#i take anything adverse from her and assume the worst

[quitealotofsodapop]

(resending because it looks like some of my asks got deleted)

[Im uber excited to read more your fic btw!]

I'm glad that you're excited for the fic! I'm going to split up the story arcs into their own fics and turn it into a series! book 1 will feature Wukong's journey and following isolation up to a hero is born.

[...Peach chips at least dont seem to trigger the worst of his food adversion though, the crunchy chip texture seems to cancel it out.]

at least he can still get the flavor through the chips

[...So the idea that MK potientially remembers Wukong from this time is a huge shock to him.] + [MK, clueless: "Umm... their hair was a warm orange-y color. Like the sun. And I think their eyes was this really shiny yellow, or maybe amber colour? Oh! And they had this round stomach - I remember hugging it..." *gets kinda wistful* "I don't know why I'm not with them anymore, but hope they're doing ok if they're still out there."]

upon learning that MK kinda remembers him Wukong def feels guilty about not being able to raise himself, especially with the fact that MK doesn't hold anything against his "birth mother" for giving him up.

but then MK being a monkey comes out of the bag in s4 and MK and Wukong actually get to talk about it. it's a very emotional conversation, with Wukong having come to terms while in the scroll about all of his reasons for not being able to raise MK, and MK just being the sweetest most understanding boy ever, even if he wishes he could have known sooner. they come out of that conversation stronger.

what if after MK learned he was a monkey when he and Macaque go into the scroll to get Wukong they stumble upon a memory of a tiny baby monkey that looks like his monkey form cuddling into Wukong's stomach like MK remembers doing with his "birth mom" and that's how he realizes that Wukong was the person he thought was his mom. when he faced the scroll's curse he got flashes of his life before the noodle shop, but nothing that revealed anything about his birth mom except the small flash of Nuwa, so the sudden, proper reveal still takes him by surprise. he also stumbles upon the memory of Wukong crying as he makes the decision to and give away MK.

[Wukong def was hit hard by Ao Lie's passing. It pains him to give the godparent title to anyone else...]

In a way, giving the title to anyone else probably feels like the final straw of admitting that Ao Lie really is truly gone. but admitting that finally means learning to let go, allowing Wukong to grow and heal from his grief which in turn will lead to him isolating himself less. character development ya'know, and in the end he probably feels like moving on is one of the best things to honor his late brother's memory, Ao Lie would want him to move on and find joy in what he has now.

[...PIF just looks over at Red Son, alive and healthy, and just hugs Wukong the next time she sees him.]

Wukong is def very confused when he and DBK go to tell PIF that they have a plan to stop the bone demon but it involves giving the fire back to Red Son, and before he can even say hi she has him in a bear hug. he isn't used to this, he is very confused.

[And when Yuebei is born having "imprinted" on Wukong's yearning/love for Macaque...] + [Both monkey parents are sobbing, especially when they learn that Yuebei was unconciously trying her best to look like Macaque's baby with the limited genetics available. Wukong has multiple centuries of love to dish out, and Macaque is catching up fast.]

Macaque, as happy as he is that she looks enough like him that he can pass as the baby-daddy, def feels a bit guilty upon learning that the only reason that is is because of how how much Wukong missed him after he left. he loves being a parent to Yuebei, but as much as he loves people assuming that she is his their likeness also serves as a reminder that he wasn't there.

he has a lot of time to make up for, and he plans on getting right on that.

[PIF: *seeing the baby's dark fur and glowing ears* PIF (whispering so not to wake the baby): "I fcking knew it." Macaque: *is too tired/proud to argue with her* "Yeaaah..." :')]

Macaque is honestly just happy he's allowed to be involved in baby's life.

[Red has no idea what to do in response to all this baby talk, so he just; tries to apologise to SWK for setting him on fire a bunch as a toddler??] + [Mei, PIF and Jiuweihuli get talking and soon Wukong is looking at a baby shower akin to a red carpet event.]

hey, it was a delicious cake. though Wukong is pretty sure cakes aren't supposed to be spicy.

the attention Mei and the older ladies are giving him over the pregnancy is honestly a little overwhelming at times due to how unexpected it is. especially from PIF and Macaque's adopted mom figure, he'd thought the two of them would be far more mad about mac dying then anything else. he does apologizes to Jiuweihuli about bonking her over the head that one time when he was hormonal and stressed when they get a proper chance to talk.

[You'd honestly be more afraid of that baby.]

absolutely.

if the infamous "god killer" is set to show up and then you learn that the god killer is the child of the Sun Wukong, menace to the heavens, and earned her title before she was even out if the womb, that is terrifying. imagine what she'll be like when she gets older and starts combat training.

[like turning the Medusa's head into a shield.] +[Her staff being a gift from her parents that has no inate magic ability beyond the fact that she puts her trust in it as her first "real" weapon.] + [I can imagine she uses a glamour/quick magic to put the skull/mask on (like Dr Facillier in "Friends on the Other Side") as a way of saying "You're f*cked" to her opponents.]

the medusa comparison is awesome and on point!

I love idea she puts so much trust she puts into the staff because it was her first proper weapon. I feel she also puts a lot of trust into it because it's from her parents.

I love the Dr. Facillier comparison, I was thinking of her swishing her mask on like a miraculous lady bug transformation.

[I'm excited to see how your drawings go!]

I'll be sure to share soon!

[Wukong and Macaque are def panicking, though its more an excited kind of panicking. Nezha and MK are def screaming. Guanyin is the only one with a cool head the entire time.] + [Pigsy is good at pretending he isn't worried, but he ends up tearing apart the campsight's kitchen in a hurry to make enough food for everyone.]

everyone is panicking, just to different lengths. Wukong for his own sake is trying to keep his excitement to a manageable level, Macaque is notably not, portaling warm blankets and pillows and water and towels to the campsite or wherever the end up settling for Wukong's labor to play out (i like to think Guanyin takes everyone to the south sea). Mei and MK are shaking each other and screaming while Red Son tries to calm them down, Ne Zha is running around doing everything Guanyin asks of him to keep himself distanced from hyperventilating. Tang is torn between trying not to be sick and writing about what's going on, Pigsy is already tearing apart the kitchen, and Sandy is politely calling the Demon Bull parents to let them know where they are, that they're all safe, and that the baby is on the way! while keeping LBD's host preoccupied.

[Especially when DBK and PIF realise what's happening, and are posted incase Wukong's baby causes as much trouble for him as Red did to them.]

the bull family are on their way the second they hear about what's going on. they aren't missing the birth for anything, and they wanna be there for their family. also they need to check in on Red Son

[Guanyin has a secret stash in the Southern Ocean of all the letters and tapes (and even some drawings of what she might have looked like) Wukong ever made for Yuebei, in case he wasn't able to give them to her in person. Yuebei ends up finding them when she's a moody teenager, mad at her baba for something stupid.]

Guanyin is there to go through all them with her, Yuebei is amazed at much her baba loved her well before she was ever born, even if it becomes a little bittersweet after she learns that he could have died for her to be born and was willing to go through with the pregnancy anyway, for the sake of the baby he loved so much he may have never been able to meet. when she goes home she gives her baba a big hug. Yuebei: *walks into to the house* BABA Wukong: *not expecting her back so soon* oh! Yuebei, are you okay, I'm sorry about the fight earlier I was- Yuebei: *tackles him into a hug, muffled talking with her face buried in her Baba's chest* m'sorry, I love you. Wukong: *a little surprised but happy* love you too little one ps: what do you think Wukong would use as an affectionate nickname for Yuebei in this au? also, at what point do you think her name was decided on.

[Pre-series; In absense of any other godparent... I bet Wukong would have trusted Yuebei with Guanyin if possible. The goddess would have gladly taken the infant had Wukong not survived the birth, though it would pain her for many centuries to come.]

they absolutely would, even if looking at Yuebei would always be bittersweet long after it stopped actually hurting whenever she saw Wukong in her. I feel like in the event she was left in Guanyn's care, Guanyin wouldn't hide her parentage, and the first time Yuebei asks about details at like 10yo or something and they spend the next few hours going through the things Wukong left for her (except for anything specifically for certain dates/milestones).

[Once the relationship between Wukong and Mac improves, so does the baby's reaction to Mac's voice (symbolism). She finally starts to associate the "bad" voice with her bama, and soon it's not a "bad voice" anymore. Though there probably is a weird bridge-point where Mac has to put on silly accents/voices when he baby-talks to Yuebei or else she'll get mad at him.]

Macaque def cries at every big relationship milestone between him and Yuebei (and him and Wukong, seeing how much Wukong has changed for the better makes him very hopeful they could have the life they promised each other, but seeing how much Wukong has also been hurting he is very grateful he has the oppurtunity to make things better. ultimately, he is very grateful he made the decision to stay and not squander the chance). but there's def a period of time in there where anytime Macaque and Wukong get in a fight (because healing and reconciliation isn't linear) it sets his relationship with Yuebei back a couple squares.

I always thought that Macaque having six sensitive ears and being a theater performer would make him a killer at vocals, and he can change his voice pretty much at will to something completely random, someone else's voice if he hears them, or mimic the sounds of animals and/or other non-living objects that produce sounds. so he would absolutely nail and accents and voices he needs to do to keep Yuebei appeased. he probably at some point mimics Wukong's voice in order to calm her down, because out of all her "good sounds" her baba's is the most "safe".

[Yellowtusk immediately notices and warns Azure to let the cub down so she can at least crawl and inspect her new surroundings. Peng laughs at the thought of letting "the hatchling" decide the terms of her imprisonment.] + [Then Peng feels a tiny, but powerful, hand grab their wing feathers...] + [Yellowtusk leaves before the carnage reaches him.]

the brotherhood assumes Yuebei is also Macaque's kid like everyone else, and because of this Peng def is not above teasing the already fussy infant monkey. Yellowtusk is looking at his brothers either ignore or "torment" the infant of at least one if not two of their other sworn brothers. he realizes in that moment that the other two aren't who he thought they were, or at the very least they aren't anymore, but most importantly they aren't the type of people he wants to be involved with. the change of heart leads him to not feeling to bad when leaving his brothers to their fate when Yuebei has enough for the sake of his own safety.

(dont worry you asks didnt get deleted, Im just very lazy/bust with college)

referencing this previous Slow boiled au post.

[I'm glad that you're excited for the fic! I'm going to split up the story arcs into their own fics and turn it into a series! book 1 will feature Wukong's journey and following isolation up to a hero is born.]

I wait with bated subscribe button.

[upon learning that MK kinda remembers him Wukong def feels guilty about not being able to raise himself, especially with the fact that MK doesn't hold anything against his "birth mother" for giving him up. but then MK being a monkey comes out of the bag in s4 and MK and Wukong actually get to talk about it. it's a very emotional conversation, with Wukong having come to terms while in the scroll about all of his reasons for not being able to raise MK, and MK just being the sweetest most understanding boy ever, even if he wishes he could have known sooner. they come out of that conversation stronger. what if after MK learned he was a monkey when he and Macaque go into the scroll to get Wukong they stumble upon a memory of a tiny baby monkey that looks like his monkey form cuddling into Wukong's stomach like MK remembers doing with his "birth mom" and that's how he realizes that Wukong was the person he thought was his mom. when he faced the scroll's curse he got flashes of his life before the noodle shop, but nothing that revealed anything about his birth mom except the small flash of Nuwa, so the sudden, proper reveal still takes him by surprise. he also stumbles upon the memory of Wukong crying as he makes the decision to and give away MK.]

THIS WHOLE IDEA!!!

Wukong doesn't want to tell MK the truth cus he think's he'll hate him for having to give him up.

When MK and Mac see the memory of a baby monkey demon hugging (a much more sad-looking) Wukong's stomach, the memories all come flooding back to MK about who he thought was his "birth mother" . Even though he knows the Monkey King isn't really his birth parent (glaring at Nuwa), he knew that the choice to raise MK fell on his heavy shoulders. Even if MK is a *little* upset when he finds out via S4 Memory Scroll-ing with Macaque that he's a monkey demon, MK understands that the Monkey King was simply unable to care for him while he lacked a support system. Wukong wanted MK to have a "normal" childhood that he was denied, and that simply wasn't possible on FFM at the time.

Ultimately MK is glad that Wukong had the good judgement to leave MK with Pigsy all those years ago, no matter how much it hurt.

They find the memory of Wukong standing outside in the city streets, affixing a strong glamour spell to the baby's head, and sobbing as he forces himself to stop holding them long enough to disappear and make a noise that alerts the pig chef inside the shop. It's very Meet the Robinson's esque.

The first thing MK does when he reunites with Wukong, is hug him tight and say "I never blamed you." Wukong is confused until the realisation that MK was in his memories kicks in, and he starts sobbing too.

[In a way, giving the title to anyone else probably feels like the final straw of admitting that Ao Lie really is truly gone. but admitting that finally means learning to let go, allowing Wukong to grow and heal from his grief which in turn will lead to him isolating himself less. character development ya'know,]

Yeah, even if the decision to give DBK the title of "Godfather" was pretty rash in the moment, Wukong eventually hits a point where him and DBK end up having a talk about the monkey's "late younger brother" when Wukong hesistate to make it official.

DBK is understanding of why Wukong finds it hard to move on from Ao Lie's passing. He wouldn't know what he would have done if he'd lost his Xiandi all those centuries ago. DBK is patient enough to let his little bro come to terms with this emotional hurdle. He just wished he had more time to know this odd, horse-like dragon that Wukong adored as a brother.

The convo probably happens at the same time they decide to give Red Son back the Samadhi Fire + PIF giving Wukong's an unexpected hug.

[Macaque, as happy as he is that she looks enough like him that he can pass as the baby-daddy, def feels a bit guilty upon learning that the only reason that is is because of how how much Wukong missed him after he left. he loves being a parent to Yuebei, but as much as he loves people assuming that she is his their likeness also serves as a reminder that he wasn't there. he has a lot of time to make up for, and he plans on getting right on that.]

OH you better believe post S3 Macaque is running up that Dad hill full sprint to be there for Yuebei. Even if him and Wukong take a while to confront their issues, and have a fight or two, Mac ultimately wants to BE THERE for the King who missed him so much, and the cub that changed it's appearance to reflect that.

S4 is Macaque busting on through, resolving any petty fights him and Wukong had in the past, saving his mate and cub, and developing a fatherly attitude towards MK. This is THEIR happy ending, and Mac's not gonna let Azure take that away from them.

Fun fact; since Stone Eggs are able to "steal" the Dao of others, it ws common in Stone Monkey days for widowed monkeys to start the egg-making process while buried next to their mate in hopes that both of their traits lived on in the baby. It's influenced a lot by yearning/want of the parent for their mate (the supernatural "other parent").

[the attention Mei and the older ladies are giving him over the pregnancy is honestly a little overwhelming at times due to how unexpected it is. especially from PIF and Macaque's adopted mom figure, he'd thought the two of them would be far more mad about mac dying then anything else.]

Wukong is def confused but amused by how much PIF and Jiuweihuli are adoring of him, but are shooting Mac the stinkeye. PIF has already declared herself the baby's Godmother in partnership with her husband's title, and Jiuweihuli is treating the situation as if she's expecting a grandchild. Even when Wukong explains that Mac only "started the process", that doesn't deter the demonesses.

Wukong is ofc overwhelmed by the positive attention, and scurries away for a break once the womens' backs are turned. Red Son offering him a confused, but tasty spiced cake is like a breath of fresh air.

[if the infamous "god killer" is set to show up and then you learn that the god killer is the child of the Sun Wukong, menace to the heavens, and earned her title before she was even out if the womb is terrifying. imagine what she'll be like when she gets older and starts combat training.]

Yuebei, aka "The God Killer" toddles into a fancy heavenly party and all the Celestials scatter like they saw a tiger enter the room. The infant monkey just jumps on the banquet table and starts chowing down on the hors d'oeuvres like her baba before her.

[I love idea she puts so much trust she puts into the staff because it was her first proper weapon. I feel she also puts a lot of trust into it because it's from her parents. I love the Dr. Facillier comparison, I was thinking of her swishing her mask on like a miraculous lady bug transformation.]

Yuebei and her big bro MK share the trait of "I believe, so it is", and that includes her super-cool FIRST STAFF that was probably made from a completely normal stalk of bamboo by Wukong and Mac as a birthday gift.

Ooo I like that Ladybug idea for her skull-mask. Magical girl transformation except she's dressed to reap souls. >:3

Oh gosh now Im thinking of little Yuebei being obsessed with Sailor Moon. XD

[everyone is panicking, just to different lengths.] + [while keeping LBD's host preoccupied.]

The campsite is just a warzone of panicking found family members as they scramble to get things ready for the baby's arrival. I love the idea of Sandy having enough sense to call DBK and PIF on the phone to give them a heads-up.

And poor Bai He. Just got over being possessed for x-amount of months by an ancient world-ending demon, and now she's just swept up in the chaos that a baby is coming!? She probably "heard" things while being piloted by LDB, so she knows "someone" is having a baby, she just doesn't understand the context. Especially considering that the monkey demon couple (one's the Monkey King?!) have been tending to her like parents the whole trip home. and- "Is that lady Guanyin?"

Bai He def has a "she's so cute!"-moment when she sees Yuebei for the first time. She's cuter than a kitten! :3

[the bull family are on their way the second they hear about what's going on. they will do what they have to for their family.]

The second that the Bull Couple learn that Wukong is ok after LBD's defeat, they're flying over to see if their Xiandi is ok. DBK has to be reprimanded for almost getting into a fight with Nezha over their protective instincts towards Wukong in this state.

[Guanyin is there to go through all them with her, Yuebei is amazed at much her baba loved her well before she was ever born, even if it becomes a little bittersweet after she learns that he could have died for her to be born and was willing to go through with the pregnancy anyway, for the sake of the baby he loved so much he may have never been able to meet. when she goes home she gives her baba a big hug. Yuebei: *walks into to the house* BABA Wukong: *not expecting her back so soon* oh! Yuebei, are you okay, I'm sorry about the fight earlier I was- Yuebei: *tackles him into a hug, muffled talking with her face buried in her Baba's chest* m'sorry, I love you. Wukong: *a little surprised but happy* love you too little one]

OOOOUHHH!! Yuebei having the realisation in her teens about how much Wukong sacrificed/could have lost to ensure she was born safetly!! Yuebei def stares at the tapes Guanyn provides in silence, tears rolling down her face as she sees and hears her Baba in different eras, telling his baby that they may never meet but that he loves them no matter what!!

