. He emerged with crazy hair and a scowl. When he rolled it down his torso, the knitted Grinch on it was his spitting image. “What happened?”

“I started working for you,” she replied and pushed the box towards them. “Come on, grab a sweater, put it on, stand around the tree. Someone help Pietro, please,” she instructed quickly. “We need a photo of the official team - Rhodey go next to Tony, maybe some of your maturity will rub off on him. Photo for the auction first, and then we can take some for us.”

She arranged them and fixed the camera on the tripod. “Okay, on three say ‘Avengers’! And because that doesn’t work, also smile. One, two…” The shutter went on a couple of times. Pepper went through the photos she took and consulted Darcy. “Okay we got it! Now for the other ones.” She urged them all to gather up once more for their personal photos before setting the timer. “Go crazy, guys, it’s our first Christmas together.”

Steve could have kissed her.

They had to take a vote on when to open presents. Some of them advocated for Christmas Day, others for the Eve. Once they started on the eggnog, the vote swayed towards the Eve, and in the end it was settled for midnight.

Steve had been prepping for the dinner for days. He had a lot of help from Darcy and Clint and even Vision, and it was a labour of love but he was extremely ready to not cook for a while. He was also nervous about the food; he tried cooking people’s favourites, and foods that were traditional to where they were from. Some ingredients were impossible to get, and he improvised the best he could. When they sat down to eat, Steve was so tense he could barely touch anything. It was a litany of appreciative noises from around the table, and Steve felt his shoulders relax slightly.

“Kholodets!” Natasha exclaimed as she lifted a lid. “Steve, kholodets!” She turned to look at him and leaned over the table to kiss his forehead. Pietro joined her in wondering at the traditional Russian dish while Wanda mouthed her thanks.

“We normally celebrate on the 7th of January,” Wanda said casually.

Steve stopped eating. “Why didn’t you say something? It’s not fair to -”

“Hey,” she interrupted him, “Christmas on the 25th is better than no Christmas. Pietro and I, our parents weren’t religious and back there it was religious for a lot of people. So it’s the thought, the family,” she told him, trying to keep the conversation private. It didn’t work at all, of course.

Natasha smiled. “I remember when Christmas didn’t exist. They moved it to the 1st of January. In the… in the Red Room we knew there was a celebration on the 7th and we knew what it was, but we were never allowed. It was just another day.”

Bruce coughed once to draw attention to him and immediately regretted based on his lost look. Darcy touched his hand and smiled. “My aunt gets drunk every year and slaps the turkey,” she offered with a shrug.

Natasha snorted and turned to look at the large bird on the table. “Do you take after her side of the family?”

Darcy grinned and fluttered her lashes. “I guess we’ll find out,” she said and winked at the turkey.

Clint shoved pigs in blankets in his mouth, throwing Steve a thumbs up and an enthusiastic nod. Bucky thanked him for making the roast potatoes the way his mother used to. Steve smiled widely and pointed towards the turkey. “Not that slapping it wouldn’t be amazing to watch,” he rolled his eyes, “but who wants to carve it?”

They looked at each other, trying to figure out what he meant. Tony was surprisingly the one to answer, not even lifting his head from his potato salad. “You, of course. And hurry up, I want to get to that crisp skin sooner rather than later.” When no one said anything, he looked up. “What?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s your tower, Tony. Maybe you should do it?”

Tony made a show of leaning back and rolling his eyes because he was the biggest drama queen, no matter how many tantrums Steve threw. “This is your tower as well. You all have rooms and little nooks of happiness and the building is actually in all of our names.” He sipped his mulled wine. “What?” he asked again in that impatient voice.

“Tony did you forget to tell them?” Pepper’s voice taking a slight shrill quality. “Tony, I sent you thirteen god damned emails and got Friday to sing to you. What did you do, sleep through all of it?” Tony stayed quiet, looking anywhere but ahead of him, where Pepper’s hand shot up to rest on her hip. “You’re an idiot,” she announced and kicked his shin under the table.

“I was working on a space suit and then I passed out and when I woke up Mr Fantastic was calling me and I just flew out to beat the crap out of a Doombot and to avoid Reed’s annoying voice. And I guess I forgot,” he finished lamely.

“Tony.” Steve’s voice was serious, he knew, but there was no accusation behind it. Tony forgot to eat and sleep and sit down, this was not new.

“When we rebuilt this,” he gestured around him, “I put it down with the Avengers as the owners. Then I kept adding people to the list of what the Avengers mean. It’s not a big deal, your name on the papers or not this is your home.” He pushed the turkey symbolically. The bird was huge. “Now carve it and feed us, Captain… Captain? I’ll have to think about it,” he told Steve, and that was the end of it.

On his part, Steve did his best to carve it as neatly as possible. It wasn’t like he had a lot of experience, or any really. Steve didn’t know a lot about a great deal of things. So he stood and tried to remember any circumstance in his life where carving a turkey had been a thing. If he’d known this was going to happen, he would have allocated three minutes to a youtube tutorial, risking the merciless teasing from Tony. In all fairness the scientist had been good with mocking Steve about his searches, but there was a knowing look. Maybe Steve was also paranoid on top of everything else he was discovering about himself.

He picked up the fork, feeling very self conscious about how slow he perceived his movement. Maybe they had drunk enough not to notice the slight tremor in his fingers. Steve bashed people’s heads in with his shield. This was ridiculous. He went for one of the legs, trying to position the knife as well as possible. The small shriek when a manicured hand shot out and slapped the turkey’s breast absolutely did not happen. Steve would go to his grave claiming that. Darcy howled with laughter at his little jump, and the others were in various degrees of hysterics. Steve hated all of them. He cut through the crispy skin with a scowl on his face. This was ridiculous. Again. He pushed the leg down with the fork, then cut straight through the ball joint.

The drumstick went on a plate, and it was out of Steve’s hands how they were all going to fight over who wants what. He kept going, piling up slices of almost-evenly-carved meat on a large platter. He was about to sit back down when he remembered. He picked the fork up again and poked through the skin on the remaining breast, then pulled slightly.

“Plate,” he said quietly to Tony, whose head snapped up looking around frantically.

“Don’t let them see us,” he whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear him.

“Stark give me the damn plate before I eat all the skin off this bird in front of you and make you watch,” Steve said in a normal voice.

“Promise? I love watching,” came the reply and Steve was about half a wrong breath away from smacking Tony’s hands with the carving fork.

“I’ll make sure to put on a show,” he said sitting down, trying hard for unimpressed and annoyed. That should definitely be the title of his autobiography if he ever decided to write it. Actually, a couple more words: frozen, frustrated, confused - the usual.

Dinner was a success as far as Steve was concerned. The teasing was familiar, and they shared stories of the few happy things they could remember about Christmas. When the conversation turned darker, Vision starting blasting “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and then awkwardly singing along. They tried to keep Steve from helping with clearing the table, but he still managed to sneak past them and start loading the dishwasher.

There was a sharp poke between his shoulderblades just as he was bending to rearrange some plates. It didn’t hurt, but it was uncomfortable enough to make him turn and look up.

“Come on, you can do dishes tomorrow as well,” Tony said and started pulling at his shoulder and then tried to push him towards the door. “There are about eighteen mugs in my lab and at least six bowls you can wash if you feel like it. Tomorrow,” he added, and tried moving Steve again.

“Just go sort out the drinks, I’ll be done here in a minute,” he tried for reason.

“No more doing things around the house tonight, you’re too big to be a house elf. And they’re not as cute. Now move,” he kept prodding at his chest, pulling at his arms, and even yanked his hair a little.

“Harry Potter, right?” Steve checked.

“Yes, yes, now come along.” When there was no sign of success Tony sighed, cocked his head, tutted, sighed again, and lightly backhanded Steve’s shoulder in the quickest succession Steve had seen. “Wanda!”

“Told you,” came her voice, and Steve found himself being floated away from the almost loaded dishwasher.  He scowled and waited for it to be over.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn? Literally one more minute, Stark.”

“Yeah, yeah, and then you’d have wanted to scrub the oven, and polish the silverware, and knit some warm tiny socks for homeless kittens, and we’d have been here all night waiting for you. Now sit down,” he said just as Wanda lowered him on the sofa, between Bucky and Pepper.

Getting presents was always an uncomfortable experience for Steve. After his mother died, Bucky was the only one who got him anything, and even that was cut short when he left. So Steve was awkward and a bit uncertain what to do with his hands. He tried to be as normal as possible when he unwrapped them, and he was grateful at everyone’s enthusiasm for not noticing the slight shaking of his fingers. He was amazed at how much thought they’d all put into what they got him. Steve received a new sketchbook, all the Star Wars movies, new pencils and -

“T-shirts that fit. Yeah, that’s right, no more gallivanting around the tower looking like your arms are being strangled,” Sam said with a smirk.

“What is wrong with you?” and “Are you actually insane Wilson?” and “What’s next, getting him in a bin bag?” and “Pepper, now! Take them away now when he’s not looking!” and Steve was honestly baffled.

“What are you talking about?” he asked looking around the room.

Natasha patted his head gently. “You don’t worry about this now,” she told him slowly.

“Nat…”

“Oh, it’s about your clothes.” He shook his head. “You know, the two sizes too small, match the sky blue colour of your eyes… the usual.”

“What?”

“Some of us have an appreciation for nice things in life,” Pepper offered. “Like how your back looks in blue t-shirts that are two sizes too small. And Sam Wilson The Traitor,” she added casually, “wants to take that away from us.”

“Pepper, I don’t -” Steve tried, but got interrupted again.

“Pepper, just take the damn things away and we’re all going to be okay!” Tony shouted and Steve reacted by holding his new clothes tighter.

“I think I’ll keep them,” he told them with a smile. “I wouldn’t want Sam to be offended.”

“You ruined Christmas,” Darcy shouted and then turned to Bruce. “You know I don’t -”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” he said, and kissed her temple.

