#this is not suicidal ideation this is me facing that my deepest fear is inevitable: non-existence

[sadcatjae]

The Demon & The Priest - Part 3 - Rest

Other parts can be found in the masterlist

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AHHHHH I'm sorry it took so long!! But here's part 3 ;A;

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CW: Explicit language, explicit self-harm, mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, mentions of torture, mentions of non-con.

When he comes to, he finds himself restrained in a pair of strong arms. His muscles twitch and ache, and there’s a dampness on his cheeks that he doesn’t quite understand. A pathetic noise, something like a whimper, fills his ears, and it takes him a moment to realise that he’s the one making it. 

The next thing he’s aware of is another voice, this one comforting and soft, murmuring meaningless words into his ear. “--you are safe. Hush now, Lial. It is over with. Calm yourself. You are safe.”

The demon shudders as the last of his fit leaves him, and his abused muscles finally relax. He goes limp in Julian’s arms, eyes fluttering close in sheer exhaustion. 

A warm palm rests upon his forehead, and the heat sinks deep into his flesh. 

“...I assume it didn’t work,” Lial croaks, twitching with the aftershocks. 

“You assume correctly.”

The warmth disappears and he opens his eyes in quiet dismay. Above, Julian gazes down at him through hooded eyes, expression stony. 

“That was beyond foolish, demon.”

“I’m an opportunist,” Lial says wryly, though his quip strikes like a brittle leaf. 

With great effort, the exhausted demon drags himself upright. The priest slides out from behind, allowing him to rest against the bed. 

“What now, priest? Your magic evidently has no effect and truly, that was my last gasp. If your light should fail me, then I–” Lial swallows the rest of his words, dread blooming in his gut like poison. His weary eyes flutter shut once more as he rides the cresting waves of pain - both corporeal and soul-deep. 

“You will cease your pathetic self-pity,” Julian snaps, straightening up and patting dust from his pristine robes. He shoots the demon a razor-sharp glare, as though the latter had uttered the worst of blasphemies. “We have yet to exhaust all possibilities. This is but a minor failure - and I assure you, there will be many considering the nature of your affliction. You have come to me for salvation and I shall seek a method to do so. Grieve not what has yet to pass, for the fight is yet to begin.”

But Lial is exhausted. He’s exhausted and despairing and in the kind of pain that pretty words can’t soothe. For this infernal is facing the prospect of his mortality - something that had always been a shallow threat or an idle romantic thought. Ashaxi has not shied from promising his favourite plaything a true death, one of the body and soul. The kind that can keep an infernal in the ground. And Lial had thought of accepting such an offer more than once - while in the deepest throes of torture that seemed to have no end. 

This time, however, his death looms. It’s not a mere threat or a thought, but an inevitability that shrouds his periphery like an oncoming storm. And as his mind goes, from sleep, from fear, and as the curse breaks down his flesh, death draws ever closer. 

How long does he have? A week? A month? 

This is Ashaxi’s favourite kind of torment. Slow and unknowable. 

Lial clasps his hands together. His claws dig into his knuckles and thin rivulets of black stain his forearms. “Ten months, eleven months, almost a year,” he says in a monotone. “An entire year since I've been allowed to rest.” He glances at the impassive priest. There’s vulnerability in that raw look, like he’s been stripped down to the nerve. “You say that the fight is yet to begin, but my fight is near its end.”

“You cannot know the end. Not unless you seek it.” Julian huffs sharply through his nose, producing a handkerchief and flapping at those digging claws. “You have allowed me only one night of effort before accepting defeat. If you are to die, then die fighting. Claw not at yourself, but at the one who would inflict this suffering upon you.” He growls the last, an unfathomable anger building within like trapped lava. The damned infernal. Darkness take Ashaxi and his unholy ilk! 

Julian grabs Lial’s arm and yanks him onto the bed. Face to face they are once again, and he takes those ink-streaked arms into his hands - not to embark on yet another foolish quest, but to clean the demon’s limbs of his blood. 

With uncharacteristic softness, he wipes at Lial’s skin and his wounds, and the white handkerchief becomes soaked in black. There’s a delicate care in the priest’s ministrations, a kind of care that is so foreign to Lial. Every gentle touch has him internally quaking, and instinct tells him to pull away, stop this strange sensation - but Lial has no strength. So he sits quietly. Obediently. And watches in silence.

At one point, the demon whispers, “I’m tired.” 

And the priest growls, “I know.”

“I’m going to die,” Lial exhales.

“You will not.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I will not allow it.”

“Stubborn bastard.”

“Which is the kind of bastard you need.”

To which, Lial has no response. 

Julian dabs the last of the blood from the already closed wounds on Lial’s knuckles. It’s fascinating - and enviable - at how quickly infernal heal. Then again, they feel pain the same as humans, and their physical invulnerability leads to careless disregard for their mental and emotional vulnerabilities. Mad and broken infernals are the leading cause of their dissent and antagonism as a race. Because of this, even one as obstinate as Julian is able to find a sliver of sympathy for the little devils. 

“Refrain from mutilating yourself further, demon. I have but one other handkerchief I can soil.”

Lial sways, eyes grown heavy. “I have to stay awake,” he mutters. “I don’t want to…hurt anymore.” He slips his claws over his arms again to pierce – but Julian grabs his hands to keep them confined.

“I shall keep you awake,” the priest says, grimly. “Lower your claws. Save them for Ashaxi.”

The demon smiles weakly and a fang peeks out the corner of his mouth. “What chance do I have against a power to rival an Elder of the Light?” Lial says, echoing the priest’s words. 

“A very good chance, if said Elder of the Light stands with you.”

Lial knows that what the priest said was significant, but he’s too hazy to fully grasp Julian’s meaning. His eyes slide close. The brume of sleep pads his mind; scours the edges of reality down to a blunt. He feels himself go slack and fall sideways–

And a hard shake jolts him awake.

“Keep your eyes open, Lial,” Julian says, sharply. “It is terrible etiquette to fall asleep during a conversation.”

“You and your fucking etiquette,” Lial grouses, but he opens his eyes all the same. 

Julian’s tense expression relaxes a tad. He keeps a firm grip on the demon’s arms, keeping him upright. “Tell me more about your Lord. What transpired between you?”

“I told you–”

“Yes, and I am not a fool. Your coveting Ashaxi’s throne is a clear fabrication and I do not tolerate dishonesty well.”

The demon exhales tremulously. His hand wanders to his lower belly, where ghostly sensations tug at him from deep within. Cold sweat beads his wrinkled brow. 

“Lial?” A warm palm cups his cheek. “Lial, you mustn’t sleep.”

“No, I’m not. I–” The demon absently leans into the heat, a glimmer of red peeking through the thick fans of white lashes. “Ashaxi favoured me. Truly.”

Julian’s intense gaze pours over the demon’s drawn features. He presses his lips into a tight line and sweeps his thumb across Lial’s cheek. Cold. Much too cold. “Am I correct in assuming that his favour is an undesirable notion?”

“I wet his appetite in a way none else could.” Clawed fingers trail across his belly. There’s his voice murmuring in his ear, darkly lascivious and vile. 

A light tremble seizes the demon’s body, and with it a growing chill. It’s as if Ashaxi is here now: frigid breath puffed against his nape; elongated claws carving signs across his spine; his towering, muscular form crushing against his own, so much so that he can only release airless screams; and his voice, his voice–

Julian promptly rises from the chair and sits behind the shivering demon, pulling him into his arms. His outer robe is shed to place over Lial, trapping what little heat he’s able to generate. “Your temperature is dropping - rapidly,” Julian informs him, curtly. “Has this happened before?”

Weakened greatly - and too cold to object - Lial allows the priest this intimacy. The chill had been there for a while - ever since his arrival - but now it’s taken shape, a brittle case of ice that refuses to melt. Even if he leans into Julian’s heat, he only feels a moment of relief before the chill sharpens. 

“Not like this,” he says, breath hitching. “This is…this is different.”

“Perhaps your body is repelling the light. It was a very invasive procedure. Or it could be…” Julian trails off and wraps his hands around the demon’s. Lial feels like ice - colder than ice, in fact. If he were human, he would be near death.

“...Or it could be the curse,” Lial mutters. "The next stage."

“Indeed.”

“M-Maybe it’ll let me sleep.” 

“Do you wish to try?”

“I think it’s inevitable, d-despite my wishes.” Lial’s fangs clack together as they chatter.