Yuebei would feel so guilty for running off after a petty fight with her Baba! Especially if one of the things she yelled at Wukong was along the lines of; "You never do anything for me!"

Wukong is just relieved that his daughter came home safe and sound. Guanyin def did the divine version of a text message telling Wukong that Yuebei came to her island, but Wukong was still worried.

[ps: what do you think Wukong would use as an affectionate nickname for Yuebei in this au? also, at what point do you think her name was decided on.]

Wukong's nickname for Yuebei is "Egg" much like MK in the TMKATI au. Hard to get rid of the moniker when Wukojng had been using it for almost a thousand years. One of the rarer nicknames he had for her was "little moonlight" whenever he was particularly wistful.

Macaque calls the baby cuter things like "starlight" or "sunspot" cus she's "a little Sun" (pun).

The name "Yuebei" aka "Lunar Apogee" was only decided in the later months leading up to her birth. Wukong had wanted to wait until the Egg was born to decide. And ofc with his "moonlight" finally back at his side, Wukong's brain went towards moon-themed names...

[they absolutely would, even if looking at Yuebei would always be bittersweet long after it stopped actually hurting whenever she saw Wukong in her.]

Guanyin would 100% refer to herself as being Yuebei's "grandmother" in the scenario that Wukong had not survived/woken up. Little Yuebei would have grown up on Fragrant Mountain in the Southern Oceans as beloved as any creature under Guanyin's protection. Safe from teh eyes of Heaven. Wukong knows he would have made a good choice.

[Macaque def cries at every big relationship milestone between him and Yuebei (and him and Wukong, seeing how much Wukong has changed for the better makes him very hopeful they could have the life they promised each other, but seeing how much Wukong has also been hurting he is very grateful he has the oppurtunity to make things better. ultimately, he is very grateful he made the decision to stay and not squander the chance). but there's def a period of time in there where anytime Macaque and Wukong get in a fight (because healing and reconciliation isn't linear) it sets his relationship with Yuebei back a couple squares.]

Macaque and Wukong I think would have had a fight just prior to S4, likely over how MK is being trained as Wukong's successor - Wukong want's to be careful and soft on the kid, while Macaque was more the mindset of preparing MK for the worst-case scenarios. It caused the two to be on not-speaking terms, even though they were still both technically co-parenting the baby. Wukong had walked out on the most recent fight, and taken Yuebei to the old stone palace to decompress when MK found the memory scroll.

The subsetquent hours is Macaque fellign like sh*t for making Wukong hate him again + Yuebei crying when Mac raised his voice. He's convinced that he F-d Up Big, and that Wukong would never trust him again- oh hey a text from Mei.

Mei, texting: "Scroll thingy ate Monkey King!! *shocked emoji*" Mac, on an ancient nokia: "WHAT!? Where's the baby!?" Mei: "Being babysat rn. Don't worry, we're on the case!" *thumbs up* + "100 emoji" Mac: "oh thank buddha."

Macaque still goes to Water Curtain Cave to see whats up... only to find no Monkey Kids, and the smell of a familar lion...

[I always thought that Macaque having six sensitive ears and being a theater performer would make him a killer at vocals, and he can change his voice pretty much at will to something completely random, someone else's voice if he hears them, or mimic the sounds of animals and/or other non-living objects that produce sounds. so he would absolutely nail and accents and voices he needs to do to keep Yuebei appeased. he probably at some point mimics Wukong's voice in order to calm her down, because out of all her "good sounds" her baba's is the most "safe".]

Macaque canonically can nail voices and animal sounds! He pretended to be Mo meowing when he split the vans up.

I can just imagine him setting a fussy Yuebei down for sleep and trying to read her a story like;

Macaque, normal voice: "Bustopher Jone-"

Yuebei: *gives him a stank face* >:(

Macaque: "Oh ok, little miss high-standards."

Macaque: *clears throat*

Macaque, now in a goofy falsetto ala Ed Wynn: "Bustopher Jones is not skin and bones— In fact, he's remarkably fat. He doesn't haunt pubs—he has eight or nine clubs, For he's the St. James's Street Cat!"

Yuebei: *delighted giggling!* :D

Wukong: *secretly watching from the doorway, falling in love with his Warrior all over again*

[the brotherhood assumes Yuebei is also Macaque's kid like everyone else, and because of this Peng def is not above teasing the already fussy infant monkey. Yellowtusk is looking at his brothers either ignore or "torment" the infant of at least one if not two of their other sworn brothers. he realizes in that moment that the other two aren't who he thought they were, or at the very least they aren't anymore, but most importantly they aren't the type of people he wants to be involved with. the change of heart leads him to not feeling to bad when leaving his brothers to their fate when Yuebei has enough for the sake of his own safety.]

Yellowtusk is the only one of the Brotherhood trio who recognises that people have changed in the last few hundred years.

The Pilgrims are dead and gone, and their decendants are far different from their originals. Brother Bull is a family man who would do anything for his wife and son.

Brother Wukong is, from what Yellowtusk overheard, has become far wiser and more cautious. And not to say the acts of heroism he's heard attributed to Brother Macaque! (Defying and saving the world from the icy bone demon that resurrected him is no mere feat - it was the talk of the celestial and demon worlds for weeks). Not to mention the tiny dark-furred infant monkey that Azure holds, squirming in his grip...

And he also recognises that his own two companions have changed... but not for the better.

The selfless leadership once held by Azure Lion has become warped into a form of tyrany, one where their new Emperor holds their sworn brothers' infant hostage and openly fantasizes about taking Brother Wukong as his consort.

The curt bluntness he had appriciated in Peng's words have become needlessly harsh and tormenting. Even towards something as small and blameless as the infant they hold hostage.

Yellowtusk recognises that perhaps even he has changed. Being made to relive your mistakes throught the Scroll can do that. He realises that he should have said more to defend his shyer brothers, and wishes that he had the foresight to know that the Jade Emperor would have succeeded in their haphazard coup.

Yellowtusk is Wise because he recognises that the best option is to jump this sinking ship now while there's still time.

He goes to take the hostage infant away from Azure's grasp when the little girl suddenly grabs hard on one of Peng's flight feathers, the gold plating crumbling away in her grip...

Yellowtusk backs out of the throne room as the child of Sun Wukong destroys the two grown warriors like they were toys to be broken. He's thankfull that his calmer treatment of the infant only leaves him with a sore trunk from the little monkey tugging on it to guesture that she was hungry.

Sorry it took so long to answer! I've been very lazy over xmas :3

#slow boiled stone egg au #stone egg talk #pregnancy tw #sun wukong #shadowpeach #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #lmk yuebei #yuebei xing #qi xiaotian #gif warning #lmk the brotherhood #lmk yellow tusk elephant #lmk peng #lmk azure lion

[mantisgodsdomain]

7 vi but instead of food (i get the vibes your vi just straight up doesn't refuse food) crimes or drugs whichever you prefer

(for this ask game)

7. Lots of people don’t have a favorite food drug or crime when put on the spot, but what’s a food or drink drug or crime that your OC would never turn down if someone offered it to them?

...listen the conditions under which our Vi would refuse food are extremely specific but they do exist. Depending on the variant, you might hit that faster or slower, though it varies on the person offering it to her and the circumstances surrounding it. Wereweevil Vi, specifically, will absolutely fucking not refuse food under any circumstances, but she is an outlier and most other Vis actually have a point where they'll say no.

In terms of crimes and drugs... listen, Vi has a sense of self-preservation, and people absolutely don't just hand out drugs either For Free or For No Reason. Getting her to accept doing it is the hard part, if you're not already someone she trusts - what are you, a cop? Gonna tattle on her if she takes your offer? She does, actually, have a fair amount of trust in most of the Underground Tavern regulars, and would probably take up an offer for Illegal Actions if offered, because she trusts they won't try to fuck her over and will probably be willing to back her up if worst comes to worst.

If she's being, like, offered something to try and do, and it's someone she knows, then she has pretty decent assurance that her friends won't deliberately try and kill her, but she might still want to question if it's safe for her species, whether in a "this open job offer might not actually be open to a bug where almost everyone seeing her will immediately assume she's associated with the Bee Kingdom and might report them back to the queen" way or a or "whoever made this drug has never accounted for her species in test runs and there's a solid chance of her experiencing adverse side effects from it" way.

She's not entirely naive - she knows what she's doing, she knows it might be dangerous, and she's only really willing to assume the Tavern bugs have her best interests in mind because of experience. Unless she's being paid for it, she won't take up an offer from just anyone, and she has decent confidence in not getting fucked for taking the offer.

That said... in terms of drugs, the one (1) thing that she might consider getting from Random Unlicenced Sellers She Doesn't Know would be Daydream. Chronic pain reasons, as per usual. If it's getting to autumn and times she Knows that she's gonna run into more Bad Pain Days and her usual dealer's not got enough she might go hunting for another supplier, and in that case - yeah, she'll take random handouts and shady offers, and yeah, she'll probably get fucked over for it. Probably better than lying on the floor unable to do anything due to her body swinging a fire axe into her spinal cord that makes it feel like there's a white-hot rod of metal permanently impaled into her chitin and through half of her vital organs. She might reconsider if it's particularly shady and she's with Team Snakemouth, but being in horrible pain has a way of making you abandon your previous convictions in favor of not having to endure part of your body trying to violently kill you to death by making your entire nervous system fry itself with chronic pain.

With crime if you pay her enough then she'll do basically anything but for profit-free mischief, uhh. Listen if you walk up to her in a bar and say "hey, wanna vandalize something" then she'll probably agree before asking any further questions. Some day this will bite her in the dick but she will probably only learn "plan more when vandalizing things" from it.

#asks #ask games #headcanons #we have one specific fic in which she winds up with one food she absolutely fucking will not eat unless she actively HAS to #as in. “would rather starve for days on the hope of Food That Is Not That than eat it” levels #with the beemerang shes less upset about “it was stolen” and more upset about “it was stolen and shades didnt tell me from who” #but being a bee means she has slightly more leeway on it than. say. a mosquito who shouldnt have been in the hive in the first place #plus depending on how he got it he might just Not Know that it was originally bee tech. equal odds of bee or termite and such #its not necessarily guaranteed and since shes not a part of the hive anymore that chance is SIGNIFICANTLY decreased #and YES shes likely to be in contact with the people that it was stolen from who thus may recognize it and get her in trouble #also necessary context for daydream it is a painkiller that is also occasionally sold as a street drug under the name daydream #known as morpatamine in like. generic medical brand form. though vi might take a few seconds to recognize it under that name #it may be a prescription drug but she has never taken out a prescription in her life and shes not about to start now #it is. VERY strong. produces a “floaty” high. vi takes it for chronic pain reasons because she enjoys not being in pain and is Used To It #we have it as a. semi-consistent vi feature? takes it pre-tsm for pain reasons and then goes cold turkey when she gets hired as an explorer #shes functional under it and could probably actually get More done under it for pain reasons but she still. no longer takes it #this Is Not Good for her. she is in pain that she absolutely does not have to be in for Not Taking Drugs Points awarded by no one. #unfortunately she also thinks that if she tells her teammates about the fact that she has done A Drug and might want to do them again #they will drop her like a hot potato and/or tell her entire family that she is a druggie #because she was still raised in the hive and still retains some of their views on drugs for Herself Specifically #because though obviously her friends are cool & doing a drug is neutral for them it is a sign of deep moral corruption for Vi Specifically #anyways this means that she will go out on a mission while being like an 8-9 on the pain scale and do like. maybe 1 ibuprofen about it #this specific dynamic means that though she trusts kabbu and leif SIGNIFICANTLY more than shades in p much every way #she would never ask one of them to help supervise her use whereas she might ask shades to keep an eye on her #generally this is a bad decision. he will absolutely fuck with her for fun. they both know this wont stop her from asking him again tho #she could probably ask doppel if she didnt want to be told that shes been given forever weed #but doppel has a job to do and she doesnt want to interrupt and plus if he knows shes been Doing A Drug he might be disappointed in her #realistically he already knows and just doesnt care but vis already a bit high strung on it with anyone whose opinion she cares about #we will retag this to put it in the main bf tag in a bit maybe. we are not sure how the fandom proper would respond to this flavor of post #chronic pain hcs tend to be localized to kabbu and undetailed on management. we deal with heavy duty painkillers

[benjyxfenwick]

☼ benjy & @caitrionaebing​

☼ location: borgin & burke’s, knockturn alley

In the span of a few weeks, Benjy had gone from the warm, confident, helpful Curse Breaker in his department to withdrawn, distracted, and worst of all, drunk. Benjy was a functioning drunk in the daytime, hiding it well, but he’d started becoming sloppy on the job and others had noticed. His superior had pulled Benjy into their office for a word and he’d denied anything being wrong. The question of the protest attack was brought up, which evidently caused such a visceral wince in him that his superior assumed Benjy had somehow gotten caught up in the events of that day and was still reeling from it. Thus, until further notice, Benjy was suspended from fieldwork and was delegated to following up on reports made to the department.

The decision had an adverse effect on Benjy. It solidified that Benjy was fucking everything up around him. As he was now independent during the workday, he could sneak in more swigs from his flask as he went from location to location to take statements from people about their knowledge on certain cursed items. On that particular morning, the file placed on his desk instructed him to go to Borgin & Burke’s and follow up on a report of a cursed amulet. The name of the shop itself sent Benjy’s buzzed mind into a spiral and his hand itching towards the flask in his robes. Of all the places, why her family’s business?

Standing outside of the shop in Knockturn Alley, he downed the final dregs of whisky from his flask before stepping inside of Borgin & Burke’s. His tall frame and Curse Breaker robes immediately caused the gazes of all those inside the shop to land on him, clients and shopkeepers alike. Benjy moved towards the counter, half of his mind focused on keeping his steps straight, the other half thanking the fact that he had not immediately run into Caitriona. Hopefully, she wasn’t here at all. “Curse Breaker Benjy Fenwick, here on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he muttered to the wizard standing at the till behind the counter. Benjy fumbled with the Curse Breaker badge stowed at the front of his robes, presenting it to the man. “I have some questions regarding a report made about an item in this shop.”

#reply: caitriona #starter: caitriona #caitriona 003

[fakenewvegasfan]

.

#i take anything adverse from her and assume the worst #shes right #i am a hypocondriact now #its not fair to her because i know she is too #but wjth covid im fhcking terrified #and not knowing whats happening eith my body doesnt help either #and the meds my dr is saying to takd wont take effect for a few days too #how fun

[andreafmn]

Running In Circles - Chapter 2

Word Count: 2,663

Characters: Female Reader Rossi Character, Aaron Hotchner, David Rossi, Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ”Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia

Story Description: (Y/N) Rossi is following in her father’s footsteps by joining the BAU team as a profiler. The girl genius knew almost everything but she could have never predicted falling for Aaron Hotchner, her boss and her father’s friend. in their world mutual feelings are not enough to push them together. Will all the adversities and obstacles they face pull them together or push them apart forever?

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Criminal Minds, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Jeff Davis and CBS Network. The only thing I own is Arden Rossi, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.

Chapter: 2/?

Chapter Description: The team goes back to work as Aaron Hotchner considers retiring from the team and spend time with his son. (Y/n) can’t help but provide emotional support for the Hotchner boys.

A/N: I enjoy angst and slow burns way too much XD. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

<- Previous | Next->

Chapter 2

Once it was over, the interviews came. We knew the story. We lived it. The case was open and shut. They could try and make us pint it all on Hotch, the easy way out, but we knew better. And we would stand next to our unit chief whatever the price.

Haley’s funeral was no easier than being at the scene. It was a somber day and the sadness was imprinted in us. We all walked with dropped shoulders and a tight chest. I stood between Derek and Reid, using Morgan as support because I felt that my legs would give out at any moment. My father stood behind me rubbing circles on my back to comfort me. As we laid the roses on top of the casket, we laid to rest the life of Haley, a woman I only knew through the loving words Hotch spoke of.

The group did not know what to do to help the heartbroken man. It would take time to heal even just the smallest bit of his heart. All we could hope for was that he would come back to the team.

At the worst possible moment, the phone rings. No other team available and someone in need, we had to go to work. We all rolled our eyes or shook our heads; this was the job. But would it be the same without him?

I went to Hotch before we left and gave him a hug.

“Call me if you guys need anything,” he said.

“Just take care of your son,” I smiled, and he softly returned one of his own. I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and left to join the team.

On the plane, we were caught up with the case. We stored all our feelings and got the machines running. We needed to finish this quickly and perfectly.

Two women, both brunettes and young, high-powered executives, murdered in their own homes, the floor around them decorated with flower petals. After Emily and Derek visited the crime scene, we had another part of the puzzle, the unsub was stalking his victims. Everything just seemed so perfect and staged, there was no way he was not prepared.

I stayed with JJ in the station working on the announcement and trying to figure something else from the details provided and the crime scene photos, but JJ could see my head wasn’t in it completely for the first time.

“Hey,” she said, taking my attention from the piece of paper I had been eyeing for the past five minutes. “What’s on your mind? Talk to me.”

“Is it wrong that I feel bad for being here?” I sighed. “Working like nothing’s happened.”

“Of course not, we all feel a bit guilty,” she smiled. “I know you most of all.”

My eyes opened in shock.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). Everyone knows you have a not-so-secret crush on Hotch,” she laughed. “The only one that can’t see it is him. And probably your dad. Parents can be quite oblivious to their children’s feelings in this way.”

My head flew into my hands to cover the embarrassment that was flooding my cheeks. It was one thing to assume the whole team knew, another was to have it confirmed.

“It’s okay, (Y/N), we’ll see what comes of it. What I can say is that you can’t let this stop you from doing your job.”

She smiled one last time and it was all I needed to push Aaron Hotchner to the back of my mind and bring the case forward.

“Find anything?” My father asked entering the small room at the police station, Reid following behind.

“Several people had access to each home,” I said rubbing my temple. “Housekeeper, gardener, pool cleaner, dog walker…”

“Each with their own key and an alibi to match,” JJ added, an annoyed tone rolling off her tongue.

“Any crossover?”

“None. We even vetted delivery people and utility workers.” I sighed.

“Garcia, do you have anything?” Reid said, sitting down.