If Steve was more conceited, he could have sworn Bruce said “I know he’s hot”, but he refused to accept it. He urged them all to keep shredding wrapping paper and they mercifully agreed. He caught Tony’s eye for a second and was left confused about what the scowl on his teammate’s face meant. There was a distinct annoyance in the way Tony stared at the t-shirts. Steve moved on to unwrap a cologne from Natasha and a foldable easel that had his initials brutally carved on the side. He could recognise Bucky’s ugly handwriting everywhere.

“What did you use, a butter knife?” he asked.

“My teeth,” came the quick reply and Steve burst into laughter.

Clint’s new controller set was a great hit with him, and Bucky caught the one the marksman threw at him. They settled on the floor quickly and immersed themselves into their usual friendly competition that involved about twenty swear words per minute. Natasha kissed his cheek softly for her new necklace, and Darcy threw herself at him in “eternal gratitude” for her new taser.

“Tony can add to it, I’m sure,” he told her as she hugged him repeatedly.

“We can probably put a small arc reactor in it, maybe even make it sing,” Tony confirmed. “Come to my lab some time, we’ll talk,” he said and nodded at Steve. “Thanks for my mug, Darce,” he added, using both hands to hold on to the huge mug. It had bad drawings of the Avengers and it was absolutely glorious.

Pepper thanked him for the leather journal, and Bruce thanked him for his new fountain pen. Steve decided again he loved giving presents because it was never about him. He accepted the hot chocolate with a nod, and settled to watch his family rejoice in their gifts.

As a general rule, Steve could go with almost no sleep at all. Sure, he felt tired, but it wasn’t a tragedy. He tried to keep a balanced life, tried to sleep enough and eat right, and exercise - all of which Bucky called overkill, and used to mock him endlessly. Steve remembered what it was like to feel like no air would ever enter his lungs again, or how it felt to not be able to jog for ten feet. So Steve was grateful, and honestly? he actually liked salads and working out. Bucky mocked him for that too, saying that it was natural he liked it when he already had the body for it. Steve punched him then, and all was good in the world again.

Steve spent hours watching the ceiling after their casual party finally broke up around two in the morning. He got up and tried drawing, but his hands didn’t cooperate - it seemed a common thing these days. He tried reading the new book he got, but he couldn’t focus. He tried doing crosswords, but his mind was loud and eventually he gave up and waited. He could normally fall asleep as soon as he wanted, courtesy of years having to do it in various army settings, but it seemed not even that worked right. Steve was a downright mess.

He kept hearing Tony’s harsh words, then Tony’s protests towards the t-shirts that fit better, then what he thought was some sort of friendly flirting, and it took forever for him to actually manage to sleep. When the knock came on his door, Steve felt like it was too soon, and grunted his dismissal. Much later, when he finally got up and showered, his head hurt in a way it only did when there was a physical injury. He wondered if it was actually a memory of the headaches he used to get before the serum. It was close to noon when he emerged from his room, and his stupid fast metabolism reminded him that it needed food and it needed it soon.

It was one of those split second things when he saw the red and gold wrapping paper. He had actually shut his door when the thought sunk in, and walked back in to investigate. The second he realised what he was looking at he could have punched himself in the face. The present for Tony, the one he spent ages on was sitting on his desk patiently. Steve was an idiot.

He picked it up and hurried to the living room. As soon as he walked in, hair sticking out from running his hands through it, present perched on his hip, and eyes looking around wildly, Steve felt it. The same train from last time, with the same precise speed and the same merciless power. Steve felt like someone stabbed him in the kidneys. The force of his recurring epiphany was enough to make him stop abruptly and any words he might have thought of saying died in his constricted throat.

Tony was on the floor, wearing a Christmas hat and his Christmas sweater, surrounded by children who rallied around him. There was a little girl on one of his knees, and a little boy on the other. They both kept touching his beard and his face, as if to make sure he was real. Steve had a very distinct urge to do the same. Behind him, the tree was revolving slowly, and Steve checked around the room for Wanda. There was no one else there except for Tony and the children. Wouldn’t that be a great band name? Even a great superhero team name.

Outside, the snow had some fairy tale qualities to it, falling down peacefully with large snowflakes that were sure to stick to everything. Steve wasn’t fond of the snow or the ice, or even the cold really, but it bathed the room (and subsequently Tony) in some dreamy-fairy-crap light and Steve found that he could start liking it.

“Look kids, it’s Captain America! In his glorious tracksuit bottoms and mercifully tight t-shirt, and sans shield but with a present inste - Steve that won’t help in battle,” he said, tickling the two kids on his lap slightly.

Steve was in love. This was it.

Some of the kids looked up and their eyes widened dramatically before they ran up to him. They all stopped just shy of jumping up into his arms, and turned back to look at Tony. “Go on, he’s not gonna get mad at you! Are you kidding me, this is Captain America! You could shoot at him and he’d still hug you!”

Steve would have denied it, but he knew it was true. He put the gift down and squatted to be closer to their heights. “Hi, I’m Steve.” he offered simply.

The kids smiled and started shouting their names at him. He shook every single one of their little hands and accepted that Ben, who was almost five, wanted to hug him. He picked up the kid and walked back to sit down opposite to Tony.

“Did you know our tree’s called Ben?” Steve asked the little boy who shook his head from his hiding place in Steve’s neck.

“It is?” Tony asked.

“Oh, yes,” Steve said and patted Ben’s head slowly. “Darcy named it when she was riding around it on her mighty steed.”

“There was a horse in here?” Tony asked, his tone even more perplexed.

“Not a horse, Tony, a mighty steed!” he emphasised. “How about you bring the box of decorations over here,” he asked the kids, “and I can get you up on my shoulders so you put them in the tree?”

Ben leaned back and looked at Steve. “Is that okay?”

“Of course! Go on, we’ll be here.” As soon as the kids were half into the box, Steve turned to Tony. “Did you seriously think there would have been a horse in the tower?”

Tony shrugged. “There’s a Norse god, The Hulk, and two enhanced kids who can kick as - butt! I said butt, Steve!” Tony yelped at the kick in the shin.

“Tony said butt!” one of the kids yelled and Steve loved the blush spreading on the scientist’s cheeks more than anything in the world.

“Would it be hard to believe there was a horse? Our washing machines sing ‘Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?’ when we put them on,” he whispered.

“When was the last time you touched the washing machines? Actually when was the first?” Steve whispered-shouted back.

“When I made them sing!” Tony said and burst into laughter.

Steve was gone. This was it, he was gone. Good bye forever. Tony’s eyes crinkled and it physically hurt Steve because he just wanted to hold the man. He wanted to hold the man and sit on the floor and look at the stupid revolving tree -

“Tony why is the tree moving?”

“Ah, well. You see. There was a sort of. You know, I don’t actually know why. Maybe it’s some Christmas miracle -”

“Tony.”

“I just fiddled with this scrap metal I had in the lab, put an engine on it, it’s no big deal,” he finally replied, looking around the room to avoid Steve’s face.

“When did you even have time to do it?”

“Well, last night when I didn’t sleep?”

Steve didn’t know how it happened, but he just found himself blurting, “I forgot to give you your present!”

Tony nodded, then shrugged. “It’s okay, I just figured you didn’t get me anything.”

Steve spluttered. “How? I got everyone something.”

“Sometimes you don’t like me much, and I don’t blame you, it’s not a big deal.”

Steve honestly, honest to god, as honest as he could possible be, felt like crying. He also felt like kissing Tony, and punching him a little, and hugging him, and kissing the stupid lines in the corners of his eyes, and run his hands through his hair, and Steve needed to get a fucking grasp on reality sooner rather than later.

“That’s bullshit,” he whispered, wary of the kids hearing him.

Tony gasped and clutched at his chest. “Captain! America! How could you? Kids, Steve says we should all sing some carols while he picks you up and you can ride him like a horse - AH I see!”

“Told you. And I’m a steed.”

Marie had a lisp so when she said “steed” repeatedly while perched on Steve’s shoulders, he struggled not to laugh and shake her even harder. Tony started singing ‘Santa Baby’ before it dawned on him that it was not exactly appropriate or a carol, and moved on to ‘Deck the Halls.’

All the Avengers came in to say hi, shepherded by Pepper who brought them cookies and hot chocolate. Jane was a hit with a couple of little girls who wanted to be scientists, and Natasha showed some of them how to get out of a hold before she was rushed away. “I’ll be good,” she shouted, “just let me tell them what not to do when they’re attacked from the side.”

Vision let all the kids touch him, and giggled when tiny fingers poked at the Mind Stone. “I don’t think it likes the tickling,” he said trying to stifle his laughter. The kids were fascinated by Bucky’s arm, even though he wore a long sleeved top to try and hide it. They lifted the sleeve and started counting the segments, asking what it could do and if they could draw on it. When Bucky informed them crayons wouldn’t show, he offered the alternative of paper and his company. They readily agreed.

Steve found Tony sitting on the kitchen counter by the fridge. He was waiting for the coffee to be ready, idly rearranging magnets. “You okay?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, just a bit tired. I’ll be back to belting out Rudolph’s name in a minute.”

“Please don’t,” Steve said with a smile. “I don’t think the serum was meant to protect me from such things.”

Tony smiled back and it warmed Steve’s heart. “Is that for me?”

Steve nodded and handed him the box. “I don’t know how I missed it, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, how dare you not reciprocate my thoughtful gift of an improvement on the shield that isn’t ready because I didn’t get round to manage to steal it from you and now it’s too late cause you already know so can you bring it downstairs soon?”

Steve huffed, trying not to get closer to him. He was leaning on the kitchen island, safe from giving in to his now constant wish of touching the man in any way he could. “I thought you gave me the Star Wars boxset?”

“And the Avengers figurine collection,” Tony added patiently.

“The shield’s fine as it is, don’t worry about it. We had a spending limit anyway!”

“Steve, I’m Tony Stark, I’ve never had a spending limit,” he said and sipped his freshly poured coffee. “Now hand it over and let me see.”

Steve fiddled with it. “It’s really not that great,” he told him. He really wished he’d remembered to give Tony the present the day before so he could have opened it then and it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal.