Julian tightens his embrace, securing the demon within. Despite the heat inside their cocoon rising, it does nothing to affect Lial’s plummeting temperature.

Infernal are born from the cold fires of the underworld, so they are by nature cold creatures. However, they still have a limit that when breached can cause severe harm. Harm that they are able to heal, yes, but a needless suffering nonetheless. 

Lial’s eyes slide close and small noises of suffering fall free from his pale lips. The sheen of sweat upon his skin crystallises and glints like scattered diamantes. Julian knows - with a sinking heart - that Lial might be right after all. That he is not long for this world. 

“Rest, then,” Julian says quietly, hugging the long-suffering figure close to his chest. He holds Lial like he does the dying - an intimate embrace to ease fear and suffering; and the last human touch before they return to the light. “Rest easy, my friend. I shall watch over you.”

Lial must have trust in his words, for he goes limp in the priest's embrace. And though shivers continue to wrack his body, he is thankfully unaware of this discomfort. Sleep, finally, steals the demon’s senses, and for the first time in a year, Lial rests.

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @pattonvirglsanders @wolfeyedwitch @whumpsday @whump-blog @whumpnonny @extrabitterbrain

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Part 4

Masterlist

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#whump #whump writing #villain whump #hero x villain #villain whumpee #supervillain whumper #hero caretaker #demon whumpee #demon whump #julian tries to be all stoic and gruff but he's panicking the entire time #actually a big softie #lial sadge julian madge

[jewul]

tw// death

i think this is just a product of prolonged social isolation but ive been genuinely consumed by thoughts of mortality and death in a way that maybe isn’t healthy and. Idk i hope this passes soon bc i almost had a panic attack thinking abt this last night and 😀 we joke about existential crises but im having one for real

#death tw #death cw #this is not suicidal ideation this is me facing that my deepest fear is inevitable: non-existence #this is eternity ok: <_______________________._______________________> #and the little speck is your one shot at life!!!! fuck!!!!!!!! then you CEASE TO EXIST for eternity oh god #normally these thoughts propel me to appreciate life more but i think bc meaning in life is a little scarce atm. its just making me spiral #tumblr is not therapy but i just need to put this somewhere #if anyone has comforting words or anything. i would appreciate it 😀

[oceansevaporatetoo]

this cool thing

CW: lab whump, lady whumper, minor whumpee, creepy comfort (abusive/manipulative caretaker), fucky headspace, self hatred, needles, mentions of death, panic attack, disassociation, suicidal ideations, torture, noncon touch, sleep deprivation

here is a description courtesy of @teenytinytumblers: hi im oliver, i have fire powers and also the power of sassiness, im being tortured to find out the source of my fire powers by this shitty lady named dr. bateman, and theres this other dude named liam who likes to punch people, people being me. also my parents abandoned me to the center btw so theres my tragic backstory for you

this is my first time posting writing on tumblr, please lmk if you like it!

I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Dr. Bateman said she’d be back in a couple of minutes with clean clothes—not-bloody clothes—but she’s not back yet and I think I’m going to collapse where I’m standing.

My eyelids flutter, but she said she’d come back and she’s not back yet so I stay standing. I stare at the clock and watch the seconds tick by. Time seems to move faster now that I know I’m nearly dead.

I knew before, I think. I just didn’t understand. There’s no getting out of this.

I am going to die. 

And I’m okay with that, I think hazily as the door swings open.

“Oliver,” Dr. Bateman says, putting the clothes on my bed. She looks up at me, and I lower my gaze just before our eyes meet. “No. Look at me.”

A million comebacks flash through my head and I say none of them. I look at her and can almost feel her hand gripping my chin, the tip of a needle pressing into my neck while I beg her to stop.

I blink.

“Good,” she says, her tone nearly motherly. “Now, Liam will be here tomorrow morning at—“

“I don’t want to know.” My voice cracks, and I flinch as her hand goes to the remote resting on her clipboard. 

“Don’t interrupt me,” she says quietly, but she doesn’t press the button.

“I’m sorry—“

“I’m still speaking.”

It’s a test. It’s a trap.

I say nothing.

Dr. Bateman jots something down on her clipboard, then looks back up at me.

Am I supposed to say something?

My head spins. I’m going to yawn and I can’t, she’ll be furious— and she’s still looking at me.

“This shouldn’t be this hard, Oliver,” Dr. Bateman says loftily, and what if she’s doing this on purpose, what if she’s trying to get me to mess up?

I can’t even remember what we were talking about anymore, and my head feels full of cotton balls and glass shards.

I’ve been holding my breath this whole time. I didn’t notice.

“Oliver?”

I look at her.

She looks at me a second too long and I break.

I let out a panicked sob, grabbing the nightstand behind me and sinking down onto the floor. I’m staring at the same red shoes that were pinning me down to the ground earlier and I screw my eyes shut, but I can still see the red on the inside of my eyelids and I can’t breathe.

“Honey,” Dr. Bateman’s voice comes from somewhere above me, slightly muffled, and I can’t tell if she’s concerned or patronizing or something else entirely. “What’s wrong?”

“You— you’re going to kill me.” But it’s not me saying that, it couldn’t be, because I don’t even remember my mouth starting to move. I don’t remember my eyes opening.

“Yes,” She reaches over my head to put her clipboard on the nightstand. I want to back away, but there’s nowhere to go, and I press myself into the wood. The look on her face makes me think that my shutting down is waking her up. “But let’s face it. I was always going to do that. Oliver, honey, do you know how elemental powers work? It’s in your chromosomes. Down to the deepest level. There’s no way to get rid of your fire without getting rid of you.” 

My head pounds, and I take a shuddering breath. The room is spinning, but not around me, around her.

I’m dreaming, this has to be a dream—

She runs a hand through my hair, as if to be consoling. I shrink away from her.

 “Don’t touch me,” I say, and the sentence comes out in a sob. “Please don’t—”

Her fingers curl into my hair and she yanks my head back so I’m forced to look up at her. “I’ll do anything I want to do, Oliver,” she says, her voice dangerously soft. “You’re going to be on the operating table tomorrow, and yes, I am going to touch you. Never speak to me that way again.”

I say nothing. No words would come out anyway. She lets go of my hair, and I let my head drop.

“Now,” Dr. Bateman continues. Her tone is harsh, and I flinch, bracing myself for pain that I’m not even sure is coming. “I have several things to explain to you, and I suggest you just listen. Look at me, Oliver.”

I look up, swallowing. My eyes threaten to close again, and I force them to stay open.

“Thank you,” she says finally. “Now, Liam will…”

I tune her out, staring absentmindedly at the clock right behind her head. My heartbeat is still in my ears and it aligns with the ticking of the clock, like it’s counting down the minutes until I die.

“Oliver,” I look at Dr. Bateman. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“What time tomorrow?”

I don’t know. I have no idea, and she takes the clipboard off the nightstand.

“No, wait—“

She pushes the button, and pain courses through every single nerve in my body.

Pass out, pass out, pass out, I think, and a second later, I do.

“Ten tomorrow morning,” Dr. Bateman tells me when I come to. “What time?”

“Ten tomorrow morning,” I repeat, my voice hollow.

“And where is Liam going to take you?”

“To—” I don’t know, I don’t— “Dr. Bateman, please— just tell me again, I’ll listen this time—”

“I’ve told you three times already, Oliver.”

No. She hasn’t. She hasn’t. I’m not that delirious, right?

Right?

“No— no, you haven’t— I’m not—“

“Are you arguing with me?”

“No no no, I’m not—“

“Well, that’s what it sounds like. But you wouldn’t dare, would you? Not after all that time you spent in 3C.”

“No, I wouldn’t— Dr. Bateman, please—“

“So, where is Liam going to take you?”

Her hand is too close to her clipboard. “Please don’t,” I sob. “No—“

“Honey, just tell me you don’t know the answer and move on,” she says. “There’s no point in delaying the inevitable.”

“No, I know it— I— just say it one more time, please, I promise I’ll get it—“

“You don’t know, Oliver. Say it.”

“I don’t—“ I sob. “I don’t know, but Dr. Bateman, please, please—“

I can hear myself screaming. I can see myself screaming, and I scream again to make sure that I’m still here, that I’m not dead, and then I slam back into my body and I’m still screaming. Dr. Bateman says something, but she sounds far away and underwater, and I think my ears are broken, but really, maybe I’m broken, like that broken clock in the other center that can’t tell the time anymore.

“Oliver.”