“There’s no hits at the prints at all. But I did what Sir Derek there asked, and I created a paper trail,” Penny explained. “There’s no cross-over between the two victims themselves in the weeks leading up to their murders, but they did run in similar circles.”

Penelope continued to explain how both victims lived quite a lavish and high-class lifestyle as Emily and Derek joined us. We figured this man would fit right in this crowd. Educated, intelligent, a gentleman. What we had yet to pinpoint was how the unsub entered the homes with no signs of forced entry. It was clear we were not going to make any headway tonight and Derek knew it too. So, he decided we should be done for the day and we would come back tomorrow well-rested and with fresh eyes.

That night I laid in the bed of my hotel room staring at the ceiling. All I could think of was Hotch and everything he was going through. I could only imagine.

And as if by fate, my phone rang. Aaron Hotchner.

“Hello?”

“Oh,” Hotch said surprised. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I haven’t been able to sleep.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “I guess I’m just worried about you.”

He chuckled softly. “You really shouldn’t.”

“But I do, Hotch.”

He stayed silent, only his slow breathing was heard through the phone.

“Did I fail her?” He asked after some minutes of comfortable silence.

“Absolutely not.”

“I promised her that I would catch Foyet and spend the rest of my life making it up to her.”

“And you still can.”

“But” he exhaled loudly. “How?”

“By being the best father you can be to Jack and continue living your life in the best way you can.”

“You know, Dave told me that I had to figure out what kind of father I wanted to be and then I’d know what to do. But I have no idea what that is.”

“Hotch…”

“I’m serious,” he interrupted. “I don’t know what kind of father I am. I catch killers. I save lives. I’m a hero until my key hits the front door, and then I’m just the father who’s never there. Haley was raising Jack all by herself and that was my support blanket. I was able to do my job because I knew he was cared for by another parent. A better parent.”

He sobbed softly as the last words escaped his mouth.

“I’m going to stop you right there,” I said, trying my best not to sound angry. “To that little boy, you are the only real hero that exists. He knows that when you’re not home it’s because you’re out here catching the bad guys like Foyet and making the world better for his sake. He knows that everything you do is out of love for him.

You know, when I was little my dad was absent quite a lot because of this job, but there was one thing that I knew for sure, that he loved me more than anything and that he worked better and faster because he wanted to come back home to me. And never ever have I resented him for leaving and catching the bad guys. He’s the reason I became an FBI agent.

You are an amazing father and anything you choose will be the right thing for Jack.”

After a minute of sobs, Hotch started to calm down.

“Thank you, (Y/N). You have no idea how much I needed that right now,” he cleared his throat. “How’s the case going?”

“Nope,” I laughed. “Not going to talk about the case.”

“Really?” He chuckled.

“Yes, Hotch. Take a breather. You deserve it.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, and I could hear his smile through the phone.

We had been talking for about an hour when I heard him yawn.

“Seems you’re getting sleepy there, Hotchner.” I laughed. “We should both get some rest. If it’s 3 am over here it must be 2 am in Washington. So, good night and see you soon.”

“Good night, (Y/N). Again, thank you. Sweet dreams.” And he hung up.

And finally, I drifted to sleep.

The next morning, we were up and ready for business.

“We believe our unsub is already with his next victim,” my father started. “If he matches the patter, she’ll be a successful woman, probably brunette, early 30s to mid-40s. She’ll be at home in Nashville’s upper echelon.”

“This means that he fits in,” I explained. “He drives the right car, he wears the right clothes, he’s highly intelligent. He probably comes from a place of status.”

“This guy’s sociable and he’s endearing,” said Morgan. “You would never suspect that this man is capable of murder. But he will do whatever it takes to protect the fantasy that he’s trying to relive.”

“It’s this fantasy which fuels his drive. He’s reliving a romantic evening and recreating it with each of his victims.”

“He most likely had a relationship taken away from him,” Derek crossed his arms. “So, look at men who have lost loved ones or have gone through a messy divorce.”

After finishing with the profile, we set out to establishments that fit the criteria to possibly get a suspect. As we worked, we got a call. Another crime scene, but this one was different.

A male victim. Overkill on the female. Something made him change his M.O.

Out in the garage, Reid and I looked for any sort of clues and I noticed his sight direct to the car. There may be another way we could connect the victims and how the unsub made their way into their homes.

Finally, Garcia had something with the hunch Spencer had figured. She overlaid all the geographical routes the victims had taken against the geo profile to show what we were missing with any paper trail. Although it was not a clear answer, Erika Silverman was the only one that did not fit the extravagant lifestyle and she only went and came from her work or her home. Except on Tuesday, where she went to the Botanical Gardens, what was she doing there? JJ, Reid, and I left for the gardens to find out.

And just as we had suspected, there had been an event to which Erika had attended. And a puzzle piece revealed itself.

“An event up here would be a hard sell for women in heels,” JJ commented.

“Well, most of our private events hire valets to drive the cars down to the base of the park so they don’t have to hike it up the hill.”

“Who had access to your keys but goes unseen?” Reid asked.

“And to your GPS,” I added.

“Dealerships program your home address into the navigation system before your car even leaves the lot.”

“He had turn-by-turn directions straight to her front door and the keys to get him inside,” I pointed.

We now had how he got his victims and how he entered their house without force. Now, all we had to do was pinpoint his next victim and see who he was.

JJ was instructed to get dad and Prentiss to pick up the owner of the valet service used in the event, and Derek, Reid, and I stayed behind to canvass the employees. We could catch this guy in action unless he had already gotten his next victim.

Joe Belser. That was our unsub. With the profile, the owner was able to point out the suspect quickly. And off we were.

JJ, Reid, and I headed to the venue and the rest of the team went to Belser’s house. He wasn’t in the apartment, but they had found the meaning behind the roses and universal garage door openers. In the venue, Reid called Garcia to see which of the VIP guests could be the next potential victim.

Ann Herron was the next victim, and he was already at her house.

“FBI! PUT IT DOWN!” Derek screamed, blinding Joe with his flashlight. I walked in from behind Derek and kneed Belser’s stomach. He fell to the ground groaning and Emily grabbed the man by the throat to immobilize him.

“Fantasy’s over,” she spat. “Is that what you did to them? You hit them to shut them up and then forced them to play along with your sick delusion?”

 “I love them,” Joe said sinisterly.

“You’re finally gonna meet your soulmate, Joe,” I added from behind Prentiss. “In prison.”

“Only you’re not gonna be able to push him around like you did those women,” Emily continued. “And when he comes for you in the middle of the night, when you’re least expecting it, you do me a favor. Play along.” 

She stood the man up forcibly and put him in handcuffs and I went outside to check on the victim.

“How is she?” Derek asked walking out of the house with my father.

“She’s strong,” I said closing the ambulance door. “She’ll make it. But you don’t survive something like that without scars.”

“Scars remind us where we’ve been,” my father commented. “They don’t have to dictate where we’re going.”

He put his arm around my shoulders and kissed my head as we walked back to the SUVs, finally on our way home.

The next day, I called up my dad so he would accompany me to Haley’s grave. Something told me I had to go. At the cemetery, I saw what the pull was. Sitting in front of the headstone less grave was Hotch. I walked up to him first, my father close behind. Hotch lifted his head and stared into my eyes, sitting up slightly.

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” I spoke softly. “Have you told her yet?”

“Told her what?” He mused.

“That you’re coming back to the team,” my father joined his left side. Hotch looked at him. “That fighting the bad guys is who you are.”

Hotch lowered his head and shook it. “I don’t have to tell her. She already knows.”

I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and gave him a soft smile. My father did the same and walked to my side, so we’d retreat, giving Hotch some space.

“So, do you want me to drive you back to your house?” My father asked.

“No,” I smiled. “I’m gonna stay with Hotch for a bit and then I’ll go home.”

“Okay, darling.” He kisses the top of my head. “I’ll pick you up on Monday then. Ciao, Mia Bella.”

“Bye, dad.”

Once my dad left, I sat down on a bench and waited for Hotch.

“(Y/N), you’re still here?” Hotch questioned with a smile on his face.

“Yeah, thought you might want some company.”

“Truthfully,” he chuckled. “I do. Thank you.”

“How about this, we pick up Jack, you guys come over and I crack open a present I had for Jack.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he motioned me to his car. “Let’s go.”

We drove quietly to his apartment, only the low volume of the radio and the sound of our breathing could be heard. It didn’t take long to arrive at the complex, where he opened the car door for me and led me upstairs. Inside apartment #121, was Jessica Brooks, Haley’s sister, and Jack playing a card game.

“(Y/N)!” Jack screamed as soon as I walked through the door, running to give me a hug.

“Hey, buddy!” I hugged back.

“Hotch, you’re back,” she exclaimed. “Good to see you again, (Y/N).”

“Good to see you, too,” I smiled. “How you holding up?”

“As good as I can be.” She answered as she began to gather her things. “Well, I’ll see you soon. Bye, little guy.”

“Bye, Aunt Jessica.”

“Bye, guys.” She said as she left.

“Hey, little man,” I directed to Jack. “I’ve got an idea.”

“What is it?”

“How about you to pack a go-bag and you and dad come over so we can open a present I have for you?”

“Yes!” He exclaimed as he sped off to his room to pack.

“I think you should go help him,” I smiled at Hotch. “If I have any memory of being a kid, they’re not very good at packing.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Maybe I should.”

I waited for both father and son to pack for the night asking myself why I was putting myself in this position. Growing closer to a man I had a 0% chance with. But I couldn’t help it. All in all, he was my friend, and he needed all the support he could get.

<- Previous | Next->

A/N: if you wish to be tagged for the next parts, please let me know. I’d be happy to. <3

#aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner angst #criminal minds #derek morgan #aaron hotchner x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #derek morgan x reader #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope gacia #david rossi #running in circles #writing #andreafmn #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad #angst #slowburn #criminal minds imagine

[snowgloberoundandround]

This trend of telling people to “wear a d*mn mask” or calling people selfish for choosing not wearing a mask in public needs to stop. It is a callously cruel thing to say, and extremely damaging to hear every single day. People have their reasons for not wearing a mask, just as much as you have your reasons for wearing yours.

Here are just a few reasons people don’t wear a mask:

Assorted medical reasons - most places are making exceptions for medical reasons in the fine print, but most medical reasons a stranger on the street won’t be able to see, they’ll just see the lack of a mask. People with legitimate medical exceptions are harassed every day by people, both strangers and employees, who assume they are just being apathetic and flippant. They are berated by social media’s inflammatory hashtags and posts that demand you wear a mask. It’s not okay to assume why someone is not wearing a mask, it’s not okay to judge someone for not wearing a mask, and it’s not legal to ask what the medical condition is. You’re not a doctor, you’re not their doctor.

Asthma/respiratory fatigue - for oxygenation we measure what is called your Sp02 levels. A normal, resting level should be in the 98-100 range. Under anesthesia if it gets in the low 90’s we’re mildly concerned and trying to restore it, we never want to see it in the 80’s. Some studies with the masks have shown Sp02 levels in healthy, fit individuals wearing masks while walking briskly for several minutes dropping into the 70’s. That’s very, very bad. One of my friends has bad asthma, she wore her mask for a quick 5-minute trip into the store yesterday. It took her TWO HOURS to recover. If you have a pre-existing respiratory condition, wearing a mask can be extremely harmful. You shouldn’t have to be told you’re a bad person because someone doesn’t get that you’re just trying to breathe.

Skin conditions - Masks trap moisture close to your face. If you have severe acne, eczema, psoriasis, are prone to infection, etc. having a mask on your face repeatedly for long periods of time can result in bad infections and be a painful irritant. Along with all the other points on this thread, employers also have little care for the health and well-being of their employees in this regard, especially corporate employers, who rather cover their risk of being sued rather than allow their employees to not wear a mask for the sake of their health. There have also been cases of young and healthy individuals getting lung infections from wearing a mask 40+ hours a week. Constantly breathing in moisture and carbon dioxide was not something that the human body was meant to do.

Anxiety/panic attacks - I have anxiety, and most the time I can handle it. But I’ve had anxiety about going to the store by myself LONG before this all started, so if I have the mask on for more than five minutes at the store I start feeling like I can’t breathe well. And my anxiety isn’t anywhere near as bad as some. We’ve had to call 911 for my mom at least half a dozen times in the span of my life, and those are just the really bad panic attacks, not all the little after shocks. Now think about if you’re having an anxiety attack, and had to take your mask off, and it’s not that severe but you’re teetering on the edge, and some rando comes by and says “HEY PUT A MASK ON” or “It’s not doing anything if it’s not on your face.” Imagine how much worse that makes it because you’re already struggling to keep it together and now you’re met with confrontation.

Physical/sexual abuse victims - imagine having to live through someone trying to actually suffocate you, and then you’re told you have to wear a mask at all times. All you feel is that hand over your face, all you feel is the inability to escape, being constricted and restrained. THEN imagine everyone telling you you’re being selfish for not wearing a mask, simply because they don’t know what horrors you’ve been through. Further more, the governor of my state said anxiety is not a good enough excuse not to wear a mask, so you’re branded a criminal for not wanting to relive the worst moment of your life in memory.

PTSD - this is basically the same principle as the two afore mentioned, as PTSD comes in many shapes and sizes. However it bears stating the lasting emotional trauma masks will have on many children in schools. For a nervous little third grader, telling her for eight hours a day she can’t sit with her friends, can’t play with them on the playground, can’t interact with anyone, has to be screened every day, and in some schools are required to stay in little solitary cubicles... that ABSOLUTELY can give a child PTSD while also inhibiting their development.

Autism - some autistic people have severe texture adversities. For any child having a mask over their face is a difficult thing to tolerate, but especially for an autistic child who can only tolerate a select few materials when it comes to normal clothes. This is a good post that goes into more detail on how the current hostility toward anyone who doesn’t where a mask promotes an ableist outlook

In protest - Because they believe that the deaths and emotional trauma from mask culture is more detrimental than the initial virus, such depression, the medical treatment that was denied and people died from because it was not deemed “essential”, the families that go hungry because of jobs lost, the resulting crime and lawlessness that hurts people, the panic/anxiety and emotional scarring it will have on children in schools, etc. Many people will call it selfish to not wear a mask out of protest, but in reality it is BECAUSE you care about people that you protest by not wearing a mask. If you believe it is doing more harm than good for the population as a whole, the most selfless thing you can do is risk being ridiculed and punished for standing up.

Science and statistics - Many people simply believe that the science doesn’t prove that masks are unequivocally beneficial and that the statistics don’t validate their efficacy. The ideology has become “the masks are better than nothing” but as the above points listed have countered, sometimes a mask is WORSE than nothing. Furthermore, instituting mandatory masks on the basis of it may or may not help is extremely poor leadership. You don’t collapse a society, cause lasting economic and emotional crisis for something you don’t know for certain if it will work. You don’t create laws on a maybe. That is a detrimental way of thinking because it is destroying our society, producing casualties of all kinds, for something you don’t even know if it really helps. People have lost their lives, their food, their jobs, their businesses they built from the ground up because of the astronomical fines and closures if they do not enforce masks that may or may not be effective. Masks are not necessarily a “temporary inconvenience”, there are lasting effects. Most people who don’t wear masks, don’t do so because they are short-sighted and selfish, but they do so because they believe it is in the best interest of everyone to make masks optional, because of their great care for others and how it impacts everyone involved.

But the bottom line is this:

The simple reason that I believe it’s better for my health not to wear a mask is reason enough to not have to wear one. I have the right to decide what is best for my health and act accordingly, and I should not be attacked for that.

#ive been writing this for a WEEK #instagram is just. not a place i wanna be these days #shadow rambles

[oohnoniall]

A Court of Fire and Ice {Tamlin x OC} - Chapter 5

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)

note; i’m so sorry this is late !! june is one of the worst months mentally for me and i didn’t even realize it was saturday lmao. but this is a fluff chapter so hope that makes up for it !!

Things were going about as well as they ever did in the Spring Court. Lyriel had not stopped training with his guards and sentries. She had been out there every single morning for the past two weeks. She was better than he had expected her to be. Perhaps her collection of blades was not just for show.

        Feyre was still suspicious of the woman but had said nothing more. It was in her eyes whenever Lyriel slipped silently into a room. Tamlin had told her again and again that it was nothing to be concerned about. Yet, Feyre seemed more withdrawn than usual.         

        He had assumed it was just nerves because of the wedding. He had tried to take away anything that would stress her. He had tried to do what he could to protect her. She had done so much for him. It was his turn to be the provider, the protector. He just hoped he was doing the right thing.

        "We're expecting a large turnout," Ianthe said excitedly over dinner that night. 

        He was the only one who noticed Lyriel's grip tightened on her fork. 

        "I should expect so. This will be the first thing we've had to truly celebrate in a very long time," he sipped his wine, his gaze falling to Feyre. She shifted in her seat once, her fork laid beside her plate.

        He knew that something was wrong with her. Something that he needed to figure out but ... He was afraid. Afraid that she would say she no longer wanted this. She no longer wanted him.

        What if she didn't love him anymore? What if she had only thought that she had loved him? Why hadn't she told him any of this? He felt as though he was trapped behind an iron door, its frame built in the ash wood that kept his magic from being of any use. Yet, he said nothing. He just kept building walls around the two of them. Around her. He would protect her against anything in this world.

        Even if it killed him, he would do anything in the world for Feyre.

        "The wedding is going to be the talk of the Spring Court for centuries. Feyre has made exceptional choices." The way she said it made Tamlin wonder if Feyre really had made any of the decisions. He liked to think that she had. That she'd been inspired by anything.

        He didn't like seeing her so at odds. He didn't like watching her lose herself to the demons that plagued her mind. But he didn't know how to help. He was trying to make things seem normal but he thought it was making things worse. It was too confusing. Too much and not enough.

        "I would expect nothing less," he could feel his claws trying to poke out. His excitement radiating through him and bringing the beast forward. He shoved it down. He would not be reminded of that side of him. Not now.

        Tamlin looked at Feyre, watching her as she stared down at her plate. Did she want this wedding? Did he?

        The thought almost made him choke. Of course, he wanted to marry Feyre. It was all that he had ever wanted. She meant more to him than anyone else ever would. There was nothing to suggest wanting anyone else. If one ignored the bond that was between himself and Lyriel. He needed to send her away. It was getting too challenging to separate the bond from his actual thoughts, his desires.

