#(because I am. I. so much. mental anguish. on the regular. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sepublic · 3 years

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Marcy’s Condition

I’m scared for Marcy. Seeing her so wounded, I just-

I really am afraid. Afraid that she’s going to need not just emotional and mental therapy, but physical therapy as well… Which, we don’t know how successful Andrias’ procedure is going to be, but still. It really sucks and haunts me how Sasha has that scar on her face, as a permanent reminder of what happened in Amphibia, of Reunion…

But not to compare pain, but Marcy is somehow even worse- Because she might just have that ENTIRE gaping scar on her chest and back, and… Remembering how she almost died, how she THOUGHT she died. The pain, the unimaginable horror and agony at being impaled. The reminder of everything that happened in True Colors, the pain and desperation, the betrayal… I can legit seeing it become an actual, medical trigger for Marcy. Sasha at least managed to cope with the scar on her face, good for her…!

But Marcy… I can easily see this breaking her. And it just leads to her always trying to cover up that scar and not look at it, which, is easy because she can accomplish that with any regular shirt, but still… It’s just the entire concept of bodily autonomy being violated, of being marked like that, and it worsens with the idea of Andrias turning Marcy into a cyborg, and/or his master possessing her. To already have her body so grievously hurt and wounded, to then be operated on like a test subject, to be controlled and puppeted with this entity inside her… It genuinely sickens me.

This girl suffered, and there’s always that permanent, visual reminder of it. At least with Sasha, you can argue how she brought it on herself, as a reminder of how she tried to kill Anne’s surrogate father and why this mistake backfired; It’s a learning experience, although trauma is trauma of course, so that is to be said VERY lightly and carefully. It’s not like Anne MEANT to scar Sasha; But Marcy… Marcy didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to be impaled by someone she trusted, who took advantage of and manipulated her…

She was afraid of confiding her fears in with Anne and Sasha, and she found that in Andrias; And now, she’s likely to be even MORE terrified of opening up because of this! Especially with how Andrias has the AUDACITY to literally gaslight Marcy in her final moments, as she realizes she’s going to die and is dead, by saying “Look what you’ve made me do.” As if he hasn’t emotionally manipulated her enough, to imply Marcy’s violent death is all her fault, and/or that of the friends she loves and didn’t want to lose, was so afraid of being rejected by. Because I guess her soul hadn’t been crushed enough!

Not to mention… Getting impaled like that, having a burning blade through your spine… I’m just really afraid that when this is all over, IF Marcy gets to recover and heal; She might be paralyzed. She might be plagued with physical health issues for the rest of her life, because she’s missing an entire chunk of her spine; And, hopefully Andrias’ procedure can give Marcy’s body a full recovery… Ideal scenario, no scar, even!

But I can’t help but feel like being possessed by Andrias’ master, THAT could leave its own physical toll on Marcy’s poor body, and it just agonizes me to see this girl be violated like that, emotionally and physically. It’s depressing how Marcy briefly treats others more like NPCs in her game than people, because now SHE’s being objectified, losing her agency, in a way that is so much worse and totally undeserved.

Marcy doesn’t deserve to have to live with physical health issues for the rest of her life, for what happened; She’s a kid. She doesn’t deserve to be plagued with echoes of pain and physical trauma that constantly remind her of what happened, even when she’s not directly looking at the visual mark it left behind. And I’m just scared that when this is all over… I can see Marcy being bedridden, being in ACTUAL medical therapy, because I have a hard time imagining her being able to function without that.

What if she becomes physically sick and ill, still feeling the repercussions of her wound or possession or being modified against her will? I don’t want to imagine Marcy looking at prosthetics that Andriasgave her, for the rest of her life. There’s nothing wrong with needing physical aid, or medicine, or therapy to get by in life; But for Marcy, it could serve as a reminder of issues that came as a direct, unfair, result of her time in Amphibia; A loss of carefree health she once had… And she doesn’t deserve to be haunted like that.

I don’t want Marcy to be plagued by health issues, she’s gone through ENOUGH already, having the rest of Marcy’s life be permanently riddled and restrained because of her wound, it just… It genuinely leaves me in anguish. I don’t want to see Marcy in a wheelchair, as a permanent, haunting reminder that is intertwined in every aspect of her life, of what happened… A reminder she literally can’t escape because it’s her own body, and it’ll affect just about every breathing moment for her.

I don’t want to see Marcy struggle to breathe from damaged lungs. Or have her struggle with meds –I know that feeling- or constantly need a device for physical aid, something to be hooked up to often. I don’t want to imagine Marcy sometimes lying in bed at night, placing her hand over her chest, so she can feel her heart beating, to relieve and reassure herself that she’s still alive. Not after feeling her heart stop beating when she was first impaled… She’s so young, she has her whole life ahead of her, or should, and she had that violently ripped away from her, barely got to live with that kind of normal life before it was gone for good. She deserves to just breathe, carefree, and feel the sunlight on her face and enjoy life.

As a disclaimer, I don’t want to patronize people with disabilities or injuries. I don’t want to turn physical conditions into some inescapable tragedy that can’t be moved past, can’t be healed from; There are so many people who have managed to adapt and continue living as always. I’m sorry if I did that… But Marcy’s whole condition could be a brutal reminder of what happened to her, of that horrible thing that wracked not just her heart but her entire body. She shouldn’t have to suffer for that, for the rest of her life…

And I’m terrified for her mental health. Of her suffering from actual PTSD, being triggered by things that remind her of that moment. Of having nightmares and waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing, as she reaches out for Anne or Sasha for comfort. I can’t handle that thought, the idea of a kid in that sort of pain… It’s so unfair and she doesn’t deserve it. I can genuinely, plausibly see Marcy becoming depressed, becoming somber and morose for a long while, before she can finally heal and become happy and excited and curious in things that open way she does; And GOD, I’d be inconsolable if she felt suicidal, because how do you move on from that? Thinking her life wasn’t worth it without Anne or Sasha, that she literally can’t handle it… Combined with the possibility of abuse in more ways than one from her parents, how THEY won’t help, if they’re even allowed near Marcy after all this.

Does Marcy have anyone to even turn to when it all ends? I hope she does. I can only imagine her being constantly terrified of being alone, and needing company just to get by… She really deserves a therapy pet after all this, maybe Joe Sparrow could help. It just… It just sounds like Marcy’s whole life has been wracked with this kind of pain, and I don’t want to her pain get any worse, to see it get physically chronic. Any kind of physical pain could easily traumatize and push Marcy to her limits… And, there’s the possibility of good representation for physical disabilities, but also, I don’t want to patronize anyone, or speak over their voices, so again I apologize if I did.

I guess this just stems from me wanting to see Marcy’s pain be acknowledged and addressed so she can properly heal from it, can be validated and told that it was terrible and should’ve never happened no matter what… But maybe I can find relief in the denial that it didn’thurt her this badly, that Marcy is fine and doesn’t have to deal with that to begin with, because wouldn’t that be better for her? I dunno.

It’s undeniable that Marcy is going to be emotionally crushed after this… But does she have to stay, or become, physicallycrushed as well?

I just…

SOMEONE GET THIS GIRL SOME LOVE AND CARE AND THERAPY ASAP FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE AND LET HER BE WELL AGAIN!!!!!

I just want Marcy to be able to recover and heal… I genuinely hope and wish her emotional spirit will at least be able to move on after this, that she can still find joy and excitable fun, and get to be a kidagain, with her best friends like old times; Only better, because she’s at least grown. God, these girls and their trauma, and the inevitability of how it’ll haunt and hurt them… It leaves me inconsolable.

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #spoilers #amphiba marcy #marcy wu #angst #ptsd #suicide mention

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yannowhatigiveup · 3 years

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T.W.A.A: The Eccedentesiast

This is a one shot I started last night and I finished it at around 2 am because I’m an insomniac. Sadly this isn’t the 10k+ word one shot I was talking about (I’m still writing it aaa) but this one is around 4-5k words long so I hope you enjoy. This is rushed, badly written, badly plotted and badly named.