Maybe if I open my eyes this will all be a nightmare, an awful nightmare that I’ve been dreaming about for hours, for days, for years. My mom will be alive and my dad will love me again and I won’t have powers—

I open my eyes.

It’s not a nightmare. 

It’s real. 

It’s real, and I’m staring at those red shoes again, shoes the color of blood, of murder, of years and years of torture only to die in the exact same place.

“Oliver.”

I look up at Dr. Bateman, at the woman who took everything from me, and feel absolute, paralyzing fear.

I hate her, I hate her, I—

“I’m only going to say this one more time. At ten tomorrow morning, Liam is going to come in here and bring you to my office. You’re going to say goodbye to everyone, and then you’re done.”

Done.

“Now answer my question. Where is Liam going to take you?”

“To— to your office,” I manage to say.

“Perfect,” she says. “I’ll see you soon. Good night, honey.”

I flinch as the door closes behind her.

I think I might cry, and I will myself to feel nothing again.

#whump #lab whump #minor whumpee #creepy comfort #cw: needles #experimentation #my writing #original characters #dr bateman is a bitch and a hot woman

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Steph! I absolutely love your page! Do you have any PTSD related fluff? like Johns having nightmares so Sherlock goes to comfort him and they both know but don’t mention it?

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: I was wondering if you knew of a johnlock fanfic which has john having PTSD or other war-related problems, and sherlock either helps him get through it or john comes to sherlock in the middle of the night like a child asking if he can sleep with (not that kind) sherlock so the nightmares will stop. If you do, great. If not, that’s fine too :)

Hi Nonnies!!

I don’t know if you’re the same Nonny or not, but since they’re both the same-ish, I’m putting them on the same ask, LOL!

So I HAVE done a list in the past for PTSD, and because I have a few new fics, I’m gonna make a part 2 list! Hopefully you’ll find something you’re looking for on one of the two lists I have!

NIGHTMARES, PTSD, PANIC ATTACKS, & MENTAL or EMOTIONAL TURMOIL (Pt. 2)

See also: Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attack, & Mental / Emotional Turmoil

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

What Did I Do Wrong? by Starlight05 (T, 7,880 w., 5 Ch. || Hurt Comfort, Angst, John Whump, Hospitalization, Worried Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil, Nightmares, Sherlock Being Dumb) - After John almost dies on a case, Sherlock disappears. So John is left to figure out what he can do to get his best friend back. Meanwhile Sherlock, guilt-ridden and willingly alone, is doing everything he can to stay away.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by “accident”, it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John’s preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other’s arms, but as ever with these two, it’s not your typical relationship. It’s fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 29,186 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship, Drama, BAMF!John, Emotional Turmoil, Introspection, Harry is in this Fic, Angry John, Happy Ending, Queerplatonic Relationship) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. A revision of the story Mending Icarus.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because…new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride… prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock, BAMF John) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate’s nose buried in your hair. Whilst you’re in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn’t have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he’s consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #ptsd #panic attacks #my fic recs #emotional turmoil #e-rated fics #Anonymous #long post

[signoraviolettavalery]

strategist-scientia replied to your post “I know Carina is bringing Malex into the light and I am infinitely...”

Kinda scared now tbh because Carina said "Yes" when someone suggested that Michael is probably reminded of Jesse Manes's hand in causing the deaths of his people whenever he looks at Alex. ������

I hope it’s ok that I use your response as the jumping-off point for some meta, because I’ve been wanting to write this since i saw Carina’s tweets, and the inevitable Malex panicking that ensued. There’s a couple tweets about Michael’s headspace that she made that I want to get into, as I consider where Michael’s character will go next season and what that might mean for Malex. 

Now, my immediate response to this is: Yes?? Good?? Carina is saying Michael is going to have a character arc next season, and this is a good thing. Characters need arcs, and frankly, I’ve been frustrated that most of his “arc” this season has just been taking care of other people. Equally frankly, I’m glad that this will be the arc, because Michael is completely traumatized right now. He not only lost his family right after finding them, but he’s witnessed the genocide of his race. I’m glad the show is going to deal with that instead of sweep it under the rug. That’s what Michael s a character deserves. And I know it sucks to put queer characters through trauma and misery and suffering, because it seems like that’s the only thing they ever get to experience in narratives. But in a well-written story, you can’t shield your characters from the world and have nothing bad ever happen to them. There need to be low points in order for there to be development, as long as there are high points. 

The other tweet that people have been worrying about is this one, about how Michael will react to Alex and how their relationship will changed, based on the fact that Alex’s family is responsible for literally all of the suffering of Michael’s: 

This is where people start worrying that Malex will crash and burn, or that Michael will blame Alex for what happened even though it’s not actually Alex’s fault. 

So, first of all, I’m going to point out the obvious: it doesn’t sound like English is this person’s first language (which isn’t a dig at them, but just the observation that there may be a language/communication barrier here). Carina’s “yes” is vague af, and twitter is a really shitty medium to sort-of-but-not-really hint at character motivations and what’s coming. 

Moving on from that, my  thoughts are that Michael isn’t going to outright blame Alex - after all, Alex didn’t do anything. In fact, Alex has literally shut down project Shepard and blackmailed his father to protect Michael, and if Michael knows about project shepard he knows this. Logically, he understands this. But I do think that Michael will pull away from Alex - just as he’ll pull away from Max, Isobel, Maria, and even Liz. He’s going to need space, and he might get self-destructive in all his relationships, not just the one with Alex, because he’s going to blame himself for what happened. It’ll be difficult to watch, but I think that Alex, who himself has extensive experience sabotaging his own relationship as a result of fear and trauma, will understand where he’s coming from and try to help. 

I do also think Michael will have a hard time with Alex specifically. Again, it’s not that he’ll blame Alex, because he clearly didn’t blame Alex for his hand, if his desire to rekindle a relationship ten years later is any indication. But Alex will be a living, breathing reminder of the Manes legacy, which has taken literally everything from Michael, starting with his hand and ending with his family. It’s going to get complicated, because just last episode, Michael was telling Max that he believes that there’s no place for him here (on Earth) - something that Jesse made him believe, and something of which his hand serves as a reminder. And now he has even more proof, painful, heartrending, visceral proof, that there is no place for him on this planet, in the sense that humanity as a whole does not accept him for what he is. And the Manes legacy is largely responsible for this. 

But. The irony is that while the Manes family has destroyed his family, his life, his home, and his hope, Alex has been all of those things for him. Alex offered him a home when he had none. Alex told him “you’re my family.” Alex, as Michael said in 1x11, made him believe there’s is a place for him here on earth. Home can be a person, and Alex has been his. 

And I think Michael will realize that. If Liz can get over the fact that Max covered up her sister’s murder and was responsible for her family suffering hate crimes for ten years, then Michael can get over Alex having a legacy that he has completely and utterly rejected. But it will take time, because trauma isn’t rational, and because Alex did enlist in the military and become a “Manes man” before he ultimately chose Michael. So Michael will have to reconcile those two things - what Alex’s family took from him, and the fact that Alex himself gave back all those things to him. Honestly, I think it’s going to be the culmination of the arc that they’ve been planting the seeds of this season - that home can be a person. Michael Vlamis also hinted that Micheal probably won’t be deciding whether to leave the planet this season, so perhaps this will be a decision he’ll have to make next season. Alex will give him the spaceship piece and set him free, understanding that Michael has never felt like he belongs on Earth and that now he feels like he belongs even less, and that his family is responsible for it. And Michael will have to realize that despite Alex’s legacy, which he has outright rejected, Alex is his home. 

It’ll be a long journey, but I honestly think it’ll be fine in the end. Think of it this way: ships, just like characters, need arcs. I know we all say we’d happily watch an entire season of them just cuddling in bed, but come on. None of us actually would. We’d like an actual story. That’s why we tuned in. We want to see characters facing challenges and overcoming them. And yes, just like with queer characters, we don’t want queer pairings to just keep suffering endlessly. But we do want them to have actual, meaningful storylines. And what Carina is hinting at above sounds like an actual storyline. It’s Michael working through legitimate trauma instead of sweeping it under the rug, and Alex learning to live with the legacy of his family. If done well, this is a good storyline. The alternative is either no storyline, or contrived relationship drama, and no one wants that. Remember when, on The Vampire Diaries, Damon and Elena finally got together and the writers had to come up with a dozen reasons to break them up (the sire bond, Katherine possessing Elena, Damon temporarily dying and Elena erasing her memories of him and about a dozen other “plots’)? We really, really don’t want that. We want an actual arc. 