        But seeing her go was one of the few things he found himself dreading. They had met on accident. What if they never crossed paths again?

        She would be out there, somewhere. She'd fall in love with someone else. She'd be happy without him. But did he want that? Did he want Lyriel to be on her own? No. He didn't. He hated the fact that he didn't. Feyre was supposed to be the one he cared for. Lyriel was just supposed to be a means to an end. A stronger connection to the Winter Court. That was all she could ever be to him. 

        He just wondered if that was for the best. Or just selfish bargaining with fate. Surely the Mother wouldn't continue testing him this way.

        Fate seemed to hate Tamlin Rosehall. He'd nearly killed his mother during his birth, had been the third brother and yet somehow managed to become the High Lord, then he'd been cursed for not wanting to be a tyrant's plaything. He truly did not see how fate was kind to anyone. Maybe he had just drawn the short stick in life. Or the Mother had been testing him. Growth from adversity and all of that bullshit that the priestesses always talked about.

        "If My Lord will excuse me," Lyriel's smooth voice pulled him from his thoughts. He could see a tense look behind her eye, her body poised to strike. He wondered who her target would have been. "But I must finish a letter for my general. Thank you for dinner."

        She did not wait for him to excuse her, nor did she bow to him. Lyriel slipped from the room as silent as a wraith. Ianthe's eyes tracking her every movement.

        Feyre did not wait long to excuse herself. Tamlin wanted to ask her to stay, but knew that he would be pushing it. Let her have the time she needed. He was trying to do what he thought was best. But none of it seemed to actually help her.

        The dining room felt smaller when it was just himself, Ianthe, and Lucien. For some reason, there was a tension in the room. He knew that Ianthe had eyes for Lucien but he did not think it was that important. He should have. Just based on how Lucien seemed to be avoiding looking at her.

        "That Lie woman ... She's imprudent," Ianthe stated as she picked up her glass of wine. She took a sip, a droplet of red dripping from her lips, before speaking once more. "She doesn't show you or our court the necessary respect. Surely Kallias wouldn't approve of her behavior."

        "What are you suggesting?" Tamlin questioned, ignoring the pounding in his chest. He knew Ianthe was smart. He knew she could put together secrets, but he didn't think she'd ever figure this out. Cauldron help him if she did.

        He knew that Ianthe would never turn against him. But what would she do if she found out he wasn't following the path the Mother had set for him? Surely she would be livid.

        "Punishment of course," Ianthe smiled at him. "Nothing too severe of course, that isn't our decision. But at least banishment. A year or two at least. Maybe longer if you feel like it's wise."

        "We can't risk Kallias seeing it as an insult," Lucien spoke up, a scowl marring the handsome features of his face.

        "We'll send word explaining the situation," Ianthe seemed almost giddy. "We explain that we won't take this as an affront to the Spring Court or to the Cursebreaker. Kallias will know that we still want friendship."

        Tamlin said nothing, staring at the plate that sat in front of him. Was this what they needed to do? Would he sell out Lyriel just to keep Ianthe happy? He didn't know what to do. If he kept Lyriel around, it could mean being found out. But sending her away? It felt like he was ripping something out of himself.

        "Lucien," he said after a moment. "What do you think?"

        "Lyriel has gone against a majority of what you've said," he had always been truthful with Tamlin. It was one of the reasons why he had become a brother to the man. "But I don't think she does it to insult you. She's a soldier, she isn't one for court life. It's obvious in the way she holds herself. Punishing her for that might just show the other Courts that the suspicions they hold of us are accurate."

        "Yes," Ianthe sighed as she looked at Lucien, daggers in her eyes. "But even a soldier should know to respect her betters. She has shown Tamlin nothing but disrespect. Not to mention the other members of this court."

        What had Lyriel said to Ianthe? It had to have been something intense. Or it could have just been some simple snide remark. He did not know Lyriel well, but he knew that she had a tongue on her. One that he sometimes debated asking her to still. If he didn't know she would verbally attack him for it, he would have.

        Tamlin gently ran his fingertips up and down the wooden arms of his chair. Small designs being drawn by the forefingers, followed by straight lines with his pinkies. What was he to do about Lyriel Chaeren? The question had haunted him since the moment they met. She was rash, she didn't have any notion of respect. Although he was certain that was because they were mates. Not because she was actually disrespectful.

        An ocean of unease rolled in his gut as he thought over his options. Keep Lyriel there. Keep her trapped in a home that she didn't want, make her watch as he loved another woman without ever giving her a second thought. Or let her go. Banish her from the Spring Court and never see her again. Let her fade into the background, a distant heart-breaking memory. He could let her be the woman she wanted to be. He could let her find someone who would love that frozen fire that burned inside of her. 

        The thought of her loving anyone else killed him.

        The thought of her suffering in silence killed him.

        Tamlin knew that he could not make a decision that did not hurt either of them. He couldn't fathom letting Feyre go. He couldn't think about running his Court into the ground. Although it seemed that was all he was good at doing. How would the Spring Court handle any of this? He didn't know. He didn't possibly know how they could weather a broken High Lord.

        So far they had managed. But managing was not thriving. He wanted the Spring Court to thrive.

        Feyre was the only way they would ever thrive.

        "The wedding is in two weeks," he spoke slowly, the image of the in-control High Lord that they all wanted. "After the wedding, I'll take care of Lyriel. Banishment ... It'll send a message that the Spring Court is not to be ridiculed." It would also tell her that he couldn't pick her. No matter what they both felt.

        Thunder boomed, the sound reverberating around the manor. To Tamlin, it had always been a lullaby. One that he had grown up knowing all the words to. The thunderstorms in the Spring Court had always seemed to sing to him. The chaos that raged outside matched the chaos that raged inside of him. It felt as though the Mother was finally seeing him. Seeing him and giving him some sort of message.

        It had never been one he had worked out.

        Tamlin had not gone to Feyre's room that night. He had not wanted to after coming to the decision of what to do with Lyriel. He hadn't wanted to see anyone. Holing himself up in his personal bedroom with paperwork and correspondence was a good excuse. As good as any, really.

        It seemed that all he did anymore was listen to lord's bitch about his taxes and tell the other High Lords how the Spring Court was fairing. He didn't know if he could handle it for much longer. But he did. Because he had to. If he didn't, it would all fall on Lucien's shoulders. What use was he then? 

        He felt something through the bond. A strong sense of urgency, a sense of fear. The beast inside of him wanted to run to her, to wrap his arms around her and protect her. But he didn't. He just stayed as he was, gripping his pen so tightly it felt as though it would burst.

        He did not have to come to her.

        The door opened and she slipped inside. Trembling as though she had been soaked to the bone. She didn't appear wet. She appeared fine. Just ... Terrified.

        "What are you doing here?" He growled out, fighting with the urge to protect her and the want to protect his own space. He didn't know what the balance was. Didn't know who to be for her. For anyone really.

        "I'll leave as soon as it's over," she snapped at him.

        The bite in her voice made him recoil. Maybe she was disrespectful as Ianthe had said. Or maybe she was just a girl who was scared. Considering how he hadn't seen her anything other than collected and arrogant, he doubted she knew what fear was. 

        "Lyriel," he sounded tired as he looked at her. "That doesn't explain why you're here."

        She didn't answer, her back turned to him as she sat on the edge of his bed. It should have made him mad to see her sitting there. But it didn't. He was too tired to be mad. Too curious as to why she had shown up in his room. 

        "Lyriel," the way her name left his lips was softer than it had ever been. He couldn't hide his concern for her. Even if he wished to.

        "I ... I just," Lyriel's arms shook as she slid her boots off. "Don't repeat this ever." She turned to glare at him, but it was halfhearted. The fire was not blazing. She looked more like a girl than a soldier.

        "I won't." Tamlin knew at that moment that he would keep this conversation between them. "Just ... Tell me what's going on."

        Lyriel cleared her throat, moving to lay in his bed. He had not told her she could. Yet, he found that he was too concerned to care. "I feel safer when I'm around you."

        No one had ever told him that. He often felt as though he scared people away. He thought they ran from him. No one had ever run towards him. His stomach churned. He wished she would have said anything else. How could he stand to push her away when she was the first person who had ever needed him?

        This whole thing was becoming a complicated mess.

        He needed to tell her to leave. To tell her to get the hell out and never come back. 

        But how could he? She was curled into a ball, making herself so small that she may have disappeared. He didn't ignore how she buried her face in the pillow he used. Nor how she was shivering. 

        Something within him broke at the sight. 

        Tamlin slowly stood, making his way over to the bed. He sat down beside her, resisting the urge to rest his hand on her shoulder. He stared at the wall behind her. Keeping his thoughts on something other than the woman who he wanted to wrap in his embrace.

        "What's going on, Lye," he felt somewhat odd calling her by the nickname. However, it felt as though this was the moment to comfort her. To tell her things were going to be alright. Even if he could not make things better. "I've never seen you like this before."

        Lyriel kept her back to him, staring at the same wall he was. "We don't need to talk."

        Something within him felt as though it was falling from a great height. He didn't know why she was pushing him away while she ran to him. Was he that despicable? Was he someone that she wanted to just shove as far away as she possibly could? He didn't know. He didn't want to know either.

        "I think we do," he told her, still not daring to touch her. "Something's upset you."

        A loud clap of thunder shook the windows, Lyriel ducked her head under the blankets. He could hear her voice but he could not make out the words she spoke. 

        Tentatively, he reached out through the bond. He would not touch her physically but he would use the bond to his advantage. He sent feelings of comfort and peace, wrapping her in whatever protection that he possibly could. Yet, he knew this would not be enough. She could feel comforted but if she was anticipating every crash, every bang she would more than likely continue to feel anxious.

        "You know you shouldn't be here, right?" Tamlin regretted the words the second they left his mouth. No one had ever said that he knew how to speak with people. Lyriel would be no exception.

        "I said we didn't have to talk," he heard her voice from under the blanket. At least she was speaking to him.

        "You're in my room, Lyriel." Tamlin sighed. "I'll decide if we talk or not."

        "I already told you the truth. What more do you want from me?" She peeked out from under the blanket. He had to swallow down the lump that had formed in his throat.

        "I just want to know where your heads at." He admitted, fighting the urge to run his fingers through her hair. To pull her into his lap and hold her until the storm passed. She wasn't Feyre. She wasn't the one he was supposed to hold. Hell, he didn't even do that with Feyre. She didn't need him to.

        Lyriel didn't seem to need him at all most of the time. She was ice. Unmoving and unchallenged. More a glacier than a woman. But as the lightning illuminated her face, he saw her for what she was. A woman who had been forced to grow up too fast. There was a hint of childish fear deep within the depths of her frozen eyes. Her left eyebrow twitched slightly. He noticed there was a new cut in it, probably from training that morning.

        There were bags under her eyes, darker than anything he'd ever seen on a High Fae. Had she been sleeping? Had she taken care of herself? Or was she just that miserable in the Spring Court? He'd caused this. He knew that he had.

        "My head is perfectly fine," it did not sound like the truth. "I just have an issue with storms."

        "What's the issue?" Tamlin wanted to ask if she had been sleeping. If she'd been eating enough. All the same questions he knew he should ask Feyre. All the questions he had been avoiding answering when anyone asked him.

        "I don't like them." It was a guarded answer. There was something more there. But Tamlin did not want to press. Not when she was holding herself so tightly, not when his blankets were wrapped around her like a shield. Besides, soon enough he would not be the one worrying about Lyriel Chaeren.

        He knew that he needed to get her as far from the Spring Court as possible. He knew that she deserved to find someone who would love her as he loved Feyre. Yet, the idea of her being away from him made him want to vomit. The thought of another person wrapping their arms around her and protecting her when the winds raged and thunder rattled made him see red. He needed her. He needed her to need him. Yet, he couldn't have her. It was unfair to both of them to keep her around.

        Mother above he never wanted to let her go.

        "You'll find the Spring Court gets them quite often," it was true enough. Tamlin knew he would tear apart his own Court brick by brick if it meant keeping the storms away. If it meant keeping Lyriel safe. "But they don't last long."

        "If you're determined to have a discussion, can we please talk about something else?" Her twitching eyebrow rose just slightly. The sight nearly comical. 

        "What do you want to talk about?"

        "Anything," Lyriel's voice was strong despite the shaking of her body. "Why haven't you punished me for training?"

        "I'm more afraid of what you'll do if I keep you from it," Tamlin admitted with a slight nod of his head. "I saw that look in your eyes when you came into my office and I ... I didn't want to be the reason it was gone."

        When the morning came, he would regret the words. Until then, she needed him. Maybe he needed her. He could allow himself to speak the truth to her. For one night. While she was scared, defenseless, he would be honest. 

        "No one's going to break me," she sounded determined. "Not even you."

        It wasn't said out of hate. He knew she meant that he could choose Feyre. That he was free to choose who he loved, who he gave his heart to. She wouldn't let his decision be the end of her. He didn't know how much he needed that knowledge.

        Tamlin slowly took her hand. It was wrapped in the blanket and hard to grasp, but he still took it. Her hand was cold, even though the blankets. Ice ran in her veins while the first blooms of spring ran in his. The Mother had played a cruel joke.

        The two fell into an easy silence, Tamlin continuing to send comfort through the bond. Her hand slowly warming while he held it. His own roaring mind quieted as she held onto him. He felt as though he could finally breathe again. As if some heavy weight had left him.

        "Tam," her voice was soft, muffled with the early onset of sleep. "Will you stay with me?" 

        His heart seemed to slow as he heard her question. He knew what his answer should be. That he would go to Feyre and spend the rest of the night with her. That Lyriel would be leaving after the wedding so him staying did not matter. But he knew the truth. He had always known.

        "Always." 

        As Lyriel drifted into an easy sleep, Tamlin came to a realization. It didn't matter who wanted her gone. It didn't matter how he felt about her or Feyre. Lyriel Chaeren was there to stay. Even if he could not give her the life she deserved, he could not throw her to the side. 

        Tamlin Rosehall was a selfish bastard.

#tamlin #tamlin defense squad #Tamiel #tamlin x oc #tamlin rosehall #Lyriel #lyriel chaeren #tamlin x lyriel #lyriel is just here to give tamlin migraines #lyriel is a badass #tamlin is a bastard #spring court #winter court #enemies to lovers #soulmate #mate au #they're so cute i hate it #tamlin fluff

[traincat]

I’ve read Waid and Hickman’s FF runs and am currently reading Zdarsky’s 2 in One. I’m planning on eventually reading the Lee/Kirby run. Can I ask, what other runs would you recommend? Is Claremont’s good? Sorry for bothering.

I LOVE Waid and Hickman’s Fantastic Four runs, and Zdarsky’s Marvel Two-In-One was excellent to the point where one of my lingering disappointments is that Marvel brought the Fantastic Four back in a way that prematurely cut off Zdarksy’s 2n1. I know I said I wanted them back but wow did we all get monkey’s paw’d on that one. Zdarsky did really excellent stuff with both Ben and Johnny and the multiverse hopping was honestly fun and interesting. Lee/Kirby is also, in my opinion, just a really terrific run -- it lays the groundwork for not only the future of the Fantastic Four but a lot of big concepts for the Marvel Universe in general, and I think it holds up really well by modern day storytelling standards. Lee’s sense of humor works well with the retrofuturistic vibe and Kirby’s art is always wonderful. In particular I think it’s interesting to look back on The Galactus Trilogy (Fantastic Four #48-50) as the granddaddy of all event comics, for better or worse. 

Claremont -- okay, I love Claremont’s run, let me start off by saying that. Claremont’s run follows on what is in my opinion one of the worst periods of Fantastic Four canon, and I mean bad to the point where the literal canon at that point was that to get things back on track the Fantastic Four had to be put in a bubble universe. Claremont’s run kicks in one or two issues after their return to the main Marvel universe and it’s so fun. I think Fantastic Four is one of those series that kind of flourishes in adversity and Claremont’s run starts off with the Fantastic Four trying to regain their footing in a world that had assumed them dead, their Baxter Building gone, living in a warehouse property. Claremont, in my opinion, also has one of the best if not the best handle on characterization for a lot of key Fantastic Four figures, including Johnny, Reed, and Sue. His Ben is also very good, but I think Ben in particular tends to be an easier sell for a lot of comic book writers -- the outcast, the gruff man, the comic relief. He’s easier to identify with than Reed, the Smartest Man on Earth, or Johnny, defined by his youth and beauty and queercoded since the ‘60s, or Sue, by sheer factor of being a woman. So I think a lot of writers identify with Ben first and foremost and put the most love and care into his depiction, whereas the others are a little easier for them to leave by the wayside. Which isn’t a bad thing -- I love that one of the most beloved comic book characters is also one of Marvel’s few canonically Jewish characters, but there is a wealth of truly excellent Ben canon in comparison to the other three. Especially with Johnny, there’s no one else who has written for Fantastic Four who has put nearly as much thought and detail into Johnny’s relationship with his powers, both the positive and the negative, as Claremont has, even reworking the origin story from Lee and Kirby’s joyous scene of Johnny flaming on for the first time into a deeply traumatizing incident -- being sixteen and traumatized and bursting into uncontrollable flames. 

(Fantastic Four v3 #11) There’s also a lot of women in Claremont’s run! A valid criticism of Fantastic Four canon is that by its initial core team makeup it tends to be lacking in female characters compared to some other big Marvel staples, but Claremont brings in a ton, from Reed’s college friend and fellow genius Alyssa Moy (who has been done dirty by pretty much every other writer who’s ever touched her, including Waid and Hickman) to multiversal bounty hunter Bounty to the most platonic of Johnny’s gal pals Caledonia to Valeria Von Doom, a “time dancing” teenage incarnation of the baby Sue lost back in Byrne’s run, who sets up baby Val’s eventual return. Claremont is also king of Reed vs Doom setups -- if you haven’t read his Fantastic Four vs X-Men miniseries, I highly recommend it, and he brings a lot of the two sides of the same coin energy from that into his Fantastic Four run. 

