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feathersau · 1 year

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[Peregrine Falcon]

WC: 1358 TW/CW: canon typical mentions of violence/childhood trauma, blood, Jason Gideon’s death, grieving. Lowkey unhinged time for Garza. A/N: I did bend some canon things to make it more condusive to my own fanfic, but the gist is still the same as Nelson’s Sparrow. Only the cabin belonged to Jess’s serial killer mother, and she has a complicated relationship with the building. Summary: grief is stupid, and Jess Garza will be the first to admit it. Based during Nelson’s Sparrow, Garza figures out how the hell she’s supposed to grieve when the man she knew isn’t the one everyone’s talking about. (Hotch and Jess are in a relationship at this point, it’s mentioned but not explicitly).

Masterlist (overall) | season 10 masterlist

*~*~*

The reality of Jason Gideon’s death came as a hushed whisper through the trees. Jess Garza was several steps away from the cabin, where she’d once been found by the older man, terrified. And if anyone knew that, which Rossi did, it could be thought that the guttural scream that tore itself from her body would be in some sort of relation to the thousands of memories of her mother in this exact spot.

It wasn’t.

Jason Gideon was a stubborn old man with a stubborn lifestyle and his absence in her life had impacted far more than he’d ever know. His murder, however, seemed worse. It was a reminder that she had taken the wrong job, made the wrong decision, and that now those choices were going to follow her everywhere she went. Even if she retired, some unsolved case was going to find her in the dead of night and slit her throat, leaving a body for Mia to find and more questions than answers.

She stalked back to the cabin, which was full of laughter and memories of the older man, and a fleeting thought in her mind wanted her to join them and tell her own happy memories of him. She wanted to tell them of the time they went bird watching and ate ham and mustard sandwiches, only for them to realise that mustard was the worst condiment known to man. But her anger was far more powerful, and instead she wrenched the axe from the log and drove it once, twice, three times into the wall of the cabin.

It didn’t take much for the panelling to come free, it took far much more for anyone to come looking. The old hiding spot exposed, Jess reached her arm through cobwebs and into the darkness that was now occupied by all matter of creatures and pulled out a small trinket box that had been abandoned years before. She shook the cobwebs from it and shoved it deep into her pocket, driving the axe into the panels once more.

This is what Jason Gideon was killed for. The hole was big enough for a small child to climb through, just enough for a deep reach up to Jess’s shoulder. Her fingers found it, the old material that was frayed and decaying against her fingertips, and pulled. She pulled, and pulled, and pulled, like it was a magic trick, as if the fabric would never stop, and she kept pulling even when Rossi was screaming at her to stop. Years and years and years of proof, of what her mother was capable of and what she’d helped her with. Proof of every person killed, trinkets and DNA and blood stains, enough to put her away for life with her mother.

But Rossi wasn’t screaming. The axe hadn’t even met the wall, she had gripped the old thing so tight that the wooden handle had splintered against her palm, blood running down it to the head. But the laughing had stopped. The cabin had turned to a sombre affair, everyone desperate to take a trinket of Gideon and no one willing to take the first item. She pressed her hand to the cabinwall, then her forehead.

The cabin had a heartbeat. Not literally, but she could feel it. She could feel the logs breathe beneath her hand, she could feel the memories. The happy ones, the sad ones, the horrors. She could feel every scream, every cry, every time she’d begged for the pain to stop, and counter intuitively–every time she’d ever laughed. She wanted to pry each wooden slate from the wall and throw them on the ground and burn the place to the ground, from her childhood hiding spot first.

But she doesn’t. She drives the axe deep into the ground and pulls the splinters from her palm until the pain overshadows the blood and goes back into the cabin. She walks right between JJ and Penelope, sitting on the floor sharing a pint of ice cream, and pulls the first aid kit from where it’s always stood. They’re both too deep in conversation to notice as she cleans her hand with rubbing alcohol and wraps her hand and fights the urge to punch the wall as if the wood would dissolve under her touch.

She’s grateful that no one asks her to join their conversation. She’s grateful that she just gets to walk off the cabin’s steps and no one launches after her. She’s not grateful for the haze that follows her, as grief always did.

It drags her down newly tarmacked roads to a dirt one, to where time and erosion has torn away the road into a large drop. But she knows where she's going, the trees are the same. The birds flitter along her path, remembering her from her childhood. The crows greet her with caws and fly low over her, protecting her from the memories the trees wish to give her.

She walked past the bird watching hut and kept going, to where the river rushed and forced its way over the banks. The birds stayed back, leaving this moment for her as she knelt in the wet river silt and placed her uninjured hand on the surface of the cold water.

"You were a stupid old man, Jason Gideon." She told the river, and it splashed her in agreement. "But don't stick around, okay? You've done enough in life. Don't start hunting people as a spirit, please." She paused, realising the tears now trickling down her cheeks as the words he had told her years ago sat on the tip of her tongue only now it wasn't a deal to stay alive. She leaned over the river. She watched her warped face ripple and the little river creatures swim over the silt and rocks and the fish that swam close then got scared.

"I'm too cynical to become a psychic, so stay dead, okay, Dad?" The words caught in her throat as the tears landed in the river and were carried far away from her. "Also, fuck you for dying. You're going to miss Nick's birthday and Stephen's wedding and you promised Mia a bird present for her sixteenth. And I really wanted to introduce you to the one person you already know but never in relation to me." She smacked the surface of the river, and bent so close that her breath distorted the surface. "I wanted to watch you squirm trying to figure out how to threaten your protege."

She sits in the bird watching hut until it's dark and cold and the tartan throw does very little to keep the cold out of her lungs. But even then, she stays, until the crunch of footsteps brings her to the present, and the door opens and Rossi puts a jacket around her shoulders.

He doesn't talk to her. But his arm around her comforted her more than he'll ever know. More than she'll ever confess.

They don’t say it, but they know it.

This was how Jason would have wanted to go. He wouldn’t have been happy with retiring, living somewhere where nothing happened but the birds and the river and his own thoughts. He wouldn’t have been happy collecting rare bird art and making lithographs and meeting up with old university friends.

He would have never been happy living the life he dreamt about when he left the BAU.

“Hey,” Rossi said gently as they reached the road where he’d parked the black SVU. He took the taller woman’s face in his hands and squeezed her cheeks until her face distorted into something comical and she forgot the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes. “When you choose to leave, this job isn’t going to follow you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you’d never do it to Mia.” He kissed both her cheeks then pressed a tiepininto the lapels of her coat. The peregrine falcon spread its wings mid flight, ready to take her anywhere she wanted.

“He kept it,” she said quietly, her voice barely a whisper. Rossi nodded and opened the car door.

“Let’s go home.”

#feathers s10

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nikosasaki · 2 years

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not really a question exactly, but this is a free ticket to say anything and everything you want to about Dory.

kissing u rn;

let's get into some season three Dory shenanigans.

when the Hargreeves family gets back to the modern time they take Dory with them, thankfully. most of them — mainly Diego and Luther — still don't exactly trust her, but it's a work in progress. during season two she's managed to convince Five she's truly on his side now and they've been slowly falling back in love again. when it comes to Five retiring, he decides he wants to spend his retirement with Dory. she goes along on the Pennsylvania road trip, and she's the one that gets him excited about all the silly tourist traps they could look at. most of the moments between them are spent acting like a complete old married couple, exasperated with all of the chaos.

Dory shows a lot more of a human side during this season, to the surprise of everyone. she's still rather weary of Viktor in the beginning, so when he has his realization Dory is right there. instead of being weird about it, though, Dory is actually surprisingly comforting about it all. this is about the last thing Viktor expects, so he ends up tearing up a little as he explains it all. Dory goes with him to get his hair cut, and they workshop potential names together. Dory and Viktor grow unexpectedly close during this season, something that both confuses but also warms the hearts of the other Hargreeves kids.

Diego and Dory also grow a lot closer this season, though it's a lot more comical than it is with Dory and Viktor. Diego, in full dad mode, suddenly starts parenting Dory from time to time, mainly because he tends to forget Dory is actually a whole lot older than he is. While he's trying to navigate parenting Stan he will accidentally try to parent Dory as well. this results in many threats and several near-death experiences for Diego, and several talks between Dory and Five about how she really needs to stop trying to murder his siblings.

she argues that they have to stop making it so easy.

Lila and Dory go all mean-siblings on each other during this season. they don't really have a big arc and it's mostly sarcastic comments and the odd genuine kind word between the two of them, but they are a fun and dynamic duo together.

the dynamic between Dory and the Sparrows is an interesting one, as well.

she's all excited at the prospect of having an enemy she's actually allowed — and emotionally capable of — hurting, but then she gets into it with Jayme and her crazy hallucinogenic venom powers and it does dampen her excitement a little. what it doesn't dampen is her anger, and she gets kind of angry and jealous with Harlan when he's the one that kills Jayme instead of her.

she ends up really taking to this version of Ben, though. mainly because she never knew the original Ben, and she really likes this emotionally insecure, evil little guy. if she's being honest, he reminds her of home. Ben hates her with a passion and calls her all kinds of derogatory nicknames from child to vermin. Dory laughs at every single one of them. it drives Ben insane.

also some random highlights for this season;

— she calls Reginald a "pathetic little excuse of a person" and almost kills him on two separate occasions.

— her and Five dance at the wedding and it reminds Five about the last time they danced, during the apocalypse. it's the first time he kisses her again since season one.

— she actually makes friends with Stanley, of all people, and teaches him how to get better at pickpocketing and building bombs. this causes another Diego dad-speech.

— Sloane attempts to be a bit of a mom-figure for Dory and braids her hair for the wedding party. it's the prettiest Dory thinks she's ever looked.

— her and Lila bond when talking about Five. the moment is sweet, and weirds both of them out enough to not talk for at least a few hours.

#asks #ch: dory #claryxjackson #i looooove u thank u for the ask #sorry this is like six miles long

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8caliberwarlock · 1 year

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Relationships✨

The trio and their relationship with each other and others.

ALX-5

ALX: Sometime looks in the mirror and talks to the reflection, the longest conversation lasted 2 hours.

Arcer: When Arcer is around ALX defends his udon with his life to keep Arcer's crotons out of it.

Jacent: ALX's best friend and fireteam partner. Whenever Jacent is around, ALX tries to hide all his small and edible objects.

Zavala: ALX hangs out in Zavala's office whenever he isn't there and purposely changes his music just to blame it on Arcer so he gets in trouble.

Ikora: ALX likes to study with Ikora to enhance his solar capabilities. ALX respects Ikora for her deep knowledge in the elements.

Cayde: ALX was Cayde's gambling friend who occasionally lost to him but gladly gave what he lost to his hunter vanguard. (Even though he cheated...)

Lord Shaxx: ALX loves to shout out into the last city with lord shaxx after a victory in the crucible. (There may have been a few drinking bets made)

The Drifter: ALX takes "gigs" from the drifter as longs as it's not hurting anyone innocent and pays a lot.

Master Rahool: ALX doesn't like him... that's it.

Banshee: ALX Works part time in banshee's workshop and helps him whenever banshee forgets what he's doing.

Amanda: ALX comes over to reminisce with Amanda whenever he's free because they were both close to Cayde.

Ada: ALX may... OR MAY NOT have crush on Ada. He kinda freezes up when he's getting synthweave.

Saint: After a trials of Osiris win ALX sits with Saint and feeds the pigeons.(he may have brutally killed a few in the cosmodrome)

Ghost: ALX's second opinion and basically conscience since whenever ALX is gonna do something stupid his ghost tries to talk him out of it... and fails.

Arcer-988

ALX: ARCER hates mist hunters, but this one has proven himself somewhat respectful, so obviously arcer wishes to challenge him to a 1v1

Arcer: me myself and I bitch

Jacent: arcer encourages jacent to eat more stupid shit

Zavala: wants zavala to die so he can take over the tower resident titan

Ikora: thanked her for the brief encounter they had were he fully upgraded himself with her

Cayde: used to feel responsible for his death and blamed it on not being fast enough, but has forgotten as he has been reset 472 times since then

Lord Shaxx: enjoys joking with shaxx and fighting alongside him in the crucible

The Drifter: who the fuck are you?

Master Rahool: take my engrams bitch

Banshee: enjoys his company and often wishes he could make guns to

Amanda: got his last sparrow from her and decided it to weak

Ada: misses the old Ada-1 and wishes for her forge to come back

Saint: who are you again?

Ghost: *doink*

Jacent-8

ALX: Bff and first fireteam pardner. He showed Jacent the secrets of the Tower and taught him the ropes.