Of course, how much you believe Carina and the writers will do justice to this arc depends on how much you trust them to actually meaningfully write it, and that’s up to each viewer to decide on their own. Based on my own personal experience, I think it’ll be fine, because whatever the various flaws of season 1 of Roswell (and they definitely exist), the emotional beats have rung true to me. I understand why characters behave the way they do, their fears, their traumas, and their progress (with some exceptions). So, I think we’ll be fine. 

Part of the reason I’m so confident is because every other time we panicked because of a tweet, a promo, or a promo photo, we turned out to be pretty wrong to panic. Let’s recap: 

1x09 This is the OG throwback episode, and when Shiri leaked that photo of Michael and Maria naked in the desert, we panicked. We thought Michael and Maria would have a full-blown romance and Michael would leave behind Alex and forget about him, or that Maria would sleep with Michael while knowing about Alex, or any number of worst-case scenarios. 

What actually happened: Alex ended things, with finality. Previously, he’d walked away - and we’re led to believe he’s done this multiple times, which means that he’s also come back multiple times, because to walk away again, he had to come back first. But now, for the first time ever in ten years, probably, he said “we’re definitely over.” The love of Michael’s life broke his fucking heart by making him believe they could never have a future together, and Michael’s response was literal suicidal ideation. That line about “I’m just wishing a meteor would strike me down and end my suffering”? That’s suicidal ideation, y’all. 

So yeah, he hooked up with Maria because he needed comfort and a connection with someone - but one that he was 100% certain wouldn’t get romantically complicated and messy. He picked Maria because he had a connection with her but thought there wasn’t a chance in the world that she’d catch feelings. 

And then Alex came back to him and he took him back and bared his fucking soul and revealed every single one of his deepest secrets. 

1x11 This was the UFO emporium re-opening episode, and everybody panicked that Michael and Maria would talk and kiss and/or hook up in the place of Malex’s first kiss. Come on, guys. Like, I get panic, but this was a bit much. 

What happened instead: Michael misses Maria, who was pretty much his only friend, and tries to get back onto the same page they were (flirty banter that meant nothing), but which is pretty hard to do once you’ve slept together. Michael believes he and Alex are completely over, and....he skips the Emporium reopening (probably because it’s too painful). Then, Maria, the person he pretty much considers his only friend, gets roofied and possessed by an alien serial killer. So yeah, he’s concerned, and he watches over her, because Michael Guerin is, at heart, a protector who takes care of people, and frankly, if he wasn’t worried about Maria, I’d like him slightly less as a person. Maria drunkenly indicates potential feelings for him, which he shows absolutely no indication of actually reciprocating (he looks concerned and frustrated at best). 

1x12 We all thought Malex was going to break up in this episode, despite the fact that they were already broken up and Michael thought they were “over.” We knew there was a tear-inducing Malex moment and we listened to Tyler’s song and I saw no end of posts going around saying Malex was going to break up. 

What happened instead: Alex confessed his love for Michael, called Michael family, stayed by him in the face of literal certain death, and physically and emotionally supported him during a moment of devastating heartbreak. 

So yes, I get the worry. I especially get the worry because apparently The Magicians fucked over their queer viewers just last night. Believe me, I understand, and I’m not a person to have faith easily. I’ve been through Supernatural fandom and the great Destiel queerbait that was season 8. I’ve been through Sherlock fandom and The Johnlock Conspiracy of seasons 3/4. I am intimately familiar with the nonsense shows pull on queer viewers, and I understand the context in which queer viewers are wary of trusting and investing emotionally. I’m a queer viewer as well, and I get it. I really do. But my personal experience of Roswell has been one of the fandom panicking (because we’ve been burned so many times), followed by us getting literal fanfiction on our screens, with actual love confessions and words like “cosmic” and all the tropes. So in this particular case, I choose to trust, because thus far, I think the show has done well by Malex for the most part, and because so far, almost all of our worries have turned out to be for nothing. And I’m also excited for Malex to have meaningful storylines and things to work through. 

That’s my two cents. Thanks for letting me ramble. Feel free to reblog if you think we could stand to spread some positivity. 

#strategist-scientia #roswell new mexico #malex #roswell new mexico meta #malex positivity #roswell new mexico speculation #malex speculation #michael guerin #character analysis #character arcs #seriously thanks for letting me ramble

[mittensmorgul]

It has to be done.

It Has To Be Done

This was the excuse Dean gave to Cas. It's also just one more variant on the Absolute Worst Thing it's possible to say on Supernatural.

"I did what I had to do."

"I don't have a choice."

“It has to be done.”

In a show where Free Will is the ultimate ideal, and where giving in to Fate is not only the ultimate failure, but has consistently been framed as a metaphor for depression, for giving up, for despair and even suicide, I'm incredibly disturbed by some things I've read today about Dean's state of mind, his intention to lock himself in the Ma'lak box, and Sam's actions undertaken to stop him from this.

I’m putting this under a cut, because it actively discusses depression and suicide, so please bear that in mind before reading. The TL;DR of what’s beneath the cut is my view of how the narrative has condemned Dean’s current mindset about his only choice being to throw himself into the deepest part of the ocean to suffer eternal torment, locked in a box with the metaphorical representation of his own worst opinions of himself, is being used as a direct metaphor for depression, self-harm, and suicide. So if this is triggering, please read at your own risk.

The show has even consistently put the actors’ own Meta Narrative Terms into the characters' mouths-- 

Sam: You have one card today! But we'll find another tomorrow. But if you quit on us today, there won't be no tomorrow! You tell me, uh, you don't know what else to do. I don't either, Dean. Not yet. But what you're doing now, i-it's -- it's wrong! It's quitting! I mean l-look what just happened. Donatello never quit fighting. So we could help him because he never gave up. I believe in us, Dean. I believe in us. Why don't you believe in us, too?

They essentially had Sam deliver the Always Keep Fighting motto to Dean here. Because like Cas's experiences with the Empty, like Dean's experiences with the Mark of Cain and then the Darkness luring him with the promise of complete annihilation of self and the end of suffering, like Demon!Dean unable to feel either pain OR joy, THIS IS ALL A METAPHOR.

For anyone who feels that Dean is actually CORRECT and RIGHT that this is the only way, to lock himself into eternal torment at the bottom of the ocean with the metaphorical representation of his daddy issues and self-worthlessness, I humbly suggest you might wish to seek professional help. Because that's just... horrifying.

Yeah, I confess, I am a Dean girl. But in the sense that I actually care about him, and want the best for him more than I need for him to be Always Right, you know? Because... he's definitely not right here.

He’s incapable, trapped in his current mental circumstance, of seeing the light. The same way he was incapable of seeing the reality of his situation while he’d been trapped in the eternal loop inside Rocky’s Bar. The view out those blurry windows was only the darkness of the inside of his own mind, you know? From where he’s sitting, there isn’t even metaphorically a door. Trapped inside the Ma’lak box already even in his own nightmares. That’s not a mindset from which one can find the way out on their own.

That’s depression.

I also do not see anything Sam has done in the last two episodes as abusive or in any way infringing on Dean's agency. Because people who are showing all the symptoms of suicidal depression don't actually HAVE agency. And I would've been DISGUSTED with Sam if he'd sat back and just accepted Dean's choices and actions over the last two episodes.

Everything Dean has done in 14.11 and 14.12 (and even trapped inside his own mind in 14.10, where Sam and Cas had to navigate a space that was identical to The Empty, and served the same function metaphorically as Dean having been "locked away" into this tiny box in an endless loop unable to truly find happiness and only surviving disconnected from reality in every way) has functioned as a metaphor for depression, hopelessness and major warning signs that people who are seriously contemplating suicide exhibit. Sam's reactions bear this out, and everything he does follows the playbook of someone who truly cares about Dean literally helping talk Dean down off the ledge.

Sam saw into Dean's head in very literal ways in 14.10. He heard Michael-- the embodiment of the worst thoughts trapped in Dean's own head-- attempting to convince Dean to give up because they were all doomed by his monsters coming to kill them all anyway. And that NEARLY happened, yes! They were tricked into bringing a monster into the bunker, who let in a flood of other monsters to attack the unprepared hunters. In a horrifying turn, Jack burned up a piece of his own soul to save them all, which allowed Sam, Cas, and Dean working together to lock Michael up, albeit in a temporary fashion.