The downside of Claremont’s run is that the plot is always there and always running and I could not explain half of it if you paid me. Things certainly happen! Like all the time! For seemingly no apparent reason! Stuff gets set up and then it’s not resolved and now we are in Latveria! I don’t think this is necessarily all that detrimental -- the run is still massively fun and the characterization is always fresh and interesting. It’s just that sometimes you have no idea what’s going on and you have to roll with it. And then sometimes you do know what’s going on but in the way where you know Claremont was just writing it because it’s his kink. Which is like, whatever. As authorial ids go, you can pretty consistently do worse than Claremont’s, I’ll give him that. So I do recommend on it the whole, as long as you’re not going into expecting the kind of plots either Hickman or Waid brought the book. Claremont’s is kind of like “stuff happens and it’s either weird or fun so just don’t pay too much attention to it.” 

Aside from Claremont, I feel like I generally like far more Fantastic Four runs than I dislike -- but also I don’t hate Millar’s run, which is honestly bad, so it’s possible I’m just very forgiving with the Fantastic Four. I really like Robinson’s run, which is the last run before the Great Fantastic Four Drought of 2015-2018. It’s short, self-contained, and devoted entirely to one story, so it’s pretty tightly written, with good characterization and some very shiny art by Leonard Kirk. Straczynski’s run is decent enough for the fact that it intersects with Civil War -- I think he does his best to get into the heads of the characters re: their actions in Civil War -- and it leads directly into Dwayne McDuffie’s run, another brief one where Black Panther and Storm take over for Reed and Sue. Very fun. Marvel Knights 4 is also a fairly recent run that’s got some strong moments in it, although I feel it’s a little inconsistent in its handling of the characters. It’s still fun, though. For an older, longer run, I like Simsonson’s -- the art is very dynamic, even if the storyline kind of gets too involved with itself. 

(FF #337)

I recommend Byrne’s run with the caveat that there’s plenty to dislike about it and plenty of reasons to avoid it, not the least of it being Byrne himself as a creator and a person. It’s heavily sexist in how it deals with Sue, it retcons a huge age gap into Sue and Reed’s relationship, and Byrne’s early departure sets up my all time least favorite Fantastic Four story. (Though that one is Roger Stern and later Tom DeFalco’s fault.) It is historic as Fantastic Four runs go, though, and there’s a lot in later runs that’s built over it or references it or borrows from it. So it’s a rec with a lot of caveats and I also understand why people might give it a skip -- I think it’s more important for an understanding of the greater body of Fantastic Four canon and the impact it had than for the actual run itself. I do think Byrne has some very interesting subtext with Johnny, although it never come to fruition, and while his Sue falls victim to a lot of sexism, I really like what he does with the character of Frankie Raye, who like poor Alyssa Moy I don’t think has ever gotten really good treatment ever since.

I have mixed feelings on both Millar and Fraction’s runs, not in the least because I think they end very similarly -- and that Millar did it better, which doesn’t say great things. Millar’s run is kind of like a trashy popcorn flick version of Fantastic Four; it’s not actually good, but I can’t say I don’t like the terrible eldritch monster in Scotland Christmas arc (Fantastic Four #564-565) and I’m sort of into future Sue. Fraction, on the other hand, takes a space road trip and makes it boring, which is the greatest Fantastic Four sin of all. He’s one of the rare writers who I think actually writes a bad Ben Grimm -- not the least because his run goes out of its way to try and label it Ben’s own fault that he was transformed into a monster. I do really like his FF (just the initials) though. 

The only Fantastic Four runs I can say I really truly dislike are Tom DeFalco’s and Dan Slott’s, which sort of unfortunate because DeFalco’s is both long influential (I have no idea why because it’s honestly terrible like in terms of storytelling) and because Slott’s is happening right now. DeFalco comes onto the book on Fantastic Four #356 and stays on until Fantastic Four #416, at which point Marvel hit a literal retcon button to get out of the mess he’d made. (This leads into Fantastic Four v2, which is largely skippable -- it’s basically a mid-90s retelling of a bunch of early Fantastic Four stories that leads back into the FF heading back to the main universe.) DeFalco’s responsible for the Skrull retcon in the JohnnyAlicia marriage and for dragging that out for over 50 issues, the entirety of which feel like he was writing without a plan or outline or literally anything, and I have never felt like a comic book was attempting to gaslight me through its own incompetence or refusal to commit to things it set up itself as badly as I do with DeFalco’s run. (I like other non-Fantastic Four Tom DeFalco runs. I just hate this one.) Dan Slott’s run is just 25 issues and counting of badly written emotionless unfunny pages blandly stapled together and I so badly want Marvel to kick him off the book for its own good.

#almosteverythingnerd #fantastic four #traincat talks comics #comic recs #long post/

[flying-nightwing]

Decorum (2/3)

Part 1 > Part 3 

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader (ish), Jason Todd x reader

Word count: 4010

Warnings: same as part 1 + violence

Summary: When it all went down, your knight in shiny armour was the last person you wanted to see.

It was the first sun rays peeking through the lazily closed blinds that woke Dick up from his sleep. Barbara wasn’t there, but he still smiled. She had to work early, but she still allowed him to spend the night with her despite how tired she’d be in the morning. If only he didn’t have to hide her, if only she could replace… 

He rolled his eyes. His wife--it left a not so good taste in his mouth when he said the word--had tried to call him when he was with Barbs, almost ruining the mood. Almost. He had just turned off his phone after the third call, certain that whichever matter she called to complain about could wait to the morning. With sleep still in his eyes, he reached for his phone and turned it on, knowing he’d have to face her wrath for ignoring her calls eventually. But what he definitely wasn’t prepared for was the sheer amount of notifications on his lock screen. He blinked awake and took it all in.

13 missed calls and 4 new voicemails from: wife

2 missed calls and 2 voicemails from: Todd

His eyebrows knit together as he listened to Jason’s messages first. All of this was… Unusual.

“Grayson. You’re such an asshole you know that? Take your fucking responsibilities for once”

Dick rolled his eyes. Did Jason call him just to say that? Well, he wouldn’t be surprised. He skipped to the next message.

“You let your fucking wife get back home by foot for some pussy, and now she doesn’t call me back. She should have been home by now but I can’t reach her. Fix this”

Hold on, hold on. You went there by car, not by foot. And you called Jason? His growing confusion compelled him to quickly switch to your messages as unease settled in his guts. You usually never called, especially not his brothers. And never 13 times either.

“Dick, uh, it’s me. My car has broken down on the road 49, about twenty minutes drive from the mansion. I tried a taxi but I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. Could you pick me up? … Call me when you get this”

Uh. He pressed the next one.

“Dick. It’s me again. Don’t bother coming, I’m walking home. Hope you have fun tonight”

There was your snark. He rolled his eyes, figuring you were just too pissed at him to call back Jason. But still, he pressed next message.

“Dick, I think I’m being followed. Please call me if you get this”

This one didn’t sound like you. Well, it was your voice, but he had never heard it like this before. It was nervous, even terrified. You did not do emotional vulnerability, not ever, so something must have felt wrong. But he told himself you had just been paranoid, and that you were safe and sound home. With hesitation, he went to your last voicemail.

“Someone’s behind me. They’re gaining on me and--”

It was followed by a thud, then silence. His ears were ringing as he hurried to dial your number, it must have been a prank to get back to him. Yes, you wanted to scare him to get back at him, nothing more. But you didn’t answer. Not on the first call, not on any call. 

He jumped out of bed and hurried to dress, not bothering if he looked like a mess. At this moment he assumed the worst, and a gut feeling told him he was right.

---------

You woke up with pain in your wrist and your neck, and a blurry vision that didn’t allow you to see exactly where you were just yet. But as the previous night events came back to you, you understood that wherever you were, it wasn’t home, and you were in danger. A man was sitting in front of you, observing you. He had graying hair and an eyepatch, but what stood out was the blade in his hands, casually resting on his thigh. No, this can’t be happening. 

“Good morning miss Grayson”

You felt tears prick your eyes as you tried to look anywhere but at him. “If it’s money you want, I’ll give it to you, I swear--”

“No, no” He interrupted you softly. “I have enough money, I don’t care about yours or your husband’s for that matter”

You frowned in confusion. Beside your money, you didn’t do anything to piss off anyone. “Then why am I here?”

He took a moment, observing you curiously. He leaned on his chair and stroked his beard. “I want to talk to you about your husband” He began. “Him and I have unfinished business”

Your heart sank at his words. Not only Dick made your life miserable every single day of your life, but now he would get you killed. You didn’t want to die, not like this, not because of Dick. You felt the tears run down your cheeks as he grabbed a folder on the table beside him and drew out a picture. He held it in front of your face, forcing you to look at it. It was taken through a window, in a less than ideal angle, but the image was clear enough to know exactly what was going on.

Dick, shirtless with Barbara on his laps kissing like there was no tomorrow. 

You didn’t flinch, you only looked away. The man observed you some more before he clicked his tongue, lowering the picture and putting it away.

“You knew already”

“Yeah well” You spat in half shame, half anger, avoiding looking at him. You knew of it, it still didn't make it hurt any less to see the visual proof of him actively choosing someone else. More tears, only tears, to blur away the mental image. You shook your head and sniffed. “You’ve got the wrong person if you’re trying to hurt him. He doesn’t love me, never did and never will”

Once again, he decided not to answer just yet but to keep staring at you. It was creepy, it seemed like he was trying to read right through you. There was a fascination in his eyes, like he couldn't quite get your character, but he was working on it. He tilted his head to the side and hummed.

“But you wish he did” He spoke in wonder. “Don't you?”

You gritted your teeth at his affirmation, one you had refused to admit to yourself for so long. God, had you wished you would be the one he smiled to. He was attractive, and the smile he reserved for those around you--but never you--made you wish you could make him happy. You had tried so hard to be pleasant, to be someone he could settle with despite the circumstances, Lord knows you did. You knew he was funny from his lively conversations with Tim and Damian you overheard, and loving from his complete devotion to Barbara. But all he had ever shown you was coldness and disappointment, and the feeling that you would never be enough. Your kidnapper was right and you hated it.

“Just… Get it over with” You mumbled, knowing you were no use anymore to him now that the truth was out. “He won't come for me. Better not waste your time on someone that doesn't matter to him”

“I don't know if this is ironically funny or just sad” He sighed, standing up from his chair and walking to a small table some feet away. “Almost makes me feel sorry for what's to come”

He came back toward you with a sharp looking blade, and that's when you started to truly panic. You thought downplaying it would make it let you go, but he was determined to hurt him through you. And this time, it would get physical.

“Since blackmail didn't work, let's try something else that might”

------

Jason sat on the counter, staring at Dick pace around in the kitchen. His legs were dangling, itching to kick him every time he passed in front of him. But he didn't, not yet anyway. It was the most he's ever seen his half brother concerned for his wife. Actually, it was the first time he's seen him concerned for her at all. That was new, and Jason was doubting his motive. 

"It's probably Slade" Dick finally spoke. "No ransom note, silence radio. It must be him"

"Duh" He rolled his eyes, and Dick glared at his nonchalance.

"My wife's been kidnapped" He deadpanned. "Aren't you going to help?"

"Tell me" Jason jumped off the counter, ignoring the question. He went and grabbed the orange juice and took a sip. "How many times did you wish, and I quote, to get rid of her for good?" 

"It's not the time to be smug" Dick grunted, knowing very well he was at fault there. He had ignored his wife in time of need to, as Jason so eloquently put it in his voicemail, get some pussy. "We need to find her"

"We?" He raised an eyebrow. Dick had called him in a frenzy earlier, and he had came back as soon as he could to Gotham. But it was not for his brother that he did, far from it. "I think you misunderstood. I'm here to guilt trip you until you fix your mess, then provide her moral support while you go fuck yourself"

Dick stopped in front of Jason and squared up at the challenge hanging on his words. Despite Jason being slightly taller, he didn't back down. Finally, he stomped away, leaving his brother to take a long sip of the carton in his hands. 

"I hope Barbs was worth it!"

"Fuck you!"

--------

"One cut on her pretty face for each hour you don't show up"

The words on the video he sent your husband keep replaying in your head, over and over again as it was the only thing you could even think about. The burning of his blade was still very much present on your skin where he had made the first cut, it wasn't too deep but enough to make it bleed down your cheek. The salt of your tears created a displeasing tingle where the skin had been severed, and at that moment you were convinced you would die here, disfigured by a maniac who had against your husband. You were tired, in pain and all you wanted was to be back home, alone in your little universe. 

You pictured your favourite book of the moment on the table, the one right under the windows that would let the sun in. You'd have a coffee and a bowl of cherries, and you would spend afternoons reading to get your mind off everything. The story would more often than not be about this woman and a brooding, charming love interest learning to love each other through adversity. They would always end up together, happy forever after. 

Oh, did you wish to be them. 

But you never could. You never could because Dick never would. He was stubborn, he didn't care for you. In his eyes, you were the woman who ruined his life and nothing more. He had been with another woman for the entire duration of your marriage, and his affair had lead you to be kidnapped. His carelessness lead you here, and he probably didn't even want to come for you. You'd only be finally out of his way, and Gotham would only make him a martyr out of it. Two birds one stone, as they say. 

"Two hours, miss Grayson" 

You tried to wriggle out of your restraints as your kidnapper stalked toward you with the same blade he had made the first cut. But it was pointless, you weren't strong enough to fight him. So you were left to scream as the sharp metal pierced your skin just above the last mark. 

And that's when glass shattered all around you. The blade paused in your skin for a second before leaving it, before the man let go of you completely. A blur of black and blue passed in front of your eyes and jumped on the one eyed man, attacking him in a way you could only assume as brutal. While you were trying to make sense of what was happening in front of your eyes, someone else crouch at your side. You were about to scream, but you felt the restraints on your wrist being cut free, then on the other side as well.

The first thing you saw when you dared to look beside you was a leather jacket, a familiar one. Without thinking twice, you threw your arms around Jason, holding tight. 

"Come on darling, we need to get out of here" He muttered, helping you up on your feet. 

"Wait-- We gotta…" You tried to turn around, but Jason wouldn't let you. "He has…"

"Grayson will be fine" He scoffed as you felt your head spin. The sudden movement made you dizzy, and you felt yourself falling unconscious. "Oh shit"

The last thing you saw before blacking out was Jason hurrying to catching you before you hit the floor.

------

Dick had driven you to the hospital. He hadn't accounted on Jason showing up, and he was surprised he hadn't taken the matter in his own hands and drove you here himself. But Jason understood it would raise less questions if an actual detective brought you back, especially since the whole city had been made aware of your kidnapping. So he left the honors to Dick, knowing there would be plenty other occasions to turn the knife in the wound. 

You were still unconscious, but the doctors had said you would make a full recovery. You were just really dehydrated, and probably in shock after the events. Dick was sitting at your side, rehearsing in his head his apology to you. He didn't know where to begin, he hadn't expected to feel remorses at all. He didn't even know why he cared about getting you back; at first, he thought it was for the same reason he became Nightwing, or even Robin in the first place. Because he had to help you. Because he wouldn't Slade walk all over him. The feeling was supposed to go away once he got you to safety, it was supposed to be gone by now. But staring at your unconscious form now, it only grew worse. He had done his job, so why was he staying by your side? Why was he feeling so bad about it? 

It made him think about that one time you helped him clean his wounds. It had been a tough night with the guys, and he hadn't had the energy to fight with you. He was bruised and battered, and you had walked on him trying to disinfect a cut on his back. You hadn't said a word as you had gently grabbed the swab in his hands, and had done all the work for him. You had never asked questions about Nightwing, nor had you ever told his secret. Why didn't you? Why had you tried so hard to be nice to him when he was a jerk? Why couldn't you be a jerk too and make it easier?

He remember the look in your eyes a few nights ago when you had snapped. It was like everything holding you back had disappeared, like he had pushed you over the edge. He had been trying to do that for so long, but it hadn't felt as good as he had hoped. He had felt bad, even. He knew your public image was literally all that you had left, and he was trying to sabotage it as well. He realized now how horrible he had been. Why did he do that? Why? How had he been so afraid of exploring outside the safe zone Barbs provided him, that it made him actively ruin someone else's life?

He glanced at you and took a deep breath. He would make it right this time. He wanted to make it right--

"Howdy, Dick in Chief" 

His head snapped toward the door, where Jason stood with that look on his face, letting him know he was in for some shit eating. Dick rolled his eyes and sat back in the chair facing you. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Jason shrugged, taking this as an invitation to come in. Not that he needed one, he would have came in no matter his answer. “I’m here for her. I doubt you’re the face she wants to see when she wakes up. Mine’s better anyway”

Dick sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Why do you even care?” He asked. “Last time I checked you didn’t like her any more than I did”

“You should check more often then” He hummed, stopping at the foot of the bed and sending you a glance. “I thought she was only one of your stuck up fan girl, but turns out she’s actually nice. And that ass…”

Dick glared at him, and he held up his hands in surrender.  

“Why do YOU care?” He turned the question around. “It’s past ten. Shouldn't you be inches deep in Barbs right now anyway?”

“Fuck you Todd!”

“All I’m saying is that you missed your chance, Dick Supreme” He leaned on a rolling pole, then stumbled back upright when his weight pushed it back. He looked behind him at it, then shook his head and returned his attention on his brother. “She got kidnapped because you were out fucking your girlfriend instead of landing a helping hand for once. There’s no coming back from that, so why don’t you take the night off and let Jay Bird handle it uh?”

Dick stood up wordlessly and stomped out of the room, sending you one last glance before disappearing behind the door frame. Jason watched him go, waited a few seconds more and sighed. “How long have you been awake?”

Slowly, you opened your eyes and nodded a silent thank to Jason not to have revealed that you were listening. Dick couldn’t even notice you had woken up, but it didn’t surprise you. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about it. “About 20 minutes, I don’t know”

Jason plopped in the seat beside your bed previously occupied by his brother and smiled at you. “Was I right?”

You nodded again. The last person you wanted to see right now was Dick.

“Thanks for saying I’m nice” You chuckle came out rasped, but it was still light. “And whatever about my ass… I guess”

“Only the truth for you” He winked, and your chest shook in silent laughter. He sat back in satisfaction, with that little grin on his face. Always the best at making you feel better. “You know what, you should have married me instead of golden dick”

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow in amusement. You knew the whole city would have exploded if it had been him instead of Dick two years ago--he knew it as well--but you wanted to see what joke he would spin out of this shameless flirting.