“Shhh, hand it over, there you go, that’s a good Captain, okay now let go, okay? Okay, great, now step back a little? Perfect, thank you.”

Steve was more nervous than before battle. Battles were routine, he trained for battles. They ran scenarios, sparred, tried to plan for unpredicted, and Steve was a soldier so battles gave him a rush of sorts. But this was new and horrible and Steve really wanted his shield.

“I’m gonna go back to -”

It wasn’t like Tony said anything, but he was halfway through unwrapping the box - and this time he didn’t just tear at it like a savage. Steve wanted to go, maybe even to get the shield and bring it back, and he was sure there was something to do with the kids, but Tony took the lid off and gasped and Steve was rooted to the marble tiles he was standing on.

It took weeks to be able to put together the photo album that Tony was currently caressing, apparently afraid of opening. Steve had talked to Peggy and Peggy had directed him to some other old SHIELD members, who then pointed out archives for him. Then he had to physically spend time sifting through papers and reports, then to make more phone calls and pull rank in order to get copies of the photos. A couple he actually stole because there was a limit to his patience, and rude people were not a helping factor.

The pages were filled with black and white photos of young Maria and Howard, of baby Tony, of Jarvis holding Tony, of Peggy cuddling him on the floor, of a toddler Tony sleeping with a toy Captain America shield. There were photos of Howard trying to calm Tony down as he was holding a meeting with what looked like officials. It spread out over years, and Steve had to persuade Vision to put in a good word with Friday to get some photos of teen Tony, and he was now torn between regretting everything and moving to the depths of the Arctic Ocean, and kissing the man’s watery eyes.

“How?”

“Called in some favours, talked to Peggy, the usual. Is it okay? I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped the line or -”

Tony hopped off the counter and took the few steps to where Steve was standing. “No no don’t. I mean I could have lived three content lifetimes without you ever seeing that photo of me and the toy shield. Or the one where I’m drooling on Peggy’s shirt - that’s not even really cute and I’m pretty sure I don’t do that anymore, I don’t actually know, there was no one to comment on it so I don’t -”

“Tony.”

“It’s perfect,” he said quietly, “thank you so much.” He placed it next to Steve and slowly lifted his arms to envelop Steve in a hug. On his part, Steve was still, letting Tony do his thing at his own pace. Once he was sure the man settled, he hugged him back; they stayed like that for a few moments.

“Tony, why are there children in our living room?”

The man burst into laughter, shaking both of them as he pulled back. He went to wipe the dampness under his eyes that were not fully formed tears, but Steve knew. “You played with all of them for hours before asking, really?”

“I don’t mind!” Steve said defensively. “I love spending time with them, I was just curious.”

“I just forget how accepting you are of things,” Tony offered as a very subtle apology in case he offended Steve. “Pepper looks after them through the foundation. They’ve either been abandoned or orphaned. A couple of them… their parents were killed in action. She called this morning and asked if she could bring them over. Their caretakers were delighted with the idea and I said yes because Christmas is hard.”

Steve wanted to hug Tony again, but there was a time and a place and probably a limit on how many times they could do that. If Steve had his way he would hug Tony at the smallest of prompts. Oh, Tony woke up? Better hug him. Oh, Tony walked? Better hug him. Now there was a precedent - Steve thought fleetingly there were quite a few of those happening recently - and Steve knew how it felt. Things were not going to get any easier.

“I know you’re not a fan. I really wanted us to have a kind-of-family thing just to make some nice memories, you know?” Tony nodded. “Thanks for making the tree spin, Clint is ecstatic.”

“Thanks for making the tree happen,” Tony countered and they left it at that.

The silence was oddly not uncomfortable. Steve ended up getting coffee for himself and Tony would occasionally open the album at a random page and smile. It was a good feeling to have done something nice for someone he cared about.

“Come on,” Tony said, packing the album back in its box and heading towards the door. “The kids will leave soon and I wanna say goodbye. Pepper’s got gifts for them, as well.”

Steve nodded. “Go ahead, I’ll tidy up a bit and -”

“Seriously? You’re going to load up the dishwasher now? This is deja vu. Why are you doing this to me again?”

“Just go!”

“Fine. But Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“You know you could have ordered all the decorations and everything on Amazon, right? I mean we do have Prime and just saying, you could have if you wanted.”

Steve was mindful of the kids hearing, but he still couldn’t help himself. “Fuck off, Tony.”

A/N: Natasha’s talk about Christmas is based on her age according to the MCU wikia and historical developments in the Soviet Union. “Khodelets” is a traditional dish in Eastern Europe, although whether this is the word actual Russains use or not, I really can’t be sure. My apologies if I got something wrong. 

The 7th of January is the actual date of Christmas according to the Julian calendar. Many Orthodox people celebrate it then. Sokovian customs are influenced by the Eastern European customs I grew up with since it’s not an actual country. 

Part 1 / 2

Masterlist

This can also be found on Ao3. 

Send me opinions and thoughts and random things, ily all x 

[fantastic-nonsense]

@colpfiction replied to your post “me: *sees a post on r/AskHistorians about comics history*me: ”

Always. I've learned more about comics and comics history and stuff from your blog than I think I did in college.

Lol, thanks! I feel honored!

Anyway, the original question asked was “Comic books featuring superheroes in the 60s-70s are typically more lighthearted and laden with sci-fi themes than earlier examples. In the 80s there was a sharp u-turn towards more grounded and dark subject matter. What trends caused this shift towards (relatively) grittier realism? What social trends led to this shift? Was it just a matter of sales or was something bigger happening in entertainment/media/society?

Me being me, I busted out pretty much the entirety of the bare bones of the history of the Comics Code and the switch from the Silver Age to the Bronze Age to the Modern/Dark Age of Comics. Also, I’m not sure if it’s good or just sad that I basically wrote the majority of it off the top of my head and really only needed to Google things to source dates, specific title and author names, and a couple of quotes. Now granted, r/AskHistorians specifically asks for and curates in-depth, sourced responses, but still:

“In terms of actual comics that contributed to the sharp turn towards "more grounded and dark subject matter," there are four or five comic events people usually credit as marking the general "turning point" between the Silver Age and Bronze Age of comics where comics began to get progressively darker and less silly: Gwen Stacy's death in "The Night Gwen Stacy Died" (which had a huge impact on the readership of Spider-man comics and comics readers in general), the 1971 "Snowbirds Don't Fly" drug abuse storyline in Green Arrow comics, Green Lantern being turned over to Denny O'Neil and Neil Adams, Jack Kirby's New Gods, and the revival of the Teen Titans with The New Teen Titans. However, unlike the progression from the Bronze Age to the Modern Age, there is no true clearly defined group of comics you can point to as being the definitive marker.

However, you can point specifically to the four comics usually credited with ending the Bronze Age and kicking off the "Dark Age/Modern Age" of comics: The Dark Knight Returns (1986), Watchmen (1987), The Killing Joke (1988), and DC's Crisis on Infinite Earths storyline (1986) that saw a universe-wide reboot and restructuring. While Crisis completely revitalized the DC Universe's sales, The Killing Joke, DKR, and Watchmen were so enormously popular that they literally redefined the superhero genre and inspired years of "grim and gritty" comic books. In fact, DKR was so popular and so influential that in a lot of ways, the entire modern conception of Batman is loosely, in one form or another, based on Miller's work (despite DKR being a dark alternate future and completely out-of-continuity even to this day).

In terms of societal trends and influences, you had quite a few things going on: in comics specifically, you had writers and artists beginning to stretch the bounds of what was considered "acceptable" by the Comics Code Authority guidelines, which was implemented in 1954 after the moral panic surrounding comics, juvenile delinquency, and "bad influences" that culminated in Senate Subcommitee Hearings into comic books and their influence on children and teenagers (the moral panic itself was kicked off due to the infamous book Seduction of the Innocent by psychologist Fredric Wertham). Incidentally, this is why the Silver Age is so well-known for its light-hearted subject matter: comics companies were trying desperately to stick to their self-imposed censorship code, which you can find here.

Stan Lee has talked multiple times about the story of how Marvel Comics famously defied the CCA in 1970 by publishing a Spider-man story dealing with drug abuse (at the request of the US government). His deliberate refusal to adhere to the Comics Code with "Green Goblin Reborn!" in 1970 led to DC publishing the influential and seminal Speedy/Red Arrow storyline "Snowbirds Don't Fly" in 1971, depicting Roy Harper becoming addicted to heroin. Together, these two storylines would form a big part of the basis for depicting darker storylines. "Snowbirds Don't Fly" is considered one of the big watershed moments for the depiction of mature themes in comics, and particularly at DC, as the arc was the start of an era of socially relevant Green Lantern/Green Arrow comics.

Michael McAvennie and Hannah Dolan actually mention this in their book DC Year by Year: A Visual Chronicle:

"It was taboo to depict drugs in comics, even in ways that openly condemned their use. However, writer Denny O'Neil and artist Neal Adams collaborated on an unforgettable two-part arc that brought the issue directly into Green Arrow's home, and demonstrated the power comics had to affect change and perception."

These two stories triggered a re-examination and revision of the Code in 1971 with standards that were slightly looser (though not by much) and helped contribute to a culture where writers/artists were interested in stretching the boundaries of what they were allowed to depict. As the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund's History page states:

The 1971 code relaxed the restrictions on crime comics and lifted the ban on horror comics (while still prohibiting the use of “horror” and “terror” in titles). In addition, the liberalized standards on sex reflected changes in society. After the Spider-Man controversy, the CMAA added a section on how to handle depiction of drug use. The code, although it was less restrictive, represented a lost opportunity in its reaffirmation of comic books as a medium for children.