But Dean is absolutely convinced that the only way to stop Michael from escaping again is to lock himself up in a magical box and fling himself to the bottom of the ocean. At this point, my brain refuses to let me go on unless I add the line, "And I would've gotten away with it too, if it weren't for you meddling kids!"

The plan Billie gave Dean isn't some sort of Safety Measure in case of Last Resort. It was portrayed as the easiest way out. It was the whisper of the void stroking Dean's brow and telling him he can lay down his burden and allow himself to quit fighting, to quit trying, to give up on everything he's ever stood for. It's HORRIFYING.

It’s horrifying in the same way Sam nearly giving in to Death in 9.01 was. Horrifying in the same way Dean going all kamikaze for a large part of early s3 was, knowing he was doomed to die he was reckless with his own safety.

Sam immediately started researching on ways to save Dean and defeat Michael, but Dean refused to even engage with that rational course of action. He'd already succumbed to the seduction of annihilation. He flat-out LIED to Sam about why he was leaving-- I mean yes, he did wanna visit Mary, and the side-trip to see Donna was nice, but Donna did call him out on his motives for seeing her. So did Mary, who was suspicious of Dean from the outset the way Donna had been. But it was that stupid awkward hug Dean gave Sam that he CORRECTLY INTERPRETED as a sort of farewell. It was a WARNING SIGN that Dean was hiding something incredibly dark and selfish, and self-destructive.

What Sam did as a result was ENTIRELY UNDERSTANDABLE. He didn't try to confront Dean directly. He treated him like a man on a ledge. He began setting up safety nets, alerting the people with Dean to his fragile state, even urging Cas not to confront Dean directly yet despite telling him-- because they are WORRIED about Dean-- what Dean's plans were.

This is what family who loves you DO when their loved one shows all the signs of severe suicidal depression.

This is what Cas did for Dean in 12.09, where Dean had textually been suffering torment “worse than Hell” in that prison, to the point where he’d dealt his own life away with Billie to help him and Sam escape. Cas took matters into his own hands, killing Billie to spare Dean from his own stupid choice. Because it was a stupid choice.

You don't just... go along with the depressed person or validate their suicidal ideation, you know? What madness is this that I've actually read with my own two eyes that Sam should've just... actually helped Dean effectively and metaphorically commit suicide? On what planet has this ever been something the show has said would be okay?

Everything Sam has done from that point forward-- from tentatively agreeing to stand by Dean at the end of 14.11 right through punching him in the damn face at the end of 14.12-- has been a textbook approach to supporting someone suffering through a major depressive episode.

His acknowledgement and surface level agreement with Dean in 14.11 was literally his foot in the door. If Sam had attempted to defy Dean in that moment, Dean would've packed up his box and left, and his final memory of Sam would be this feeling of betrayal. Sam needed Dean to accept his presence in order for him to have any hope of getting through to Dean.

I know from personal experience that depression lies. The hopelessness isn't real, but there's nothing more unhelpful in that state than the people around you just agreeing with you as if it is. It's a difficult balance to strike, though, between sympathizing with the depressed person and gently beginning to peel back the curtains they've shrouded themselves with, and revealing the hope and light outside. Just ripping it all down is just as horrific and untenable as letting the person suffocate inside their own hopelessness. So Sam takes the seat beside Dean and begins slowly chipping away at the literal tomb he's built for himself.

Sam tries logic, while Dean faces the horror of what he's condemned himself to in his nightmare-- clawing up the wall of the motel room enclosed in chains (the motif on the wallpaper formed a cage of chains around Dean, while Sam was framed in the doorway of light. Dean tore up his hands clawing at the wall in his subconscious drive to escape the fate he’d built for himself, and yet he keeps his back to that lightened doorway which is the obvious route to escape. He can’t even acknowledge it yet because he’s still bound in those wallpaper chains.

Sam tells him it's likely that Dean wouldn't die, that his suffering would never end, and that what he's suggesting isn't an escape from that torment that he's actually hoping to find. And Dean's mind seems to see this as fact already, demonstrated as exactly that in his own nightmare just moments before-- he's alive in that box that's already developed a crack where the water is drip drip dripping in. He knows the box cannot hold, and that he will not die as a result.

He was terrified of "drowning" inside his own mind when Michael took him over before, yet he thinks the rational solution now is to drown himself literally and in reality, for all time. I mean... this is not the thinking of someone who is behaving rationally. He's chained to his fear, and that fear is dictating his actions now. Should his loved ones simply accept that Dean is right and encourage him to self-destruct? Especially when we've been discussing all season how Dean's possession by Michael, his experiences drowning, his metaphorically locking Michael away, and his earlier drive to kill Michael before he could destroy the universe ALL as metaphors for Dean's own self-worth, his Father Issues, his guilt, his suppression of his whole self?

Dean’s been sharing reminiscences of childhood for a while now-- his story about Winchester Surprise with Mary, his confession to Sam that John had often sent him away and his fear ever since that Sam believed Dean had just abandoned him during those times are clearly the sorts of Dark Thoughts that are weighing on him now. Knowing just a little of the inciting factors we’ll see play out in 14.13 are giving me serious hope that Dean will find the catharsis he’s been unable to get regarding some of his long-standing, incredibly complicated feelings about his father. The fact that Dean will go in thinking his Deepest Desire (a phrase he’s used before to describe his temptation to self-annihilation, in 11.13) is to rid himself of Michael, but apparently manifests John alive instead is extremely telling since Michael has been a direct John parallel all season long.

But back to all the other metaphors and parallels that Dean’s possession by Michael has been used for all season long. How does all of that careful construction of mirrors collapse just because Sam punched Dean in the face? Suddenly none of that stuff matters because on a surface level, Sam Did A Mean Thing. That must be ABUSE! TERRIBLE! Because honestly that sounds just as nihilist as buying into Michael's deluded lies, which preyed on Dean's fears to sustain his belief in them.

Yeah, Sam realized he'd reached the end of his rope in letting Dean continue walking down the self-destructive path. Throughout the episode that Ma'lak box just dragged along behind them, always visible in Dean’s rear view mirror, silently reminding us of what would inevitably await Dean if he couldn't find a way off that path. It functioned as the specter of death, the shadow, boxed up so you couldn't see the Ma'lak box itself, but you just know it's right there under that thin surface.

Sam and Cas both tried patience. They both explored other metaphorical alternatives to active suicide. The situation with Tony Alvarez turned out terribly, but it was just one consequence of their previous mistake in letting soulless Donatello read the demon tablet. If they hadn't done that, then Tony would've fully awakened as a prophet instead of being driven to madness by the half-awakening he was doomed with because of the state they left Donatello in. And sure, they couldn't have foreseen that, but in the end the solution wasn't just to kill Donatello, but to find a way to save him.

Dean had been CONVINCED that "letting him go" would be the solution, and he acknowledged that parallel to himself in text.

Castiel: The natural order's been upset. Perhaps Donatello's state has created a prophet who's not only premature... but malformed. Sam: Okay. But if Tony was wired wrong because of Donatello, then the next prophet will be wired wrong, as well, and then the next, and the next and the -- the next and... How do we end this? Dean: You know how.

But from his position, Donatello was unable to save himself, despite his mind even unconsciously trying to do so. Just like Dean alone can't see a way out of his situation, which is why he NEEDS the help and support of his loved ones. Team Free Will, they're just better together.

This is the narrative the show has been building on in one way or another since the start. When they go their separate ways, they doom themselves. When they stick together, they at least have a fighting chance.

And after Cas provided the help to heal Donatello and break the demon tablet's hold over him, performing what they'd all previously believed impossible, Dean couldn't face that his own metaphor for what he wanted to do himself had completely fallen apart. He was already shaky on wanting to go into that box. He'd essentially spent the entire episode goading Sam into talking him out of it.

He doesn't WANT to go through that eternal torment, but he legitimately is unable to see another way out. Like Donatello's muttering what amounts to a cry for help through the next prophet, Dean was doing the same by harping on the "it's the end of the line!" nonsense that Sam repeatedly had to ask him to stop. He was also goading Cas with the "if you were my friend" garbage, challenging him to do something to stop him. Cas turned it around in the most painful way possible, laying out on the table the ONE THING Dean had said he was unable to do-- say goodbye.

Dean’s harping on the whole “last hunt, end of the road” stuff was the equivalent of a depressed person talking about themselves negatively as if there was something “honest” about romanticizing their depression. It’s fatalistic, and does nothing to help recover. It’s wallowing.