“Hm mmh” He leaned forward toward you. “I mean, faithfulness wouldn’t have been guaranteed, I guess that’s a given in both scenario, but at least, I would have made it fun”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even though it stung the bandaids on the side of your face. Leave it to Jason to make light of the disaster that was your marriage to Dick Grayson. 

“Why are you laughing? It’s true” At this point, he was laughing too. You hadn’t seen him laugh before, but it was a nice change of pace for once. “There’s a line up for this piece of heaven, but I swear it would have been all yours first”

“Jesus” You dropped your hand on your belly as you caught back your breath. 

“Jason, darling, not Jesus” He corrected. “But hey, I’m flattered you confuse me with the saviour of humanity”

“You dork” You lightly punched his shoulder, and he pretended to recoil like he was actually hurt. “How did I--”

You stopped talking as your eyes caught the TV broadcast in the background. The sound was muted but they were talking about you, your picture and name in bold letter on the screen. Reluctantly, you turned on the sound, ignoring Jason’s weak protests. The smiles and laughter had dropped, and you knew by his now silence that you wouldn’t like what they would show next. Your heart dropped, hoping it wasn’t what you thought it was, but knowing better.

“... The kidnapping of the Gotham socialite wasn’t the only scandal linked to the Wayne family in this tragedy. Anonymous source delivered incriminating pictures of Mr Grayson having an affair with a woman whose face was blurred by whoever took them, which begs the question, was miss Grayson’s disappearance about jealousy, or as a payback for--”

Jason finally had enough and grabbed the remote from your hands, turning off the TV. The one secret you had fought so hard to keep buried had came to the light, just like that. You looked down and sighed, knowing you were done for. Reporters, other high people of Gotham, anyone, would see you as the wife who got cheated on. The wife that couldn’t be enough. And the worst, all the blame would fall again on you, and you only.

“I guess this is what you were trying to tell me back there” Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, darling”

“Not your fault” You mumbled after swallowing the lump in your throat. You couldn’t stay in Gotham anymore. You needed to get out as soon as possible, before--

Someone clearing their throat made you and jason turn toward the door frame, where Dick had a guilty expression on. You guessed he had witnessed the broadcast, but couldn’t see why he seemed to feel so bad about it. Wasn’t it what he had tried to do since day one?

“Can… Could I talk to you?” 

You broke eye contact with your husband to nod at Jason, telling him to leave you two for a moment. Turns out, you needed to talk to him to, briefly. Jason nodded back and stood up before leaving the room, but not before bumping into Dick on his way out. Your husband carefully made his way to the chair and took his place back by your side.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry, for everything. For treating you like shit, for sabotaging you, for hurting you and for getting you in the crossfire of my mistakes” He dove right in, but you weren’t impressed. You crossed your arms against your chest and looked down. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m still asking for it, if you can give it. If not, I won’t hold it against you”

You took a deep breath, and hope filled his eyes. But then, it dropped as soon as it came when you shook your head. “I’m not sure if I could, not now, maybe not ever”

He swallowed.

“I’m going away, I… I need some time” You nodded to yourself. “I need to be out of Gotham and think about myself for a bit”

“Yes, I understand, whatever you need” His voice sounded too hopeful for the truth you knew inside. A pause settled as you debated telling him you didn’t plan on coming back, ever, but he spoke before you could decide. “... Do you think there could be ever a chance for me to make it up to you?

You couldn’t meet his eyes, and you didn’t have the heart to break him like he did to you. You just wanted out as soon as possible, as far as possible from him. He didn’t need you, he just felt bad and you couldn’t go through the same song all over again.

“I don’t know, Dick. I don’t know”

#dick grayson #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson x reader #jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #dc universe #dc #dcu #dc imagine #dc universe imagine #dcu imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #dc titans #dc titans imagine #nightwing #red hood #nightwing imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #nightwing x reader

[jenetica]

A Brief Note from Our Sponsors: Us.

Greetings! If you’re here, it’s likely that you have questions or complaints about our decisions regarding the Calendar Girls series. An ominous start to this discussion, but truly, we welcome you! If you’re here, it means you have been emotionally impacted by our work and, even though this context isn’t the cheeriest, we are so, so grateful you (1) enjoyed our work enough to care about it, and (2) want to develop a better understanding of our process so that you can engage with Calendar Girl more.

First of all, we understand why you’d be upset with us! The cliffhanger at the end of AotM was a DOOZY and leaves a LOT of important questions unanswered, and we left you readers hanging for a LONG time. This post will, hopefully, assuage the worst of your fears without giving away too many plot points.

That being said, please note that there WILL be spoilers ahead. If you want to see the story unfold as we intended, do NOT read this post further. We will tell you now that the post addresses the Deadpool’s identity, our decisions regarding the construction of AotM and the final cliffhanger, our decisions regarding developing the sequel as a prequel, and our plans for future installments. And, naturally, the accusations of “queerbaiting.”

Let’s get started.

QUEERBAITING

It makes sense to open with the most serious issue, so let’s talk about queerbaiting. For anyone here who doesn’t know, queerbaiting is defined as the purposeful insinuation of a homosexual/queer relationship, only to backtrack/subvert that insinuation to avoid the queer relationship. For an example, see: Supernatural from Season 4 and on. 

We have received accusations of queerbaiting for about four years, based exclusively on the reveal at the end of the final chapter. Similarly, we have received complaints that we duped readers into reading hetfic. So, to get things out of the way, yes, Deadpool is Gwen. No, it’s not a trick of the light, or a mistake, or some odd resemblance. They are one and the same. HOWEVER, that does NOT mean that we have queerbaited anyone.

First of all, the tags of the story are honest, and they always have been. AotM is tagged as a “Multi” fic, meaning that there are relationships of multiple orientations involved, and it is tagged with Peter/Gwen as well as Peter/Wade. Careless Whisper is tagged as F/M. We have never suggested or implied that the story would exclusively be slash fiction. We actually left multiple hints that Wade enjoyed femininity, at least as a practice, if not an identity. iFlail and I discussed this issue at length as we wrote/edited AotM and carefully crafted the story with queerbaiting in mind. 

Peter is an unreliable narrator, he always has been, and he always will be. In AotM, Peter assumes Wade is a man and thus, for the purposes of the narrative, Wade is one. The truth, however, is less clean than that. We won’t get into the details here, but safe to say, gender is not binary, it is not permanent, and it is not inexorably linked to one’s biology. Wade has a complicated history and a complicated/unique sense of identity. We have always intended for him to be that way, just as we always intended for him to be notably, pointedly smaller than Peter. 

The accusations of queerbaiting and/or conning readers into reading “het” fic are exclusionary of the greater conversation of gender identity. It was, frankly, disheartening to see so many people assume heterosexuality based exclusively on the last word of AotM. We hope that our work will challenge readers to be more mindful of the expansive world of gender, and to avoid assuming that a specific kind of pairing might involve specific kinds of body parts.

If you have any questions or reservations about our queerbaiting at this point, you are either welcome to keep reading future installments of this work to learn more, or you are welcome to stop altogether. The choice is yours. 

CONSTRUCTING THE STORY ARC - PRESENT, PAST, AND FUTURE

With that hot-button topic out of the way, let’s talk about the greater concept of ending a story of a cliffhanger, our thoughts behind building this series, and our goals for future installments. 

The second part of the Calendar Girl series, Careless Whisper, was written first, and it comes first chronologically. I (Jenetica) initially worked on the story by myself, as an exploration into the concept of “Gwen becoming Deadpool” to see how it might play out. I ended up writing a story I loved, so I moved onto the next part of the story, set four years later. This ended up becoming Angel of the Morning. 

@iflailfic, a good IRL friend of mine from college, came onboard (after I wooed her with several stories worth of porn, as you can see through a jaunt through my posted works) to help me edit. She fell in love with AotM and, as we worked on first draft edits, she floated the idea of AotM coming before Careless Whisper. Honestly, I rejected the idea at first (not sure if she actually knows/remembers that part, lol), because I couldn’t fathom how we would be able to link the parts of the story together. But, eventually, I began to realize her point: AotM introduces our protagonists, develops the “current” world for the series, and has a more dynamic/engaging plot. 

The cliffhanger was a joke at first. My idea. I think my exact words were something like, “LOLOL what if we just ended on ‘GWEN?’ OMG IMAGINE hahahahaha.” But, as we continued to edit… it became the perfect way to end things. Anything that came after that point felt like trash. If we’d expanded any further, we ran the risk of falling headfirst into Part 3 and doubling the size of AotM. Let’s be real, the ending is, all waiting aside, an absolute nuclear bomb on the rest of the story. 

We talked about the likelihood of enraged readers. But we rationalized it by telling each other/ourselves that we had Careless Whisper written, so the wait wouldn’t be too killer.

Best laid plans.

I (Jenetica) take full responsibility for the time it took to start posting again. Over the last four years, I have gone through a number of experiences that challenged my sense of self and pushed me to become a different person, including moving halfway across the country, attending a relatively prestigious law school where I was no longer “the smart kid in the room,” and losing the relationship that I later learned was toxic and abusive. I lost my confidence in a number of ways, including my confidence as a writer. I became terrified that I would never produce anything that lived up to AotM, and that I would disappoint the many (many!) readers demanding answers. Luckily for me, through that adversity I found rewarding friendships, a beautiful partner who treats me the way I’d always fantasized/written about people like me getting treated, and an engaging career that leaves me with enough energy to write. My experiences are mirrored by iFlail, who went through a different, but similarly life-changing, series of events. But through this all, we never lost hope in this story, and we always planned to complete the series. We are wiser, stronger people now, and we both believe that the story will be richer for it. 

Which brings us to now, and our plans for the future. We do NOT intend to wait another four years to post X Gon’ Give It To Ya, the third and final installment of the series. We have spent countless hours brainstorming the plot, and all that’s really left to do is put it to paper. But, for people who are afraid of being burned twice, we will warn you now that Careless Whisper is JUST a prequel. If you want to know what happens after the “Gwen?” reveal, you will not get any answers until XGGITY (which I have, as of just now, decided to pronounce as “Ziggity”). We hope you stick around to watch Careless Whisper unfold, but we will understand if you want to wait until XGGITY to start reading again.

IN CONCLUSION - FINAL THOUGHTS

The Calendar Girl series has received more attention than we’d ever dreamed, and regardless of whether you liked or disliked our work, we want to thank you for taking the time to read it. If you made it to the end of AotM, we did something right, and again, we are so grateful that so many people have stuck with us this far.

We encourage everyone, moving forward, to keep a close eye on the tags that we use for our stories. We may not tag everything relevant, for the sake of preserving mystery about the plot, but we will be sure to tag everything that may be triggering or concerning, like self-harm, violence, or expected brand of romantic/sexual interactions. We will be adding this warning to the beginning of each story in the series.

Additionally, we want to acknowledge that there is a stark difference between legitimate concerns about the story and unfounded attacks on our character. Our decision to make this post is our attempt to dissuade the latter: We are not queerbaiting, and we have no interest in “forcing” people to read content that is not to their taste. However, that doesn’t mean that our execution of AotM, Careless Whisper, and/or XGGITY will be beyond reproach. The conversation on gender politics has evolved tremendously over the years that we’ve been working on this series, and it will undoubtedly continue to evolve as we progress into the future. We encourage constructive (!!!) criticism and open conversation on ways that we can improve our story, even if it involves tweaking published work to avoid mishandling deeply personal issues.

That said, if, after reading this post, you are still upset and/or unconvinced about our intentions for this series, we encourage you to stop reading it. We are not compensated for this work, and we have spent hundreds (probably thousands, by now) of hours striving to make the Calendar Girl series the best that it can be, for our own benefit. We believe that it may be the best fanfiction we will ever produce, and our satisfaction with our work is our priority. We will continue to post with that priority at the forefront, and with the demands of our reader base playing second fiddle. Similarly, we expect our readers to prioritize their needs above all others. We ask for your patience and your kindness moving forward and, if you cannot give us that, you are welcome to close the tab and move on with your life to other ventures that suit your interests better.

For those of you that choose to stay: You are in for a hell of a ride. We are both anxious to get through Careless Whisper, because we are both SO excited to share XGGITY with you. We believe it’s going to knock your socks off. We hope to see you there. 

Thanks, everyone, and happy reading!

#angel of the morning #calendar girl #spideypool #hashtags

[sebastianshaw]

Shaw & Skadi for the kid meme!

Name: Sigvid Skadisson Shaw. I know it should be Shawson BUT FUCK THE RULES. “Sig” is a pretty standard prefix for a lot of Norse names from the word “sigr” meaning “victory” and “vid” from the Old Germanic “widu” for forest. Gender: Masc and male-presenting but beyond that I’m not sure? Trans man? AMAB non-binary? Look, he uses he/him (maybe they too) and people THINK ‘man’ when they look at him, that’s all I know General Appearance: Tall and beefy, he couldn’t NOT be. Medium pale skin that gets even paler in winter but tans easily in summer. Black hair, or so dark brown it might as well be black, and very dark eyes. His hair, unlike both parents and most of his Asgardian brethren, is actually kept short, and while he has a beard, it’s not the big one. The reason for this is functional; short hair is better if you’re spending a lot of time in the wild. Stuff gets stuck in long hair, it can get tangled in branches at the worst times, it’s hot in the summer, and it can literally freeze in the winter if it gets wet. His attire is very much out of a Viking fantasy, but less on the “heavy armor” end of things and more on the “wearing lots of furs and skins” side. He doesn’t look like someone you want to fuck with, but he also doesn’t look like he’s going to war. He carefully avoids any kind of dangling amulets, charms, or other jewelry that could get caught on anything, but he’s got a sort of leather toolbelt containing various survival tools made from wood, bone, etc. Personality: Sigvid, as you might guess from his attire and the reasons for it, is an outdoorsman. Not as a hobby, not as a lifestyle, but an EXISTENCE. He thrives in the natural world as Sebastian does in the business world, finding ways to survive in even the most adverse of situation. Whatever Mother Nature is doing around him, he can not only make it through it, he can work it to his advantage. His closeness to the natural world, his close observation of it, means that he sees both the facts and errors in his father’s mentality. He sees that the strongest predators will pick off the weakest prey, that the winter will take those who do not prepare, that mother animals will neglect and even devour their young if they’re sick or runty. He also sees that prey are more aggressive than predators, how some creatures will adopt and nourish infants that are not their own or even their own species, how some will share their kill with no benefit to themselves, and how even the smallest and most humble animals can make it through things that the larger, so-called stronger ones did not. Sigvid is very pragmatic, like his father, very practical, very self-preservationist. He has to be. But he’s also very spiritual, not in a way that connects to some distant god, but the world around him, to earth and nature. Not some idealized hippie-dippie conception of nature as a loving mother that is always in balance, but an acceptance that it is a greater power that he cannot control, he can only hope to survive at best. It keeps him humble. It also gives him a much wider, more relative perspective on things that is not human-centric, or Asgardian-centric for that matter. My Shaw often says that he admires human accomplishments above all else, that no other animal has built cities, computers, cars, and so on. And he is correct in this. But Sigvid always points out, how many termite mounds has man built? How many times do humans migrate thousands of miles using an innate sense of the Earth’s magnetic fields? How many fish have we hunted by literally sensing the electricity in their bodies? Yes, humans are “the best” if we judge them by standards HUMANS MADE. Judge us by the base standard of any other species, and we flop. Same for judging any species by the standards of any other. Nothing is “more” or “less” evolved than anything else, more complex does not mean better, and nor does being bigger, stronger, meaner, or even smarter mean a species is “better” or “more evolved” either. Survival of the fittest is not about that, nor about individuals; it’s about how well a species fits its environment and niche. A slime mold is just as evolved as a person. Sigvid is very passionate about this, though he’s not the type to speak up most of the time; he’s stoic and saturnine, used to keeping his mouth closed and his thoughts to himself, because most of the time there’s no one to talk to. And that also means he’s learned to exist without the validation and approval of others---ironically, something that is much like his father, learned in a completely different environment.

A lot of this, obviously, comes from Skadi. He was at side her since infancy learning to hunt and track, learning the difference between wood sorrel and white clover, how to tell when a moose is about to charge, and what it means when the woods go quiet. This connects deeply to Skadi’s Jotunn side in particular, which in Norse lore are thought to have symbolized the inherently chaotic and uncontrollable nature of, well, nature! Though Sigvid would not, nature it’s chaotic, it’s actually very ordered, people just don’t bother to understand what’s inconvenient to them. But where he differs from Skadi is that he’s not a Disney princess. Animals don’t hang out with him. He doesn’t nurse injured creatures back to health. He doesn’t keep pets. He does not see them as friends. They are not less than him, but they are not allies, they are beings he co-exists with, avoids, or eats. At least, until a thylacine started hanging out with him. Yeah, a thylacine. The extinct Tasmanian tiger. Who knows where it came from or why he’s attached itself to him, but he’s very adamant she’s not a pet and he hasn’t named her, but she is THERE. Sometimes. She isn't at his side like a dog, it's more she's following him from a distance and she pokes her head out from the trees somewhere. She's not a pet. She's more a parasite. But unlike Shaw, Sigvid doesn't use that term in a bad way, and he's fine with her presence. He's just curious where the hell an extinct Australian animal came from? Obviously, Sigvid is not interacting with people a lot, but when he does, he’s far less awkward or boisterous than people expect. He doesn’t have the overt weirdness people expect from a hermit, nor the bombastic warrior cliché of an Asgardian, or the vicious stereotype of a Jotunn. He has a quiet but overwhelming elegance, not like an aristocrat but like a great stag emerging from the forest. He chooses his words carefully, and can say much with just a few. He walks the middle ground between judging by individuals and judging by species; he does a little of both. He has preconceptions and generalities that he believes in about each group, but also believes in room for exception. After all, he’s not what a lot of people expect, is he? Despite this, he’s frequently misread as disliking people, but he doesn’t. He is utterly neutral on them, he just prefers his own way of life. Likewise, he tends to be very neutral towards individuals, and this also is often misread as dislike. One thing he does dislike though, is when people try to endear themselves to him by talking about how they agree animals are better than people, or say stuff like you know only man kills for pleasure. . . .this actually just annoys him. Firstly, a lot of animals do kill for pleasure. Secondly, when people say animals/nature is better than people. . . .they’re forgetting that people---humans, Asgardians, Jotunn---are animals too. This is just another way people, of any sort, try to insist they’re something special and different, whether in a negative or positive way. It doesn’t impress him. What impresses him tends to be how well people work within their niche, whatever niche that is. Like Shaw, he doesn’t really judge in terms of conventional morality, but a person’s success----Sigvid’s definition of success is just much wider. Like, maybe you dive for a living---are you a good diver? A great cafeteria worker? The best toilet cleaner in the tri-state area? He admires that and he commends you. When he is angered, he stays quiet, and his response is swift and physical; he either leaves or strikes physically and then leaves. When he feels sufficiently bonded with someone. . . he is still quiet. He appreciates a person who doesn't need to be filling the silences between them to feel comfortable and kinship. And kinship for him is rare, but he's not lonely----just also not adverse to it, as many assume he is. People assume a lot about Sigvid, and most of it is wrong, but he's also very chill with it. Sigvid is a very chill guy.