Arcer: If stupidity had a mind this would he it, intellectuals will never escape!

Jacent: Only ever talks so himself when working on personal projects. Mostly just "No wait, that's not right..." or "HELL YEAH, JACENT YOU SWEET GENIUS!"

Zavala: Jacent respects Zavala as a leader but doesn't talk to him a lot cause Jacent's scared he'll receive work.

Ikora: Mentor and mother figure to Jacent. She’s always on the look out to make sure he doesn’t break or eat anything in Tower.

Cayde: Jacent was first brought back after the murder of Cayde-6 though Jacent thinks they would’ve made.

Lord Shaxx: Likes his valor and energy. Often talks crucible plays and crazy strategies for the field.

The Drifter: "BROTHER!" Makes stupid bets on his Gambit matches like meleeing the whole enemy team or stealing the most motes.

Master Rahool: Dislikes pretty much everything about him.

Banshee: Shows Banshee custom gun mods and plans for ludicrous weapons. Often leaves notes for him to remember important things.

Amanda: Loves spending time with her, often tells horrible mechanic jokes. She helped him figure out the workings of ships and sparrows.

Ada: Doesn't think she likes him very much, Jacent often tries to casually hook her up with ALX.

Saint: Likes hearing stories from him while they feed the pigeons.

Ghost: "I swear on the traveler's malteser lookin ass, shut the actual flapjack UP!" Would much rather have Fynch has his ghost.

#destiny 2 #original character

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theshadowsnetwork · 2 years

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The State of the Shadows

Part 6: The Slayer of Nations and h657-VG.

Years ago, this department of the organization rose from the complete map of the process of conception. Scientists had complete control of genetics: sex, eye color, hair color, the tone of voice, the shape of the crown, personality--anything hereditary could be designed and manipulated before conception. The process was universally panned from the beginning, which is why performed only once a generation. The child is born as operative known as the Slayer of Nations was born and bred to utilize the world secrets in a way intended to dismantle or demolish regimes as needed.

The current serving Slayer of Nations, as recognized by the organization, is Paris Salim. Paris endured a hellish conditioning to make her into the ruthless, calculating killer she is known to be. Little is known about her personality, only that she has a dismissive, mocking demeanor. Paris is well known for her affinity for chess. However, as a parting gift from Delun Doi in exchange for serving with Annalis’e Doi, Umbrae Somnia tactics planted early in her conditioning were used to undo much of the damage and return to her a sense of individuality she had never known. When interviewed about the recent Mors De Lumine incident, she expressed frustration on essentially having to learn who she was all over again.

Even though Paris is the current serving Slayer, another child was born outside regulations about 18 years ago. William Hite, the doctor in charge of the artificial genetic manipulation process, made a child in secret. If Sparrow was the Shadow’s sledgehammer, the result of Hite’s project would most definitely be scorched Earth. With a shortage of volunteers to donate genetic materials to work with, he worked with genetic samples from Paris Salim, Sparrow Ravensdale and two other Shadows that Hite refused to disclose. The child was carried to term by volunteer Emily Graves, and when she was born, she was classified only as “h657-VG.

Thanks to Hite’s secrecy, our knowledge of h657-VG is limited: all we know on the situation is compiled entirely by the notes we confiscated from Hite’s estate. We can safely assume that her ambition eventually outgrew his control. h657-VG, known as The Child and referred to as Vermillion in some notes, was frighteningly susceptible to learning, and was a capable operative at only age 10. William Hite, possessing his own, illegal operative, sent Vermilion on tasks in secret. One day William Hite was murdered, most likely by Vermilion, and now she has disappeared.

Agnes Lemieux assisted in archiving all of Hite’s files but a file that implicated her role in helping condition Vermilion was stolen by Paris and delivered to Annalis'e in a show of loyalty. Though Agnes was willing to disclose what she knew of Vermilion, she ultimately had nothing new to offer that the confiscated notes hadn’t already told us.

However, with Umbrae Somnia’s complicity in Vermilion’s conditioning no longer a secret, Saga finally disclosed that Vermilion was the assailant that maimed her.

Director Doi has yet to react on an official capacity.

In this Reading:

@salim--slayerofnations @vermiliongraves @umbraesomnia @warden-skarsgard @annalis-e--shadowofpanem

#The State of the Shadows//Recap

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valkerymillenia · 2 years

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TUA S03E03 reactions

Because I'm tired of posting each one individually and spoiling people.

Klaus is so obsessed with the dead moms but he's the one that can talk to the dead. He could just try to summon them...

"you think dad is capable of murdering innocent people?" Ummm yes? Klaus, do you remember your childhood?

The Sparrows treat Grace so badly... It's sad

The Sparrows aren't actually bad, it's just Ben who is a conniving asshole manipulating them all

Lester Pocket is Harlan, right? We can all agree to that, right? 'Cause I've been calling him Harlan since he first showed up packing that bag

Is that the septic tank?? What the fuck, Klaus???

Tiny badass brother 😂 aww, Allison

"I'm so good at this" no, you're not, Diego

So Reggie is being poisoned and regrets turning his back on his kids... Don't tell me he's getting a redemption arc

Grace becoming a religious nut is so weird

Nice suit, Five 😌

Do not badmouth Delores!!

Luther and Diego being bff's is all I ever wanted.

Reggie is starting to like Klaus??? And Klaus actually tried to help him? Klaus really is too sweet for his own good

Why do you hate tiny sandwiches? 😂😂😂

"do you feel loved? Good, you are." Diego, I want to hug you

Stanley! Not now!

Well, there go Alphonso and Jayme

I KNEW IT! IT'S HARLAN! I FUCKING KNEW IT!

#tua #tua s03 #tua s03 spoilers

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jewishbarbies · 2 years

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JAWBREAKER → Veronica Nelson & Mercedes “Sadie” Shaw

Veronica Nelson always knew she was different. After all, it ran in her family line, thanks to her great uncle Kent. Special, her mother would call her. Gifted. But it was hard to believe that waking nightmares of tragedy were any kind of gift. Her poor brother fought to keep his telepathy to himself, and his ‘gift’ nearly brought the family to its knees. Veronica rebelled against it all in her teens—maybe that’s why she fell for Chris Smith, the wrong-side-of-the-tracks son of a vile white supremacist, so hard? Alcohol, drugs, sex. It was all fair game if it silenced the visions, or even just quieted them for a moment. Then when Chris—no, Peacemaker—was sent to prison for the foreseeable future, Veronica discovered the unthinkable. She was pregnant. Finally, there was an excuse to get away from it all. From the drinking, the drugs, him. Her older sister, a fairly successful lawyer in Metropolis, offered to take her in on one condition. Veronica would have to get clean, get a job, and get her life on track. And she didn’t hesitate to jump at the opportunity to escape the hole she’d fallen into head first. And, once she was clean, the visions finally stopped.

After four long, grueling years, she was a productive member of society. A loving mother, dedicated nurse. Then, one fateful night, she saw something that turned her blood ice cold—a man she didn’t know stabbed dead, Chris shot in the neck. It couldn’t be real. She was cured of her ‘gift’, after all. But it nagged at her incessantly and her grip on the life she’d built for herself and her son began to slip, greased by whatever twisted feelings she still had for a murderer. Against her better judgement and the wishes of her sister, Veronica transferred to Mount Rouge Health Center, leaving her son in the capable hands of her mother. It wasn’t long before Chris turned up—riddled with injuries that kept him in the hospital for months. After she knew he’d be discharged, she finished her shift avoiding any mention of him, and decided to stay in for the night. Until she got a distressed call from her niece. They agreed to meet at Fennel Fields to talk about what was going on. Little did Veronica know that a group of Amanda Waller’s lap dogs would be dining at the same restaurant, that he would be joining them, and she would be approached with a proposition by a woman who calls herself Shawshank.

tag list: @starcrossedjedis @heirsoflilith @blue-sparrow-15 @lukespatterson @darknightfrombeyond @jewelswrites-ish @sgtbuckyybarnes @raith-way @hiddenqveendom @lokitrasho @foxesandmagic @chlobenet @nickfcwler (want to be added? hmu ♡)

#fyeahsuperverseocs #jawbreaker #veronica nelson #sadie shaw #mine #my edits #i love them sm

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vvienne · 3 years

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SANGCHENG FIC RECS

flight of a one-winged dove by bloodletter

Talking at someone is only fun for so long. That's all being a sect leader is: talking and talking to people bound by courtesy to listen to you. It's so fucking dull. A relief, then, to face one’s equal, and no less an old friend who is inclined to interrupt you whenever you ramble. He likes it. It’s one of Jiang Cheng’s best qualities.

In the years after Guanyin Temple, Nie Huaisang attends to unfinished business.

whipped by reindeercolin

Jiang Cheng blinks. “Dammit, they do think you’re dating one of us! I hate it when Wei Wuxian is right.” “Excuse me?” Nie Huaisang gives him an incredulous look. “First of all, they think I’m dating you, and if anything, they’re getting more aggressive!”

(or, the one in which Jiang Cheng has too many relatives, not enough patience, goes through a brother-divorce and finds out he has a boyfriend - in that order, more or less.)

Ponder the Manner of Things by Pip (Moirail)

It's not that Jiang Cheng can't do a quadruple flip followed by a triple toeloop. It's that his mother seems to think that's still not good enough.

Jiang Cheng is grateful that Huaisang doesn’t have the same kind of family life that he does, all - messy with expectations and cravings for closeness and nothing but vague filial piety where love is meant to be.

a matter of time and organ donation by nev_longbottom

This is it. The call he’s been waiting for. His brother had ‘an accident’ or ‘died in his sleep’ or some other lie to cover up the murder.

“Please, Mingjue is missing. He got into one of his moods and he was gone when I came back from grocery shopping. He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know if he left or was kidnapped or if something else happened. Huaisang, please, if you’ve heard anything,” Meng Yao begs.

Nie Huaisang hunts his brother's killer.

no tip necessary by tattletold

With all the nervousness of a virgin in a whorehouse, Jiang Cheng closes the door behind himself and enters, sitting on the low seat across from the escort. The pretty young man keeps his face hidden behind the delicate fan, and Jiang Cheng thinks for a moment that he recognizes the design painted onto it now that he’s closer.

It’s only when he lowers the fan and opens his eyes, wide, does Jiang Cheng paralyze with realization.

They speak at the same time in equally horrified tones.

“Jiang Cheng?”

“Nie Huaisang?”

Your Place in the Family of Things by raisedbyhyenas

No matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, Wei Wuxian will always leave and Jiang Cheng will always get stuck trying to rebuild from whatever’s left.

*************

In which Jiang Cheng makes friends; gets a cat; begins to rebuild a relationship; and maybe, possibly, potentially, learns a little bit how to be happy.

sigh yourself to sleep by merthurlin

“Let me take care of you, A-Cheng.”

No one—no one has ever said that, not to Jiang Cheng. He wasn’t a very sickly child, true, but the few times he remembered being sick it was never—he had a-jie, and later on he had Wei Wuxian, for what it was worth, but he never—

halcyon days by serein

They're in a forest, it seems just the two of them.

"You have to be patient," Nie Huaisang says, "I once waited for three days to catch a sparrow."

"Three days?" Jiang Cheng replies, sceptical. He can't imagine Nie Huaisang having the attention span for that.

"It's not that hard," Nie Huaisang says, "if you know what they want, and find a way to get it for them."

[JC stumbles across an array and gets physically de-aged to be 16/17. NHS kindly offers his help to an old friend, but things... escalate.]

To Distraction by isozyme

It’s the third night of Yunmeng’s kite festival celebrations. Nie Huaisang has come visiting, eager to partake in the food, the arts, and Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng wants to forget. Nie Huaisang has some new lube and wants to see if he can put his whole fist in somebody’s ass.

Lights, Camera, Kiss by MissMagus

When Nie Huaisang gets paired with straight porn star Jiang Cheng for a five-part series, he’s sure it will be an utter disaster. Until the cameras start rolling and their chemistry alights like wildfire.

(Or, the five times Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng have sex for their job, and the first time they have sex outside of it.)

Only the Shallow by hamburglar

When Nie Huaisang gets bored and convinces Jiang Cheng to make out with him, he’s probably not expecting to still be dealing with the guy 16 years later.

OR the story where Jiang Cheng goes into: the Cloud Recesses, denial, some bushes, the private porn library at the Unclean Realm, and subspace.

Blind for Love by manamune

Jiang Cheng is poisoned with an aphrodisiac and needs to orgasm repeatedly in order to flush it from his system.