In episode, this was directly contrasted with Nick, who insisted his emotional pain had been the result of his wife never getting justice for what happened to her, but when faced with his wife actively holding out her hand and telling him “this is the way to salvation,” he rejected it, because all he wants now is to drown himself in Lucifer’s false salvation. He could’ve gone into the light, and let go, but he refused. Sam and Cas spent the entire episode trying to break through to Dean and bring him a spark of hope, and he’d been refusing and refusing. Nick was never really sorry. He was only playing sorry. Just like Dean until his final confrontation with Sam, where he finally called Dean out with that exact turn of phrase.

Dean wanted to run away, alone, and off himself. Cas was pressing him into dealing with it, demanding Dean acknowledge what he was really asking for. I think if there hadn't been an attack of Moosus Interruptus there, Dean would've cracked right there in the hallway, but of course they had to save Donatello first, making the metaphor complete.

That left the final confrontation to Sam.

Dean: Well, I would call this a win. Kind of nice. We're going out on a high. Sam: 'Going out' being the operative phrase. Dean: Sorry. Sam: 'Sorry.' How sorry are you? Sorry that you fight to keep Donatello alive, but when it comes to you, you just throw in the towel? Or are you sorry that, after all these years, our entire lives, z-after I've looked up to you, after I've learned from you. I-I-I've copied you, I followed you to Hell and back, are you sorry that all of that -- it -- it -- it means nothing now? Dean: Who's saying that? Sam: You are, when you tell me I have to kill you. When you're telling me I have to throw away everything we stand for, throw away faith, throw away family. We're the guys that save the world. We don't just check out of it! Dean: Sam, I have tried everything. Everything! I got one card left to play, and I have to play it. Sam: You have one card today! But we'll find another tomorrow. But if you quit on us today, there won't be no tomorrow! You tell me, uh, you don't know what else to do. I don't either, Dean. Not yet. But what you're doing now, i-it's -- it's wrong! It's quitting! I mean l-look what just happened. Donatello never quit fighting. So we could help him because he never gave up. I believe in us, Dean. I believe in us. Why don't you believe in us, too? Dean: Okay, Sam. Let's go home.

When the show is actively putting Always Keep Fighting language into Sam's mouth, is there really another way to interpret any of this than as a direct depression metaphor? Dean yells that he has tried everything. But... he’s literally tried NOTHING. He hasn’t tried one single other thing. He hasn’t even cracked another book or done a jot of research beyond the one Billie specifically put in his hands. Dean is just as trapped as Donatello was before Cas intervened to heal him. And he’s so trapped that he actually BELIEVES that he’s exhausted all his options. Because he can’t even begin to SEE any other options with his back turned toward the door focusing only on the wall he can’t seem to scratch his way through.

Suggesting that Sam was violating Dean’s agency in this circumstance is akin to suggesting that Sam violated Dean’s agency in forcing the demon cure on him, or akin to suggesting that Dean violated Sam’s agency when he shoved Sam’s soul back inside him. And yet... Sam and Dean both expressed gratitude after the fact, acknowledging that they couldn’t see just how badly they each needed help while in their respective compromised states. And that’s exactly the same framing they’ve given us to interpret Dean’s current mental status.

Sam had reached the end of his rope, and out of frustration and his own sense of failure to appeal to the part of Dean that should want to survive, he broke down himself. It hurt to watch, both for Sam’s sake because of the frustration of desperately trying to save someone intent on destroying themselves, as well as Dean’s sake because OUCH to have to face his self destructive impulse head-on like that... Sam’s punch hug forced that confrontation in ways none of their words had been able to.

It was the equivalent of Dean brushing the board game off the table in 7.21 and yelling at Cas that he wasn’t sorry, but only playing sorry... It was the sort of shock and shakeup Dean needed. He needed to see how badly his current state was affecting the people he loved, and the people he was deludedly trying to protect through what he felt was his own self-sacrifice. He needed to see first-hand just how wrong an assumption it was that they’d be fine if he went through with this effective metaphorical suicide.

and then when Cas returned, Dean confirmed that he'll let them help him, but he's holding that box in reserve.

Dean: Maybe Billie's wrong. Maybe. But I do believe in us. I believe in all of us. And I'll keep believing until I can't. Until there is absolutely no other way. But when that day comes -- if that day comes... Sam, you have to take it for what it is -- the end. And you have to promise me that you'll do then what you can't do now, and that's let me go. And put me in that box. You, too.

“Maybe Billie’s wrong,” is the metaphorical equivalent of “Maybe this depression is lying to me...”

He's still struggling with this big depression metaphor, but he has stepped off the ledge. He's acknowledged that there might be another way, even if he doesn’t really have much hope that he’ll be able to find it. But he’s accepted Sam and Cas’s help to guide him there.

And it's only one small step in the right direction, but it is a step. I'm betting it's a step big enough for at least a few of those books on Billie's shelves to have begun rewriting themselves. Because when has this show ever taught us to accept that giving in to Fate was the Good and Correct choice?

#spn 14.12 #oh DEAN #suicide mention #spn 14.10 #spn 14.11 #spn 14.13 #spn 7.21 #spn 9.01 #spn 11.13 #spn 12.09

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, LESLIE! You’ve been accepted for the role of CLAUDIUS. Admin Bree: Put simply, this application was everything I’ve been looking for in a Clark app and more. You nailed him from start to finish, from your analysis to your interview (his cigarette, his nagging conscience) to the faintly nostalgic para sample (the violin, in particular). You brought him to life in all of his terrible, tragic glory, and I can’t thank you enough for applying. I can’t wait to see what you do with him on the dash! Welcome to DiVerona! Your request to change his faceclaim to Richard Armitage has also been accepted. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours. 

                                                                              WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Leslie

Age | 17

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | I’m attending summer school by June and school starts in July, which means I’ll inevitably come across busy weekdays and weekends. However, my activity is mostly still dictated by how much muse I have for my character. Writing is never an issue for me so long as my muse hasn’t been milked dry that day.

Timezone | GMT +8

Current/Past RP Accounts | My accounts can be found here (x), here (x) and here (x). Most of my experience, as you may as well realize, are from only city RPs so I’ll be deviating from my comfort zone here, should I get accepted!  

In Character

Character | Claudius (Clark Godrej). While I love Cillian Murphy, could you possibly see Richard Armitage in his stead? This is only a secondary concern, though!  

What drew you to this character? | Is it considered a crime if you, at age seventeen, have not read any Shakespeare play? Of course I’ve seen adaptations of Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth, and Much Ado About Nothing, but other than that my knowledge on Shakespeare is nada. The initial knowledge I have of Claudius comes from Cliffsnotes (I especially like the part where the writer calls him ‘morally deficient’ and how he sacrifices humanity and humanness to acquire his goals), but reading his biography just made him more interesting for me.

It’s easy to conclude from first glance that Claudius is some sort of psychopath, but I believe that he is far more than that. C (I hope you don’t mind if I use this in future reference to him) has the makings of a Byronic character: plots spread across his life nothing short of tragedies, with misery and scorn imbued in his heart although still capable of love. More than that, however, I see him as possessing an inferiority complex stemming mainly from being constantly behind his older brother, whose shadow still rightfully looms his very movements to this day. Fusing Byronic characteristics with inferiority and you have yourself a deeply flawed character. As a writer, I aim to make my characters written in such a way that they aren’t just an overplayed trope.

Additionally, while he’s an emissary of the Montagues, his true loyalty lies within himself and himself alone—doing everything with his interests in mind, his mob allegiance only taking second place to his selfishness. Though what is important here is why he has become so selfish in the first place—and the answer lies with his older brother yet again. He’s neither owned nor valued in his life, and the barest semblance of anything that could become his he takes so with passion. This has especially struck me personally, considering that I’m a little bit of a greedy prick in real life (what can you do? Haha) but I do so with a justification it’s just me “taking back what I’ve lost”. And that’s primarily what C has become. So much has been taken from him that when the opportunity presents itself to “steal” something which is his brother’s own, he does so with a smile on his face, because he thinks—he knows—this is what he deserves. Him loving his brother’s wife and him killing his brother, however, are other stories entirely.