TW: Dark topics such as sexual assault and suicide is mentioned in this piece of writing.

Paris, the City of Love, what a big misconception that was. If anything, Paris should've been labeled as the City of Misery considering the fact it was haunted by a villain who preyed on negative emotions. No one outside of Paris knew though, they were oblivious to the fact hundreds, thousands even millions had died in the city home to the Eiffel Tower, only to be resurrected and tormented with the memories of their death. It was worse for Marinette though, she had watched all the citizens, her beloved citizens, die before her eyes and she was powerless to help them. Their screams of anguish and cries of pain forever ghosted her nightmares. It wasn't just their blood that she drowned in, she was bullied, abused and betrayed in her civilian form by those she trusted the most.

Her classmates. She thought she could trust them but they left her for someone shinier and newer. They all hurt her, destroyed her hard work, verbally and physically bullied her. Nino and Kim, her childhood friends had turned their backs on her too, even joining the others in causing her physical and emotional pain. Alya, her best friend, had become her main abuser. The reporter stabbed the poor bluenette in the back, figuratively. Lila was the one who did it literally. Lila, the sound of the name itself made Marinette sick, after all, the brunette was the one who did this to her. She made her friends turn their backs on her, she made them abuse her and she only watched with fake crocodile tears and a smug smile when no one was looking. And Adrien, he was the worst of all. When Marinette was younger, Adrien was the embodiment of perfection. But now? All she could see was a spineless coward and a predator.

As Chat Noir, he wouldn't participate in the battles, only flirting with her hero persona. He would whine like a toddler when she rejected his advancements. Even when he did join in the battles, he was useless, ignoring anything that Ladybug would tell him and go straight for the kill which never worked. Chat Noir was incompetent and a sexual harasser. As Adrien, however, he was much more. Just two days ago, he had tried to sexually assault the young bluenette. The blonde had underestimated the girl and she managed to get away but nothing could erase her memory of the event.

The ultimatum Lila had delivered to Marinette when she thirteen seemed over-dramatic and seemingly impossible at the time. Yet three years later, she was at the point of no return. Her classmates, her friends, her teachers, the boy she once loved, her partner, her parents. They all left her. Mayor Bourgeois, fearing for his daughter's safety, had sent Chloe to New York with her mother. Luka was on tour with his father so they could build a better relationship. Kagami had a family affair back in Japan that would last for at least a month. She was truly alone. Her parents had fallen victim to Lila's lies and Marinette overheard them discussing about kicking her out. The only one by her side throughout the whole ordeal was Tikki, her beloved kwami. Even Master Fu had to leave her.

Marinette felt shut out by the rest of the world. Sure, Paris adored Ladybug but it felt different. She was fighting battles alone, she stood as the last survivor, the last protector of Paris. She took that title in stride, or that's what the Parisians thought. In reality, she was hiding behind a mask.

The bluenette had suffered endlessly for years, she was ready to break that cycle of torture. Yesterday, she came to the solid conclusion of who Hawkmoth was, who is accomplices were and what his motive was. Gabriel Agreste was the man behind Paris' torment, Nathalie Sancœr was one of his accomplices and so was Lila Rossi. For his motive, he wanted to bring his wife back. Marinette understood the pain he was in but she wouldn't go to such extreme lengths as he did. Many years ago, Marinette made a friend, one of her very best friends who she fell for. But she never told anyone who he was, where he came from or even the fact that she met someone. The reason behind this was the fact she witnessed his murder. That death, of all she witnessed, was the most heartbreaking. Even when all these years have passed, she never truly got over his death. His green eyes always lingered her mind.

The bluenette let out an anguished sigh, she was on the Eiffel Tower, admiring the city's skyline despite all its obvious flaws under close inspection. Though Marinette had drastically mentally changed, she would always put on the same mask, she would always portray herself as a regular school girl. This was the one time she felt a little peace in her chaotic excuse for a life. Her blue eyes stared off into the distance, focusing on nothing in particular when she heard footsteps coming from behind. In her peripheral vision, Marinette could see the figure of Gabriel Agreste slowly approaching. Not wanting anything to happen, she made her knowledge of her appearance known.

"I never expected to see you somewhere so public, Monsieur Agreste" Her voice remained neutral. Gabriel didn't flinch meaning that he had expected her to sense his arrival, it made the young girl slightly unnerved but she refused to show it.

"The Eiffel Tower holds the greatest inspiration, as a designer yourself I'm sure you are aware" Marinette was used to his cold voice by now, she kept her guard up reminding herself that this was Hawkmoth was standing a few feet away.

She hummed, putting the two miraculous users in a deathly silence, until she decided to break it. "You know, you could've just asked" The older man raised an eyebrow in confusion but Marinette never looked in his direction, "It would've saved a lot of bloodshed"

Gabriel managed to catch up with what she was saying. "Are you implying that I am Hawkmoth?" He didn't sound offended or defensive, merely curious.

"I'm not implying anything" She replied curtly, then turning to face him. "I am merely stating a fact"

The miraculous user turned away from her, focusing his gaze on the city's skyline once more. "What are you going to do with this knowledge?"

The question confused Marinette, surely he would've attacked her or try to get her to remain silent?

He must've noticed her confusion. "Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't say anything"

Marinette turned her full body towards the taller man, she was going to end Hawkmoth's reign as quickly as she could. "I can heal her"

"What?"

"I can heal her" The bluenette repeated. "Emilie"

Gabriel also turned to face her, his usual cold scowl was replaced with a staggered expression. "Y-you can? Even after all I've done as Hawkmoth?"

Her head twisted back to portrait that was Paris. "To end it all, yes I will"

"Then please, follow me and I promise I will give you my miraculous as well as Mayura's. Just, heal my wife please" His tone changed from intrigued to pleading, Marinette could see that he meant every word.

"Oh don't worry... I will"

~~~

"I did it!" Tim's voice echoed in the Batcave.

"Did what replacement?"

"I found Hawkmoth's identity!"

Around three months ago, Wonder Woman had noticed Green Lantern trying to delete a video. She stopped him before he successfully did the task and watched the video herself, calling a meeting to express her anger about the situation. Most were shaken since they had never seen the Amazonian this livid before. She briefly explained how her mother was once a miraculous user and how powerful these magical jewelry could be. Aqua Man also shared his concerns, revealing that the fall of Atlantis was due to the miraculous. They knew the logical decision was to work on this from outside of Paris, the villain preyed on negative emotions and they had been ignoring the Parisians' calls for help for four years. Their sudden appearance would definitely trigger the heroes. So in the last month, they had gathered files of nearly every person in Paris as well as all the necessary information about every akuma attack. It was tiring for the Bats but they trudged through it anyway.

Damian had taken a special interest in the spotted-heroine specifically, without the knowledge of any of his family members. She appeared similar to a female friend he had made quite some time ago, the one who had witnessed an assassination attempt on him. He saddened him to no end knowing that the friend he loved thought he was dead. The green-eyed boy became one hundred percent convinced that this hero was his friend.

One day, Dick had caught him in the Batcave observing a recently taken image of the Ladybug heroine. His older brother thought that Damian was crushing on the lady and began to tease him as others entered the cave.

"Tt, that's not true" the green-eyed boy retaliated.

"If you don't have a crush on Ladybug then why are you staring at an image of her?" Dick added more information necessary so that his younger brothers could join in on teasing his youngest brother.

The Robin vigilante sighed and brought everyone's attention to the screen. "See that?"

"All I see is this little lady Demon Spawn" Jason's smirk was quickly gone when he noticed Damian's serious expression.

"She's alone" he stated simply and before anyone could get a word in, her explained further. "There is usually a team with her"

Everyone seemed to lean closer to the screen.

"She's fighting alone. Her 'partner' doesn't participate in the battles anymore, he stays on the sidelines, observing" He let the others catch up to what he was saying. "The attacks have been lasting a lot longer than usual, Ladybug leads a super hero team correct? Then why is she fighting alone this time."

"They could have all been killed... We have to go to Paris to help the poor girl" Dick turned to Bruce. "Who knows how much longer she'll last alone fighting a psycho butterfly man!"

Bruce's fatherly instincts were screaming at him from merely looking at the photo. "I'll announce to the League that we'll be joining the fight in Paris"