The first person he thinks of going to for help is Nie Huaisang, who does what any good friend would do: he shoves his three decades worth of feelings for Jiang Cheng deep into the recesses of his mind, locks them up so he can pretend they don’t exist, and then fucks him so hard that he passes out.

Descending by lightningwaltz

“I want to… to not be embarrassed.”

“To not be embarrassed during what?”

“During sex.” There. Jiang Cheng can say it. “In general. Also with you right now.”

“Very good.”

“When did you become so authoritative?” Jiang Cheng wants to sound irked, but can’t quite manage anything beyond nervous curiosity.

dark water by Morgan (duckwhatduck)

There are words, somewhere, for this. Words that would put a shape to the thing that sits between them, would seal their understanding. There are words for sympathy, for friendship, for understanding, for that touch, for this feeling.

Jiang Cheng can feel them, somewhere, fluttering formless at the back of his throat, squirming under his ribcage, but he cannot grasp them. They swim beneath the surface, fish in muddy water - and like fish, they will dart away if he grabs for them incautiously, and leave him nothing but cold splashes and grit.

Or: Why talk about things when you could fuck about it instead?

never knew i was a dancer by isozyme

“What’s a stone butch and why aren’t they real?” Jiang Cheng asks, too buzzed to care too much about not being up on lesbian culture.

Huaisang pats Jiang Cheng on the no-man’s-land between her boobs and her shoulder. “You’re so useless, Jiang Cheng. A stone butch is a fictional hottie who doesn’t make you do any work at all, just wants to give head and fuck you stupid on her strap.”

“Fictional?” Jiang Cheng echoes, having - not a moment, per se, but sort of a problem where her thoughts are going too fast for her poor drunken brain to keep up with.

“Nobody actually wants to fuck a chick who’s too lazy to eat you out after,” Huaisang mumbles.

After leaving Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s bachelorette party, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang decide to experiment with some outdated stereotypical lesbian sex roles.

lights out by rynleaf

“Nie-zongzhu makes the most sense,” Sect Leader Yao nods sagely, to murmurs of assent across the Jin Sect’s gold gilded banquet hall. Jin Ling, clad in opulent robes that look somewhat comical on a boy of sixteen, inclines his head as his scribe makes a notation, and the noise rises as sect leaders pat themselves and each other on the back for a decision well made.

Jiang Cheng groans and downs his cup of wine in one go.

In which the Sect Leaders elect a new Chief Cultivator.

shadow eternal by rynleaf

“You want me to distract the Chief Cultivator from the Annual Cultivation Conference, so you and other sect leaders can… what. Sign contracts without adult supervision?”

“If Jiang-zongzhu is amenable,” Sect Leader Ouyang repeats with a nod.

Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. The pressure he felt building behind his eyes all morning is swiftly coalescing into a bitch of a headache. “Just what do you all think I’m capable of?”

Sect Leader Ouyang bows with a cheerful smile. “We have utmost faith in Sandu Shengshou’s abilities.”

In which a night hunt ends in disaster, Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse of Nie Huaisang's heart, and feelings are discussed after a certain fashion.

Four Days in Lanling by halotolerant

Nie Huaisang looks at him. ‘You are confusing me, Clan Leader Jiang, perhaps I misunderstand, but…’

‘You didn’t misunderstand. You don’t misunderstand. You understand all of it.’ For six months Jiang Cheng has been mulling this over, and now with Nie Huaisang in front of him he can’t figure out if he most wants to knock him down or kneel at his feet. What he does is try and breathe. Clench his hands at his sides. ‘And now I am going to ask you to do something for me. You have to do something for me. You have to help Jin Ling.’

Lean for Love Forever by Pip (Moirail)

Having a crush on your roommate is really embarrassing, except that's apparently the opposite of a problem. Jiang Cheng can't deny that's pretty convenient.

Wei Ying holds it up, a series of straps and buckles and velcro and wow, really a lot of leather. It has absolutely no conceivable form beyond tangled.

Nie Huaisang opens the door at exactly the moment that Wei Ying holds the thing up to Jiang Cheng’s chest, as if he’s trying to imagine how exactly it would fit onto a person, and it falls into a tangled pile between them while they stare at Huaisang in mild mortification.

acquired momentum by mongrelmind

Had Madam Yu known that this is where her son would end up, she would have gouged his eyes out with her bracelet before he made the grave mistake of looking in the direction of Nie Huaisang.

in which Nie Huaisang has an art show, Jiang Cheng is begrudgingly topless*, and there are. Shenanigans.

*Nie Huaisang excluded.

#sangcheng #mdzs #mdzs recs #fic recs #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #ill probably add more fics when I read more fics

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naamahdarling · 4 years

Note

What's a book you'd like to see more people reading, and why?

Fiction-wise, why literally everyone is not talking about Middlegame by Seanan McGuire is baffling to me. Seanan’s always been a solid author, she has a gift, but this is more than that. Middlegame shows both her range and depth as a writer, those things that give writing a soul, and her finely-honed technical abilities. The former is on display in just about everything she touches. The second has never been fully unleashed until now. She pulls off an incredible high-wire act, balancing a zigzag narrative pace, a convoluted plot, and multiple planes of meaning with a gripping and utterly original story that is as compelling as it is bizarre. You can look up a synopsis, I’m not going to try to do that here. I’m just going to say that I went in with high expectations and was absolutely blown away. I’m not exaggerating when I say I have never read anything like it, it is the best and most technically proficient piece of writing I have read in I don’t even know how long. Writing a short story with this many tiny gears and moving parts is hard enough. A novel? Unbelievable. It will go down as a classic. I mean a real classic, one that people will still be pointing to in 40 years as an example of what the genre can do when in the hands of someone that capable. You should all read it. Buy it and read it. Or, if the absolutely buckwild and nigh-indescribable premise doesn’t appeal to you, investigate one of her other series, or her work in comics. I guarantee that she does something that you will like. Urban fantasy? The October Daye series. Action/adventure with monsters and cryptids? The InCryptid series. Fairy tales gone wrong with wild twists and turns? Indexing and its sequel. YA portal fantasy with a gloriously diverse cast of relatable weirdos and even weirder worlds? The Wayward Children series. Ghosts? Sparrow Hill Road, or maybe Dusk or Dark or Dawn or Day. Murderous mermaids? Rolling in the Deep and Into the Drowning Deep. Short stories? Laughter at the Academy, or just kick in to her Patreon. Her body of work is huge. Go. Shoo.

At the very least, if you know a Weird Kid, especially a queer kid, get them in on the Wayward Children series. I truly believe those books will save some lives, and make others more bearable. Also, sales feed her cats, and Thomas is immense.

Nonfiction-wise, The Butchering Art: Joseph Lister's Quest to Transform the Grisly World of Victorian Medicine by Lindsey Fitzharris is a riveting nonfiction book about the life of Joseph Lister, an awesome dude, and about the state of medicine in the Victorian era, which was frankly horrible. It gave me a lot of perspective on just how far we’ve come so quickly, and just how filthy Victorian living conditions actually were. I wrote a thank you letter to my surgeon after reading it. REALLY good, and it doesn’t require a lot of knowledge going in for it to be enjoyable, if harrowing. I think, culturally, we need to have more respect for science and more awareness of just how quickly we made the advances we now take for granted, and how they are there for a reason (and that reason is like 85% so we don’t die of erysipelas and scarlet fever). And we need to respect Lister’s legacy by WASHING OUR FUCKING HANDS. I read the book over a year ago, and I still think about it often. Just about daily now, actually. I don’t admire many dead white guys, but I make an exception for Lister. Dude was on a whole ‘nother level of having his shit together.

#unsettledink

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deithe · 3 years

Text

the bones (2,847 words) (1/1)

(an introspective on jason grace. kind of?)

read here on ao3 or read below the cut!

jason falls in love with the human equivalent of a forest fire

(his mother fell in love with the sky itself)

jason grace grew up being told that his destiny was very, very simple.

his first and most important mission, handed down to him from lady juno and mother lupa, was that jason was destined to save rome. that his destiny lay with new rome and camp jupiter, a new romulus to lead the pack to greatness. he would spill so much blood in new rome’s name that the little tiber would overflow and the gods would crown him with a golden laurel made from monster ichor.

he would be everything everyone else needed.

a spear for the senate, a shield for new rome, a standard to replace the one that had been lost, a sword for the gods to wield, and another pack member for lupa. he would be the perfect soldier, a demigod fashioned by two god-mothers for the simple act of being a weapon.

his second duty was that jason was to be nothing like his father.

his father, evil, unpredictable, selfish and cruel, was to be jason’s antithesis. lady juno stressed this, as did the senate, as did his praetors (though praetor saville jason eventually killed in battle, so jason doesn’t take her words to heart anymore). jason was never, ever to be like his father. all sons of jupiter before him were either driven insane or were killed, and jason’s great destiny could not afford for him to do either of those things.

‘hubris’ lady juno once told him, while going through his latin lessons in the damp cold of the den (or wolf house, as she called it), ‘is the thing that kills sons of jupiter’.

so jason was to never be prideful, but at the same time, never to believe he was inferior. he was to be subservient but never meek, he was to be a capable fighter but never violent. he was to be kind but not a pushover. open but not flirtatious.

he was to be perfect. he could not afford anything else.

then he, in the span of a few months, murdered his prateor after finding out she was a traitor, watched his friend be assaulted by a family legacy of prophetic visions which turned him into a paranoid asshole, watched his other friend assume a leadership role, one which he tried to refuse, and fought an army, killed a titan and toppled kronos’ black throne.

he also became praetor and then was promptly kidnapped by lady juno, leaving said other friend with all the responsibility.

then any and all plans the gods had for him were ruined by a daughter of aphrodite with eyes like the earth and a son of hephaestus with a smile like war.

how could jason be the perfect soldier when his loyalties no longer lay with new rome? he loved his home, he loved his siblings-in-arms, he loved the legion-

he loved leo and piper more than the breath in his lungs, than the sky and earth and more than his destiny. he loved them enough to try and find whatever scraps of himself he had. to create something they could love too.

(heracles killed himself after accidentally killing his family. love killed him in the end)

and so, jason failed in his first mission. he could no longer put new rome above them, above camp half-blood.

jason doesn’t think becoming his father is an option for him, however. his father is prideful and arrogant and his father's likeness, he will eventually learn, belongs only to his prodigal sister.

and so, jason grace finds his last name, a family he never knew, friends he could die for and an empty cabin that seemed less lonely with leo or piper in it.

then they went on a quest, leo built a ship and they all set sail to stop gaia from rising.

then jason lost leo, then jason lost everything, then jason lost himself and then lost piper-

and, in the middle of winter, leo valdez came crashing down on a metal dragon with eyes like a nuclear explosion and teeth made for tearing meat from bone, or tearing jason’s heart from his chest.

and then jason found himself again in the space between the junction between leo valdez's fourth and fifth ribs.

leo valdez is a lot of things. he’s a son of hephaestus and a complete asshole. he’s the first child of hephaestus to be born with the ability to create and control fire in over 400 years. he’s a 5’4ft guy who wears platformed boots to make himself seem taller. he’s so powerful that he obliterated gaia. he’s a genius. he thinks spraying axe bodyspray on himself is the same as a shower. he overworks himself even when he doesn’t have to. he can fight gods and go toe-to-toe with any big three kid and hold his own. he likes to survive on a diet of mango monster energy and takis. he's obnoxious. he's thoughtful. he makes mean-spirited jokes at other people's expense. he's the best person jason's ever met

he’s-

currently late for their date.

It’s not that jason minds, per se, but leo has a nasty habit of getting so completely lost in his work that he can plan a date for the next day, and jason won’t see him for at least three days. it’s one of the downsides of being the trophy boyfriend of a genius.

jason sighs and rocks back on his heels, eyes darting up to the grey, overcast sky. he can almost hear leo in his head, asking if he could pretty please make it less goddamn cold? and his pout when jason refuses to change the weather for him.

it's not that jason won't. it's just that he can't. it makes aeolus snappy.

sometimes he still does it. manipulates the air currents just enough to warm the air around them and leo smiles, a real one, small and soft. like it wasn't meant to be seen. a secret thing, just for jason.

jason doesn't see leo smile like that often.

it's mid-february in new york and jason is kicking around central park in the grey mid-day light. it's quiet, this part of the park, with barely anyone passing jason as he leans against a tree, wet dew dripping into his unstyled hair. it's cold, but not cold enough for a freeze or snow. just the right amount of cold to turn your hands numb and purple from cold

which. if you've never seen leo 'was raised in texas and has fire powers' valdez in new york snow, jason fully believes you've never lived.

he spends another 30 minutes splitting his time from staring into space and wandering around the meeting spot they've arranged. it's peaceful here. jason can even hear some birds twittering and chirping in the trees above. the cold even stops bothering him. jason likes being alone sometimes.

it reminds him of the lupercal and lupa. long days and nights in the loneliness of the redwood forest. just him and the wolves and the stars.

though now jason has sturdy boots and a wool jacket, so not exactly the same.

he's in the middle of trying to coax a timid sparrow onto the hand, crouched on the balls of his feet when he feels a presence beside him. he goes stiff when he realises and then, like all the tension has been zapped out of him, goes relaxed again.