So you can generally point to "Green Goblin Reborn!" and "Snowbirds Don't Fly" in 1970/1971 for the re-introduction of socially relevant topics such as drug abuse, the revision of the Comics Code in 1971 for allowing the growth of supernatural and horror-related titles (as well as an explosion of non-superhero genre titles throughout the 70s), Gwen Stacy's death in 1973 as marking a trend towards dealing with death and darker subject matter, Jack Kirby's move from Marvel to DC and his "New Gods" storyline as marking a fundamental change in the storytelling priorities of both companies, the revival of Teen Titans under Marv Wolfman and George Perez as marking a change towards character-based storytelling, and the introduction of several minority heroes (particularly John Stewart as Green Lantern, Luke Cage, Storm, Black Lightning, Vixen, and Cyborg) as marking a trend towards the attempt at inclusion and greater diversity (and thus socially relevant storylines regarding prejudice and racism). All of these things combined led to a "perfect storm" where comics began to deal with darker and more gritty/realistic subject matter throughout the 70s and into the 80s, culminating in the publication of stories like Watchmen, The Dark Knight Returns, The Killing Joke, A Death in the Family, and Crisis on Infinite Earths in the mid-80s (and later on in 1992, The Death of Superman) which led to the start of the Modern Age/Dark Age of comics.

There are probably three other big societal trends that helped contribute to the depiction of 'darker' subject matter in comics throughout the 70s and early 80s: the change of marketing trends where young children and girls stopped being specifically targeted as comic readers; the end of the careers of many of the veteran writers and artists of the time (or their promotion to management positions and retirement from regular writing or drawing) and their replacement with a younger generation of editors and creators; and the rise of direct market distribution, where specialized comic book distributors could directly solicit orders and distribute directly to retail outlets rather than the old system where wholesalers delivered the comic books to retailers along with other magazines. I suspect that the beginning of the "War on Drugs" and the rise of the Women's Liberation movement in the 70s also played a huge role (you can read a little bit about the revitalization of Wonder Woman and her impact on the Women's Movement/second-wave feminism here), but I only know about how social trends affected specific comics like the Batman, Green Arrow, and Wonder Woman comics rather than the industry as a whole.

As a sidenote, there are a couple of really good books on Wonder Woman, her history, and her impact on the feminist movement: The Secret History of Wonder Woman by Jill Lepore and Wonder Woman Unbound: The Curious History of the World's Most Famous Heroine by Tim Hanley.

For further research on this matter, I would suggest you look up books relating to the Comics Code and the Seduction of the Innocent scandal (David Hadju's The Ten-Cent Plague: The Great Comic-Book Scare and How It Changed America is particularly good) as well as any articles and academic papers on a) the rise of minority superheroes throughout the 70s, b) the impact of "Snowbirds Don't Fly", and c) anything relating to the impact Gwen Stacy's death had on comics.

If you're more interested in the switch from the Bronze Age to the Modern Age, I would focus on the rise of independent publishers such as Milestone Comics and Marvel/DC's non-superhero publishing lines Vertigo and Image, the near complete dissolution of the Comics Code in 1989 (with the final hit being Marvel completely withdrawing from the Comics Code in 2001), authors like Frank Miller (who wrote extensively on Daredevil and then went off and wrote DKR and Batman: Year One) and Alan Moore (especially Alan Moore, considering he wrote Swamp Thing, Watchmen, and The Killing Joke), Crisis on Infinite Earths and the lasting impact it had on both DC Comics and the comics industry as a whole, the death of Barry Allen in Crisis on Infinite Earths and the installation of Wally West as the Second Flash, and the development of the X-Men franchise.”

[alterlifes-a]

headcanon. tooru + bpd

       stardust. hoo boy, where to start with this one… as you can tell ( and as i have mentioned countless times before ), i am not the best at articulation, so i intend to kinda just jump into things from the get-go. but hi, hello ! this is a post about tooru's bpd, which i've been meaning to rewrite for a long time. i made my first post about it over a year ago, and i feel like some things might have changed from that, especially since establishing tooru's own bpd actually led me to discovering that i have it, as well. thus, as opposed to writing it from a third-person perspective, as i did initially, i'm going to be connecting a lot with my own experiences / feelings. therefore, this post might be a bit touchy for those of you who empathize with these kinds of emotions. as always, i encourage you to read this only if you can—your health is so much more important than a post about a fictional character. you are not obligated to read this post, and while i would appreciate it if people did, as it talks a lot about my muse's struggles, i understand wholeheartedly if you are unable to, for your own reasons. i love you and support your decision !! for those of you who can read these kinds of subjects, then please, click the read more !

         okay, for simplicity's sake, i will be dividing this post into different sections. as such, feel free to hit that ctrl / cmmd + f button if you want to skip to a certain part !

n. preface i. what is bpd ? ii. symptoms that tooru exhibits iii. symptoms explored thoroughly iv. end note

n. preface

         alright, i want to first off note that a lot of how i explain bpd + its symptoms, especially apropos to tooru, are derived from my own personal experience, as was stated above. part of the reason why i do this is honestly because rp'ing a muse that shares the same mental illnesses as me helps a lot because i'm a huge empathizer, and thus tend to use my own feelings in order to learn about a topic more thoroughly than if i were to just research it ( coincidentally, this huge bout of empathy is because of my bpd ). i want to highlight this part in particular because bpd is different for everyone experiencing it; it's a personality disorder, but it's also a cluster b disorder, which i find to be particularly hard in terms of defining specific symptoms / feelings for, just because of how these emotions can be felt on a huuuuge spectrum. for example, one symptom is the fear of abandonment, which takes on aspects of paranoia—already, you can tell that this is something that encompasses a large area: some people may deal with this by being (possibly over)protective, others deal with this by gifting their friends a lot of things, and others may guilt-trip ( though this is, oftentimes, inadvertent ).          aside from asserting the fact that every experience of bpd is going to be subjective and they all vary heavily ( especially because there's 9 symptoms, but you only need to have 5 in order to be medically diagnosed, which means that you're never, ever going to have two like cases of bpd ), i also want to say that bpd is, and pardon my language here, a CLUSTERFUCK in terms of how it's treated, both in society and even sometimes amongst psychologists / therapists. take the example i used above ( fear of abandonment ); while i did list some behaviours that stem from that symptom, a lot of them were things that appear a little more positive ( such as making things for people in exchange for approval / attention / love ). unfortunately, given the negative stigma surrounding bpd, the common narrative even within official resources are that these symptoms are going to appear in an extremely destructive / negative light. i am, of course, in no way saying that bpd is all sunshine and rainbows—because it really, really isn't. what i'm insinuating is that there is more than one way to exhibit a symptom, and i disapprove of the demonizing way with which some sources list examples of portraying certain symptoms ( like for example, the website i used to look up symptoms for parts ii and iii of this post listed the fear of abandonment in the form of blocking people from leaving, begging, starting fights, and at one point, even said you might STALK the person to keep them from abandoning you ). I DON'T LIKE THIS APPROACH AT ALL, because while some behaviours which derive from these symptoms can be damaging, there are also more subtle, neutral ways that you may exhibit them ( again, pointing to my hypothetical situation of being protective of someone—this can become part of the " fear of abandonment " symptom because you're scared of losing them—thus, you tend to worry, and are paranoid if you're unsure about their safety ). additionally, i think it all depends on context; some behaviours may be negative if the situation doesn't call for it, while it sometimes can be seen as a good thing, and exhibiting that behaviour associated with that symptom actually helped that person. i'll touch base on this as best as i can when explaining tooru's symptoms, as well.

         TL;DR: what i'm going to be talking about is entirely SUBJECTIVE, as bpd and what encompasses it are things based mostly on emotions. as such, what i say ONLY relates to tooru, and is probably not applicable to others in the exact same way.

         now onto the nitty gritty:

i. what is bpd ?

         this is gonna be really simple and basic. i'm really only putting this here so people who may not exactly know about bpd are aware of what exactly it is, but i am in no way a psychologist. i do know a lot ( at least i hope i do lol ) about this disorder due to actually having it, but again, my experience is not the same as others + i'm the type to talk out of experience because i find being able to empathize makes things easier for me to understand. if anything, i recommend you research it yourself, both because my way of explaining things might not fit your style of learning, and because, if you don't know much about this disorder, i think it's worth learning about.          bpd, or borderline personality disorder, is a cluster b personality disorder ( a group that includes antisocial personality disorder, histrionic personality disorder, and narcissistic personality disorder ), and can be characterized by extremes; that is, when it comes to relationships, self-image, etc., you tend to be unstable in terms of your perception / feelings surrounding these things. and it's not a case of mood swings, or the like, either: bpd is LITERALLY going from point a to z / 0 to 100 in a snap ( note: something usually triggers this to occur, but it does tend to happen in a burst ). unlike bipolar disorder, which bpd may often be misdiagnosed as, fluctuations in borderlines are often extreme, yet short, even happening within the span of a day. meanwhile with bipolar disorder, you often experience these mood changes for a longer time—sometimes even weeks, or months. unfortunately, due to it usually happening in such strong fits, bpd can be hard to manage, so a lot of strain is put on the person who has it.          again, this is really just a simple explanation, and i feel like a lot of what the disorder is kind of lost, since i am going by typical DSM / google definitions of it, since it is based heavily on emotion. but the basic gist is that it's relationship-driven and very "black-and-white" due to people with bpd often going from point a to z in an instant. more explained in parts ii and iii, which is beginning… now !

ii. symptoms that tooru exhibits

         as the name suggests, i'm going to be highlighting what symptoms of bpd tooru has, as well as explanations for what this may encompass. since this is just a basic descriptor for each symptom, part iii is where i'm really going to be getting into how tooru may act out these symptoms, as well as link them to aspects of his life which may have caused / are causing them to manifest.

o1. fear of abandonment — this one is pretty straightforward, and is arguably one of the things that bpd structures its backbone upon. people with bpd are absolutely terrified at the prospect of being left alone / abandoned, and even situations where a loved one is late for a planned meeting ( or something akin to that ) may trigger feelings of intense paranoia / anxiety ( again, as i will say over and over, this is just a hypothetical scenario, and is definitely not something that happens to everyone ). when it comes to this symptom, people with bpd may do different things in order to keep this abandonment—whether threatened or perceived—from happening. this includes doing things like clinging, guilt-tripping ( as mentioned before, this often happens before you even realize it. of course, this doesn't mean it's okay, but i want to get that out, nonetheless ), checking up on them, asking them where they're going if they suddenly get up to leave without notice, worrying over their health / safety if you're not physically with them, as well as many others.