~~~

Gabriel lead Marinette to his office, Nathalie wearily watching. Just as he was about to open the double doors, his assistant collapsed in uncontrollable coughing. Marinette was much faster than the older man so she got to the woman first. The bluenette carefully put Nathalie down on one of the chairs available while putting her hand on where she thought the assistant would where the peacock brooch. The blue-eyed girl could sense the broken miraculous' energy trapped in the woman so she did the only reasonable thing she could at that moment, she extracted the corrupted magic, healing Nathalie almost instantly. Marinette ignored Gabriel's relieved expression and gestured for him to lead her to Emilie.

"When this is over, I wish to have a restraining order against your son"

"May I ask why?"

"..."

"...I understand, I'll make sure to tell Nathalie"

The older man stopped before a painting of his wife, his fingers reached for the painted shapes and pressed on them, revealing an elevator to which he went down in. Following his motion, Marinette placed her hand on the painting and allowed herself to descend down the mansion. It lead her to a repository with a catwalk which lead to a circular platform covered in luscious greenery. In the middle on the platform was a class-covered cryogenic pod which the sleeping body of Emilie Agreste lay. The bluenette carefully made her way to the glass casket, placing her hand on the transparent material when she finally reached her destination. Focusing all her energy, a red light erupted from her finger tips and it soaked into Emilie's skin. Gabriel opened the pod, carefully watching his wife as Marinette took a step back. Suddenly her eyes fluttered open.

"G-Gabriel, what happened?"

The man didn't reply, he simply hugged the woman of his dreams before turning the the young girl.

"I... Thank you Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng, I can give you the miraculous now if-"

"Ladybug will be at the Eiffel Tower soon, I suggest you give the miraculous to her then"

Gabriel nodded and thanked the girl once more as she left. Before she reached the lift that would lead her back up to Gabriel's office, Marinette turned to face the newly reunited couple.

"Enjoy the happiness in your life, Monsieur Agreste, you never know when it may end"

She then turned to leave, not wanting to here what her former idol had to say. When she reached the main floor of the Agreste Mansion, Marinette was greeted by Nathalie. The bluenette acknowledged the assistant with a nod, meaning that Emilie was awake. The assistant let out a sigh of relief and rushed to Adrien's room, not wanting to be around the blonde boy, Marinette promptly left. Once out of the premises of the mansion, she transformed and waited for Gabriel to return the miraculous. What she didn't realise was that the Justice League would also be coming to pay her a visit.

It felt like an eternity, waiting for the miraculous to be handed back to her but the bluenette was patient. She waited four years for this moment, but she had to share the moment alone. It was bittersweet. Soon enough Gabriel arivied, hastily giving Ladybug both the brooches with apologetic eyes and leaving without a word. The spotted heroine presumed that he wanted to get back to his wife and son, she couldn't blame him. Ladybug reached for her yo-yo teary-eyed, she was going to put both miraculous in her weapon before returning them in the miracle box but she stopped when she heard multiple figures approaching where she was standing.

~~~

Batman and his sons were the ones to go to Paris and alert Ladybug of their findings. The five men found themselves in front of the Eiffel Tower, Tim found out that was were the heroes would return to after their patrol.

"We must tell Ladybug right away" Batman pulled out his grappling hook and flung himself to one of the higher levels, all but Robin followed suit.

The vigilante had a feeling to remain on a lower level. He wanted to be reunited with his long lost friend but he couldn't find the words. Simply, he used his grappling hook to bring him onto one of the beams, low enough so he couldn't be seen but high enough to hear any conversation.

"Greetings, Ladybug" His father's voice echoed through the quiet building.

"Monsieur Batman? Wh-what are you doing here?" Her voice sounded almost exactly as he remembered, of course it sounded deeper and more matured but it had a more desolated edge to it.

~~~

"We apologize for not intervening earlier but we didn't know how well we needed to control our emotions" Red Hood watched as Nightwing brushed a hand through his hair nervously.

"But we can help now!" Red Robin's excited voice came out of nowhere, Ladybug looked at the vigilante in surprise. "We found out Hawkmoth's identity so we can finish this once and-"

Ladybug put a single hand up, a small smile on her face, silencing Red Robin's rambling. "That's very considerate of you, all of you" Her gaze landed on each vigilante one at a time. "But I... have things sorted" She pulled out two brooches from behind her back to show the men before putting the miraculous in her yo-yo. "I appreciate all you've done, truly I do. But can I ask one for one more favor?"

"Of course, what is it?" Nightwing asked, clearly wanting the spotted heroine to be gleeful once more.

"Could you... help the other heroes to help the Parisians to heal?"

"It's the least we can do" Batman replied. "Will you be there too?"

"I'm afraid not" Ladybug turned around and leaned forward on the banister. "You know how Hawkmoth prays on negative emotions, so I've had to deal with my emotions in an unhealthy manor but now... Hawkmoth is no more. I can be free"

"Wh-"

"Thank you, truly" Ladybug jumped up on to railing, facing the group of vigilantes. Her sad smile faded as she stared at the floor.

They didn't even get a chance to process what was happening before it did. A bright light surrounded the young hero and they were forced to close their eyes. As the light died down, Red Hood saw a small bluenette. She looked so weak, so pretty, so... fragile. It hurt the vigilante's heart seeing someone like this being the sole protector of Paris with no one by her side.

"Hey little lady-"

"I'm sorry Tikki"

The girl looked at all the vigilantes slowly, mouthing a 'thank you' before letting herself lean backwards.

Gravity took the Parisian heroine and she fell.