"that," leo whispers, also crouched beside jason, "is one fat fucking bird"

jason represses a grin, "don't say that. he's probably barely eaten all winter," and leo snorts, moving closer to jason so their shoulders brush. the bird regards leo with some caution but his black, beady eyes seem to acknowledge that jason would keep him safe.

"he looks better fed than me, jace. do you care more about this bird than your own poor boyfriend?" leo says, faux-sadness in his voice, "how cruel, jason grace. how cruel".

jason turns in time to see leo shake his head, black curls wild around his face as they shudder like leaves in the wind. his eyes are dark brown, watching the bird watch leo. a staring contest.

leo says his name like no one else does. like it's a name. like it's good. like it's something familiar and warm. he does not say 'jason' and imagine a great hero or a wolf-boy with no past. he does not say 'grace' like a joke, like grasp for power, like it carries too much weight for his tongue to bare.

he says it like it belongs to jason. he says it like it's important. not too fast, but not too slow.

leo turns his head to find jason staring at him.

"jason" he calls, lips quirking up at the edge, pulling out the 'o' like toffee, "i know i'm pretty irresistible but please, keep your longing stares for the bedroom"

jason shoves up against leo's shoulder, blush bursting across his already red-cold face.

he pushes just slightly too hard and leo goes spilling across the wet grass, yelping in surprise.

"jason!" he yells, looking up at jason half shocked and half in amusement. "what the fuck, dude!"

jason can't help himself.

leo is wearing jason's hoodie, the black one mrs.blofis picked out for jason which leo claimed as his own even before they started dating. his new denim, fur-lined jacket (from the hide of the nemean lion they killed last year) is just slightly too big and he's wearing black jeans. he looks like the college freshman he is. he looks mortal.

he looks human. he has leaves in his hair and his cheeks are flushed from the cold, teeth showing through the toothy smile he's giving and-

it's uncanny, sometimes, how well they can pass for normal. you almost can't tell leo's died and come back to life. you almost can't tell he's more powerful than any living mortal.

almost.

jason falls on top of leo in the wet grass, which causes leo to yelp, again, and knee jason in the stomach.

jason groans "dude, what the hades was that for?" and he rolls of leo, onto the wet grass beside him, arms protectively covering his bruised stomach.

"you fell directly on top of me, you big lug," and leo sits up, picking a leaf out of his curls absentmindedly, "if you haven't noticed, you're like a bean-pole with muscle mass. that shit hurts!"

jason pouts up at leo, who manages to look both unimpressed and fond. he rolls his eyes and offers his hand to jason, who accepts and leo hauls him into a sitting position in front of him

"hi, leo" jason says finally, "you're late"

"i'm not late, loser, you're just a nerd and get places earlier than normal people. its super weird," leo tells him, matter-of-factly, scooting closer to him as they sit on the ground. "you should really get it checked. might be terminal nerdiness. the glasses are just the first sign"

jason raises an eyebrow, curviving over said glasses. "i didn't know it could be terminal. oh well, guess i'll just wither away and die from being punctual. what an injust life i lead. how the sorrows never end"

leo pouts, eyes sparking with enough warmth to keep out the cold for decades to come, "don't be so down about it, I hear being a nerd has perks,"

jason moves closer, so his knees are half-pulled up to his chest and he's balancing his weight on his hand. leo fits perfectly in the bracket of his arms.

"oh? do tell?" he asks, and leo is close enough that jason can see the faint freckles on his cheeks. they're fading from how far away leo has been from the sun, but jason loves them anyways.

"yup," leo says, popping the p and smiling like the cat who got the cream. "do you know that all nerds get super hot and funny and sexy boyfriends? as compensation for being such nerds, of course"

jason pulls back his head a bit, just as leo laces his arms around his shoulders, "really?" and his voice is soft, but the smile won't disappear from his lips, "wow, didn't know that. guess I'm lucky that you're such a huge nerd or-"

leo kisses him like coming home. and in a way it is.

jason has known many homes. he's known the small apartment with his mother that smelt like spilt wine and smoke and mold. he's known the lupercal and the redwood forests around it. he's known the barracks at camp jupiter and the feeling of purpose in his chest. he's known cabin 1 and cabin 9 and bunker 9 and on the back of festus and on the argo. he's known the feeling of reyna laughing as he tells her wild stories and of the fifth cohort raising him on their shields. he's known lying in leo's private room with piper and leo, listening to low music and feeling safe with just them.

but the one person who jason has felt like home since they met was leo. his high ground through the tsunami. his parachute during a plane crash. the one point of home. like the north-star.

jason smiles into the kiss, his free hand tangling itself in the rough fabric of leo's dark blue denim jacket. it's soft and chaste, more a press of warm lips than anything. it's comforting. it's familiar. it's everything he wants.

leo pulls back a bit, just far enough to speak but still close enough that his breath brushes up against jason's cold face. "hi," he says, brushing his nose against his, "missed you, bro".

jason snorts, "i missed you too, leo, how's MIT treating you?"

"like i'm it's bitch is how it's treating me," leo tells him, slumping slightly into jason, forehead against jason's. "can we not talk about college? i think if we talk about college I might start crying and then our date will be ruined"

jason pulls back a bit to look at leo. he does look more tired than usual, eye-bags darker and lips bitten from nervousness. he frowns, using his free hand to cup his face. "are you okay? we can just go back to your dorm if you're too tired-"

"ugh, no way" leo groans, "fuck that. i just wanna spend time with you, okay? i wanna be mushy and all that gay shit. i want bad food and to kiss you again and again and do more than kissing-"

jason rolls his eyes.

"-and then go back to mrs.blofis apartment and watch really bad movies you like for some reason and then i'll go to sleep beside you and it'll be gay and shit"

"gay and shit?"

"gay and shit, you better believe it grace. but first-"

and leo untangles himself from jason and stands up, brushing the dirt from his knees leaving jason frowning on the floor.

he offers out his hand, brown skin calloused from work, long, thin fingers curled slightly as the palm faced upwards.

"c'mon, super, treat your louis lane to some greasy new york food before he decides batman has better pay"

jason is so, so lucky he got leo valdez. that the fates decides to make sure that his destiny crosses leo's. that he convinced leo valdez to let down his walls, to stay, that jason wouldn't leave him like the others, or hurt him or betray him.

that jason was in it for as long as leo wanted him to be. that jason only wanted leo to say his name, wanted to give it to leo because leo's the only one who's mouth jason trusts with it. that jason wanted to give leo his past. wanted to show him and tell him where he got each scar.

he trusts leo with this. he trusts leo's hands to not burn it all to ash. because he knows that if leo wanted to, he could. he could burn jason alive with a thought. turn him to ash and glass with a flick of his hand.

jason has fallen in love with a nuclear bomb, with a supernova of a boy and jason doesn't care if it kills him, because he has spent so long pretending to be what everyone else needed, that now he was going to be who he wanted to be. even if it got him killed. even if it burned him alive.

jason grace has fallen in love with the human version of a forest fire. he should be afraid of it, of leo. he is not. he never will be.

beryl grace fell in love with the sky itself. wanted all the stars in heaven and didn't care what happened to her. as long as she knew she had the stars attention. as long as she knew the sky loved her back.

as long as he knew the fire loved him back.

he takes his hand.

#my writing #jason grace #fanfic #hoo #toa has no power over me i do as i please #leo valdez #valgrace

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ahsbitch · 4 years

Text

A Walk In The Woods

Word Count: 5762

Summary: You find a wild Michael Langdon in the woods, and after deciding that he definitely needs some help, you invite him back home with you.

Warnings: Smut, 69ing, so obviously oral happens, Male and Female Receiving, A Bit Of Praise Kink, unprotected sex, Vaginal Intercourse, Sad Boi Michael, some cockwarming at the end (obviously I’m v into cockwarming, don’t @ me) Shitty Writing, lots of cursing, that’s all I can think of

A/N: I’m sure this is awful but idk I put effort into it so I’m posting it. Also I should totally wait to post til tomorrow bc it’s like midnight but?? I really wanted to post it today so I’m just going for it. Hope y’all enjoy, comments are Always appreciated, much love! ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking barefoot in the woods was probably your most ridiculous hobby, but it was probably your favorite as well.

There was always something to discover in the woods.

You tried to take a forest walk at least once a week, on Sundays. You would be gone for hours, wandering, feeling the ups and downs of the universe all around you.

There was always something to discover in the woods, and it was always something different.

Often you would stop in sunny patches and meditated. Sometimes you could feel the musings of something greater than you, running through you.

Occasionally, you would find a wounded animal, typically just small things like squirrels or sparrows, although sometimes bigger creatures, a deer, an owl, a fox, things along those lines. You felt a responsibility to them, to help them, to clean them up and help them heal and get them better enough to go off on their journeys in life.

On this particular walk, you found a type of wounded animal you’d never dealt with before.

Michael Langdon.

You found him wandering the woods, bleary eyed, coated in scratches and sunburns.

“Are you alright, sir?” You moved slowly closer to him, not worried for yourself but afraid to startle him.

The man was beautiful, you could tell he was beneath the dirt that covered him.

You had startled him, it seemed, as he looked up at you with wild, piercing eyes, raising a hand and sending you flying back against a tree, pinning you there by the throat.

Well, fuck.

Your hands clawed at your neck in spite of yourself, trying to pull at something that wasn’t there. You wouldn’t have tried at all, if you were capable of rational thought, would have let it happen as you had great faith that the mystery man was going to let you go, but of course when one loses the ability to breathe, one’s body tends to panic in spite of what the mind may wish for.

After a few seconds, you dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

Breathe in...Breathe out...Breathe in...Breathe out...Breath in..

“I’m sorry,” You stood up, keeping your gaze on the ground but taking a step towards him.

Although you still didn’t look him in the face, you could tell just from his voice that the man was confused, wandering closer to you, “Why are you sorry?”

Shrugging, you lifted your head from the ground, although you still kept it below eye level, “I frightened you. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I,” He frowned, and you focused your eyes on his mouth, “I attacked you.”

“Because I frightened you. I was trying not to, but I did, and I’m very sorry for it.”

“Is that why you won’t look me in the eye?” He sounded curious, and his mouth curved into a funny little smile, “Because you’re sorry?”

“Because direct eye contact can be intimidating,” You explained, “I don’t want to upset you again.”

Biting his lower lip, the man extended his hand, “It’s okay. I’m... my name is Michael. I’m sorry for...what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You took his hand, feeling a zip of electricity shoot through you, and finally looked into his eyes, “It’s okay. I’ve been hurt worse. Wasn’t a big deal. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.”

Brows scrunched together over his crystalline blue eyes, Michael cleared his throat, “It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N. I’m sorry for bothering you, I- I should let you go.”

You weren’t quite sure whether he meant that literally or figuratively, as he was still clutching at your hand like a lifeline.

“Hang on,” Drawing him closer, you reached a careful hand up to his face, hesitating at the way he flinched, then stilled, his eyes flickering to the side anxiously, but allowing you to cup his cheek and examine him, “How long have you been out here?”

Michael looked unsure of himself, leaning into your hand ever so slightly and seemingly not even conscious of it, “A few days, I think. I was doing a, well, I was doing something, but it didn’t work, and then I tried to make my way back to the city, but I kinda got lost.”

“You must be starving,” You pulled away from him, straightening up, “I can take you back to the city, and you can come to my place for a little bit.”

You were already walking, and after a moment you heard Michael hurry to follow you, “What do you mean?”

“You said you were lost. I don’t think you just mean physically. Besides, you must be hungry, and no offense, but you’re kind of a mess right now,” You glanced back at him, giving a small smile when you saw his shocked expression, “You need help. I’m happy to give it.”

“Why?” Michael moved to your side, walking in step with you, “Why would you help me? What if I’m a murderer?”