Special Talents: Besides the obviously mentioned talents for hunting, tracking, foraging, survivalism, and nature knowledge? Many people think he’s some kind of seer because he’s good at predicting storms and such, but actually he’s just very good at reading the signs most people aren’t attuned to. He also presumably has the attributes of Asgardians and Jotuns (super strength, etc) but if he has a mutant power, it has yet to manifest. Also cannot assume a Frost Giant form. Who they like better: Skadi, though eventually he does respect his father for performing so well at what he does

Who they take after more: I think both equally in different ways Personal Head canon: -He really likes amethyst geodes. -He finds a lot of manufactured foods, like chips or snack cakes, to be WAAAAY too strongly salty or sweet for him to stomach, is allergic to Red Dye #40, and he finds the taste of domesticated animals to be weird. - Not much of a dairy person, but ghee is good -Dislikes when people stereotype hillbillies as stupid; as in like, people who are genuinely living in the hills and mountains of the American Southeast, they're an interesting people with their own unique culture like any other group that lives off the land in isolation---which he respects---and not interchangeable with typical rednecks. -He doesn't typically carry anything with him that's not a necessity, if he knows he's going to be seeing people soon, he will pick up knick-knacks he finds in abandoned places and distribute them like a weird Santa Claus. Who, he's met, by the way, and according to him, Father Christmas is something of a badass. - He will always buy your homemade soaps, and I have no idea what he's doing with them. Yes, maybe he's using them in the normal intended way but IM NOT SURE?? - Pops up in art museums. People never expect him to be here, in these cathedrals dedicated to human creation, but he is. I think he views art a bit differently than the average person, but he's there all the same. - He's an Aquarius but there is a LOT of Saturn in his chart - The first Midgard movie he saw was Forrest Gump. He was expecting it to be about something else because of the title, but he enjoyed it and LEARNED THIS DANCE Face Claim: n/a

#sigvid #kids #kid meme

[theatticoneighth]

Watching The Queen’s Gambit; on the Remarkable Unexceptionality of Beth Harmon

‘With some people, chess is a pastime. With others, it is a compulsion, even an addiction. And every now and then, a person comes along for whom it is a birthright. Now and then, a small boy appears and dazzles us with his precocity, at what may be the world’s most difficult game. But what if that boy were a girl? A young, unsmiling girl, with brown eyes, red hair, and a dark blue dress? Into the male-dominated world of the nation’s top chess tournaments, strolls a teenage girl with bright, intense eyes, from Fairfield High School in Lexington, Kentucky. She is quiet, well-mannered, and out for blood.’

The preceding epigraph opens a fictional profile of Beth Harmon featured in the third episode of The Queen’s Gambit (2020), and is written and published after the protagonist — a teenage, rookie chess player, no less — beats a series of ranked pros to win her first of many tournaments. In the same deft manner as it depicts the character’s ascent to her global chess stardom, the piece also sets up the series’s narrative: this is evidence of a great talent, it tells us, a grandmaster in the making. As with most other stories about prodigies, this new entry into a timeworn genre is framed unexceptionally by its subject’s exceptionality.

Yet as far as tales regaled about young chess wunderkinds go, Beth Harmon’s stands out in more ways than one. That she is a girl in a male-dominated world has clearly not gone unremarked by both her diegetic and nondiegetic audiences. That her life has thus far — and despite her circumstances — been relatively uneventful, however, is what makes this show so remarkable. After all, much of our culture has undeniably primed us to expect the consequential from those whom we raise upon the pedestal of genius. As Harmon’s interviewer suggests in her conversation with Harmon for the latter’s profile, “Creativity and psychosis often go hand in hand. Or, for that matter, genius and madness.” So quickly do we attribute extraordinary accomplishments to similarly irregular origins that we presume an inexplicability of our geniuses: their idiosyncrasies are warranted, their bad behaviours are excused, and deep into their biographies we dig to excavate the enigmatic anomalies behind their gifts. Through our myths of exceptionality, we make the slightest aberrations into metonyms for brilliance.

Nonetheless, for all her sullenness, non-conformity, and her plethora of addictions, Beth Harmon seems an uncommonly normal girl. No doubt this may be a contentious view, as evinced perhaps by the chorus of viewers and reviewers alike who have already begun to brand the character a Mary Sue. Writing on the series for the LA Review of Books, for instance, Aaron Bady construes The Queen’s Gambit as “the tragedy of Bobby Fischer [made] into a feminist fantasy, a superhero story.” In the same vein, Jane Hu also laments in her astute critique of the Cold War-era drama its flagrant and saccharine wish-fulfillment tendencies. “The show gets to have it both ways,” she observes, “a beautiful heroine who leans into the edge of near self-destruction, but never entirely, because of all the male friends she makes along the way.” Sexual difference is here reconstituted as the unbridgeable chasm that divides the US from the Soviet Union, whereas the mutual friendliness shared between Harmon and her male chess opponents becomes a utopic revision of history. Should one follow Hu’s evaluation of the series as a period drama, then the retroactive ascription of a recognisably socialist collaborative ethos to Harmon and her compatriots is a contrived one indeed. 

Accordingly, both Hu and Bady conclude that the series grants us depthless emotional satisfaction at the costly expense of realism: its all-too-easy resolutions swiftly sidestep any nascent hint of overwhelming tension; its resulting calm betrays our desire for reprieve. Underlying these arguments is the fundamental assumption that the unembellished truth should also be an inconvenient one, but why must we always demand difficulty from those we deem noteworthy? Summing up the show’s conspicuous penchant for conflict-avoidance, Bady writes that: 

over and over again, the show strongly suggests — through a variety of genre and narrative cues — that something bad is about to happen. And then … it just doesn’t. An orphan is sent to a gothic orphanage and the staff … are benign. She meets a creepy, taciturn old man in the basement … and he teaches her chess and loans her money. She is adopted by a dysfunctional family and the mother … takes care of her. She goes to a chess tournament and midway through a crucial game she gets her first period and … another girl helps her, who she rebuffs, and she is fine anyway. She wins games, defeating older male players, and … they respect and welcome her, selflessly helping her. The foster father comes back and …she has the money to buy him off. She gets entangled in cold war politics and … decides not to be.

In short, everything that could go wrong … simply does not go wrong.

Time and again predicaments arise in Harmon’s narrative, but at each point, she is helped fortuitously by the people around her. In turn, the character is allowed to move through the series with the restrained unflappability of a sleepwalker, as if unaffected by the drama of her life.  Of course, this is not to say that she fails to encounter any obstacle on her way to celebrity and success — for neither her childhood trauma nor her substance-laden adolescence are exactly rosy portraits of idyll — but only that such challenges seem so easily ironed out by that they hardly register as true adversity. In other words, the show takes us repeatedly to the brink of what could become a life-altering crisis but refuses to indulge our taste for the spectacle that follows. Skipping over the Aristotelian climax, it shields us from the height of suspense, and without much struggle or effort on the viewers’ part, hands us our payoff. Consequently lacking the epochal weight of plot, little feels deserved in Harmon’s story.

In his study of eschatological fictions, The Sense of an Ending, Frank Kermode would associate such a predilection for catastrophes with our abiding fear of disorder. Seeing as time, as he argues, is “purely successive [and] disorganised,” we can only reach to the fictive concords of plot to make sense of our experiences. Endings in particular serve as the teleological objective towards which humanity projects our existence, so we hold paradigms of apocalypse closely to ourselves to restore significance to our lives. It probably comes as no surprise then that in a year of chaos and relentless disaster — not to mention the present era of extreme precariousness, doomscrolling, and the 24/7 news cycle, all of which have irrevocably attuned us to the dreadful expectation of “the worst thing to come” — we find ourselves eyeing Harmon’s good fortune with such scepticism. Surely, we imagine, something has to have happened to the character for her in order to justify her immense consequence. But just as children are adopted each day into loving families and chess tournaments play out regularly without much strife, so too can Harmon maintain low-grade dysfunctional relationships with her typically flawed family and friends. 

In any case, although “it seems to be a condition attaching to the exercise of thinking about the future that one should assume one's own time to stand in extraordinary relation to it,” not all orphans have to face Dickensian fates and not all geniuses have to be so tortured (Kermode). The fact remains that the vagaries of our existence are beyond perfect reason, and any attempt at thinking otherwise, while vital, may be naive. Contrary to most critics’ contentions, it is hence not The Queen’s Gambit’s subversions of form but its continued reach towards the same that holds up for viewers such a comforting promise of coherence. The show comes closest to disappointing us as a result when it eschews melodrama for the straightforward. Surprised by the ease and randomness of Harmon’s life, it is not difficult for one to wonder, four or five episodes into the show, what it is all for; one could even begin to empathise with Hu’s description of the series as mere “fodder for beauty.” 

Watching over the series now with Bady’s recap of it in mind, however, I am reminded oddly not of the prestige and historical dramas to which the series is frequently compared, but the low-stakes, slice-of-life cartoons that had peppered my childhood. Defined by the prosaicness of its settings, the genre punctuates the life’s mundanity with brief moments of marvel to accentuate the curious in the ordinary. In these shows, kindergarteners fix the troubles of adults with their hilarious playground antics, while time-traveling robot cats and toddler scientists alike are confronted with the woes of chores. Likewise, we find in The Queen’s Gambit a comparable glimpse of the quotidian framed by its protagonist’s quirks. Certainly, little about the Netflix series’ visual and narrative features would identify it as a slice-of-life serial, but there remains some merit, I believe, in watching it as such. For, if there is anything to be gained from plots wherein nothing is introduced that cannot be resolved in an episode or ten, it is not just what Bady calls the “drowsy comfort” of satisfaction — of knowing that things will be alright, or at the very least, that they will not be terrible. Rather, it is the sense that we are not yet so estranged from ourselves, and that both life and familiarity persists even in the most extraordinary of circumstances.

Perhaps some might find such a tendency towards the normal questionable, yet when all the world is on fire and everyone clambers for acclaim, it is ultimately the ongoingness of everyday life for which one yearns. As Harmon’s childhood friend, Jolene, tells her when she is once again about to fall off the wagon, “You’ve been the best at what you do for so long, you don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us.” For so long, and especially over the past year, we have catastrophized the myriad crises in which we’re living that we often overlook the minor details and habits that nonetheless sustain us. To inhabit the congruence of both the remarkable and its opposite in the singular figure of Beth Harmon is therefore to be reminded of the possibility of being outstanding without being exceptional — that is, to not make an exception of oneself despite one’s situation — and to let oneself be drawn back, however placid or insignificant it may be, into the unassuming hum of dailiness. It is in this way of living that one lives on, minute by minute, day by day, against the looming fear and anxiety that seek to suspend our plodding regular existence. It is also in this way that I will soon be turning the page on the last few months in anticipation of what is to come. 

Born and raised in the perpetually summery tropics — that is, Singapore — Rachel Tay wishes she could say her life was just like a still from Call Me By Your Name: tanned boys, peaches, and all. Unfortunately, the only resemblance that her life bears to the film comes in the form of books, albeit ones read in the comfort of air-conditioned cafés, and not the pool, for the heat is sweltering and the humidity unbearable. A fervent turtleneck-wearer and an unrepentant hot coffee-addict, she is thus the ideal self-parodying Literature student, and the complete anti-thesis to tropical life.

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

[ganymedesclock]

Hungry Knight & Characterizing Ghost

Y’know, it’s interesting, as far into Hollow Knight as I am, and having been aware of Hungry Knight for some time, I haven’t checked it out before very recently. Upon rectifying that, there’s really something interesting in how much of the game is recognizable from this bare bones, two-minute little thing. Obviously there’s a grandiosity and complexity of story that Hollow Knight possesses that Hungry Knight simply couldn’t be of the scale of, but as a sort of primal eggshell the rest of the game hatched out of, it’s very interesting.

The three guardians that are hunted in Hungry Knight are simply boss enemies; they are not given backstory, and hunting them is basically an unambiguously good action. It’s interesting how this progressed to the execution of the Dreamers in Hollow Knight- but what I find illuminating about the Hungry Knight’s journey to its ‘proper’ game sequel is that at its most bare bones, Hungry Knight is a story about Ghost- our Ghost, as we recognize them- who is hailed by Mister Mushroom as the same being, even though he’s sort of breaking the fourth wall to do so and thus Hungry Knight is not in-universe canonical to Ghost’s history- hunting three beings, in order to save the life of a being like themselves.

With many of the major beats of Hollow Knight following an extended, more elaborate imagining of Hungry Knight’s simplistic two-minute plot, I think this characterizes Ghost’s perspective and motives for returning to the kingdom interestingly. 

Another related area of interest to me is that Ghost is very finished compared to everything else in this game that received intense reimagining. Their mainstays remain nail attacks and dashing; the hunger system is a clear predecessor of soul- in essence, Ghost as they are in HK does “hunger” and need to “feed” themselves- it’s just that the timing of such is dependent on the damage they take, rather than time.

However- Ghost also, in Hungry Knight, talks. Not to any NPCs in the game world, because they have no one to speak to- but directly to the player. 

Ghost speaks twice; in the opening card explaining the controls:

I’m a knight. I have something I need to do.

And I’m hungry.

I need to eat every 10 seconds or I will die.

I must search the area carefully.

I must strike swiftly and remorselessly

I must be nimble to avoid danger

I must not fail, whatever happens. I am ready.

And at the end:

Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.

Again, given how polished this proto-Ghost is to the finished character in Hollow Knight, I want to take this as an indicator of how Ghost would speak through some kind of proxy around their voicelessness. What follows is basically take-it-or-leave-it headcanon, but going off Hungry Knight as a guideline:

Ghost is very blunt. They contain a bit of the eloquence that perfumes all dialogue in Hollow Knight, really, and they’re not shy of using fancier language, but they express their ideas in very simple words. They seem to think it’s rather important that they are specifically a knight- and this statement exists in absence of them being a knight of or for anything. They do not seem to have an order or affiliation, or- in fact- loyalty to anything in the game world of Hungry Knight except their fallen friend.

They also show a predilection towards imperatives, which is interesting. Outside of the hunger limit which is a factual stating of boundaries, they cite four edicts with rather intense gravity:

Search the area carefully

Strike swiftly and remorselessly 

Be nimble to avoid danger

Do not fail, whatever happens

The existence of these edicts is interesting. The idea of Ghost as someone who internalizes certain things that they take completely seriously and unflinchingly / refuse to compromise on is one not foreshadowed by their very subdued body language. But it betrays a whole host of implied values. That Ghost values precision, caution (they are not reckless in the risks they take) and adaptation, but, also, believes firmly that this caution and adaptation must ultimately serve their end goal.

The biggest reason this is interesting to me? Zote.

Here’s the thing about Zote: he was pretty clearly designed in Ghost’s likeness. Their cloaks are similar. Their weapons are similar. The shape of their horns are similar. While he is in other ways clearly his own character, Zote was conceived as a caricature of Ghost.

Zote insists that he is a principled creature, insists that he is a knight, and has an exhaustive, lengthy list of personal edicts that he insists lead him to success through every situation; however, those edicts are in some ways useless advice; in others, they are useful, but not in the way that a personal creed generally would be.

So, if we’re going off Hungry Knight: Zote as a caricature of Ghost, may, with his 47 Precepts, be caricaturing the idea that Ghost themselves carries and lives by a personal creed.

Some of these things are implied per my earlier headcanon, that the more “neutral-seeming” notes on the top half of the Hunter’s Journal entries represent Ghost’s impressions. These upper-half journal entries, and overall gameplay of Hollow Knight, would seem to align with Ghost’s stated edicts in Hungry Knight.

“I must search the area carefully” -> Ghost’s notes, compared to the Hunter’s, are detailed and factual. They often discuss what weapons a creature uses, whether or not it is trained, its origins... and, take special note of anything that is or used to be a knight, or adhering to a personal creed. (note the sentry enemies in particular, and how much Ghost mentions their hierarchy and weapon choices. The White Defender is also described as “gallant”, in contrast to the dismissive way the Hunter speaks of the Dung Defender). What’s more interesting is that some of the most formidable enemies in the game- Radiance, and Nightmare King Grimm- are given extremely sparing descriptions by Ghost- as if they are struggling to describe what they are beholding.

Likewise, a huge amount of Hollow Knight’s gameplay, especially if you want anything besides the worst ending, or just to make your going easier, involves scouring the game world tenaciously. Both Hornet and Hunter suggest Ghost has a predilection to dogging others’ trails; Quirrel and Cornifer both suggest Ghost is a kindred spirit to them as someone grasped by the love of exploration, and the Old Stag likewise commends them when they open the Queen’s Station.

“I must strike swiftly and remorselessly” -> not only is this one spoofed by Zote (he has a precept about exploiting weaknesses, a precept about felling enemies in a single stroke...) but Ghost is basically never reluctant to throw down with anything that seems about to attack. The Hunter cites Ghost as approaching without fear after he roars at them, and Quirrel’s dialogue outside the mantis village suggests that without much of a clear sense that the mantises are obstructing Ghost’s progress, they’re eager to challenge the Lords. Likewise, the Radiance does not attack you immediately, but Ghost still hops to the highest peak of her domain and tells her exactly how they feel with a single brandished nail.

Likewise, everything Godseeker tells them seems to galvanize them onward, even though initially their motivation may have been curiosity. This even lines up with, according to Hungry Knight, at least, that Ghost defines themselves first by their job, and second by the fact that they have something they need to do- and they do not consider failure any kind of viable option.