A small creature holding something shiny stared in horror as its owner fell."MARINETTE!" The small creature's anguished scream seemed to bring the vigilantes back to reality.

~~~

"MARINETTE!"

Robin's head shot up, that name was all too familiar. Suddenly, he took note of a figure falling fast from above, her raven hair flowing in the wind. Without giving a second thought, he bounded down the ledge he was on, landing on one of the platforms and had his arms out ready to catch the fallen angel. The bluenette was close enough for Robin to grab her and he pulled her in so that her feet landed on the platform, her body still looming over the edge of the building. His brother and father landed not far from him, bounding over to help the bluenette but Robin took no notice of their presence.

"Why didn't you just let me f...all" The girl's voice trailed off as her eyes widened in recognition, the air in her lungs escaped from her lips. "...d-Damian?"

The two friends took no notice at how the vigilantes behind Robin stiffened. Her eyes developed a watery sheen as the situation began to really hit her. Tears threatened to spill as her lip quivered. Robin pulled her away from the ledge and she jumped into his arms, she was heavily touch-starved. Much to his family's surprise, he didn't push her away. In fact, he hugged her back. They heard what she said next.

"I... I thought you were dead, Dami"

"...why? What made you do this, Malaki?"

They didn't hear what she said next as her mumbling was muffled in Robin's chest. Nightwing walked up to the two first, kneeling down to be eye level with the girl.

"Hey Sunshine... we don't know what you've been through but we're willing to help you though it okay?" The girl looked at his sincere gaze, her eyes were so round with innocence, Nightwing thought he would melt.

"I... thank you, I'm sorry for worrying you when I... jumped" No one failed to notice when Robin ran his fingers through the bluenette's hair.

"Don't apologize Little Lady" Red Hood walked over to where Nightwing was kneeling, sitting next to his older brother. "Hawkbitch forced you to bottle up your emotions, you were just strong for too long."

Marinette looked between the two men, a grateful smile on her face while she wiped the tears of pure happiness running down her cheeks. "Thank you, I- this... this is the nicest I've been treated recently"

"If you don't mind me asking," Batman walked over and Marinette felt slightly intimidated you his presence as well as his tone. The dark knight must have noticed this since he cleared his throat and began talking in a softer manner. "What happened to cause you to go to such extremes? You're obligated to not having to talk about it right away if the subject makes you uncomfortable"

"Well I guess I do have to talk about it eventually..."

Recognising the bluenette's discomfort, Red Robin stepped in. In his palm was the shaken kwami who flew straight for Marinette once the vigilante got close enough. "Since you know Robin's identity, and we already sorta know yours, it's only fair if we tell you who we are, right?" He looked at his two older brothers and then at his adoptive father. "My name's Tim Drake nice to meet you"

Marinette was about to take his offered hand when the vigilante she presumed was Red Hood took it instead, "Jason Todd, Robin's most charming and handsome brother" She giggled at Damian's obvious annoyance.

"Well I'm Richard Grayson, Robin's favourite brother, but you can call me Dick" The vigilante in the suit who comforted her first, introduced himself.

"It's nice to meet all of you"

Batman soon came over as well to aquatint with the young heroine, offering out his hand for a handshake. "Bruce Wayne"

She returned the hand shake and brightly smiled, it blinded nearly all those near. "Thank you, Mr Wayne. Wait..." she turned to face Damian, one of her eyebrows raised. "Wayne?"

"I may have failed to mention that part" To Robin's surprise, Marinette started giggling so he huffed in taken offense.

"Sorry it's just- a girl in my class as been boasting about dating you and about the Wayne Family seeing her as their 'honorary member'. I knew she was lying I just didn't know that I would bump into the people she was lying about"

Bruce hummed. "We'll have to do something about this girl you're talking about. In the meantime, why don't you come back to the hotel with us? You and Damian can catch up" The older man saw the hesitation in her eyes but he also saw the willingness that shine through the most. "If you're living in a bad environment then you do have to escape" His sons nodded along.

"I'll come, can I bring some overnight clothes? It's been a long day..."

"Of course, you go get your belongings and you can meet us at the Grand Paris Hotel"

"I... thank you again" She transformed and headed in the direction of her house, leaving Robin at the mercy of his brothers.

"You like her, Brat" Red Robin spoke up first.

Nightwing pretended to wipe his tears. "Baby Bird's all grown up now"

"That means you can't adopt the little Pixie, don't think I haven't seen the adoption papers"

~~~

When Marinette destransformed on her balcony rooftop, she quickly went inside, packed some clothes as well as some essentials. When she was satisfied with her belongings, she gave a macaron to Tikki before heading downstairs where she was met with two disappointed looking parents.

"Is something wrong?"

"We've decided," Tom began. "We're kicking you out for what you've done to your lovely classmate, Lila"

"We don't recognise the person you've become, Marinette. You are not the daughter we raised" Sabine added

"May I pack my things in the morning?" Marinette inquired, her eyes void of emotion. When her parents nodded, she left the bakery and down to the hotel where Damian was waiting in the lobby. As she approached, he took her bag and intertwined their hands together. She blushed at the contact but leaned into his embrace.

When she entered the hotel room she was greeted by the vigilantes who were now changed and unmasked. The bluenette was welcomed with open arms, she felt the warmth in her heart for the first time since Lila's Tyranny. She briefly explained Lila's lies, what she had done to Marinette and how the bluenette was able to protect Paris. She would've carried on longer if it weren't for the hotel phone ringing. It was the receptionist, saying that someone had asked to see Marinette. Confused, she went down with Damian, Jason followed closely behind since he had grown quite attached to the little fairy. Waiting at the front desk as a woman, Damian and Jason recognised her instantly as Mayura. Damian tried to step in front of his friend but she completely ignored their futile attempts to keep her in reach.

"Ah, Hello Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng"

"Hello Nathalie, we're you the one who asked for me?"

"Yes, I just need to clarify a few things"

"Go ahead"

"You're request for the restraining order has been fulfilled" the bluenette nodded, waiting for Gabriel's assistant to continue. "May I ask what did he do to make you request for it?"

The two notices how Marinette stiffened. She contemplated before sighing. "Attempted sexual assault. If you look at the camera footage outside of the Louvre from two days ago, seven pm onwards, you'll see your evidence." Marinette turned away from Nathalie and walked back to Damian who, once in range, pulled her in for a hug.

"I'll never let him near you again, Angel"

~~~

The next day, Bruce had shown up with Marinette at her parents' bakery. Upon hearing about the young bluenette being kicked out, he had asked for her permission for him to be her Guardian until she was old enough to live in her own. Marinette accepted his offer. When they had entered the building, her parents had greeted their customers kindly before recognising Marinette. Bruce turned to the young girl next to him and smiled.

"You go pack your things I'll deal with this" She smiled and bounded upstairs, leaving Bruce to talk with the bakery's owners.

"Hello Sir, how may we help you?" Sabine began, wanting to know who this man was.

"I've come to gain guardianship of your daughter, Marinette Dupain-Cheng"

"Why should we give you guardianship?" Tom asked.

"I'm sure you know the liability for child neglect, Mr Dupain" With his words, both adults seemed to turn white. "I will file the necessary and submit it with the court, I'm sure you'll be willing to give your approval"

Both Marinette and the mystery man left, true they were glad that their mistake of a daughter had gone but they wondered who she had gone with.

~~~

Later that afternoon was a charity event which the Waynes were supposed to attend as they were invited by the mayor himself, the plus side was that the Akuma class would also be attending and they had no clue the Wayne Family would be there.

"...And finally I'd like to thank the Wayne Family for joining us this evening" Mayor Bourgeois finished his speech and all heads turned to the table the Waynes and Marinette were sitting on. As his speech was over, a teenage girl with glass and a very pale brunette came over to the table.

"Hello Mr Wayne, My name's Alya and I'm your honorary daughter's best friend and I was hoping-"

"Marinette" Bruce began, cutting off the aspiring reporter. The Alya girl only then seemed to notice that the bluenette was sitting at the table. "Is this girl you're friend?"

The bluenette took one hard look at Alya before shaking her head, "No"

"Marislut what th-"

"It would be appreciated if you did not talk about my honorary daughter and future daughter-in-law on that manner" Both Damian and Marinette turned red, one much more than the other. "In fact we should be leaving" Bruce and the rest of the family got up. "Miss Rossi, I will not tolerate your lies. You will receive a lawsuit for defamation and slander. Have a good evening" They left, leaving a reporter, a liar and a class speechless.

When they reached the hotel room they finished packing up, they would be leaving that night. Marinette made a few phone calls, telling her friends that she would be moving to Gotham. They had their belongs taken to the limo downstairs and had a few snacks before making their way down. In the lobby were many different people around the bluenette's age, she recognised them as her classmates and continued walking beside Damian until Alex came over.

"Marinette... we're sorry. We understand that you probably won't forgive apps but we wrote you letters anyway" the skater girl gave Marinette a pile of enveloped letters, ones she put in her bag straight away.

"Thank you for your apologies but I don't think I can forgive you just yet, goodbye Alix" the bluenette got in the limo and let out a breath she knew she was holding.

Her eyes glanced out the tinted window, she smiled knowing that she was leaving Paris for a better life. A better life with a friends, a better life with a new family. A better life with Damian.

~Bonus~

The harsh blizzard outside was definitely being felt from inside the manor, leaving a cold and tired Marinette on the couch. Damian, noticing his girlfriend's state, went to grab a blanket to cover both Marinette and himself. She snuggled into the green-eyed boy, taking all the warmth she could get, and slowly she drifted off to sleep. Damian too felt drowsy so soon followed his girlfriend into dreamland.