“Even if you are, I don’t think you’ll murder me. If you do, I’d ask that you do it quickly, that’s just a little personal preference of mine, although of course if you’re some truly evil serial killer then I doubt you’d care much about my preferences,” Shrugging, you grasped his hand in yours and pulled him behind you, feeling another volt of electricity crackle through your veins as you led him back to the city.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have a nice place,” Michael told you hesitantly as you made your way up the front steps of your apartment building.

You almost laughed at that, but when you glanced back at him he looked so genuine in the compliment that you paused, pulling him inside, “You... you know this whole place isn’t mine, right? It’s an apartment building. My place is pretty not nice, actually. I mean, I like it, but it’s small and not very fancy, y’know?”

“Oh,” He looked a little embarrassed, and you could tell that he had thought the whole building belonged to you. He looked like someone who was used to money and big houses, or at least he looked like he would look like that if he didn’t currently look like he’d been attacked by some sort of weather monster and was now on the verge of passing out.

“Sit,” You said simply, gesturing to the couch, and you hurried to get a glass of water, handing it to him, “Drink.”

Bustling your way back to the kitchen, you looked back to see him staring at the cup, and you repeated, “Michael. Drink the water. Come on,” You turned to the plants on your windowsill, grabbing your kitchen shears, “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind drinking water?” Michael asked, confusion evident.

“Not you,” You turned to him with a smile, nodding, “You don’t have a choice there. Drink the water. I was talking to Tennyson.”

“Who’s Tennyson?”

He had finished the cup of water, and you took it and refilled it before gesturing to the aloe vera plant that you had just trimmed a stalk off of, returning the cup to him, “The plant. The full name is Aloe, Lord Tennyson.”

“You name your plants?” Clearing his throat, Michael took a sip of the new cup of water, “You... talk to your plants?”

Shrugging, you split the long leaf in half, scooping some of the gel inside onto your fingers, “Yes, and yes. Now this may hurt a bit, just a warning.”

You pressed against his forehead as gently as you could, where a large pinkish red sunburn rested, and Michael let out a hiss and suddenly you were flying across the room, hitting the wall. He didn’t hold you in place or choke you this time, at least, and in a moment he had leapt from the couch and hurried over to you, “I’m so sorry. It hurt and I wasn’t expecting it, I-”

“It’s okay,” You let Michael pull you to your feet, holding onto his hand ever more tightly as you looked at his ashen face and downtrodden expression, “I should’ve given you better warning. Listen, I’ll doctor you up later. Let’s get you in a bath, first, okay? You can bathe and I’ll make some food and then, after, we can take care of your sunburns and scrapes.”

“I keep hurting you,” Michael pulled his hand away, looking at it as though your touch had burned him, “And you keep being nice to me.”

“If you were doing it on purpose, I’d be less nice. But you’re not, I can tell. Now, follow,” You led the way to your small bathroom, starting to fill the tub with water.

Michael sat on the edge of the tub, watching you adjust the temperature and light the candles that lay at the corners and pour in some bubble bath. He stared as you moved, humming to yourself, and when you stood and started to step away, “I have some old clothes that I think will fit you. They’re not particularly fancy, like what you’re wearing now, but they’re clean. I’ll drop them off once I get some dinner started, okay?”

Nodding, Michael began to undo the buttons of his shirt, and you hurried out of the room.

He was still lost, even though he wasn’t in the woods anymore. And you were determined to help him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Michael called, cracking the bathroom door open, “I’m dressed and everything.”

“Great! Hop up on the counter for me, okay? Just hang tight,” You grabbed the bowl of aloe gel that you had scraped from the plant and a box of band aids and hurried back to the bathroom.

He was perched next to your sink, and you tapped at his knees. Michael frowned but opened his legs so you could stand in between them, “Why am I on your counter, exactly?”

“Because it’s time for me to play doctor. I’m going to touch your face, okay?” You cupped his cheek in your hand and tugged him down, beginning to dab gel onto his sunburns and clean the long scratches that streaked across his features, “Are you comfortable? Do the sweatpants fit okay and everything?”

“They’re fine,” Michael mumbled, flinching when you pressed a band aid to one of the deeper cuts on his forehead, his hand curling into a fist. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting his other hand rest gently on your shoulder, “I appreciate you letting me borrow them. And letting me use your bathtub, and well, and everything else.”

You nodded, taking in a deep breath and finally moving your attention to notice that he was staring at you, smiling at him, “You used my shampoo.”

“Oh, yeah,” He turned pink, “Yeah, is that okay? It smelled like strawberries and it was right there so I just...”

“Of course! Not a problem at all. You smell nice,” You were looking straight at him now, and he continued to stare, and just when you’d tilted your head to the side, trying to discern what exactly Michael was thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.

The hand that had rested on your shoulder came up to stroke your face, and then as quickly as it had started, it was done, and he had pulled away from you, turning his head sheepishly to the side.

Clearing your throat nervously, you stepped back, “Do you like tomato soup?”

“Yes,” Michael hopped off the counter, following you to the kitchen, although he stayed about four steps behind you.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking at each other over bowls of soup and large dinner rolls.

Your lips still buzzed from the memory of him against you, but you tried to ignore that. Michael scarfed food down for a while, and you simply kept refilling his bowl until he finally started to slow down, and then you asked carefully, “So, Michael. What’s gotten you lost like this. Tell me where you came from. Tell me about your parents.”

“There isn’t much to tell about them,” Michael turned red, and he steadfastly refused to make eye contact with you, “My father abandoned me, and my mother tried to kill me. There’s only one person who’s ever really cared, who hasn’t abandoned me, and she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” You said earnestly, letting your hand reach out just far enough to brush against his, “Humanity is unkind, often especially so to those who need kindness the most.”

Michael had a curious way of frowning, his confusion always quite evident. His eyes would widen and his brows would move, displaying everything he was feeling. It was cute, honestly.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” He said finally bluntly, having been staring at you in silence, “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re just...I mean... I was gonna try to just not mention it, but you’re so nice and I feel bad.”

“You should’ve asked first,” Drawing your hand away, you tried to make eye contact with him, but now he was avoiding your gaze, “For a lot of reasons. But I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not? I know I should’ve asked, I’m just... I’m not used to having to ask for things. I know that’s not a good excuse, but I don’t really know what to say. I’m just sorry,” Michael was frowning even deeper than before.

Shrugging, you reached back across the table, this time allowing your fingers to stroke along his jaw, “The fact that you’re sorry is enough. Just... don’t go around kissing strangers with no warning, okay?”

“Okay,” He smiled, leaning into your hand, a strange rumbling noise emanating from deep in his chest, almost like a purr.

Suddenly, you felt a bolt of desire shoot through you, seemingly out of nowhere, and you shifted a little in your seat, “Are you done eating?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you for the food. I can find somewhere to go, I’m sure,” Pulling away from you, Michael started to stand, and you rushed to stand too.

“What do you mean? Why would you go anywhere?” You grabbed his arm, trying to hold him in place even as he brushed you away.

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

A burden?

“If you were going to be a burden, I wouldn’t have brought you here at all. Spend the night,” Squeezing at his wrist gently, you moved to stand in front of him.

Michael looked utterly taken aback by this, “Really? Are you sure?”

You tugged him along behind you, to your bedroom, bringing him to sit on your bed and collapsing down next to him.

“I’m sure,” Turning towards him, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and leaned forward, looking deeply into his eyes, “You’re the opposite of a burden, and I can prove it.”

Michael’s breathing hitched, and he moved closer to you, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath, “I really wanna kiss you again.”

“You can,” You said simply, wanting to kiss him very badly, but having decided that he needed to be the one to initiate it.

“But you said-”

“I said you should ask first,” You placed a hand on his cheek, feeling something crackling in the air, his skin soft against your own.

“Y/N,” Michael leaned into you, and another rumble rolled from his chest, “May I please kiss you?”

“You can do a lot more than that. I want to show you that you’re not a burden. You deserve to feel good,” And then his mouth was on yours, and something deeper than electricity was running through you.

He kissed you like a teenager, not pulling you closer to him but pushing his upper body forward, and you let out a giggle in spite of yourself.

Pulling back suddenly, Michael frowned, running a hand through his hair, “Sorry. Did I... did I do something wrong?”

“No, don’t be sorry!” You rolled your shoulders back, wishing that you two were still touching, a wave of regret hitting you when you saw the wounded look in his eyes, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, Michael, I just... I feel a lot of things right now, y’know? But they’re all good things! I’m just, well, shit, I’m rambling. I’m going to stop talking now and, uh, and take off my shirt. Take your shirt off? Please?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately when he saw you slip off your shirt, fumbling with the fabric of his own, letting out a shout as it got stuck over his head.

“Fuck!” The fabric had bunched around his face, his voice slightly muffled, “Dammit, fucking, Y/N, help me!”

Choking back a laugh, you climbed into his lap and assisted him in wrestling off the shirt, letting another giggle slip out at his look of relief once it was free, which instantly transformed into one of shock as he looked at you, and you could feel yourself starting to blush in spite of your best attempts not to, “Okay, you good?”

He let out a slow breath, eyes trained on securely on your breasts, covered in a lacy white bra, “I’m much more than good. I’m fantastic. Can I... I mean... can I kiss you again? Can I maybe touch you?”

“I want you to feel good, Michael. Yes,” You gave him a quick kiss on the tip of the nose, smiling at the way he scrunched it up in response.

Then Michael was kissing you again, and fuck it felt good, his skin ever so slightly prickling against you, and then he raised a tentative hand to your chest, swiping across your left nipple briefly.

You let out a moan that you hadn’t expected, and he froze for a moment, beginning to slowly swirl his thumb around the covered bud. Suddenly his lips were gone from yours and wrapped around your right nipple, flicking his tongue against it experimentally, and he pulled back with a grin as you let out another breathy moan.

You sounded like a fucking porn star, what the fuck?

“Wow, you’re sensitive,” Michael teased, bringing his other hand up to replace his mouth, “Can I take your bra off?”

“I’ll get it. And I’m not this sensitive, not normally,” You panted, grinding down against him without thinking about it, reaching behind your back to unclasp, and letting out a high pitched whine when his hands were finally on your bare skin, “I mean, not like this. This is... this is you, I think.”

You could already feel him hard underneath you, but at your words his erection became even more prominent, pressed firmly against your inner thigh.

The rumbling noise came from deep in Michael’s chest once again, and you decided that it was in fact a purr, or something damn close to one. He was beaming now, and there was something almost childlike about him when he looked so joyful, and there was an obvious note of pride in his voice, “Really? Me? Do you think I could make you cum doing this?”

He pinched lightly and you gasped, head rolling back, “Probably, but not right now, okay? I wanna-fuck-I wanna-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, couldn’t think of what was supposed to come next, and carefully you gripped Michael’s wrists, pulling his hands away from you and sliding off of his lap.

With a pout, Michael watched you move between his legs, an eyebrow raised, “Was it really that intense?”

“It was,” You glanced up at him from where you now lay, pressing a soft kiss to his cock through his sweatpants, your mind still strangely fogged, “It was... weird. Good weird, but weird. Are you secretly magical or something?”

He barked a short laugh just a little too quickly for it to sound natural, but you figured that was maybe because you were mouthing along the outline of his dick, his hips bucking up every so slightly, and he was perhaps a bit too distracted to act like your terrible joke was funny.

Just as you were sliding the sweatpants down his hips, Michael threaded his hands in your hair, tugging gently so that you’d look up at him, a blissful smile on his face as he watched you, “You’re so pretty, do you know that? You’re beautiful.”

His dick had sprung out of his pants then, bouncing up to his stomach, and you weren’t able to respond at first because fucking hell, it was the most perfect dick you’d ever seen. Thick, veiny, a nice shade of pink although the tip had turned an angry red, and fuck it was big, probably too big, but you weren’t planning to complain about that. Finally, you snapped yourself out of your daze, looking back up at him with a laugh, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to suck your cock.”

“No!” Michael looked shocked by the very thought, his hips bucking again, ever so slightly, at the feeling of your breath on his skin, “No, I’m serious. You’re so gorgeous, I-fuck-” You licked a line up the length of his cock, and he grabbed desperately at your shoulders, making you pause, “Dammit, I really want you to sit on my face.”

Your thighs clenched, and you looked up at him, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “I, I mean, no. I told you, I want to make you feel good. Not-”

“But it will!” Michael tugged at you, bringing you up until he could press a fervent kiss to your lips, “I want to. So bad. Please, Y/N, please do it. Please let me. Please.”