Despite all my ramblings, I don’t think I’ve definitively answered why I damn well love C so much already. He’s suffered most his life and from that he becomes a truly grey character for whom it is difficult to sympathize with, and with good reason. He’s malicious, selfish, and bitter; on the other hand, he’s driven, loyal to a fault, and extremely calculating in his methods. Without a doubt, C is human and everything that entails – a product of life’s calamities and fleeting radiance.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

Giya | Similarly to the third-season villain in The Legend of Korra (I can’t help but make a reference!), the one thing that tethers the villain to the ‘earthly realm’ is that of his one true love. I imagine that C will approach her death with the same approach as he did his brother’s own. He’ll be throwing himself to his work in an effort to erase all memory of her, but this fails with even the barest mention of her name. It will be an interesting and admittedly difficult challenge to paint him as anything but irredeemable after that point, because what else is there for him to live for in this goddamn world? The thought process would be unreal. In his mind, he’s killed for nothing. Now both his brother’s and Giya’s deaths lull in his conscience. Nightmares come more than ever before, as if compensating for their scarcity back then. Her death has unlocked in him a weakness that he so wishes to eradicate. Ultimately, though, I just want to see how he can grow from all this. He truly doesn’t have anything holding him back now, which leads to him becoming more reckless than ever.

Gallows (TW: suicide ideation) | Whether he be huddling in stacks under stacks of books or requesting that he take on other responsibilities aside from his job’s conventions, C is unwittingly distancing himself from others. He’s a tightly wound up storm and within good reason—in his perspective the universe throws tragedy to him constantly. So tightly wound is he that when he’s approached with the subtlest impression of compassion the storm comes resurging. Because, in the deepest trenches of his organ writhing underneath his ribcage, there remains still sentiment that motivates him to live. But he is so good at hiding his emotions, so good that I fear the inevitable numbness will push him further and further the edge. That being said, I desire for him to have even one friend to whom he can open up. It’s scary and characteristically unnatural for him to do so, but without a support system, I have an inkling that he’ll believe death is the only escape to the horrors he’s lived.

Gone Wrong | The brazen hiss of a car tire as it glosses over a roughly cemented road. Bones and synapses and organs smashed as his air bag failed to protect him from the damage. Lungs filled with inhaled carbon monoxide. Eyes dimmed, with only blinding white light in his line of sight. A fire developing from the car engine. Himself, unable to escape. C is a perfectionist above all. And while he’s internally already broken, I’d like to explore how physical incapability and how the loss of work – the only thing that keeps him going now – influences his actions. Always one to stubbornly brush off help, there’s no telling how he’ll fare on his own. In his perspective, such an accident is his past’s way of coming back to haunt him.

In Depth

The following THREE questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would were you playing the character.

TW: suicide ideation

The pair opposite each other on a shadowy nook in the comfort of his home. Separating them is an old mahogany coffee table smattered with scratches and even a bite mark, stemming from a former dog of whom he’s now disposed. A glass ashtray, whose surface has turned the color of tar, sits on the middle. Two glasses of water—the lone thing which Clark has prepared for them both, actual sustenance be damned—is placed strategically on its sides, as if guarding the ashtray’s secrets. Crossing his legs and drumming his fingers endlessly on the arm rail, he waits impatiently for the other’s question, having no desire except to continue his day per usual.

“What is your favorite place in Verona?” The interviewer asks, expression of pure civility.

A shake of his head, fingers flicking his cancer stick before it finds its way between his lips once more. A click of a lighter is heard as he alights his cigarette and begins to induce poison in and out his lungs.

Momentary silence is observed before his chapped lips part to repeat the other’s words. “My favorite place in Verona…” He muses, crossing his arms over his chest which serves as another means of defense. He decides not to give an honest answer, and having easily mastered the art of deceit he’s certain that the other will believe him regardless of his utterance.

“…is the capital library.” Then again, his response carries an undercurrent of truth. He neither wholly desires the fragrance of old books wafting through shelves that shadow the most miniscule of moves nor the hushed atmospheres upon which even a mellow laugh of a child is contorted into something ominous. He craves, in their stead, the peril lurking above the bookshelves and away from an entire city’s line of sight. It is among one of his safe spaces, a place where he can tread with peers of similar ideologies, those who have learned to accept him despite the rage bubbling underneath his system.

But you’re still lying. A conscience, faded but still ingrained into the back of his mind, tells him. He daren’t admit it to anyone, but the bridge dividing both parties is where his heart lies. The Castelvecchio stands unwitting of its role in the raging civil war, and he’s loath to think how much tragedy it has seen. And oh how he desires to trace both the footsteps of Capulets and Montagues and to discern how many of them have taken their last steps here—

—and how sometimes, when his heart is heavy and his shoulders become too heavy laden, when all efforts of alleviating the pain becomes all for naught, he imagines how it feels like to jump from one of its stones and into the raging river underneath.

But that is a story for a later day. Now, all that concerns him are finishing his cigarette. And this ruddy interview.

The other man taps his feet ceaselessly on the mahogany floor, eager to write his words yet again. But Clark is not one to satisfy another. In fact, he relishes in taking away their pleasure. Let him experience a twinge of suffering, a lone crevice of his mind says, let him.

A gleam in his eyes is evident yet again as he throws the stick somewhere, making neither moves to throw it properly nor extinguishing its tip. Let it burn. His conscience says treacherously.

He sees the impatient expression plastered on the other’s face, and a faint gale of laughter escapes past his lips. “Oh, do you want me to continue?” He utters, raising a single brow. “You’re not going to get an answer more than that.”

“What does your typical day look like?” The man almost stammers now, but ever so quick on his feet, disguises the gaffe with a small cough.

His head tilts, ever so slightly, at the candid inquiry. A perfectly-sculpted mask shatters only in the rarest of occasions and today is no exception. His face is still, devoid of emotion, with only those who have been trained in the art of distinguishing the cartography of Clark’s face having the knowledge of where to look. The faint curl of his lips is suggestive of sinisterism rather than of genuine amusement, cerulean blue irises glimmering with that of the sweet smell of danger.

“Shall I bore you with the details?” Clark leans back on his chair, folding his hands on his lap as he does so. His eyelids flutter shut as he inhales the remnants of nicotine looming in the air, a fleeting repose to boredom.  

“That’s why I’ve been brought here.” The interviewer does not even attempt to conceal his slight annoyance.

Let him wait. His conscience, or at least whatever is left of it, speaks. These days the small voice in the back of his head only serves to vex him all the more. Sometimes it speaks well, but far more frequently it does its stark opposite. The latter now speaks to him, in a cold, calculating way that almost mirrors his own speech.

A shallow laugh bubbles and escapes from his system before he can stop it. “Don’t tell me you’re actually interested in the makings of an emissary. Wouldn’t you rather learn about the boss, who sits atop his throne? Or their second-in-command, whose deeds are so dark they can bring the diablo on his knees? Or the advisers, whose words occasionally serve much better than the soldiers’ actions?”

There is no response on his opposite’s part. He continues.

“Or wouldn’t you rather learn about the unspeakable?” Clark leans forward, looking side by side as if to keep a secret from an invisible audience. “Wouldn’t you rather learn of a thief in the night, strutting across the room as their eyes fixate on another silhouette? Wouldn’t you rather learn of a man with quiet, calculated steps, stifling his would-be victim’s mouth with a handkerchief and plunging a knife into their back? Wouldn’t you rather learn of a man whose arm contains now a trail of crimson as he remorselessly leaves his victim, who has lips growing purple with each passing second and their skin flaking at the slightest touch?”

He sees him now, swallowing in fear as Clark utters his sentences.

Fear is what he does best, he thinks.

“…that beats talking about mundane business trips, no?”

The interviewer conceals none of his fright, almost instinctively taking the glass of water and, putting his lips onto its brim, drank its contents until it is half-empty.

“Erm… I suppose we should skip to the last question,” the interviewer speaks, “what are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

“You want the truth?” Clark replies, almost gnashing his teeth.

The interviewer nods, gaze fixated at him, as if daring him to finally venture onto the realm of honesty.

“Who was it that said, ‘All war is a symptom of man’s failure as a thinking animal?’ Sun Tzu, or John Steinbeck?”

“I believe it was Steinbeck.”

“And it was Einstein, was it not, who said that ‘killing under the cloak of war is nothing but an act of murder’?”

Another nod of the interviewer’s head.

“I believe in neither,” Clark speaks, voice carrying an undercurrent of exhaustion. His next words are a product of his mind’s quiet, feeble surrender, letting his walls down ever so slightly. There is no doubt on the authenticity of his words. “War is humanity’s greatest achievement. We have grown past the point of conventions and conformity to the extent we wage battles in an effort to fight for our ideologies. In war, we see the best and the worst of mankind. Innocents cry for help and the braves deliver. In war, there comes innovation and breakthroughs, inventions that wouldn’t have otherwise been made if we remained not in distress.  War makes heroes and victims of us all. War is not a dishonor to civilization but rather its saving grace.