Jason came in a few moments later to find the sleeping couple, he was then reminded by how tired he was so he went on the couch and leaned his back against his youngest brother, himself too falling victim to slumber.

The next person to walk in was Dick, he had just finished training so he was exhausted. But he couldn't help to coo when he came across the scene in front of him. The eldest son then got on the sofa and carefully leaned against Marinette, similar to what Jason had done with Damian. It didn't take long for him to join them in dozing off.

Tim arrived with a big cup of freshly made coffee, one which he was about to drink until he noticed his siblings all curled up on the couch sleeping. The co-CEO went back to the kitchen, left his cup of coffee then went to grab a blanket to join his family. Wrapping himself in a blanket burrito, Tim placed himself on the floor pressed up against sofa.

When Bruce returned home safely, he went to the main living room to see his children, and his future in-law who was basically his own by now, sleeping soundly with the TV still running. Reaching for the remote, he turned the television off and grabbed his phone to take a picture. He planned on printing it out and having it framed in his study. Bruce sat on one of the armchairs, taking a book to read. If there was peace in the house, he might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

#daminette #maribat #maridami #marinette x damian #damian x marinette #damianette #mlb x dc #ml x dc #This is so bad I hate it and it started out good as well aaaaaaaa

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 3 years

Text

31 Days of Apex Legends

Little bit behind, but I combined Days 1 & 2 (Pride & Friendship)

Chapter 1 of an upcoming fic I am still writing.

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Title: Pride & Assumed Prejudice

Chapter 1: Masks

Something sour lingered on the tip of his tongue, on the razor’s edge of every thought; like a granule of poison sinking slowly into a beverage, unseen as the hapless victim takes a sip. Unnecessary, unnerving, and oddly enough, inducing a curiously debilitating sensation of anxiety for the first time in well over a decade. An emotion long-ago thought cordoned off, and utterly aggravating in its resurgence.

One could theoretically shut it out with enough mental fortitude and regimented distraction, but this tended to only provide short-term relief, for it always returned; faster, stronger, more pervasive than the last time. A creeping sense of wrongness that seemed to seep through every vein, clutching tightly to each breath as it worked to enter his lungs, twisting his stomach at random intervals, and reigniting old memories best left buried in unmarked graves. Unmourned and unwelcome.

At least, that is what Caustic tells himself.

There seems to be some level of psychological impairment at work, he rationalises in the depths of the night when he can barely think for the voiceless fears that make his heart race and air withdraw from ravaged lungs before it can fully impart its gift. The only hypothesis that makes even the vaguest sense is that there is likely a chemical agent of some kind, a poison, being introduced into some facet of his daily routine that is affecting his mental faculties?

Caustic is perplexed to find that his bloodwork runs clean each time, as do random samples of his food stores, lab equipment, clothing, cleaning products, furniture, air filtration units, plants and even toothpaste. Though he runs them often, at random, in hopes of locating the culprit for these uncomfortable sensations, these distractions from his research. Randomising events on his mental schedule each day in order to avoid any other human or non-organic being from identifying his routine again; if they ever even had. And yet, it persists.

Denial is perhaps the only shield that he will not admit to using, in this instance. Though for all his great logic, his knowledge and emphatic belief in the fundamental laws of science… there is still a strange feeling that persists in coursing through his veins. If he would allow himself but a moment to acknowledge it, to let it in and experience the sensation then it may lead to a breakthrough… but at what cost? If the facade falls, then who would he be?

Yet still his whole body feels electrified from within; as if sensing a change coming, like the increased atmospheric pressure before a thunderstorm. Everything that had been built was starting to decay, and it was not clear why now, why this year… why this ridiculous event was the catalyst. Even though such an obvious connection between this heightened emotional state and the particular time of year never actually occurred to the unnaturally overwrought man.

As the days between the present and the event grew shorter, and the other Legends began to ramp up their ridiculous displays of personal expression, the odd physiological effects increased exponentially, until simply existing in the same dwelling had become almost unbearable. It was merely because the others were younger, more prone to ludicrous displays of ebullience, constantly impeding his research with their tomfoolery… yes, that must be it. The reassurances ring hollow, even to his own mind.

Yet still the simple fact remained… that the year previous, as a new Legend, this whole event had been laughably easy to ignore. So why did it bring such distress, such melancholy? What variable had changed between these two points in time that was bringing this insidious juggernaut of disruption to his mind, body and experiment schedule?

Despite what he, at the time, perceived as his best efforts to provide a front of general indifference and borderline contempt for the ‘nonsensical festivities’ of the majority of the other Legends; it became apparent that these actions were not nearly enough to stave off the eyes of the irritating coworkers. Without even realising, Caustic was shrinking away, becoming distant once more and this, in turn, naturally raised a few eyebrows.

Certainly, he was not the most extroverted or beloved amongst their ranks, but at the insistence of Miss Pacquette, that damnable Gibraltar, and the unerringly difficult to evade Salvonian he had been making small forays into socialising in the name of increasing battle compatibility with the others. In the name of increasing battle efficiency, of course.

Caustic’s sudden detraction from even the few low-key communal activities he had begrudgingly begun to attend on a generally regular basis in their shared lodgings, such as the occasional movie night or weekly shared meal, was a blatant signal to the more empathetic and suspicious of the Legends that something was not right here. Some moved immediately to paranoid delusions, others queried if the scientist was unwell or had been caught up in work and forgot; Caustic could always feel Miss Pacquette’s eyes on him these days. Waiting for him to do something she could no longer forgive.

The sting of her derision only made matters worse, silencing all explanations he might give to the others when they arrived at his assigned room; so that all any who arrived saw was a brief silhouette before the door slammed shut in their faces. Assuming hostility, when the words were simply trapped inside; not wanting to admit this disgusting weakness that clawed, bit and screamed every moment of every day.

However, it was the unintended actions that gave rise to what came next; and he could blame none other than himself. For, as the foolish often do, a handful of those in the complex began to conjecture… rumour, if you will, and they spread like an unchecked wildfire. Caustic was not able to tell if they had been an errant thought turned unintentionally malicious or the deliberate attempt of one of his detractors like Loba or Crypto; and as much as he wished to close off the side of himself that felt anguish at these new beliefs swirling between his coworkers… he could not.

To say the rumours were incorrect would be an understatement, but even he could see how the gossip-mongers amongst their ranks had extrapolated a tenuous but alluring hypothesis that slandered his character, from such limited data points as were available. Especially after their foray to… the planet of his youth, most recently.

It seemed wherever he went, that blasted Crypto seemed to be hovering nearby with a smug look on his face; as if waiting for the opportune moment to mention a few inconvenient truths. Did the younger man realise what was happening to him? Could he use that drone of his to deliver a toxic compound into Caustic’s chambers when the scientist was absent? No, no of course not. Mystik would never forgive him… unless he could provide a plausible alibi. Even that particular train of thought was beginning to wear on him, feeling more tangible each time his brain brought the concept up. Actual poison was not the hacker’s style; but social poison, the slow and cruel kind that seeped from mouth to mouth, assassinating without a blade… that might be plausible.

These days, Caustic found his pulse always quickened when he caught sight of the hacker in the living complex, the anxiety making his mind rush through the worst possible scenarios of his secret being openly divulged to the masses without warning; even though some seemed utterly ridiculous. What would happen, after all? The worst case scenario? Repulsion from the others would be one thing, a natural consequence of their newfound awareness of his misdeeds and discovering the depths of his past, somewhat less than legal, activities. A strong possibility that perhaps the Legends would take the rash step of immediately contacting authorities to attend the Legend dwellings; something even Caustic would understand as rational.