Fucking hell, was he trying to kill you?

“But I... I wanted you to feel good. Don’t you want me to...” You trailed off, trying to think as Michael kissed your neck.

“I do, believe, me, I really do, but I also want this.”

“I’ve never done that before,” You admitted, feeling your face get hot with embarrassment, “Honestly, I’m afraid I’d end up accidentally smothering whoever I was with.”

“That wouldn’t happen,” Michael assured, kicking his sweatpants the rest of the way off, and you find yourself peeling your own leggings off even though you still weren’t sure of what you were doing, and he hooked his fingers into your panties, a smirk on his face, “And even if it did, I can guarantee you that there would be no better way to die.”

“Okay,” You let out a deep breath, letting out a contented hiss as he brushed his long fingers over your clit, “But I still want to give you a blowjob, okay?”

“You can. Just face that way,” Michael grinned, ripping your panties off with one sharp tug.

You were about to scold him, but then his fingers were pressing into your folds, and you gave a quiet gasp, “Michael, fuck.”

He laid down, hands tapping away at his stomach as he waited for you. Hesitantly, you crawled up the bed, turning so that you could look down the length of his body, and knelt over his face.

You bent down, lifting his cock up and running your fingers along the underside of it, kissing the tip, and you felt him let out a shaky breath beneath you.

“Fucking hell, you taste amazing,” Michael whispered, wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down against him completely.

He made the purring noise once more, sucking fervently at your clit, and you let out a shriek at the feeling of it rumbling through you. Pulling your legs even further apart, he buried his tongue into your folds, and finally, you opened your mouth as wide as you could and sunk down over his cock until his tip brushed the back of your throat.

When he moved back to your clit, giving it careful kitten licks, you buried your finger nails into his thighs. At this, he groaned, thrusting up into your mouth, and you gagged.

This was... what? The third time today he’d accidentally choked you? You hadn’t been angry during any of the other times, but this was the time that probably bothered you the least.

“Sorry, babe, I’m sorry,” He rasped, and although you could hardly hear him, between the feeling of his words vibrating against you and the intense presence of Michael Langdon that filled the air around you, you knew exactly what he was saying.

Babe.

It was such a gentle word from him, the way it rolled off his tongue so naturally making butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

Well, that, and the fact that the feeling of Michael against you was extraordinary, and you were feeling the tight, delightful bubble that signaled your impending orgasm beginning to form.

You sucked harder.

It took only a few minutes of this, of you licking and sucking, running your teeth over the pulsing vein that streaked along the side, before you felt him flex his thigh muscles beneath your hands, his salty cum splashing into your mouth.

It was sweet alongside the salty, a strange mixture of the two, not unlike a chocolate covered pretzel, and you swallowed every drop you could before licking frantically along to make sure you didn’t miss anything.

“Fuck,” He growled, something authoritative, almost dangerous, flooding through the air.

Michael lifted you off of him as though you weighed nothing more than a ragdoll and tossed you down onto the mattress on your back, his lips suctioning around your clit once again, two fingers buried deep inside of you.

You held onto his shoulders as his fingers scissored inside you, squeezing your legs tight around his head unintentionally. You felt him chuckle into your folds at that, and he removed his fingers from you momentarily to pull your legs over his shoulders.

“Michael!” You mewled, your hips straining to jolt upward, and then he was moving faster, faster, adding a third finger that brushed a spot deeper inside you than anything else had ever reached. Your entire body clenched, and then suddenly you felt the waves of your climax wash over you.

When your head was fully back, Michael had straightened up, examining his fingers, which were coated in your juices.

“Fucking hell, Michael, I didn’t need to finish just then. You could’ve waited until you were fucking me for real,” You sat up on your forearms, laughing as you looked down at him.

“Sorry,” Frowning, Michael pulled away, “Was that too much?”

Why was he so goddamn sweet?

Moving to your knees, you pulled his face up to yours and kissed him, the taste of yourself that lingered on his tongue mixing with the salty remains of Michael on your own tongue, and you let out a low groan, pulling back to give him a smile, “No. It was wonderful.”

“Okay. Can we... I mean,” He turned red, looking away from you, “Would you possibly consider riding me? Or do you want to stop now?”

You rolled to the side, gesturing for Michael to move up the bed, and after a moment he did, sitting up against the headboard. Climbing into his lap in one swift movement, you let out a quiet moan at the feeling of him against your folds, his tip pressed against your interest. He swiped his hand between the two of you, gathering the fluids that had spilled from you and rubbing it onto his cock, lubing himself up with the remnants of your last orgasm.

“Do you mind going slow?” You asked meekly, burying your face against his chest as you rocked against him, “I’m sorry, just, you’re really big.”

“Of course,” He cooed, running his hands through your hair, and finally you began sliding down the length of his cock. Burying your teeth into his neck, you tried to concentrate on how good this would feel once you got used to the stretch, the burn, and he whispered in your ear, “You’re doing so good. You-shit-you take my cock wonderfully, do you know that? It’s okay, I know it hurts, but you’re doing great.”

When you had reached the end, and you were filled to the hilt, you gave a careful roll of your hips, testing the waters. You were feeling better now, running your tongue over the spot on his neck you had bitten, before beginning to suck another hickey into his soft skin. At this, Michael bucked into you, his cock hitting all the way up against your cervix, and you let out a shriek.

You almost laughed at yourself. You had thought his fingers were impressive, but they were nothing compared to the sheer, masterful feeling of Michael inside you, his hands splayed against the small of your back, holding you in place as you leaned into him, taking one of your nipples into his mouth once again.

“You feel so good, Michael,” You cried out, and Michael made that damn rumbling noise again, “Fuck, do you know that you purr? I love it.”

Although he continued to hold you, he seemed to be trying to hold back from fucking you too harshly, instead occasionally letting himself thrust into you, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you moaned each time. He paused, looking up at you with a frown, “I don’t purr.”

You giggled, although it quickly turned into a whimper as he began sucking hickeys into your breasts, and you squeezed his shoulders tightly to concentrate, “You do. You make lots of pretty noises. It makes sense, too. You’ve got such a pretty mouth, such a pretty face, such a pretty cock. You’re so pretty, it’s infected everything you do. And-fucking hell, that feels good-you move so well. Fill me up so well.”

Michel lolled his head back against the headboard, the purring noise coming out again as you began to grind down harder. You kissed him quickly, watching as his eyes opened suddenly, drinking you in.

“You’re perfect, Y/N, do you know that? You bounce so well on my cock, and your tits are so fucking perfect,” He paused, clearing his throat, “Was that the right thing to say? I don’t want to be disrespectful. I respect you, too, and all that. You’re just, fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.”

“It’s okay,” You reassured him, looking at his face to see that it was glistening, and it took you a moment to realize that there were tears running down his face. Kissing each one away, licking up the salty trail they had left, you resolved not to mention it or ask why, exactly, he was crying, “I’m not gonna last much longer either. I want you to cum for me, okay? Please, Michael.”

“Should I... should I pull out?” He panted, helping you roll your hips.

“You don’t have to,” Gasping, desperately, you buried your nails into his shoulders, trying to contain the climax that was beginning to boil through you, “Just, fuck, please finish soon, Michael. I’m going to-”

Nodding, Michael’s thrusting increased. Although he was still cautious, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, you could tell that he was close to his end, as well.

And he was, and he did, his cum flooding you once more just as you felt yourself boil over, heading hanging back. You couldn’t keep it up anymore, couldn’t concentrate on controlling your body and finishing, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, stars dancing through the air just in front of you.

Michael held your hips tightly as you came down from your high, and then you had buried your face against his chest once more, arms wrapped around his neck.

Christ, that took a lot out of you.

You leaned back to see that his eyes had drifted shut, and you leaned forward to press soft kisses against the lids.

When Michael blinked them back open, his mouth had curved into a sleepy smile, another purr rumbling up from his throat, “That was... wonderful.”

“I agree,” You smiled too, tilting your head to the side as he peppered gentle kisses along your throat, “Now, you’re tired. Do you want me to leave, so that you can get some sleep?”

Michael tensed, clutching at your hips desperately, “Please don’t leave. I mean, I do want to sleep. But please, stay.”

“Okay,” Mumbling softly, you leaned closer to his ear, “And by the way, I know a place you might wanna check out tomorrow.”

Looking curious at this, Michael brought his nose to your jaw, brushing along it softly, “Where?”

“Church of Satan. It’s a few blocks away.”

“What?” This snapped him to attention, and he stared at you as though you’d grown a second head, “You’re... are you a Satanist?”

“No. Not a fan of organized religions. I believe in nature, and kindness. In caring for the ones around you who need it. But,” You folded his ear forward, kissing the three small scars behind it as delicately as you could, “I think that it would be beneficial for you to go.”

“How did you know?” He shifted back so that he could sit more upright against the headboard, and you felt your sore walls pulse around his cock, still buried deep inside you, as you moved.

You shrugged, “Lucky guess. Now, that’s all. No more talk. You need some sleep.”

Michael looked like he was about to argue with you, but then you pressed your head into his chest once more, and he rested his chin contentedly on top of your shoulder.

You were almost asleep when he finally spoke up, hands rubbing gently along your spine, his voice hoarse, “Y/N? I just... I wanted to say thank you. I don’t normally say that, but you’re, well, I haven’t been treated with this much kindness, this much care, in a long time. Don’t say anything, I don’t want you to say anything, I just needed to tell you. Thank you.”

And within moments his breathing had shifted, and he snored quietly, softly, and the snores sounded an awful lot like purrs, and the two of you were as close to each other as was physically possible, his dick softened inside you and his arms wrapped around you, and then you were asleep too, the two of you floating to a dream land that you couldn’t quite name.

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romance-free-poetry · 2 years

Text

It has come to my attention

that people like me

are generally not welcome in fairy tales.

It’s the talking birds that do it.

The minute a sparrow shows up to pipe a direful warning

it’s all over

down at the first hurdle

done

The body in the fifty-fathom well

will have to wait

the old woman turned into a hare

the murdered mother in the juniper tree

as I whip out my Sibley guide and look for the entry

with the fieldmark labeled capable of human speech.

For this crime

I have been accused of a failure of wonder

of having chained up my inner child and sent her

to work in the salt mines.

But the truth

(if you really want to know)

is that I have read so many fairy tales

and lived a little bit too long

to be surprised by anything that happens in

the cottages of lonely woodcutters.

I can even venture a guess

as to why the bear speaks with the voice of a maiden

(my heart goes out to her)

and why, when the animal has saved your life,

you will be required to make a harp out of its bones.

These are old familiar mysteries

as love is an old familiar mystery

the dwarf’s name

the contents of the enchanted walnut

the thing which stands behind the mill.

Fairy tales are human things

which we have chewed over

since before we could eat solid food.

But a bird!

A bird that talks!

This is outside my experience

this un-parrot-like fluency.

I have so many questions for it—

Where did you learn?

and How do you make the P’s and B’s and M’s with that small stiff beak?

and most important,

Are there more like you out there?

--by Ursula Vernon @tkingfisher

#love mention

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crazed-rambling · 3 years

Text

After The Tower

You are unnamed and yet still unproven when you awaken among the bloodbath of your own corpse. You look more breakable from here, like this, as though made of brittle sparrow bones and spider silk. But you are not. You can see bone and flesh clearly. It is a long time before you awaken again.

You are a princess. You are kind and graceful and beautiful because a princess must be all these things. One day you shall be a queen and you shall be humble and modest and wise because that is what a queen should be. But you are a princess right now so you are none of those.

You are silent though, because your governess said it was a virtue. You also lack something to say - it’s the first time you have seen a prince. At least you think he should be the prince; he is rescuing you but the lines on his face make him look more like your father than you. This might be how it was meant to be, princes become kings after all. You are confused all the same.

It wasn’t that you weren’t expecting this, it was common sense. A prince rescues a princess, they fall in love, they get married, they are happy. Mother had told you not to worry, that last day you saw her, in the carriage, gripped your hands too tight in her own and told you were a princess so a prince would save you, like she had been saved. That hadn’t made sense at the time, your mother was a queen not a princess, why would she need to be saved? You were young then and a bit stupid because your uncle said it was cute for a little girl, but you riddled it out in the end. You think you might be a bit less stupid now, you are a woman grown after all. Bled your first blood here, then one every after, here among your stories and your needlework and your dragons. But somehow blood is redder as you are lifted from your fallen dragons.

You are Antoinette when you wake again, is what they tell you. Sleep soon finds you.