o2. unstable perception of relationships — this ties in with a term known as " splitting ", which i will get to later, but when you have bpd, since you can often slip into a black-and-white mentality, the way you see your relationships with people can shift violently. this may apply to just one relationship, or it can apply to multiple. this can be seen when people with bpd get attached to others quickly, and are thus often left disappointed when the person turns out to not be who they thought they were. connecting this with splitting, it can also manifest as you going through the motions of idealizing and rejecting a relationship, with no in between. your friendship with x is either wonderful or terrible. your romantic relationship with y is either amazing, and the both of you are in love, or you're paranoid that the other suddenly hates you / you suddenly begin to dislike them, yourself.

o3. unclear / unstable self-image — this is kind of related to the above, except it comes to how you see yourself. you tend to lose grip of who you are as a person, thus there are times when you're fine / confident with your self-identity, while other times can see you doubting every action you take, and believing that you are a terrible person. this also incorporates the black-and-white disposition, since you often have times accepting the fact that you are multifaceted, and can thus be a good, yet flawed, person. there is none of that: merely that you are either wholly good or wholly evil. this also encompasses other things. for example, you may have trouble deciding on what to do in the future, or your values / goals in life may change.          for example, i often struggle with my major in university, as i changed what i wanted to do every year of high school, and even now, i tend to question whether or not social work is something i want to do. it's very frustrating, especially because outside of these crises that i go through, i know that i'm pretty rational. i understand i'm not perfect, but i also take pride in the fact that i am / want to be a good person, and am always trying to improve myself. however, when these moments do hit, i feel very violently negative towards who i am, essentially shoving all this rationality / calm-minded thinking out the window in 0.3 seconds flat.

o4. chronic feelings of emptiness — tin can in terms of what this is. you feel like you are nothing / are worthless. put simply, it's as if there is a void in you that can only be filled by doing certain things. you can also feel as if you are that void ( that sounds really edgy, i know, but i swear i'm not trying to word it that way ) and the only way to make yourself " whole " again is to receive validation from others. this often leads to you craving attention / love from people, because once you receive it, you begin to feel like you are worth something. however, this feeling is often short-lived, and you begin to feel empty once more. it feels almost like a perpetual cycle.

o5. impulsive, self-destructive behaviour / unhealthy coping mechanisms — this can tie into the emptiness listed above ( at least for tooru, it does ). basically, you want a form of sensation. if you list this apropos to feeling empty, you could be doing these destructive behaviours in order to prove to yourself that you are still capable of feeling anything, whether it be emotion or pain. these behaviours can be: spending money on things you may not need / don't have money for, engaging in dangerous ( unprotected ) sex*, driving recklessly, and many others. basically, they're short moments that you can get a " high " off of, but in the long term, can heavily impact your mental / physical wellbeing and health.

o6. self-harm / suicidal behaviour — this is self-explanatory, and i personally don't want to get into specifics with this topic because it does make me a little uncomfortable ( though i will touch upon it later on in part iii ). but this does occur, and may sometimes be coupled with the above, though they are not entirely the same.

o7. extreme emotional swings — basically covered in part i. to reiterate what's most important: what separates this symptom from the same symptoms of depression and bipolar is that these swings last a few minutes or hours, while the others can last for days, weeks, or even months. o8. explosive anger — you may tend to burst out in anger / be temporarily blinded by rage and frustration. while this may manifest outwardly ( i.e. via yelling, screaming, or throwing things ), it can also be internalized ( i.e. anger at yourself ). you're unable to control your emotions, and more often than not, these bouts of rage are due to keeping them bottled up.          i know for me, this takes on that form, since i know that exploding in front of someone for something small ( because even the littlest of things can kind of set you off when you bottle all your feelings up ) isn't fair for that person. while they may be understanding because it is a symptom, i don't like doing it. i did ( and arguably still do, though it's better now ) have anger-management issues in the past, and it's really not fun. i'm speaking out of experience, but i do believe that sometimes, this explosive temper may be what i call a " learnt abuse "; you experienced this at home via parents who would get angry at every little thing, and now the only reaction you know how to emit when frustrated at something is also destructive anger.

* this can also be hypersexuality, though since it is another mental illness on its own, i see it more so as hypersexuality taking form as part of a symptom ?? if that makes sense ?? that is to say, you cannot separate hypersexuality from bpd for people who use sex as a self-destructive coping mechanism.

         the last symptom is dissociation, but that's kind of confusing in terms of how it can be applied to tooru, since the entire narrative of my canon for him is that he knows he shouldn't exist, and this is FACT. so it's really less so dissociation ( even though it technically is ) and moreso just him being hyper-aware as to what the nature of his existence is.

iii. symptoms explored thoroughly

         now onto actually attaching all of these descriptors and explanations to tooru. i'll be highlighting how he acts out these symptoms, as well as what may have caused them to appear. i do tend to rationalize and connect everything, so don't be surprised if many things begin to overlap.          numbers will correlate to the ones listed above, so symptom o1 in this part will be the same as o1 in part ii.          also please note that while fp's ( favourite person ) are something that people with bpd usually have, i don't think tooru really has any in his canon. this changes, of course, because i'm rp'ing him, and his fp does usually end up being whomever he's shipped with in a romantic sense, but for the sake of keeping this post to just his canon, i won't be referring to any fp stuff. if you want to know what an fp is, for those who don't know, i recommend reading this article about it and looking it up, yourself, as i can't really do the term justice by explaining it, myself. also, my explanation can be really in-depth at times, so i'd rather… not spam this entire post with just my own definition of fp's.

o1. fear of abandonment — basically what makes the crux of his experience with bpd, tooru is deathly afraid of being abandoned. he gets very paranoid that this is going to happen, and, tied with symptom o3, this is due to the fact that he doesn't think he's a good person. thus, he tries his best to get people to stay with him. this often actually manifests in actions / behaviours that are generally seen as positive. as such, people may not notice that his intentions, while derived from a genuine form of care for them, part of why he does these things is because he doesn't want them to leave him.          these are things that tooru may do to ensure that someone doesn't abandon him: buy them things ( he does this A LOT, given the fact that he comes from a rich family, and his parents give him as much money as he wants ), make them things ( he doesn't think he's too talented in terms of crafts or baking, but he does believe that handmade items are more cherishable than something store bought ), text or message them a lot ( not to an obsessive amount, of course, but maybe something such as sending a positive message everyday, or just checking up on them ), being protective, almost always to the point of (s)mothering them ( he likes being a mom to people; it makes him feel good to see others happy, and also because he wants to provide to them the parental figure that he never received in life. this goes doubly for if their parents are abusive, as well ), and may lead to possible guilt-tripping.          the last one, however, is always unintentional; tooru tends to go through lots of moments of uncertainty, so he'll often say things that he believes are true, but is unaware of how they could be used to guilt-trip the other ( for example, let's say you scheduled an event with him. if you suddenly had to go, he may make a comment about how he was really looking forward to hanging out. another example is him possibly degrading himself; while he does believe it, this kind of behaviour can be used to get people to feel bad for you, so i still think it's a form of unintentional guilt-tripping ). of course, if / when he realizes how that can be perceived as him trying to get you to stay, he'll apologize.          i think a lot of his character derives from this fear, to be honest. or rather, there's a weird dichotomy that tooru sets up within himself: is he kind because he has to be in order to get those that he loves to stay, or is he kind because that's just who he is as a person? but if it's the latter, then is he kind as a person because he wants people to like him? or is it because of his own need to be kind? he does tend to overthink almost everything he does, so a lot of his actions are usually followed up with this line of logic. this also ties in with self-identity issues ( o3 ).          the reason why tooru feels so fearful towards the prospect of being abandoned is because of his parents. in this headcanon, i explained the basic gist of what his family life was like growing up, and what it is now. but basically, his parents ignored him when he was a child, and thus, the only family member he formed any sort of bond with was his older brother, kaito. however, when tooru was 11, kaito suddenly left in order to move in with his girlfriend, whom he'd gotten pregnant. thus, tooru is deathly scared of getting attached to someone, only to have them suddenly leave him. it's also why he has such a perfectionist attitude; he believes that the more perfect he presents himself, the more likely it is that that person won't leave him. he also gets very paranoid when you try to leave without making any indication of your intentions ( so if you were to suddenly get up while watching a movie with him and give no explanation as to why, his first thought would instantly be " oh my gosh they've gotten bored of me and now they're leaving ", as opposed to " oh, they're probably getting a snack " ), and thus will ask you where you are going, perhaps even with a sort of franticness to his tone—something that is rather uncharacteristic of him, since he tends to be calm and level-headed, or peppy.

o2. unstable perception of relationships — this one is more or less explained in part ii. tooru tends to get infatuated with people REALLY quickly. this ties in a lot with his romanticization, as well. tooru is full of love. his entire existence is arguably centred around the notion. thus, he finds it hard to believe that some people are incapable of being good; while it may be true that everyone harbours love in their hearts, minuscule as it may be, it is also true that these kinds of people are also very self-serving, and often use others to get what they want. this can be really dangerous for tooru, as he lets his romanticization oftentimes get in the way of seeing clearly. however ( and this is tied with his anger issues ), if he finds out that you're just using him, he can get very angry, very quickly. the same goes for if you ever do something to make him extremely upset ( i can't think of anything right now, since tooru doesn't have a lot of things that he would blow up about ?? but one example would be if you made a joke about one of his insecurities even though you know that it's an insecurity of his ).          this doesn't happen as often with genuine relationships, but tooru will have moments where he wonders if the other party actually likes him or not. this also is encompassed in bouts of paranoia wherein he convinces himself that they hate him. i think this goes especially when you have a close tie with him—whether it be a very deep friendship or even a romantic relationship. he begins to question why you've stayed with him for so long, if you want something from him, or if he's even good enough for you. this is in stark contrast to how he usually is: i.e. bubbly, affectionate, etc. of course, a lot of this is internalized, as he does acknowledge that this is due in part to his bpd. however, it doesn't help ease the paranoia, especially since he fears that bringing it up will cause the person to actually hate him if they didn't already.          this " we have the perfect relationship " / " they hate me " mentality is referred to as splitting, and it's something observed in a lot of pd's. a good article about it is this one, which specifically talks about a person's experience with splitting in relation to bpd, and i recommend giving it a read, since it explains it much better than i can. i'll be talking about it a little more in o3, as well. visually speaking, i see this as a gradient between black and white, with one being negative, and the other, positive. the greys in between are essentially that, with some things being neutral, or mostly bad, instead of just being clear-cut good/bad. however, splitting causes the person to only see the black and white; all other shades are cut out, thus rendering them unable to see the greys.          since a lot of this just stems from bpd as a whole, i can only really guess where this particular paranoia / fluctuation of perceptions may come from. tooru's never had many friends, and the one relationship he did have was very intense, and also ended in a similar fashion: tumultuous, extreme… you get the point. as such, tooru seriously has no idea how a relationship is supposed to go down; all he knows of is what he's experienced, and since he only has one friend who's been a constant in his life and hasn't abandoned or used him, tooru's understanding of how relationships work is paramount to why he may act oddly or appear to be extremely affectionate. he legitimately has no idea how they're supposed to work, apart from the friendship he has with arata, said friend he's been able to maintain a healthy relationship with.