Yet still, with his normally formidable intellect being absolutely and utterly subsumed under false assumptions and fallacies; the kind only a mind shuddering on the verge of collapse could generate… far worse fates arose like apparitions behind his eyelids. Such as the bizarre and somewhat infuriating insistence of his anxiety-ridden mind that the other Legends could hear of his past and simply decide to take matters into their own hands; pretending all is well until an opportunity arose to publicly execute Caustic themselves, mid-match with his beacon deactivated, for all the world to see. To denounce him in such a way that none could ever assume they had kept his secret; the disgust on their faces as they would wipe his blood from their skin would be proof enough.

Often in the depths of night Caustic muses on this highly improbable outcome. Yet, he finds that the variable of the scenario that keeps him awake is simply that, in this outcome there was the uncomfortably very real possibility of his Mother inadvertently bearing witness to the second death of her son; a thought that makes his chest constrict with a nameless horror. She loved to watch the games, according to that brat she favoured so much… and he could not put her through that grief again.

No matter how nonsensical, the idea and an uncountable number of similarly impossible scenarios would repeat over and over again every waking moment of the day. And again throughout every second of sleep he managed to wrest from this endless void of uncertainty, until it felt like the only true outcome. Caustic was aware he was not thinking logically, or even assessing all the variables… but his mind clouded it all out with whispered worries to distract, to isolate and distress.

These imagined ends and their outcomes added an almost unfathomable heaviness to his existence; adding unearned gravitas to the myriad of little concerns, worries and secret guilts until they felt like a thick fog that obscured all rational thought. Every little concern, so often hidden from his own conscious mind by a never-ending series of experiments and day-to-day tasks he employed to quiet the thoughts he did not wish to entertain, was now screaming inside. Some days he felt not unlike a speaker, reverberating from the harsh beating of his heart, and almost surprised none other than himself could hear.

No, this was ridiculous. He could not allow this to continue, not if he wished to remain Caustic. As a Legend, as a researcher with endless funding as long as he gave the right results in battle, as a scientist seeking additional data, and… as reluctant as Caustic was to admit it, as a member of the rag-tag team that shared the Apex-funded lodgings. A collective, almost like a-...

The thought always shut off there, twisting to a rapid mental analysis of the other Legends for the sake of anything else to focus on. Certainly some of the other ‘champions’ were irritating and he found it difficult to deal with them for long; but others he had to concede were fascinating, and startlingly brilliant in their fields, many of whom were willing to engage in discussions about their expertise and experiences. Even with mild distrust guarding their words to begin with, until passion for the subject overtook their misgivings.

But, as loathe as he was to admit this to even himself; to Caustic... the legends themselves were something he was starting to feel part of. Somewhat like they were a-... the word lodged in his chest like a blunt knife, something that could cause harm if he ever admitted how far he had fallen into the illogical void of social intelligence. He railed against the term, but logically it was the only apt one available to describe this group of strange people; and that was… family.

Bile scorched the back of his throat as he allowed the thought to flow through him like a soundwave, the sentiment of it far more distressing than the physical sensations; as Caustic been under the strong impression of having successfully managed to cut off all sense of sentimentality, along with his fingers, on Gaea. This feeling, this potential vulnerability, was therefore repulsive.

However… it could not be denied that recently the increased socialisation had brought out some surprising connections and insights with the others. Even simple interactions such as providing a gruff thank you to a teammate for pinging a weapon component whilst looting was noted by the others; and the way that Caustic made certain to inoculate his squadmates before a match. Inconsequential activities, but seen… apparently. He had never noticed their eyes on him during these moments before… and now he felt as if they never ceased their burning gazes on his every breath, every twitch and thought.

As it stood, he was closer to some Legends than others; and had forged several, somewhat tenuous but holding, connections he was not wholly ashamed to admit.

For example, Caustic found Horizon’s expertise on astrological matters an excellent way to pass sleepless nights, when both found themselves in the kitchen for coffee at 2am. Minds full of half formed ideas, or regrets, and unable to speak them aloud to anyone; there was an odd companionship between the Legends, so close in age and so vastly apart in lived experiences. Or, at the least, the experiences of their alibis.

Even through the distress he felt, Caustic could not help but smile as he recalled that their first two meetings at such a location and hour had not gone quite so well as in recent times. For the good Dr Somers had been blissfully unaware that a rather prominent side effect of Caustic’s initial and continued toxin exposure often expressed itself as a bright green glow about his irises; therefore the first time they had met in the pitch-black kitchen at an ungodly hour, the astrophysicist had said some truly profane things and thrown a mug of hot coffee in his direction. Lifeline had not been pleased to deal with burns at that time, no matter how Horizon had insisted they needed a proper assessment of the damage, but the young woman seemed to have found the whole situation quite humorous in hindsight. Often making smart ‘Be careful, Doctor, that’s hot!’ quips when she caught either of them holding coffee.

Ah, but their second meeting of this nature had been different. Caustic had merely been resting his eyes at the kitchen island when Horizon had carefully crept inside the darkened room, footsteps barely audible, and proceeded to make herself coffee on the quietest setting possible. It was, in fact, the sound of her sipping the beverage that had roused Caustic, and Horizon had promptly performed an almost perfect spit take in shock at his ‘sudden appearance’. The stain in the wall had never quite come out and neither of the older Legends had bothered to inform the younger Legends how it had manifested. Though some had their suspicions...

There was a calming energy to Dr Somers, and she seemed to have a distance in her eyes that he could relate to without ever broaching the subject. When they spoke of stars, of technology to traverse the time and space between the worlds, there was a communion of unspoken camaraderie there that soothed in an inexplicable manner.

Of the others, Caustic had occasionally found himself ensconced in fascinating discussions and discourse with Mirage when the pair had found themselves trapped in a social setting, such as lunch in the common area, fumbling for topics. Or more accurately, Mirage visibly sifting for a safe topic to be polite, and Caustic pointing at whatever the man was tinkering with at that moment, in silent question. It was rather intriguing how the younger man’s stutter settled when he was intensely focused on a subject he enjoyed. Although it must be said that now the scientist knew entirely far too much about holographic projection technology, and he was hard pressed to find an application for just such knowledge in his research.

On a more irritating note, was Gibraltar’s continued attempts to convince Caustic that attending events such as karaoke night or some roleplaying adventure evening with the rest of the Legends would be fun, positive, and a good bonding experience; and not at all humiliating, bizarre or definitely subjecting himself to the mortifying ordeal of being known by the other champions. Disgustingly, Makoa Gibraltar was a weapons-grade optimist with a sharp mind behind that disarming smile of his.

Recognising that the current stratagem was not working as it allowed the subject too much free will, Gibraltar had added additional variables to his socialisation experiments with Caustic. Even since, Gibraltar had been occasionally dropping by with a small portion of some homemade meal or other; often with one of the other Legends as an unspoken form of backup. More often than not, in recent times, Fuse would be the person of choice.

The rescue specialist was a very large, very polite man who had gracefully accepted the times Caustic would shut the door in his face to avoid allowing anyone to breach his inner sanctum of isolation and research. Walter Fitzroy was decidedly not.

Fuse was a very charming man, but he genuinely believed that any closed door was an invitation to trial his knuckle clusters on it, ‘in the name of friendship’. The pair would then invite themselves inside, and somehow a conversation would occur about the most randomised of topics, amidst the hidden garden-like interior of Caustic’s quarters. After weathering the scientist’s myriad of multisyllabic protestations about property damage and right to privacy, with mildly amused expressions on their faces, of course. Now that he thought about the subject in detail, the visits had been increasing in duration rapidly in the past two months or so; detracting from his research, yes, but at the same time… Caustic had begun to find himself not wanting to reduce this contact in the slightest.

Rampart had recently asked Caustic, in a quiet moment, if he wanted something strong enough to withstand a knuckle cluster barrage whipped up, because he was more often without a door than with one these days. Caustic had found himself smiling under the mask as he declined; not catching her sly grin of understanding in response. “It’s your funeral mate…” she teased as she left. He still had not had a chance to analyse her meaning or motives in relation to that interaction.