You are unsure how to go about falling in love, maybe you have already done it, you are married after all. You’ve done it, you will be happy now, mother said so. It feels deceptively easy, a few words, a kiss and you are a wife. Everyone around you seems to be doing the work for this marriage; servants laden with plate after plate of food, musicians playing songs you do not know over the sound of toasts to the couple, to the kingdom, wine spilling over onto silk sleeves and tablecloths that you imagine must have been weaved from gold.

The prince, your husband, has not had a chance to speak to you, there always seems to be someone for him to talk to. He does not introduce you. These men already know you; they call you ‘the bride’. It isn’t your name. You smile anyway because you’re happy now. The pins in your hair are pulling too tight.

You are loved they tell you when you awaken this time, aching in places you’d never thought to burn before. A wife, a princess. You suppose those things mean you’re loved. There is a musky smell in the air, it tastes heavy on your tongue. You cannot help the way your upper lip curls in some imitation of disgust, humans are just always so damp. It is the softest mattress you have ever known yet still too hard against all your aches. Worse; you are not alone. Another clammy body lies sprawled beside your own.

You sit up, ignoring the spike of pain between your legs to examine it. And stop. Because you know this one. He lives among your siblings screams, flames and the burning cold left behind sword slashes. Your murderer sleeps defenceless as though you are not a predator. But you are not. Your teeth are blunt now. You do not want to be here.

You have a daughter now, a child all your own, and she is so small in your arms. You love her more fiercely than you ever though yourself capable of. Each time you hold her you feel as though the world has been made anew in your arms. If this is how your mother felt for you, how did she ever let go of your hand that day in the carriage? The thought of your sweet daughter leaving your sight is a knife, you think abandoning her in that tower would kill you.

She has taught you what love is, true love. Your mother was wrong. It was not love you felt on your wedding day and it has not been love since, you think the only thing you could love your husband for is giving you Therese. You do not understand how he cannot feel the way you about her, it is as though when you were given this all-consuming feeling you took all the love allotted to her parents. Your husband wants another child – a boy, an heir this time. You still ache from the birth. He visits your bed still.

Sometimes you long for the days in the tower, dull as it may have been. You imagine yourself there again, Therese in your arms because you do not think you could bear to put her down even in your mind, you are there once more. Making a home for yourself among stone walls; you’d place the crib in the alcove you used to read in, far enough away from the window that she wouldn’t catch a chill, tell her the stories sing her the songs that built you all those years ago. And you are always safe. Dragons are as dangerous as people say, you heard many knights try and fail to save you before, but you were never once in danger. Your dragon was as close to a companion as you had all those years, you may never have spoken but you understood one thing all the same. She would never have hurt you. She would yell and her gold eyes were cold but she’d bring you meat from her hunt, let you touch her smoothest scales near her neck, allow you let you feel her children move inside their eggs. They were so fragile and warm under your palm in that moment. That is the moment you prefer to remember of them, your first memory of them, your last is coated in blood.

Sometimes when your husband is angry you look down at your child, think about those baby dragons and wonder if this child is worthy of the mercy he never showed them.

You are a wife, a mother the next time you are awake, with a stinging in your cheeks and aches beneath your sleeves. You are still loved apparently; you think that love must be a painful thing. You look down at a babe that looks nothing like you and wonder if this girlchild is as breakable as you were. You wonder if the next time you awaken it will be to this child’s corpse instead of your own. You fear sleeping that time.

It is stressful waking up in the palace, you are never quite on your own anymore and you never quite know who you will wake up to. You have learnt to feign sleep, in the seconds after you wake, to listen unnoticed. It makes all the difference on bad days; to know the part your husband needs you to play. His moods change like the winds and like that tower you left so long ago you must simply weather through them. It is a relief to wake to the chatter of maids, the footsteps of guards, in those moments you allow yourself to feel safe. Just for those moments, you know they do not care for you - only for the son your husband will get from you, but in those short moments you dream.

Still, you are used to waking up not knowing who is there. You are not used to waking up not knowing where you are. You do not even remember falling asleep, you would not have fallen asleep. Your husband was angry, it is not safe to sleep. But you are here in your room, your bed, the setting sun bathing the room in an amber glow. It had been morning and you were afraid. Afraid the door might open once more and it would all begin again, afraid that you could do nothing about. It was not morning anymore and you are lost to how you got here. And that somehow frightens you more than anything behind that door ever could.

But your beautiful, perfect daughter is soft and safe and sleeping in your arms, your body curled around her as though you might protect her from all the world. Maybe it was you, in that time you can’t recall, this person who slept peacefully when you were shaking with fear. You too would protect your daughter from anything.

The child is a fleshy thing, the next time you awaken, soft and weak and fussy in your arms. You must hold it certain ways or it will fall apart under its own weight, and you do have to hold it because it can’t seem to do anything on its own. Humans confuse you still. You had hatched with a hunger and the teeth to sate it; this child offers gummy smiles.

So, you take it to see things, things you had seen from the tower walls, things you never had a chance to see. It is far more fragile than you and you did not even last a year, you may as well make what time this child has worth it. But princesses it seems are not allowed to see much. It is not a tower, not like you’d known, it sprawled across the land soaking up the sun but its walls work the same. Despite this you hold this daughter of the body which is not your own and show it the world, limited though it may be. And each time you awaken you find yourself understanding just a little more; how it smiles for the colourful blooms and things that shine, but wails when you hold a mint leaf to its nose – you do that less often now.

You are a queen now but you are not wise, not like a queen should be. Maybe if you were things would not be like this, maybe you’d be good enough and things wouldn’t hurt. But you are not. You are never enough to soothe your husband’s rages. The child in you – his maybe son – does not make him softer, only more careful. You favour long sleeves.

The maids whisper stories, stories about you, from the times you cannot remember. They tell you of a woman who looks at your daughter with confusion and pity in her eyes but holds clumsily close all the same. Apparently, you take Therese for walks, stroll from one end of the garden to the other, skirt the walls of the palace as though there will never be enough room to run. They whisper of a woman with your face who speaks to your daughter as though she is a tiny adult. You wonder if you are losing your mind; you’ve lost so much already. It feels as though you are never alone here anymore, that someone is always there, watching you, now it feels as though you cannot be alone even in your own mind.

Worse is that some days you are so tired that you welcome it, that sleep. Those days you submerge yourself in the feeling of nothingness, to let something else live for a day. You are filled with guilt when you wake; you abandoned your daughter, your life. It just reminds you how weak you are, that you would rather sleep than live. It’s just that your Therese is safe and laughing, toddling along after you wherever you go. You always wake to a happy, content daughter and bandaged bruises. You wonder if it would be ok to leave your children to them. You wonder if it is time for you to rest.

You are awake as often as you are asleep now. You have seen that girlchild find its feet. Watched her unsteady steps find confidence. Listened as she learnt to call for a mother who is not there because you are. Part of you aches at that. It makes you feel hollow. You have felt the sting of a blade before but this, this lingers far longer.

You are not used to feeling, not like this. Fear, hunger, rage they came easy, but this, this feeling has swept you up into its clutches. Raises you high with the laughter of the girlchild you watch grow, leaves you falling as you remember what it means to watch her. This body made a home for you in her, found a place for that child dying long before its time, let you live if only for moments at a time. And with every breath you take you steal one more from her.

There is no happiness in you, what you have you have given your daughter, you accepted it. This was the life that you have been given. Cowered and cried, curled into yourself, drawn his attention away from her. Let yourself fade day by day so that she might grow more vibrant than you were ever allowed. You have carved away at pieces of that girl in the tower to make yourself palatable, to fit the space they gave you. You accepted it. For her.

But this – this will not stand.

Your precocious, vibrant daughter who just wanted to see her father, is sobbing in your arms. Violets blooming on her cheek to match those that grow on your arms.

You would have his heart for this; carve it from his chest like some deranged thing. You might be. You’ve been breaking for five long years of marriage, only this time your sharp edges face outward. The fear is gone though, or is just quietened, lost in the tides of rage that sweep through each and every corner of your mind.

You do not fear breaking anymore, the monster you married will have to shatter you entirely to lay a hand on your daughter again. This time you let yourself scream and rage, he comes home expecting a subservient shell of a wife and finds your claws at his face and poison on your tongue. But you are not a creature of fangs and claws and even if you were this man has killed dragons – your dragons. You fight. You do not win. You fight anyway. Kicking, biting, scratching at the weight on top of you. Letting your nails draw blood from the hands around your neck.

Dying is unforgettable, well maybe not dying but the moments before are. The pain, the world growing cold, unable to move and forced to listen to the dying screams of your siblings. You are dying again. Your murderer has his hands around your throat, you can’t breathe, cannot breathe, cannot breathe. The world is cold again and he has come back for you like a nightmare brought to life. You can’t breathe as your hands scramble for purchase, clawing at his face, his eyes. You have changed bodies but the cold rage in his eyes is the same. You cannot breathe. You are dying again. You want to run.

And isn’t that worse. That princess with soft hands and a soft heart is dying with you. Yet you do nothing but sit inside a body that is not your own and think of how to desert her. She opened up a part of herself, took you in and all you can think of is finding another place to run, to hide. Wanting to leave the only person to show you mercy and that smiling child to the hands of this monster. As though you are nothing more than some human.

It is time you remember what you are.

You are not a queen, not a princess, not a wife, not a mother. You are a dragon, unnamed and unproven. This body has protected you for many years and as it has protected you. You shall protect it. You are a dragon and dragons do not fear kings.

You open your eyes to the weight of your husband still on top. For a moment you are afraid. You think it is well past the time for fear. Because it is not your husband anymore you suppose, though it may be wearing his face. It is difficult to care. That girl who saw the good in everyone died by his hands, drowned in the blood of her dragons. Yet as this creature that is not your husband, is not you, falls over itself like a new born fawn to get off you, and your body is your own for the first time in years, you start to think you may still have a protector remaining.

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perfectharmonyloveschaos · 3 years

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TUA S3 Episode Titles

Basic ideas of what each episode title could entail, but FYI I suck at these since every single one I made for the last season were wrong lmao so one thing we’ve gotta take into consideration is how the titles affected the episodes in the previous seasons.

[1] Meet The Family:

Pretty self-explanatory in that it will introduce both the Umbrella Academy and the audience to the Sparrow Academy, while also vice-versa in introducing the Sparrows in their own way to the Umbrella Academy with a sense of irony using such a casual term. Also adds an ironic twist to the phrase Klaus used in S2 ‘Family barbeques are about to get real weird’ (Klaus back at it again with his underestimated clairvoyance maaaaaaammmm).

[2] World’s Biggest Ball of Twine:

I know a lot of people want a family road trip—me too lads me too—but I honestly think this’ll be referencing the timeline after all the Hargreeves’ shenanigans. I can only assume that this may be said at some point by Five while explaining why they can’t just use the briefcase again, assuming they still have it, to just go back immediately to fix things. Their actions causes too much chaos and they need time to figure things out, potentially hide out (although I’d love to have them stay at the Academy in order to make things easier and cause friction with the Sparrows) while Five tries to figure things and the others try to find a sense of stability amongst the destruction they’ve caused. They fucked up, plain and simple, and now poor Five needs time to fix it.

[3] Pocket Full Of Lightning:

I went about looking for anything this could be referring to in terms of song lyrics or reference and couldn’t find anything yet, but something that did come to mind was that of the nursey rhyme containing the words ‘pocket full of posies’. While not the same, the nursey rhyme uses a pocket full of posies, or herbs, to ward off disease and death so my first thought was that they used this to show that flowers could be seen as innocent, but a pocket full of lightning could be something that is quick and sudden and hurts someone? I’m not sure to be honest. But the symbolism of having something in your pockets comes from having something readily available, or easy to use. Meanwhile, lightning symbolizes the destruction of ignorance or marking people to remind them of what they barely survived. So many, much like the supper in Season 2, this episode may go into the actual power Reginald still holds—even if he isn’t their original father—over the Umbrella Academy and maybe the Sparrows as well?

[4]Kugelblitz:

This one is meant to be looked up and according to google means “a black hole formed from radiation as opposed to matter” and “a concentration of heat, light or radiation so intense that its energy forms an event horizon and becomes self-trapped”. So basically—something super dangerous and wild. But it does also mean “ball lightning” in German which could mean something more considering that there is another title in German and is an anti-aircraft tank made by Germany for WWII and was an operation by the Germans in 1943 against anti-Partisan in Yukoslavia. This title has so many means connected to German that I have to think may connect to Klaus or even allude to Five, due to the idea of black holes and time travel, also being German and potentially Klaus’ twin but it’s nothing concrete.