o3. unclear / unstable self-image — to put things bluntly, tooru has no idea who he is. how he sees himself fluctuates so wildly that it physically tires him. as mentioned in o1, tooru tends to overthink everything he does. in relation to his bpd, this is because of the lack of experience when it comes to how to act around people ( o2 ). obviously, this doesn't demean his ability to play the part: he can, and is good with, acting out how he thinks he's supposed to behave in a social environment. tooru is by no means an idiot, either. while he can be ditzy, tooru tends to obfuscate stupidity ( and oftentimes obliviousness, but 9 times out of 10, his obliviousness is genuine; he's smart, but he's not all that great at picking things up right off the bat ).          since tooru desperately wants the approval of others, this unstable self-image can also manifest itself via him pretending to be someone he's not in order to impress another. tooru is an empath ( notably, he's a hyper-empath; he literally takes emotions from others + his surroundings and makes them his own )—a huge thing when it comes to bpd, since, as i said, it's an emotion-driven personality disorder. as such, he is very sensitive to whatever atmosphere / aura a person may give off, and picks up on / is influenced by it as a result. thus, if tooru is with a muse who is loud, he tends to be loud, as well. if he's with a muse who is reserved, tooru is much more humble. while he, as a person, is both at once ( meaning that he can be the boisterous teenager that he is, or just the shy, traditionally-styled boy that he is at home / in quiet situations ), this adaptability, unfortunately, also lends its hand into his inability to figure himself out. tying again into other symptoms, this is how tooru splits: mainly on matters revolving himself. while he does tend to have his " they said one thing and i'm not sure if they're joking so i'm paranoid they hate me now " moments of splitting in relationships, a majority of the times he splits is because he's having severe identity issues. he really has no idea who he is, so he tries so hard to get insight from others ( " i'm a good person, right ? " or even more subtly so, " you think i'm ___ ? how so ? :0 " ). this constant need for validation from others is what he more or less constructs his identity on. if he notices that a certain behaviour or tic makes you happy, chances are, he'll stick to it.

o4. chronic feelings of emptiness — kind of self-explanatory. due to constantly splitting in terms of self-image, tooru has moments where he feels empty / as if he's nothing because he doesn't know who he is. this ties in a lot with his depression, and this also presents itself in the form of suicidal thoughts, as well as a general nihilism towards his existence. it's the " why am i even here " sort of thinking, one that quickly turns drastic if you leave it running unchecked. this also incorporates slight bits of tooru's canon into it, because tooru knows he's an OC; he knows he's an existence that shouldn't be, and that both is the reason behind his feelings of emptiness / homesickness ( what with him wanting to go back to the universe / not live such a tragic human existence anymore ) and also the cause ( i.e. in all of his lives, this realization that he doesn't belong metaphysically is what leads him to a despair event horizon ).

o5. impulsive, self-destructive behaviour / unhealthy coping mechanisms — i won't get too much into detail, but tooru is impulsive by nature, already. so this, coupled with the dangerous effect that bpd has, is really bad for his health—especially because, as i said, he is the type to overthink and regret everything he says or does. while he will beat himself up for even the smallest of mistakes when he's having a breakdown, a lot of his self-destructiveness comes from his hypersexuality. while not as bad as it used to be, tooru does engage in dangerous sexual activities from time to time ( though this is rare ). a lot of what he used to do, though, was during his second year in high school ( so from 16-17 years old ), as he had just come out of an abusive relationship. sex helped him cope with the trauma, but again, it was not a healthy coping mechanism, especially since he merely used it as a tool to make himself momentarily forget about everything. tooru also used it as a way to keep himself grounded, in that the sensation / feeling of another helped him reaffirm the fact that he was not empty ( o4 ). while he doesn't engage in dangerous sexual acts anymore, tooru now finds solace in cigarettes. again, not a good coping mechanism, but he needs something to fill in the emptiness he often feels when lonely, and substance usually does just that.          another thing he might do is spend a frivolous amount of money on things like video games or books, and while it may not seem bad, tooru is a very schedule / routine-oriented person, so he tends to just buy things for friends or for himself only when he wants to reward himself for something, such as getting a huge project done early. despite his wealth, tooru does try to be money-conscious, so any veer off of this trait is a huge indicator that something may not be right.

o6. self-harm / suicidal behaviour — also something i won't be touching on too much, since it is a sensitive topic, both in general, and for me. but due to his nature in canon, tooru does kill himself in every timeline he's lived in. it's what happens when he realizes he stole someone else's existence to live his own; the guilt literally kills him. this ties in with o4, as well, because he feels like he has no purpose in the world. he has no friends, his family doesn't seem to care much for him… he truly is almost all alone.          his self-harm, meanwhile, isn't entirely physical. while he does tend to burn himself using matches / his cigarettes ( hence why he wears bandages or covers his hands with makeup ), a lot of his self-harm is emotional / mental, which makes it all the more difficult to notice. he overthinks things, he beats himself up for little mistakes, he revisits traumatic memories, etc, etc… and these things are hard to notice / recover from. you can watch a burn or scar heal—perhaps not entirely, yes, but it will, nonetheless—but emotional damage, i think, is harder to gauge because you cannot physically see it.

o7. extreme emotional swings — something tooru has been trying to keep in check, but yes, he does experience these. they tie in with his aforementioned impulsivity, but also when he splits. when tooru goes through these emotional swings, he experiences them very violently. however, as mentioned, they only last for a few minutes, or at the very most, hours. he often calms himself down before anything really bad happens, and he is trying his best to keep a rational mind, even when he is having a breakdown. it's hard, but you kind of learn how to do these things by yourself after being alone for so long.

o8. explosive anger — also something he keeps in check. i wouldn't say tooru shows his anger easily, but he does get peeved / irritated more often than you'd think. he acknowledges that this is due to his trauma / mental illness, and usually enlists the help of breathing exercises that he's learnt while doing kyudo in order to help. what will set him off, though, is poking fun at his trauma or home life, especially if you know what it's like. another thing that'll make him angry at you ( and justifiably so ) is if you mock his gender identity or sexuality. if you really want to make him angry, then ridicule his friends in front of him. that's more or less the only time that he'll allow himself to explode because he does not like that. this is intertwined with his selflessness, as he won't defend himself ( he's very passive ) but he will defend his friends / loved ones to the ends of the earth.          notably, his anger is almost never externalized. it’s mostly internalized, and therefore directed at himself, making it harder to see that he does deal with anger-management issues.          this anger derives from abuse at the hands of his parents; whenever tooru didn't perform as well as they wanted him to, especially in academics, they would get angry. this form of learnt abuse was absorbed by him, due to his hyper-empathy, and because he was only a kid at the time, and so he does get upset more quickly than one would think. but as i said, he knows it's his own problem, and he feels terribly guilty whenever he explodes at someone, so he does try his best to keep it in line.

iv. end note

         okay, i'll keep this brief, but if you made it all the way through, then thank you so much !! i know this isn't an easy topic to read through, so i appreciate it. if you merely skimmed through, i am still grateful. i didn't really tackle this as thoroughly as i would have liked to, but i hope this post gives a little insight on how tooru's bpd works. if you have any questions, or if you think i'm writing something incorrectly, please don't be afraid to contact me !! i hope you have a lovely day, and i love you lots ! <3

[yukithesnowman314]

In celebration of the 30th anniversary of the Fire Emblem series (with the release of the first game of the series, “Fire Emblem: Dark Dragon and Sword of Light released on April 20th, 1990), I will be doing a bit of a low-brow, personal “retrospective” of the games I played from the series. Join me as I talk about my first experience with the series through my first and second favorite Fire Emblem game: “Genealogy of the Holy War”.

[Warning: Foul language, low-brow commentary, and crude remarks  on the characters of  Fire Emblem.  Go watch some boring elitist cornballs with no real talent who think talking about video games on YouTube  is a real, viable job on YouTube if you want a serious retrospective on the series]

As with many of my peers who grew up playing video games throughout the 90s, I played such classics from that era such as Super Mario World., Street Fighter II, Sonic, Gran Turismo,  Final Fantasy, and Pokemon to name a few.  It was thanks to the 1996 capsule monster catching RPG that I would find love within the RPG genre.  As my first RPG, I loved the idea of capturing and raising monsters to dominate the world of Pokemon  Blue.  Later, around the early 2000s, I was introduced to two of my top favorite RPGs of all time: Paper Mario and the original Final Fantasy 3 on the Famicom; which happened to be my first Final Fantasy game.

(For those wondering how and why Final Fantasy 3 was my first FF game: grew up in Nintendo dominate household and my Pentecostal mother thought RPGs were the devil because Christians, especially Black old-school Baby Boomer Christians,  live in fear of thinking for themselves and questing religion; so emulation was the way for me.)