Still skeptical of his motives, but warming, was Lifeline. On the odd occasion, the healer would simply come into the common area to ‘hang out’ with whomsoever was present, and initially this had been a frustrating strain on his limited social endurance. Especially if the runner joined in, or she decided that the volume was far too low for her chosen programs at the time. They had engaged in arguments, which tended to resolve when he left, seeking solitude and silence in his own quarters.

Although, to review the past month or so in subjective data; Caustic was intrigued to find himself less irritated by Lifeline’s choice of audible and visual entertainment than previously.

However, the woman’s unerringly pleasant but smug grin as she would turn and catch Caustic’s fingers tapping the datafile laden table in subconscious adherence to the rhythm of the background music, was still a nuisance. At present, if he attempted to tell her so, Lifeline would laugh or roll her eyes and throw a quick, ‘Whatever yuh say, Doctor…’ in his direction.

Caustic believed that the newfound camaraderie between Lifline and himself was either in relation to a number of recent matches wherein he had had to shield her bodily from a hail of incoming fire while she revived a teammate; or pertaining to his begrudging assistance in formulating an altered version of stim for Octane, with lower health impacts. While it seemed counterintuitive to his stated goal of wiping out humanity; the challenge of forcing a volatile substance into a different composition to improve health on use rather than detract from it, had been exhilarating. While the current formula, Stim 2.3, was by no means perfect, it could always be improved in future testing. In fact, Caustic had been surprised to find himself looking forwards to improving upon the newly created formula with Miss Che in future. Her mind was agile, quick and experienced around medical, political and Octane-related matters. Verbal sparring with Miss Che was akin to mainlining caffeine, and possibly her persuasive arguments may have something to do with how thin his facade was feeling at present. How he was starting to regret his actions, when previously they were buried deep, untouchable, as Lifeline skillfully pointed out fallacies in his logic and ideologies.

Of all the Legends, the hunter Bloodhound, he hunter, was a mystery that continued to intrigue and distract from his research. Caustic had honestly been certain that there it would be highly improbable for the pair to have anything in common; given they were from a world that despised the very technology that his homeworld had embraced with open arms.

He had also felt that perhaps the hunter would avoid him, given Gaea’s reputation around such things as diversity in attraction and gender identification; he knew what was said and not all of it undeserved.

Somewhat surprisingly, it was a shared interest in plants that began their interactions; as the hunter had peered from their room at the right moment to catch Caustic returning home with a new specimen of unknown origin. The GAVN 1.2 bot stationed at the nearby Solace City plant nursery had no knowledge of what species it may be of, but the important matter was that the machine had recalled Caustic’s request to contact him if anything ‘interesting’ came through. Bloodhound had stopped him to ask how a Crentular Vynth bush had made its way to this planet; and Caustic had been so distracted by the conversation that followed that he did not realise they had moved to Bloodhound’s room until his second cup of herbal tea.

That had been the oddly auspicious beginning of… whatever this was. Whether they were now coworkers, or something slightly below comrades in arms, their companionship had been cemented nearly a full three months later on Olympus, when a bullet shattered Caustic’s mask mid-match.

Things had not been going optimally at the time. Their third squadmate was dead; some nameless human who had dreamt of glory and fame, and was now likely in a respawn pod beyond the arena commiserating their loss with the other failures.

Bloodhound was in the process of scouting for activity within and without the building they were currently camping inside; at the far end, if the faintest of footsteps could be believed. Skirting carefully about Caustic’s traps despite the pre-match inoculation provided that assured temporary immunity for the other two.

He had been calculating the potential ring trajectory of the next round, and automatically reloading the mozambique in his hands mechanically, when a careless step had placed him directly before one of the many damnable slatted windows of the building. The first he became aware was a crack, and a split-second realisation that made him jerk back just in time for the kraber shot to hurl his mask clean off and away.

Ducking automatically, not risking a second looking for the person who was definitely chambering a new round in anticipation of taking him out, Caustic had snatched the shattered mask up and slid through the rails to the floor below. Landing with a jarring impact that raised dust, forced air from his lungs, and inspired a violent coughing fit. Panic began to stir, as the reality of his vulnerability became apparent.

To counter this, Caustic set off a nearby gastrap deliberately, obscuring himself amidst the swirling green smog; allowing a moment to focus purely on the issue at hand, and forestall the intense anxiety that the cameras could be observing his features or condition too closely. He could already see the mask was beyond repair, the hoses hissing upon his shoulders as his filtered supply fed into nothing; despair was starting to claw at his chest, tightening it until it burned...

And then Bloodhound was there. Without a word, those impassive goggles took in the scene in its entirety as they crouched down by his side; pulling a small spare mask from one of the many pouches on their belt, without the slightest hesitation, and pressing it to Caustic’s face. “Here, breathe easy felagi fighter.” they said, nothing more, nothing less.

The filtration hoses hissed a moment more before the hunter had them shut off at the valve, so as not to waste more of the carefully balanced components. The mask adhering quickly and filtering the more violent components out of the air automatically; as Bloodhound needed, given their own damaged airways. Caustic may not believe in their All-Father, but he could almost admit to himself that it was very fortuitous they had been there that day.

When the smog cleared, vanishing as it dispersed to a minimal level, the crisis was over and his panic subsumed. Bloodhound clapped a hand to his shoulder and rose, making a statement of thanks in relation to receiving ammunition. A weak cover, but one they hoped viewers would be satisfied with; feel no great desire to dig for more information on this brief ‘green-out’.

“Come, there are three squads remaining, we have foes to slatra.” they offer, and he rises quickly to follow. Win or Lose, Caustic had felt confusingly like he had already received some small victory that day; though to put it in words was beyond even his skill.

Unfortunately, the downside of increased awareness of other human beings was that they tended to request opportunities to strengthen the bond. Of all things, the Hunter and the Salvonian now wished Caustic to go camping with them; in Kings Canyon or some equally feral locale, where they may all die of undercooked food or rabid wildlife. As disagreeable as he found the idea, Caustic found himself rapidly running out of excuses as to barriers that would forestall his presence on such an experience. And just the other day, before this intense sensation of dread descended, he found himself considering purchasing a prowler-proof sleeping bag… which had been a definite call for self-reflection at the time.

Indeed, when he thought back over the past few months… Caustic found that he had had at least one small interaction of moderate-to-positive success with all of the other Legends. Even with that know-it-all Crypto. Though Caustic strictly maintained that the whole scenario had been pure happenstance; and not any display of coworkerly or implied sibling affection.

If the young brat had just so happened to be tinkering with his little drone at the kitchen island and required a tool that Caustic, also present and working on his own project, had just so happened to have on him at the time… so be it. Truly, Caustic was not even certain if Park had realised who had supplied the multitool that had readily slipped into his grip on request; although, the fact that it had been returned nonetheless to his quarters, possibly by drone through a window he had forgotten to close overnight, gave a different impression.

Ironically, whenever Caustic finds himself thinking about the other Legends recently, shades of distress, distrust and uncertainty began to fill his limbs with lead and his mind with a million illogical questions. Did Loba’s smile at breakfast mean she was intending to out him to the others? Was it normal for Revenant to ask to view his research on gases with compounds that could corrode organic metals? Was the laughter between Wattson and Wraith about him? What made Bangalore watch him instead of the screen during the movie night two weeks before? Why did so many whispers stop when he moved closer? When was the last time Gibraltar had used the phrase ‘hey buddy, you doin’ okay?’ with any other Legend?

Who. When. Why. How. What. An endless merry-go-round in a carnival of horrors, all of his own devising… and there was no way to signal to the ride operator that he wished to exit. What was wrong with him?

Or, was there something wrong with him, at all?