“That being said, who am I to judge as to whose faction is in the right? One man’s enemy is another man’s freedom fighter, and the Capulets and the Montagues understand this. In both points of view, there is no senseless brutality but justified hatred. And while I belong to the latter faction, if I had been born on the other side of the tracks, I most likely would’ve followed suit on the other team.”

Moments of defenselessness aren’t especially sought after by him, but Karma’s ugly cousin Fate ought to have thought otherwise following this encounter’s inevitability. Even while he is having the conversation his candor stings, like a snake’s venomous bite, as if the serpent seething in his system desires nothing more than to sear its scales permanently onto pale flesh. To bring back the mask he’s slowly uncovered.

Heedless of mind’s qualm, he continues, “I’m a selfish man. I do things primarily for my own gain. I’ve forgotten how it’s like to care for another. Being an emissary is just a job. I don’t expect, nor anyone should expect, that I be a hero.”

Gradually pushing himself out of his chair, Clark begins to take out another cigarette stick from his breast pocket. I’ve said too much. He muses internally as he lights the cigarette and brings it between his lips, unable to resist nicotine’s sensual destruction. Walking over to where the interviewer sat, Clark brings his free hand on their shoulder, he utters:

“Enough is enough.”

In-Character Para Sample: We do require one in-character para sample. Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

01.  

In his hand, he holds a picture frame of himself and his music teacher. It’s dingy and dusty from decades of wear and tear, its outlines faded as if adding a natural vignette. It has been long, too long, since he’s last held his much-loved string instrument. It is rare, almost nonexistent, that his work be entailed with bouts of rhythmic resonance.

From happier times, it’s captioned.

“Clark Godrej,” his teacher once said, “you are a promising violinist.”

He remembers those days where sonorous notes weaved by his fingers fill the room as effortlessly as a summer breeze. He remembers the violin’s warm vibrato that dispels the sorrow surround him. He remembers the magnified, thunderous applause befitting for an artist of his talent. As a child four feet ten tall, he is the smallest of performers, pale and porcelain skin serving only as another reminder of his fragility.

But the string instrument is far from the only thing which he manipulates. He has trained the line of his lips to contort into a smile; eventually it becomes a part of him. A smile, seamlessly orchestrated, with no single note amiss, and with every chord struck with the neatest precision. It is a trick he uses as a means to hide the darkness coursing through thin veins. He performs this smile every time he takes a bow on the stage, with his parents and brother distinctively absent.

Even as a child, Clark’s memory has never been quite fickle. But at some points there is a failure of clarity, a glitch in the well-oiled machinations that is his consciousness.

He remembers small things.

He remembers the young Clark as he leaves the recital is a torrential downpour of rain. The pitter-patter of his ruined leather Oxfords as he makes the way back to the Godrej home. Even then it seems to him like Fate’s bitter laughter, taunting and flagrant in its repose.

He remembers himself staggering through the family’s doorsteps like an animal venturing into a new cage. The case enclosing his violin is wet all over, having used it to safeguard his own body.

He remembers a silhouette carefully approaching him. “You’re late.” His father speaks first, lips curled into a grim line.

He remembers himself mussing up his hair, droplets of rainwater stuck to his raven locks dampening his fingers. “It was raining.” He chimes in gently. “Did I miss dinner?”

He remembers the tension looming between the pair like thick musk, carrying an undercurrent of disapproval. “You did.” The words roll out of bared teeth. Like a statue his body hardens, swallowing in fear as he sees his father’s tightly-wound features. “Did you do this on purpose again?”

He remembers himself not listening.  “Of course not. What’s for me to gain?” His remark is uttered as a faint mumble, as if his speech is still uncertain to tread another lie. He remembers not wanting to be there, not at all, not in a family dinner where his brother was celebrated and himself all but ignored. “I’d rather rest, if that’s alright by you.” The sigh he releases from his system is heavy and resolute.

He remembers his father not wishing to rescind, instead pushing on his inquiry. “Do you think this is some sort of game, Clark?” His father doesn’t wish to rescind, instead pushing on his inquiry.

It is at this point that his mind fails him, drawing a blank where there should’ve been a memory.

But he does remember this:

He remembers a resounding, echoing slap.

He remembers a hand-shaped bruise on the side of his cheek as he looks at himself in the mirror the next day. It stings at the slightest touch.

He remembers a quiet breakfast.

He remembers darkness.

And he remembers a violin, split in two.

(The next two are just drabbles for a graphic for his relationships with Haresh and Giya that I gave up doing because I have 0 Photoshop skills whatsoever haha)

02.

His grief, like many things about him, is tightly concealed. No one will know about his running as soon as the wake came to a close, his legs failing him, and him sinking to his knees as soon as he opens his front door. No one will know how he takes one look at his bare flat and realizing how bereft he truly is of company and friends and anything akin to love. No one will know how he untangles his tie and wishes that he can also untangle himself from his mask of feigned indifference, worn so constantly that it’s already been seared permanently into his flesh. No one will know how he prays that night, prays with only God as his witness, asking for a mantra of reconciliation even though he knows his deed is unforgivable.  

No one can know.

He is Cain, and he will carry his sin to the grave.

And when Death does come to find him, as it shall inevitably, whether today or tomorrow or the next, Clark will point his gaze right back. His eyes will brim with tears, unshed and unspoken, for it is only in his last moment that he can expunge his prolonged sorrow.

03.

Long has he past brave illusions for a happier and more radiant tale, plots coated with no small amount of deluged tragedies and stuck in a ceaseless discourse with Fate, ever so realistic in its manifestation. Hope for his tale’s possible saccharine resolution bid its farewell so long ago leaving him with only bare remnants of opportunities for felicity, but when the shadows grew too long and the days felt too short, he tenaciously and persistently hanged onto these loose ends.

But as Giya’s thread, too, is cut loose, he finds himself holding onto nothing.

And what else is there to live for?

Extras:

Pinterest (x) Inspo tag (x)  There isn’t a lot round here, but hopefully it works. X Playlist (x) Element: Fire MBTI: ENTJ “The Commander” Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Primary Vice: Pride Primary Virtue: Prudence

Headcanons:

GIYA. The way I see it, Clark first sees Giya as his brother’s property. So when their mutual attraction is made known, Clark is obviously ecstatic, for he’s acquiring something that was rightfully his brother’s own. Somewhere along the road, however, he does fall in love with her to a fault, enough for murder to come into play. That said, Giya is the only person Clark has ever opened up to, and that list includes his parents and his brother. There’s no one on Earth he would kill – or die – for. It is because of this reason that her death affects him more than his brother’s own. Love is something he’s gone through decades by without, and with her absence comes him growing more and more detached from reality.

MENTAL ILLNESS. I wrote Clark with the idea that he is suffering from psychotic depression. Having been diagnosed with a mood disorder with psychotic features myself, I believe I am able to do this interpretation justice. I’ve already made evident some of his symptoms in the interview and para samples, including irritability, difficulty concentrating, talks or threads of suicide, isolation, and psychotic features such as hearing things that aren’t present. Still, this remains undiagnosed, considering he’ll probably go set something on fire before he goes to a therapy session.

FAMILY. While he had a relatively good upbringing, one incident comes to mind (as is evident in the para sample) that serves as his breaking point. By no means was his father abusive, but the ordeal turned into a heated debate that led to a physical squabble which has permanently blacked out from his system. It further sets up his animosity towards his family and his envy towards his dear, darling brother.  

MUSIC. Classical music is his go-to genre, while his violin is his favored string instrument. He owns a Merano 4/4 purple violin.

APARTMENT. His apartment is quaint and comes equipped with a small living room, a kitchen, and a bedroom on the upper floor which is a converted loft. Despite this he keeps it meticulous, save for a few cigarette butts here and there.

SEXUALITY. Clark is demiromantic, but experiences sexual attraction to both men and women. That being said, he doesn’t exactly search for sexual conquests. He lets it develop naturally, and if the chemistry is there, he pushes forward.  

He smokes way too much.

I wrote Clark with the idea that he carries himself with a malicious streak, eager to make others fear him, lest they actually see through his mask and attempt entrance.

#accepted #accepted: claudius