I loved the idea of taking a traditional  2D-platformer Mario game and reimagine it as a turned- based RPG spanning across the Mushroom Kingdom as Mario, once again, must save Princess Peach from the clutches of Bowser. As for FF3, the 8-bit charm of four young orphaned youths being the chosen ones of legend to save the world from darkness. While both games’ story could be consider “basic” to some (which, to a degree, they’re sort of right especially on FF3’s front), I enjoyed and loved them.

I would continue my RPG journey as the early 2000s progressed with classics such as Chrono Trigger, Shin Megami Tensei II, Final Fantasy IV, V, VI, and finally VII (mostly 16-bit emulation because, again, scared Pentecostal Christian mother).  They told such amazing stories of their worlds.  Time travel.  Nuclear holocaust. Tales of hope, life, and death. Yet, despite all of that, there was something missing from those games. Something that I could say in confidence would impact me for life.

Don’t get me wrong: it was a shock to see teen pregnancy used as a narrative theme in Final Fantasy VI with realism as Katarin struggles with the fact of becoming a teen mother in an world of ruin. Katarin, along with her lover and baby’s fathers Duane, the oldest member of the destroyed village of Mobliz in the World of Ruin. Chrono Trigger made me thought about my own existence in the universe as I watched Crono and crew ponder about how the universe and its inhibitors became to be during the campfire scene.

Chrono Trigger campfire scene

  Yet – those things didn’t fulfill a certain need of true, down-to-earth realism.  I needed something more grounded. Something that would make such sense to me as a young man. Something that I could relate to with absolute:

Super Smash Bros. Melee. for the Nintendo GameCube!

2001:

Through a summer school event, I managed to get my hands on a copy of a Nintendo GameCube demo disc for the PC.  Featured on the disc were video demos of upcoming launch titles for the GameCube: including Luigi Mansion, Star Fox Adventures, NBA Courtside 2002, and of course, Super Smash Bros. Melee.  Super Smash Bros. 64, the game prior to Melee, felt dwarfed compared to the raw graphical power and scale of Melee. I was aware of and hyped for Melee being created by Nintendo through elementary schoolyard conversations and magazines.  Seeing a demo of the preceded flawless game’s action and mass scale drove my desire to get a GameCube and Super Smash Bros. Melee for the 2001 holidays season.

So, did I eventually get Super Smash Bros. Melee for the Nintendo GameCube and the GameCube for Christmas of 2001 like every other good little boy and good little girl?

Of course fucking not!  My parents went bankrupt after buying a new house, having to bury my mother’s parents who both died a month apart from each other, and finally — said new house’s kitchen catching on fire; thus, causing us to  living in a downtown hotel then a temporary luxury apartment because we all have shit lungs (asthma). I was lucky to get a DVD/VCR combo for Christmas with a few DVDs.

  2004:

For three years, I had to live the Melee (and by proxy, the early 2000s gaming) life vicariously. One day, while working on a paper on the history of video games in 8th grade (2004), I discovered  the MIDI (Musical Insturmental Digital Interface) video game vgmusic.com. Musically inclined fans could upload their recreation, remixes, and close-to-the-original MIDI files for the nerdy gaming massive to indulge in.  Being curious about how the music of Melee sounded, I led myself to the Super Smash Bros. Melee section which had an impressed library of fan made songs from the game.

Scrolling through, there was one track that caught my eye: Hyrule Temple: Fire Emblem.  “I don’t remember a Fire Emblem in Majora’s Mask, OOT, nor Zelda II. Maybe I missed something like a secret item named ‘Fire Emblem’ when I had played those games.” I ponder to myself.

Curious, I clicked the link to the song.

Four taps on the artificial hi-hats rang out followed by Latin-like horns, a heavy bassline, and drawn out bass strings and horns building up to the meat of the song.

“Okay, did Link went to Mexico and fight Zorro in a Zelda game because this song sounds super Mexican as hell.”.  Rather than do the incredibly smart and not racist thing and Google search Fire Emblem (because I was too busy googling Princess Daisy, Terra Branford , Ayeka Jurai, and Sailor Pluto hentai images and doujins) I just assumed that it was some a weird Zelda thing.

  Months later, after my parents recovered from their bankruptcy, they gifted me a Nintendo GameCube for Christmas (they couldn’t find Melee in any store sadly).  No worries.  I was given a Blockbuster gift card by a family member for Christmas, so I decided to rent Melee the day after Christmas.  Wanting to know how to unlock everything, I went online for answers when I came across two Nintendo characters whom which I’ve never heard of: Roy and Marth.

Again,  rather than doing the smart thing and Google search “Roy and Marth” (I was googling how to torrent anime illegally this time instead), I decided to play Melee for my answers. After defeating the original 13 fighters, I was alerted with the “Challenger Approach” alarm.  A shadowy figured appeared with a male wielding a sword.  We’re transported to Kirby’s stage with me wondering who I was going to face off against.

Then, that familiar Mexican sounding melody starts to play.

“Okay, this song sounds ever more Mexican than before now I’m hearing it how it meant to be heard.  Why is this white boy speaking Japanese to some  Mexican sword fighting music? Is this Zorro’s cousin? Kirby’s friend?”

After defeating Zorro’s half Japanese/Half Mexican cousin from Kirby (I assumed) I’m greeted with the following message:

“Direct from Fire Emblem, it’s Marth, the swordsman supreme!”

“Okay, what’s Fire Emblem, who’s this Marth dude, and why he’s a white boy speaking Japanese to Mexican music?”

Upon unlocking Marth, I ran him through his Classic Mode route to unlock Roy. Fought Roy.  Figured out why I thought Fire Emblem was Zelda related after a year (you fight Roy in Hyrule’s Ruins because I guess Roy was sleeping with Zelda behind Link’s back after she slept with Gannondorf). Whoop Roy’s ass and got Marth’s trophy. Wanting to learn more about Marth, I deiced to check out his trophy.

“MARTH

            The betrayed prince of the Kingdom of Altea, the blood of the hero Anri flows in Marth’s veins.  He was forced into exile when the kingdom of Dolua invaded Altea.  Then, wielding his divine Falchion, he led a revolt and defeated the dark dragon Medeus. Afterwards, Altea was annihilated by King Hardin of Akanea.

Fire Emblem JAPAN ONLY”

“Wait, he saved his kingdom only to have it annihilated by another king? So, a Nintendo hero failed at saving the day for once? That’s interesting.” Reading Marth’s bio deepened my curiosity towards Fire Emblem.  “Why was Marth forced into exile? Who betrayed him? How did he escape it?  Who’s Medeus and Hardin and how did they manage to destroy his kingdom?”

There was only one way to find out: download Fire Emblem through emulation.  But,  which one?  Visiting my preferred emulation site at the time, Emuparadise, I sought answers through the form of three Fire Emblem games: Mystery of the Crest (FE3), Genealogy of the Holy War (FE4), and Thrica 776 (FE5).

First Try: Mystery of the Emblem

The game boots up with a shield with five circular groves and a flame crested embedded in the middle while a trumpet and French horn fanfare plays for a few seconds. Next, I’m treated to a tapestry with scrambled text. However, the imagery of men burned alive by dragons, sages praying to the heavens, a god armed with a mighty sword and shield descending to earth from the heavens to slay a dragon, and humans giving praise to their savior to a medieval musical motif told the tale for me.

Following, the intro ends with three strikes of lighting; causing the screen to flash. A known fanfare plays as the words “FIRE EMBLEM: MYSTERY OF THE EMBLEM” fades into the foreground as the Falchion pieces through the text.  Finally, I’m introduced to the playable classes and their stats through the game’s attract mode.

Due to the state of the game’s translation, the pre-chapter’s screens were an unreadable mess (a most common issue of Fire Emblem early fan translations days). For all I could had known, this could had been Roy’s game, which I would had been cool with, but I wanted to know Marth’s story.

Skipping past the mess of the “translation”, the game starts.

Axe-men swarming a lone island: pilaving and killing.  A young woman on a Pegasus flies away from the carnage to a castle.  It is here I’m introduced to Fire Emblem’s first ever characters: Jeigan/Jagan, Ceada/Shiida, and the poster boy of the series: The legendary Prince Mars!

“Yo, who the FUCK is Mars? Where’s Marth?” I asked myself in confusion.  I mean, he had blue hair like Marth. Wears a tiara like Marth.  Look like a chick like Marth. But, he was clearly Mars. Not Marth.  Disappointed (and utterly unaware that Mars is Marth and the translator took the Marusu name too literal), I stopped playing I FE3 and booted up FE4.

But MAAAAAAARRRRRRSSSSS!

Second Try: FE4 (or, my true first Fire Emblem experience)

  Immediately, I’m blown away by audio/visual presentation. While the opening text aren’t a jumbled mess unlike the “translation patch” of Mystery of the Emblem, they were in Japanese; a language which (at the time), I lacked understanding of. Regardless, I could understand the story though the art and sound.

Dreadful music plays as the red and black hellfire serves as the background while mighty warriors and fearsome dragons engage each other in brutal combat.  Twelve flames, representing the twelve  holy gods of Jugdral surrounding a lone tower. As the music reaches a peak and fades out,  A dragon of darkness and a dragon of light entangled in a fierce battle  and the screen goes black. Silence. Then, a golden wheel fades in with slow strings building up. The wheel is surrounded by glistering weapons in a celestial blue shade before flying off.

Finally, this specular ends with the Japanese Fire Emblem logo proudly appearing as the theme of the series plays in vigorous pride: as if it was an anthem for a militaristic nation.

Even if this wasn’t Marth’s game and even if I lacked the knowledge to understand the Japanese language, the ominous scene displayed for me alongside with the introduction of the actors and players of the world of FE4, I wanted to dive deep into the blood soaked tale of Jugdral.

After the marvelous introduction, I created a new file, got hip to the story of Jugdral thus far, and proceeded to play.