[5] Kindest Cut:

This seems to be a parody of the Julius Caesar phrase “This was the unkindest cut of all” upon his betrayal and murder at the hands of his fellow politicians, so I can only assume that this title may allude to another betrayal but one that was either seen coming or a murder that was asked. Maybe a mercy kill? I’m not sure to be honest. But I think that perhaps at this point one of the Sparrows, perhaps Sloane who due to the character profiles released seems to be the most likely to try and break away from the Sparrows, but it could also be Five joining the Sparrows to save his siblings being the kindest betrayal? Not sure.

[6] Marigold:

Due to the fact that the golden orbs of light we saw Reginald release in S1 and that Vanya both gave and took from Harlan, this episode may go more into detail of Reginald’s connections and potential experiments with the children’s powers. There are so many questions to be answered, especially about his link to the children and how his alien-ness may tie into things. Perhaps through flashbacks or experiments he does with the Sparrows and Umbrellas themselves? Due to the fact that the original Reginald seemed aware of what the children themselves were capable of power-wise with that of Klaus’ potential, having a vague awareness of time-travel in terms of how it affects people in connection to knowing Five wasn’t ready to do it yet and even how dangerous Vanya was and why he chose to lock her powers away. Reginald definitely knew more in the original timeline and I feel like now he is going to go more in-depth with the Umbrellas this season as adults rather than the rudimentary “superhero” training we saw them go through that suited the collective rather than showing individual training aside from Vanya with her glasses and Klaus’ exposure training with the mausoleum. I hope this episode will actually address the supposed “potential” Klaus had and why Reginald saw him as his “greatest disappointment” compared to Five who was MIA and Vanya who he seemingly gave up on, especially since the next episode definitely seems to be a Klaus-centric one that could finally address his power-arc started in S1 that was basically abandoned last season in favor of giving Ben more screen time.

[7] Auf Wirdersehen:

Translated from German to mean “Goodbye” in the sense of not a forever goodbye but rather a momentary one (“until we see each other again” —potential symbolism connected to the pilot “We Only See Each Other At Weddings and Funerals”?? The next episode is called “Wedding At The End of The World”??), it is ironic that this was also the name of a show from 1983 about seven people struggling through adversity and growing closer together which may also hint at the relationships within the Umbrella family/Team Zero getting better throughout the season. Anyways, this title definitely suggests to have a large connection to Klaus specifically due to his identity as being from Germany mainly due to speaking German throughout the first season, establishing that Reginald most likely bought Klaus from a German woman in 1989 like how he bought Vanya from a Russian woman the same way in the pilot. Now, I doubt that this would be a literal goodbye due to the fact that neither any of the showrunners/cast or even Robert Sheehan himself have come close to suggesting that Klaus may leave this season and due to the popularity of Klaus within the fandom, that wouldn’t be a smart move unless Sheehan expressly wanted to leave and said as much. They simply wouldn’t kill Klaus off around half-way through the season. But I doubt this sort of title would warrant being connected to anyone but Klaus. But I definitely could see this being a sort of rebirth for Klaus through an act of sacrifice and the introduction of his immortally into the main plot. I see this as hinting at Klaus sacrificing himself like Ben did in order to save his siblings but not staying dead like in S1 when he seemingly died saving Luther at the club, and coming back to life with a new resolve and completing his arc with him accepting Dave and Ben’s deaths and letting him finally find his potential that Reginald hinting at in S1. However, I think that would happen over time and rather he may die and either the others don’t know and only find out after he comes back or he dies and stays “dead” for this episode and we explore Klaus like Vanya was explored in S1 and S2 before he is revived for the next episode like how we saw him vanish with the briefcase in one episode in S1 and appear back on the bus visibly changed in the middle of the next episode.

[8] Wedding At The End of The World:

This one seems to also be very symbolic due to the fact that I doubt any couple within the show are close to be wed, but rather it being a symbolic coming-together of the Sparrow and Umbrella Academy in order to stop the coming Apocalypse (honestly, I don’t mind another apocalypse as long as it isn’t Vanya again). A “wedding” doesn’t have to be the marriage between two people, and according to Collins Dictionary can also be “the combination or blending of two separate elements” or a “joining together” which I think is the two Academies coming together. They are becoming one, or simply ‘Team Zero’.

[9] Six Bells:

This title I believe connects to that of Hotel Oblivion and the idea of a bell hop bell when someone enters a hotel and are checked in, but the fact that it is only “Six” bells makes me think of either two possibilities; one is that Five only at this point has joined the Sparrows and so is not included with the Umbrellas being forced into Hotel Oblivion, or that Klaus who I and many theorize will die two episodes prior to this will finally wake up revived only to find that his other siblings have been locked away leading to the irony of him, who was always seen as the “useless” one being forced to team up with the Sparrows against Reginald to save his siblings. As well as this, we also can point to that of a funeral in which a bell is rung 6 times potentially hinting at a death or connecting to death in terms of Klaus being presumed dead by his siblings? Death is often signaled by the ringing of a bell and something to note is also the ringing of a bell happening at both a wedding and a funeral (tying back into the pilot title?) so I think this may tie into both Klaus’ “death” and the “marriage” of Team Zero. I doubt they would go through with hyping and building the characters of the Sparrow Academy only to kill them before the finale, and we’ve seen from the S2 finale that killing the Umbrella Academy both makes no sense and would make the idea of including Hotel Oblivion in the finale useless due to the fact that they would be dead and so why would they be sent there. So I definitely think only six of the Umbrellas will be sent there and the one left behind will either be Five or Klaus.

[10] Oblivion:

The finale title is self-explanatory in tying into Hotel Oblivion, and I don’t really have much to theorize on it based solely on the fact that there is such a high probability that my previous theories could be wrong. All we know for certain is that Hotel Oblivion will definitely be making some sort of appearance this season, whether through threat of the actual team being taken there as seen by the set pictures leaked showing cars with the emblem of the Hotel. However, the word “oblivion” also has several meanings and could have a double meaning along with connecting to that of the hotel. Oblivion came mean “destruction”/”extinction” or “unaware” or “forgotten” and I think depending on what happens in terms of potential hints of other episode titles could definitely vary. If “Kugelblitz” ends up referring to a black-hole causing the new apocalypse then it could definitely connect to the destruction meaning, but if the likes of Klaus is revealed to be alive with his siblings in this episode after being assumed dead then it would definitely add to the meaning of his siblings being “unaware” or that Klaus has to save them or face being potentially “forgotten” and alone like the ghosts.

#tua #the umbrella academy #tua s3 #tua season 3 #tua season 3 speculation #tua s3 speculation #tua s3 theory #tua s3 theories #tua season 3 theories

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itty-bitty-rampaging-committee · 3 years

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Diego: Cha-Cha is literally gonna kill me Allison: i DoNt WaNnA uSe mY pOwEr iM oN a bReAk No hate to Allison but the writers should’ve thought a little more smarter. Allison could’ve rumored Cha-Cha to kill herself and Klaus never would’ve been taken and suffered through the trauma of Vietnam and Dave’s death. I know she doesn’t wanna use it bc she used it for fame but if her siblings were in danger she would use it to save them

O K A Y so anon, I was gonna hold my tongue. I have been for some time. But holy shit these writers sometimes do some characters so fucking dirty and now I'm going to talk about it. From one writer to the other, sometimes, I wanna tackle these bitches. Tackle them with love, yes, but also with a desperation to fix their fucking plots/subplots.

Now, don't get me wrong. I appreciate what they have done. Writing an entire TV show for millions in X amount of weeks is tough. The industry is fucking brutal, and they will rip you apart regardless. On top of that, they need to work around specific logistics: shooting and budgeting requirements, sets and locations, physical capability of doing things, checking the fluidity of the lines, etc. It's tough. But, if I were them, I'd change my tactics for their plotting.

It's hard to write at least seven individual subplots. Because let's think about it: they need entire story arcs from start to a relative finish within ten episodes, but within a specific amount of time. They have the seven siblings' plots, then the overarching apocalypse plot, then antagonists plots and their individual stories, such as the Handler, or Hazel. That, right now, is up to nine subplots and one overarching plot.

That's fucking insane. And incredibly impressive that they made it as cohesive as they did...

Impressive but, sadly, messy.

And that's all because they just have too much shit happening at once, too many characters that are important, and just not enough time. It's because of that, but also the time crunch to write a season in only, say, eight weeks. So then the characters do dumb shit to advance the plot, and are randomly developed in sporadic bursts.

For example, notice how Five always seems to be hung up doing something while chaos is happening? They need to toss him to the side because he could easily fix the plot, and the writers can't think of something good enough to get him out of the way that isn't yet another subplot, and isn't permanent.

So, instead, the Handler draws him into a hotel room "to distract him". He returns Dolores to the department store with little reason or buildup. He has random bricks conveniently dropped on him. There are countless moments where his character is done dirty because the writers couldn't think of another way to sidetrack him.

In all honesty, I'm not sure how to fix every awkward plot thingie for Five. They have the episodes locked so tightly that it's hard to wiggle things around. But that's an error in itself: they should leave the plot a little loose to be able to manipulate things should they need to. Nothing should be completely solidified, in my opinion. However, one of the things they could have done was, instead, give him a better subplot. Or tie his subplot to someone else's.

Another example, like you said, is Allison. Allison doesn't use her powers when she very well should, when people are getting hurt around her. For Allison in season two, it can be implied that the reason she isn't acting against the racism around her is because she doesn't want to change history too much. But she doesn't say that. She says, "I don't want to use my powers because it nearly killed me last time."

And that? That's fucking lame.

It would be far more powerful and controversial, in my opinion, if we saw her conflicted, saw her use her powers against the racism around her and saw it drastically change history somehow, saw her realize that she can't do that again because it would ruin the timeline even though she so desperately wants to.

But instead we are given a half-assed, "I haven't used my powers since then. I can't use them. I'm taking a break."

You know? To me, it feels like the writers were a few steps back, still. But maybe that's just me.

I think one of the things the writers should consider is maybe grouping and splitting the characters, dividing them into grouped subplots. So, instead of at least seven individual subplots, they do this for a few episodes:

Subplot Group A1 - Luther, Allison, and Vanya

Subplot Group B1 - Five, Klaus, Diego, and Ben.

Then this for another few:

Subplot Group A2 - Allison, Vanya

Subplot Group B2 - Klaus, Ben, Diego

Subplot Group C - Five and Luther

So, they did do that for the end of season two. Sort of. They had the siblings' seven individual subplots, but then they merged them a bit towards the end. It allowed them to have some wiggle room and be able to advance the overarching plot easier. Season one didn't really have this at all. I know it can be said that they were so distant from one another that they couldn't work together well. But I disagree. Diego, Allison, and Five worked together fantastically in season one. And the funeral scenes were great.

What I, personally, am writing for my season three spec is to have almost no individual sibling scenes. They will constantly be around another main character, constantly interacting with one another, constantly building more tension, more stress, more frustration, ect. And I will have them constantly running into plausible constraints that make it hard to fix the problem easily. Five is being manipulated by Reggie, Klaus is emotionally wrecked around Sparrow!Ben, Diego has been kidnapped and manipulated left and right, unable to find his family.

You know? Real issues with real intention to drag them apart from one another despite constantly being around each other, all emotional, psychological, and mental stakes. Physical stakes seem sloppy (i.e. bricks dropping out of nowhere, dropping off Dolores, going to the Handler for no reason, not rumoring people because it's break time). Emotional stakes allow you to really fuck up the characters and throw the plot wild.

A good example of a strong emotional plot would be with Five and the Board of Directors/Handler scene in Öga för Öga. He is physically busy murdering people and rounding up his siblings, but he is emotionally strained and caught up with what he has to do, with the manipulation from the Handler, from falling into her trap again, from realizing that he only has so much time to save his brothers and sisters. The emotional constraints are far more powerful and far more realistic over a meager, "I wasn't there for the fight because I was dropping off my mannequin wife without any reason whatsoever, really" narrative they gave us. But that's just my opinion...

Okay, I went a bit off the rails, here.

I apologize.

I guess a TL; DR is that I think the writers need to find more creative ways to stop their OP characters from solving their problems too quickly, all while decreasing their amount of subplots because it's a bit much and they could instead focus on their main plot and character relationships.

Sorry for...ranting. I'm passionate and really want to be in that writer's room...

And of course, this is just my opinion. It can totally be argued against if people disagree.

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