As far as remorselessness... there are in fact several times in the game you can cut someone down and then realize afterwards maybe you shouldn’t have. Encountering fully infected Myla is basically set up to encourage it- a player might assume that in defeating her, she could be saved, or just be startled by her attack and retaliate the way that the game has trained us. Her unique dying cry, to me, suggests that the game expected us to hear it.

Likewise, the Nailsmith asks to be cut down, and, if you oblige him, it happens extremely quickly and without effort.

The interesting other side of that is someone who tells themselves to act without remorse, is, generally, someone who is predisposed to regrets- which we know Ghost is, given the canonical information available about the Shade, and that the Shade is already pre-loaded into the Hunter’s Journal on unlock... suggesting Ghost has been forced to contend with it before in the wastelands beyond the kingdom.

Similarly, both Grimm and Brumm in the Grimm Troupe questline prod at the idea that Ghost must make their choice, knowingly, and choose something they won’t regret doing. There’s also the absolutely heartbreaking song of the Hollow Knight battle, and Godseeker’s comments on the Pure Vessel fight that Ghost may yearn to be close to their sibling, but can only get there through combat.

So this particular edict is something emotionally shaky to Ghost- they feel like they have to attack quickly without hesitation, and it’s seen them through many enemies, but... as far as attacking remorselessly- they, uh, don’t always succeed.

“I must be nimble to avoid danger” -> platforming and evasion are huge parts of the game. Given the amount of health bosses have, hanging back, moving around attacks, and finding the right places to heal is an imperative regardless of play style. There are few bosses you can really efficiently face-tank through and you need to do a LOT of charm work, and screaming of either the internal or external variety to succeed there (ask me how I know,) The majority of the upgrades you unlock are about maneuverability. 

“I must not fail, whatever happens.” -> Much of the game, especially Hornet, is basically about interrogating Ghost’s resolve, and whether or not they’re okay with what’s going to happen to them. This refusal to give up in the face of outstanding adversity is a huge quality of Ghost’s, and basically one that the game sympathetically cultivates in the player. This is a game with a harsh and demanding learning curve, and, basically, if you’re going to see it through, you need to commit to it.

However, like Ghost’s belief they need to lack remorse, this walks a dicey line. At their worst, Ghost can ignore everyone and everything, write them off as distractions, minimize their observations of their surroundings and blind themselves to everything except the next obstruction in the way of their goal.

However, in that worst ending? Ghost does fail, if you look at what Hungry Knight says about Ghost’s motives. What proto-Ghost thanks the player for is being able to save their friend and leave that place together.

In the base ending of Hollow Knight, Ghost is unable to save Hollow. Instead, they cut Hollow down, and replace them, making a meaningless sacrifice that won’t save anyone else, either- just buy them more time, in a stasis that has already led to decay.

“Thank you, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

All of the better endings are facilitated by engaging with other characters. For Dream No More, you need Hornet and the White Lady’s help, and seeking closure from the Pale King’s body and the bottom of the Abyss. Ghost has to confront their past there- twice- and face, and embrace, their regrets. The opening to dream nail Hollow rather than cutting them down is only created by Hornet believing in Ghost enough to risk her life entering the Black Egg Temple and tackle Hollow to hold them down.

Embrace The Void takes that even further- you need all of those criteria, and then you need to rummage in two different areas, very far away from each other, to find first a key, and then a sarcophagus, and keep prodding the weirdo that falls out of said sarcophagus, even when she’d really rather you didn’t. And even that has unpleasant consequences unless you go even further, and rummage enough to find a way to deliver a Delicate Flower to Godseeker.

Ultimately, Ghost only gets what they want by letting others in. They only accomplish what they do with help. And this is important, when, again, Hungry Knight would point towards the idea that everything Ghost does is to the end goal of saving another person. They want, ultimately, to protect Hollow.

#Hollow Knight #Little Ghost #Hungry Knight #readmore

[seamistan]

if it is not selfish of me to ask, i would like pregnancy headcanons and also parenting headcanons bc i’m SCREAMING 🥺

SO this took about 2/3 days to think and plan out and I even got really excited and even did research efjknefjkfsdnkbsdf

this ended up being more about the actual pregnancy BUT I will totally write more specific to Parents!seamista if anyone wanted me to  🥺

(Putting this under a read more because it’s long as hell snfldfnk)

Okay so from where I last left off in this post, Salineas is now expecting an unexpected heir! 

At this point, It’s like I wanna say around ~2/3ish months into everything since I assume she would have found out at around 5 weeks, so they’re at the very end of the first trimester (12 weeks) anyway, Mermista is still nauseous as all hell but for whatever reason I don’t think she’s not going into full vomiting territory and again, big suffering. However, at this point Sea Hawk has taken a leave from adventuring to be there with his girl to support her in whatever she needs- including helping out with some royal duties. Now normally, Mermista would never ever trust him with this level of responsibility but at certain points she just feels so shitty and tired there is literally no other choice but to give the responsibility to someone who’s not her. So sometimes Sea Hawk settles some disputes between citizens and opens a few rebuilt buildings, and attends princess council meetings with Mermista on the other side of one of bow’s tablets. (unrelated, but I found out that the theorized cause of morning sickness would be the body’s reaction to Hcg and since Sea Hawk is (assumed) fully etherian and mermista is like, not I would think she’d have a more adverse reaction to it asjdbjaddansd but again, she’s not like violently throwing up -I think because of her connection to her runestone protecting her from it being as bad as it could be)  

Also, Mermista gets real bad mood swings early into the whole endeavor (they eventually go away when the nausea does). Poor Sea Hawk even temporarily stops singing shanties to keep her spirits from dampening. Upon realizing that she made him stop singing she bursts into tears, only to later be soothed by a shanty about how lovely her hair is. Go Figure. To cope with the mood swings, Sea Hawk suggests she pick up knitting again since she loved it so much whenever she first tried it. She’d dropped it whenever the war with Horde prime began since it was so hard to find yarn and to care about generally anything else other than the impending doom. So, mermista picks up knitting again, and holy shit,,, she loves it. Something about just checking out for a while and just concentrating on every stitch and being able to make something beautiful is just. everything she wanted. So throughout the entire 9 months she’s just dropping off random baby blankets, clothes, socks, even a little knitted Sea-Ra doll and a knit Dragon’s Daughter replica into the basket she keeps next to their bed. She even attempts to knit Sea Hawk a bandanna for shits and giggles but he ends up loving it and wears it around Salineas despite the sweltering heat of the summer. Towards the end of it, she gets really complex and knits some beautiful little sweaters that whenever Sea Hawk shows them off to everyone (swift wind and bow) they kind of shyly ask if they can have one. And that’s how the Best Friend squad ends up with matching sweaters.

So in my last post I kinda just said that the doctors/midwife/etc equivalent was the sorcerers on Mystacor and you know what? I stand by that lmao. Anyway so either they have to go up to Mystacor every week or they have a sorcerer come to live in Salineas for the whole pregnancy, either way they use ~magic~ to basically do an ultrasound (again, I literally cannot decide if there’s doctors on etheria??? I don’t know but this is what I’m going with) So anyway. Both of them collectively lose their minds and completely ugly cry whenever they both see the child ™  for the first time, but then evemtually Mermista kinda accepts it and is (mostly) okay whenever they see the baby, but Sea Hawk cries every. Single. Time. It kinda drives Mermista a little mad but it’s so sweet that she can’t get actually upset.  After all, these appointments and all the little things they do to prepare are what he has to really remember they’re bringing a whole new little life onto Etheria. 

 Something neither of them really expected is the fact that Mermista gets horrible pregnancy brain around 5 months and from then on. It’s never really super debilitating, but for her, and her usual sharp wit and ability to see whatever’s coming next, it gets real annoying real fast. It’s mostly just her forgetting little stuff, like her next appointment with the sorcerer, or when there’s a meeting scheduled, or whenever she has plans with her friends. The worst of it was when it completely slipped her mind that she had a major meeting with the rebuild salineas group and she had to the next week pretending she knew what was going on with all of that. She eventually figures it out, and she and Sea Hawk end up forming a system- the system being that Sea Hawk is with her during all meetings, appointments and important conversation, and he reminds all of the staff when she has a major appointment. However, she still has trouble concentrating and remembering stuff like where she left her trident (next to the bed) and where her earrings went (Sea Hawk actually took those)

Around 7 or 8 months in the princesses (mostly Glimmer’s idea)  throw her a surprise baby shower to not only congratulate her on the baby but to also for the work she had been doing to rebuild and maintain Salineas. They receive so many lovely gifts, but none as lovely as the gift from Sea Hawk himself- He commissioned an absolutely lovely crib decorated with pearls, shells and sea glass and painted with all of Mermista’s favorite Sea Flowers, and little boats with mermaids swimming next to them. And In the middle, in first ones’ writing it read simply “Adventure”. Upon seeing it, Mermista cried for about 20 minutes. and then got upset with him for keeping the shower a secret, realized how sweet it was; then cried again. 

Well into her second trimester, and close to the third, Mermista is still on her feet after recovering from the initial nausea of it all and running around to meetings, appointments, and all over the kingdom. Sea Hawk, while he had been trying his best not to be over-protective of her due to her condition, really couldn’t ignore when Mermista collapses on the way to Sea Elf village. When he discovers so and confronts her about it, she confesses that she knows she had been absolutely overdoing it for weeks now, but really really wanted to prove that she could still do all of her princess duties. Not really for anyone else, the war had pretty much proved to everyone how capable she is, but  mostly for herself. Sea Hawk has a long talk with her that he hopes she knows how capable she is, how brave and wonderful and a fantastic leader she has been; but taking care of herself and their child has to come first. Grudgingly, Mermista tells him she had a hard time admitting to herself overdoing it for her meant overdoing it for both of them. They agree that Sea Hawk would become her proxy once again.

Whenever she has to deliver, Sea Hawk is the picture of support. No shanties, drama or anything but pure warmth and empathy. He’s stoic and calm and attentive to everything going on. Mermista actually ends up being the one in (mild) hysterics suddenly completely realizing again that she’s going to be a mother and crying and freaking out about it. It takes Sea Hawk looking sternly into her eyes and reminding her that she’s literally the coolest and most wonderful person ever and also is the great and mighty Sea-Ra. Nothing could keep her absolutely being fantastic at this too. Wasn’t this the most epic adventure they’d ever go on? 

and here’s some one sentence hc’s I couldn’t figure out how to fit in here sdjkjksdn;

-They don’t find out the sex beforehand they want to be surprised

- Whenever Mermista goes into her knitting habit, Sea Hawk picks up sewing again, as he had when he was younger and sews toys and clothing for the little one, while Mermista knits. between the two of them, the baby’s wardrobe is almost completely handmade. 

- When the due date gets close, Sea Hawk is literally walking on air. Cheery, excited absolutely lovestruck and exhilirated to be so close to being a father. 

- In the delivery room, before her freak out, she quietly asks sea hawk if he could tell her some stories of his escapades to distract her whenever the pain gets to be too much to bear. He obliges, and recalls their first time meeting, their first battle together, and loads of other sweet stories that almost drive her to tears again (god, she’s so excited to not cry every 2 minutes)

- Spinnerella and Netossa, and even Micah give their baby some hand me down toys and clothing. It’s the sweetest gesture. 

safbjkbsdfkbjsdf this is so long if you read all the way down here thank you so much 

#tw tokophobia #tw emetophobia #just to make sure! #myhcs #asks #caliibee #seamista

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Okay, so for my clannibal people, I have two recs where something very like The Dynamic has recently appeared in media. The first one has far more caveats than the second, but the first one is also the one where the ship is canon and has kissing.

The Method a Russian series from 2015 (it’s on Netflix). It’s about a young ingenue who decides to become a cop because of lingering trauma around an unsolved violent parental death (check), she’s accepted as the protege of an eccentric genius (check) through somewhat shady circumstances with some kind of ulterior motive (check). He, the eccentric genius, is not a serial killer- he’s a detective, but he is an absolute human disaster whose erratic behaviour and extremely questionable morals are tolerated by the police because they can use him as a weapon. He has totally killed people.

‘Byronic Hero’ is a vast understatement.

This show is grim, graphic, and very dark; it takes an extremely dim view of humanity in general and it doesn’t provide the hope or catharsis that Clannibal does- the protagonist does not get to have it all, so be forewarned on that. The implicit worldview and assumed ethical framework of the series is honestly appalling and the main characters are all fairly reprehensible by the end, so if you’re not prepared to deal with a whole lotta ugliness I would say don’t watch it.

The selling point to me is that the characters are interesting and the ship is very compelling. Again, it’s canon, so you will get satisfaction, but the actual romance is somewhat subtextual most of the time. Their connection is the lynchpin of the series, but it’s more about the protagonist’s ‘education’ into his world and an exploration of what that world is than it is focussed on them falling in love. He has no illusions or intentions about having a future (with her or otherwise), he’s trying to pass on his ‘method’ to a worthy successor, so his attitude is heavily informed by that. She is being broken of what idealism she ever had (told you it was grim).

Anyway, their relationship is very fucked up and the series has a legit horrifying (also aggressively stupid) conception of what mental illness is like, but it was very engaging and it was totally unapologetic about the romanticism of the dark love story, so there is a lot there for you if you want to see something like a Clannibal dynamic again. Just don’t expect the positive turn or healing. The ending is not happy or hopeful in any sense. You could make a good argument it’s a full-on tragedy, though I don’t think that’s quite the intent. And the tragedy is Titus Andronicus. If that gives you an indication of how grim we’re talking.

The plot does completely fall apart by the end (it’s like if OUaT were an r-rated crime show, it becomes that much of a mess), but the acting is good and it remains very compelling because of the characters.

Tell Me What You Saw a kdrama from this year. THIS is what I’m talking about. A young ingenue decides to become a cop because of lingering trauma around an unsolved violent parental death (check), she’s accepted as the protege of an eccentric genius (check), through somewhat shady circumstances with some kind of ulterior motive (check). She has to go visit him alone in a giant, creepy old building where he is confined (ooo, new check). He, the eccentric genius, is on the side of the angels and is again not a serial killer lol. He is a legendary criminal profiler and ex-detective who spends most of the series as a somewhat morally ambiguous anti-hero. He’s brilliant, he’s troubled, he broods and plays mind games from on high, and he’s always 17 steps ahead of you. I love him. Also, crucially, he is hot:

The first six episodes have great build-up to a not-totally-unpredictable but still fairly epic twist and then, sadly, the following episode is a bit of an anti-climax from what felt like it should be the jumping off point where the series kicked into high gear but turned out to be a bunch of wandering around aimlessly in very loosely connected episodic plots. There’s narrative justification for this, but I did feel like someone slammed on the breaks and switched gears. It takes a while to regain momentum and is never quite as focussed or well-balanced again.

The pros of the series are its very strong characters played by mostly very strong actors, quality atmosphere, great action, good suspense, and loads and loads of interesting relationships brimming with potential. The one that interests me most being, of course, the one between the protagonist and the profiler. It’s pretty much exactly the clannibal dynamic- he picks her apart and challenges her for his own reasons and then comes to enormously respect her; she is at first intimidated and angry but gives as good as she gets until she reaches a point of growth where she can challenge him in return. And, in the end, he has helped her self-actualise and become who she wanted to be and she helps him heal from his past to the point she can radically alter his outlook on life.

Their relationship is ultimately very positive for both and remains central to the series throughout. There are complicated feelings at play that are given some time in the spotlight, but it is sadly underdeveloped from what it should have been imo. Especially on his side. And there is no romance or explicit attraction, though I think the show supports her at least having a crush on him. If it had ‘gone there’ it would not have shocked anyone, let’s put it that way. They could have gone there. It is one of those flawed canons with good characters super ripe for fic. (Please watch this show and write fic so I can read it, is what I’m saying.)

The cons are that the story ends up being ridiculous on multiple levels and there are some intensely irritating moments of characters being profoundly idiotic and unreasonable just to keep the plot going. Incoherent motivation, mainly for the heroes, is a BIG problem. Apparently rampant police incompetence (including from all the main characters) is the second biggest problem. There is a fantastic female character who is the team leader for our main cops and she gets hit with both of these possibly the worst of anyone. The big reveal about her also makes no fucking sense. There was a maybe cliché but perfectly serviceable route they could have gone instead without changing anything, it seemed like they were setting it up, but they just go with... nothing. And in retrospect this undermines her entire character for the whole series. Which hurts because she was genuinely awesome.

So yeah. There are logic problems and all three ongoing major questions in the overarching story basically have terrible ‘solutions’, but it is extremely well-made in every other respect and the characters remained compelling enough that I couldn’t stop watching. The single-episode mysteries are usually very good with good pacing and satisfying resolutions. It’s consistently entertaining despite the frustration and it manages to pull out a fucking GREAT A+++++ ending right when you’re about to get super pissed off about more deterministic grim teenage nihilism ruining everything. The protagonist got to learn from all her experiences without losing her optimism, rise above adversity and be rewarded for her faith, and it was honestly so nice to get that. So unexpectedly hopeful and uplifting. I love a story that gets dark but never despairs.

If they make a second series with the same cast, I will be there with bells on.

#clannibal #media recs #tell me what you saw #the profiler is very OP in the best way I love this character type and I'm not ashamed #give me a super OP mess and I'm so happy #(as long as the narrative realises that they are a mess) #( if it doesn't then it's just ugggggh and probably heading for PCM at best and studom at worst) #anyway this is the same actor as played the insane love interest in Fated to Love You #Korean Johnny Depp #jang hyuk #he's pretty great #he's also an ex-boxer and real life martial artist whose entire body is rock hard so he's got that going for him as well #this show is very nearly Peak Aesthetic for him (all black clothes sunglasses shoulder length hair unnnf) #he needs the long hair #short hair does not suit him #(I realise I'm biased but it really doesn't) #this opinion has been reinforced mightily by this show and the show I watched him in where it was even shorter than in the shit half of FtL #(which is Wok of Love which I do not recommend at all it's terrible) #although that show also had bad lighting/direction which I'm sure didn't help #I mean it's Peak Aesthetic until they inexplicably decide to dress him exclusively in giant fluffy coats he never takes off (yes i'm salty) #why does this character have five different giant black coats what's that about #back to TMWYS now btw #my tag rambles are getting more confusing #he had a smart peacoat in the beginning and then it's all huge parkas #I understand it's apparently always freezing in studios and it was winter but cold is temporary looking cool is forever lmao #kdrama