“Finally! That’s Mart- no, who’s the hell is Sigurd and why does he looks like he could be Marth’s older cousin? If that’s Marth’s cousin maybe Marth will show up in this game.” I proceed to play FE4; impressed by the scale of the map compared to FE3’s Book 1 first’s map.  FE4’s first map felt like a long-standing war was about to take place while FE3’s first book seemed like a meek, short skirmish.  In a way, this set the tone of the overarching theme of FE4’s maps: large armies clashing with one another non-stop.

Needless to say, this was going to be a long, uphill battle –and I was going to love it.  By that detail alone at was then that I knew that not only Genealogy of the Holy War was going to be something special for me, but the Fire Emblem series in general.

*****

Three turns passed.  The blue hair axe dude, Lex, wasn’t Marth.  The other blue hair guy, Finn, wasn’t Marth neither. At this point, I realized two things:

1. I’m racist against blue hair mid-90s anime-inspired  fantasy characters. 2. This wasn’t Marth’s game.

In any case, the first few minutes of gameplay impressed me. How should I  move my units?  Which weapon is best against the enemy’s?  Should I keep Arden guarding the castle or should I be bold and reckless by leaving the castle defenseless?  Midir wasn’t a girl? Azel have a thing for cute young nuns and so do I.

Hooked, I spent an entire weekend getting through the first three chapters of the game (Birth of the Holy Knight, Maiden of the Spirit Forest¸ and Disturbance in Augstira). By the time I reached Chapter 2, I realized something: I suck.   Ethlyn (Sigurd’s sister) got wounded, so these left the game alongside her husband, Quan: causing me to lose two units at once.

I accidently killed Ayra with Alec and my dumbass saved my game after the fact.  I also got Jamke killed because Adean, the priestess whom was supposed to talk to him so he could join your cause, was at the other side of the map. I made Azel kill him.  But, it didn’t matter.  All it matter was that I was having fun with the game and I kept at it.

Why?

Well first, I simply fell in love with the game’s story.  Who would had known that Sigurd  recusing his friend Aidean from the savages of Verdane was actually a part of a much more diabolical plot orchestrated by the underground cult, The Loptr Church and their leader, Manfory to control the world.

Manfory was the man running the show behind the scenes in an attempt to find the last two surviving decedents of a twisted, dark, demonic dragon god (Lopotsu) in order to revive said dark dragon to plunge the world into disarray, death, destruction, and darkness.  Using his pull and promise of power to politicians throughout the land, Manfory was able to install his plan of bringing the world into darkness.

Second, as a teenager, I wasn’t one for politics. It was a topic that bored me to no end. Yet, Genealogy of the Holy War opened my eyes to how brutal and ruthless politics can be. No. Inferior words such as brutal and ruthless are understatements.  Cutthroat fits better.   I was filled with disgust with Chagall killing his own father, King Imuka, to gain power in Agustria.  I took note at how one set of dukes and lords of  Agustira  bid their time as Sigurd cross blade against the other dukes and lords of their land.  Levin’s uncle was willing to kill him and his mother if it meant controlling their nation.

(As Leptor told Sigurd: “Politics is all about power!)

Now, let it be known that politics alone wasn’t the sole reason why I fell in love with Genealogy of the Holy War despite it being the driving force behind why I loved the game.  The countless tragedies after tragedies that transpired throughout Sigurd’s tale got me as well.  To understand where I’m coming from, let’s go deeper into what I mean by this.

Towards the end of Chapter 1 (Maiden of the Spirit Forest) we’re treated with a touch of “love at first sight” story narrative.  Upon conquering Marpha Castle, Sigurd encounters the beautiful and alluring maiden, Deidre, being harassed by a brigand.  After running the thug off, Sigurd and Deidre exchange a few words; with Sigurd being shocked that Deidre knows his name (through Aiden) and admitting that he’s everything  she imagine him to be. Sigurd ask for her name, which Deidre asks for his pardon for not revealing it before running off loves struck.

Curious about her (and not being able to shake off the feelings of love) , Sigurd asks a local elder about her.   The elder informs Sigurd of Deidre’s name, background, and warns Sigurd not to engage in any sort of relationship with Deidre; least disaster shall befall upon the world if she left the forest and found love. Not wanting to believe in such superstitions, Sigurd sets out to find Deidre. They encounter one another and admit that they had fallen for each other…

…And like any good woman and man who fall for each other upon a chance, first meeting, they both fucked later that night. This isn’t me being lowbrow (for once): that scene is in the official Fire Emblem 4 manga written and drawn by Mitsuki Oosawa.  Deidre totally fucks on the first date  (must be due to of all those years of living a sheltered life).

Without context, this scene can be taken completely wrong…

  Anyway, after conquering the Kingdom and Verdane, Sigurd and Deidre got married.  From their marriage, Sigurd started to change.  His sister, Ethlyn, notes how much Sigurd changed thanks to Deidre.  He’s no longer a slob.  His hot-headed attitude has all but disappeared.  He became more upbeat. From their love and marriage came their first and only son, Celice, whom they both loved dearly.

Sigurd was happy. Deirdre was happy.

And then, Chapter 3 hits – hard.

After receiving news of Sigurd subduing Madino Castle, Deidre decides to leave their army’s home castle to check on her husband.  Despite pleas from Shanan (Prince of Issac, his backstory on why he’s in Sigurd’s army  is a tad long for this post for me to explain) to ensure that Deidre do not leave the castle as per Sigurd’s request, Deidre leaves; assuring Shanan that she’ll only be but just a second. As Deidre walks outside, she is attacked by Manfory, brainwashed, and taken away by the dastardly villain.

(Keep in mind: Sigurd is prepping to engage in combat against his own best friend, Eldigan)

After subduing Evans Castle, Sigurd is alerted by Shanan that Deidre went missing (in the manga version, Shanan engage in combat against Manfory and fails to rescue Deidre). Sigurd, still stressed out due to discovering the beheaded body of Eldigan in Silvali Castle, sets out to find Deidre.

To worsen matters, Sigurd hears that he and his father Vylon are accused of murdering Prince Kurth of Grannvale  (in truth, Vylon’s rivals, Lombard and Leptor, murdered the prince as an attempt to frame Vylon and take Castle Chaply from him).

Sigurd and company are forced to flee to the faraway frigid mountain lands of Silesse. Despite his justified anger/desires to storm Grannvale and expose Lombard and Leptor for their crimes, Sigurd is forced to resolve the civil conflict of Sileese while living as a refugee.

Once the civil conflict in Sileese subsides, Sigurd sets off to Granvale to combat against Leptor and Lombard. He revives his family heirloom, the Holy Tyfring from his father, who has been morality wounded by Lombard’s squad.  Sigurd is helpless as his dad dies in his arms and promises to rain wrath and revenge upon Lombard and Reptor for their crimes against the Chaply family and the land of Grannvall. Keeping to his promise,  Sigurd successfully slew Lombard and set his sights against Reptor and his unit.

During this time, Quan and his Ethlyn, along with Leonster Lance units, are to aid Sigurd and his army.  However, King Tribant (introduced in Chapter 3) ambushes their squad: killing them and leaving behind no survivors sans Cuan and his Ethlyn’s 3 year old child, Altena. Sigurd hears of this news and is devastated by yet another tragic event in his life.

Following, Sigurd eventually take the battle to Leptor, effortlessly defeating him with the help of his army.  Sigurd is greeted by Arvis’ aide, Aida, who tells him that Arvis and Kurth’s father knew Sigurd and his father weren’t involved in Prince Kurth’s death.  This relives Sigurd, a man who for the past two years dealt with soul-crushing pain.  For once, Sigurd is able to take a break and repay his allies  for their work.

Yet, all isn’t what they may seem.

While Sigurd and company are welcomed to Belhalla by Arvis in a faux celebration party, Arvis reveals to Sigurd that everything that has transpired within the past three years of Arvis’s doing.  He doesn’t pardon neither nor his father for crimes to conspiracy to usurp the Grannvall throne by murdering Prince Kurth. Sigurd is sentence to death.  Sigurd, now in absolute disbelief and believing that Arvis is joking, asks if this is a cruel joke, to which Arvis replies that he is not. Before killing Sigurd, Arvis reveals something that Sigurd has been looking for the past year:

Deidre – now recognized as the wife of Arvis.

Arvis insists that Sigurd must be confronted by the daughter of his victim. Deidre, lacking any sort of recollections of her (true) marriage with Sigurd, questions if Sigurd murdered her father. The man snaps, yelling at his wife that he’s married to him, not Arvis, and that he did not do such a horrible thing to his wife who, he loves dearly by killing her father.  Deidre is confused.  She ponders why Sigurd, the man who supposedly murdered her father, is speaking to her as if he was her familiar. She requests to Arvis that she is given more time to speak with Sigurd to clear things, only to have that requet deny by her new husband.

As Deidre is courted away by Arvis’s royal guards, Arvis believes that Sigurd has said more than enough and orders the execution of Sigurd and his army.

My jaw dropped as I helplessly watched the army whom I raised and the characters I grew to love lives come to a brutal end.

“Nintendo a company for kids and family…Did they just really let one of their main characters die so violently like that?” My teenage mind couldn’t compheren that Nintendo allowed the death of a main character (among many other controversial things) in one of their games.

Continued in Part II.

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The Swarthy Nerd Podcast A Black nerd empowerment podcast where Black nerds (well, all nerds, but Black first and foremost) can get together and talk freely about nerd culture while also acknowledging systematic white supremacy and racism in the nerd and Eastern otaku fandoms. Every Tuesday join @superlostfan108 and @weebtrashyuki the founders of http://www.swarthynerd.com for there very informative podcast talking about all things nerdy. No desperate boot licking self hating negus who were never accepted by Black norimes for being too weird for  their love of anime and comic books by the Black community allowed. Go drink bleach.

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15 years ago, I learned that Sigurd is not Marth's cousin and that I might a racist towards and against any Fire Emblem with Blue Hair (they all look alike to me -- i am not sorry). In celebration of the 30th anniversary of the Fire Emblem series (with the release of the first game of the series, “Fire Emblem: Dark Dragon and Sword of Light released on April 20th, 1990), I will be doing a bit of a low-brow, personal “retrospective” of the games I played from the series.