Perhaps this was normal, for someone whose life was close to its ending. Didn’t people feel distress over regrets and mistakes in their life?

Desperate for a concrete reason, Caustic ran diagnostics on his blood and biometrics at least twice a day, and yet felt disappointed to find no significant progression in the disease. For if not the disease… then what was this?

Days wore on as he remained confined to his quarters for all but the most necessary outings. He did not see or hear how the household was becoming more and more colourful and the Legends pre-celebrating. Glancing out his window at the billboards in the city beyond, his lip curled derisively; ah, the corporations became more sycophantic as time wore on, disgusting. But all he could focus on was the manner in which this swelling sensation of anxiety was drowning him; Caustic was awash in a sea of tumultuous negative emotions with no sign of rescue. Quietly hoping that none would come.

It felt, constantly, as if he had an anchor bound to his ankles; the chain a cruel twisting thing, cold and rattling in the currents, always just long enough so he could bob above the despair for short periods of time before another wave crashed down. Caustic was beginning to wonder if it was worth trying not to drown at all...

Unbeknownst to the scientist, his absence was noted, and some were more concerned than others. The sudden withdrawal from household life drew attention from concerned parties with irritating accuracy; and he found himself subject to gentle half-questions that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing, his hands balling into fists to hide their shaking, and his mind racing to decode the hidden trap within the questions. Overwhelmed, Caustic responded by pulling back from the internal life of the Legends with greater fervour, trying to handle this situation himself; hating that it had come to such a ludicrous turn of events as this.

It was only when he was in the depths of despair and fighting to hide this from himself, that Caustic himself began to hear the rumours swirling about. Abhorrent, pervasive, and inaccurate… but easily believable if you lacked critical thinking skills. They made him feel more vile and misrepresented than the original advertisement campaigns for his arrival as a legend ever had. All that fabricated nonsense about being a verified and diagnosed sociopath; when it was only partially true, mixed with showman’s flare for the sake of selling him as the villain to the public. But these rumours… gossip rag conjecture, utter debasement and filth. Easy to believe… and in the mouths, hearts and minds of the people he had somewhat began to trust.

~)0(~

“It ain’t his fault, he’s from Gaea, yuh know?” whispers one legend to another, in a tone so casual that the sentence was doubly alarming to have come from seemingly out of nowhere. Caustic nearly drops the mug he is holding, mind shocked into momentary pause, at the statement. At the implication behind it.

The other sighs, “I know they’re, uh, different about things… but I thought that being in Solace City this whole time might have…” There’s a pause. “Well, you know, shown him a different reality… he’s already made progress in being an okay human, or something like it. Thought things were going okay, caught him smiling at one of Rampart’s jokes the other day… ”

“Yuh best keep it quiet though, don’t want the media gettin’ wind of this or it’ll be a problem.” hisses the first, acutely aware of how the media at large takes any vague hint of something, right or wrong, and runs with it. For the last six months magazines had been declaring that she was ‘going to propose to Wraith anyday now’ because they’d been snapped shared a sandwich at a Legend event a while back. The online forums were a constant minefield, even if some of the fanart was well-done.

“Oh yeah, I’m not going to put anyone through that deliberately, my dearest fiance-to-be…” the other laughed back. “You think surprise-portalling him into the middle of the parade would help? Or do Gaeans drop dead if confronted with new ideas without any warning?”

Just as despair was filling his heart like a lead weight, the rumours like tiny knives in his heart, filleting the memories he held about someone now lost… another combatant enters the ring. So to speak.

“Enough!” snaps a third, highly unexpected but nonetheless welcome, voice. The word hissing between what can only be clenched teeth, in a normally serene face.

Caustic finds himself holding his breath as he presses close to the kitchen wall nearest the common room entrance; desperate to hear more, despite his stomach churning, wanting him to flee this whole situation. It boggled the mind, after all he had done… Miss Pacquette, coming to his defence? How could she find it in herself to speak on the behalf of such as him?

“Listen to me, and hear me when I say that not all of Gaea’s citizens think in such a backwards manner… you cannot assume because people are poor, from a small place on their world, or work on farms that they all perceive things so narrow-mindedly. There is acceptance on Gaea, in much the same way that there are pockets of intolerant people on Psamanthe and Salvo who believe that robots are not sentient, or people of different races cannot be allowed to love one another. There are good people there too...” Wattson says, voice rising with the internal fervour of righteous anger. She was so very like her father, unable to allow someone she cared about to go undefended when people brought slander to their doorsteps. If someone raised a knife to his back, she would put up a fence to bar their way, and then continue to tell him off for his inappropriate actions from the months before.

In the brief silence following her statement, shuffling is heard, and it is clear something is happening though he dare not attempt to see in. He would be sighted for certain.

In a calmer tone, almost too soft, Wattson continues. “I once knew a man from Gaea when I was very small. He was… very important to my Papa, and to me. They worked together for many years, and I believe that they loved each other just as deeply as Papa and Mama did. He was always very kind to me, like a father you could say, even on his darkest days he was always ready to make me feel happy.” She took in a shaky breath. “Many of my youngest memories involve him, from my first baking soda volcano, to my recovery from the ‘ghost’ incident; not to mention the first attempt to create my sparks… and then the hour or so we spent resetting the powergrid for the whole map due to the short we made. He was a good man, if very obsessed with his work; as Papa was. Driven, you could say.” She sighed sadly, in a way that made even Caustic’s shaking arms want to wrap around the younger woman in comfort. “But he was forced to go home many years ago because he was having a disagreement with the company overseers about a new project they assigned to his research team. He was so angry when he left, and I wish I could have had a happier memory to keep of him. I only discovered later why he was so… you see, Papa mentioned that his team was assigned the goal of manufacturing a way of purging unwanted biological urges through aerosolised disbursement in the general population, and, well… he did not agree.”

There’s a sharp inhalation of breath from a few too many voices for simply two other people to be present in the common room. Given what the ruling bodies of Gaea were known to stand against, it did not take much guesswork around the applications of such a project.

Caustic had always liked to break accepted ethical conduct on the odd occasion to get breakthroughs that pushed science to the edge of a new frontier, but even he had been abhorred by the very concept. Caustic closed his eyes, recalling the very arguments he had had with his then-superiors about the situation; and how he had even held out the ‘impeding human rights’ card as a final way to thwart the project. The cold smirk on thin lipped faces as he was informed that none who would be affected could be counted as a true human until they were cured of their odd notions… it was a miracle he had restrained from using his fists there and then.

His ‘compliance’ was bought with a simple reminder of how very important the company’s healthcare policy was to Caustic’s mother, at the time, and how it would be a shame to have it terminated alongside his employment. Feigning defeat, and hating himself, he had made a show of deferring to their wishes. Those pompous, self-inflated fools had taken him at his word. That was their first mistake.

Caustic jerks slightly, as if he has fallen out of his own memories and back to the present, bodily. Finding Miss Pacquette still speaking, her voice growing ragged with emotion.

“He… he died shortly after leaving us. I was devastated that he was gone, but even more so for the way it had happened. I could not imagine the fear and sadness he must have felt as the lab burned around him, with his entire research team. All they ever found was a charred corpse and two fingers that had enough DNA remaining to confirm his identity.” A soft sob shocked out, before she masterfully pushed it back. “U-Unfortunately for the company it seemed that all of his research and specimens on the topic burned with him; and some kind of alternate chemical residue coating the lab after the fire made the building unusable. Sometimes… I wonder if it was deliberate, for him to have taken it all with him. To be honest it would not surprise me in the least, he was as stubborn as Papa…” Natalie trailed off, clearly upset by the recollections. “Oh mon dieu, I do not mean to be so silly… I just miss him and Papa so much! And now you are all being so awful about the only person who… who reminds me of them, and I know he is difficult but there is good there, somewhere.”

Caustic’s teeth grind until it is agony. He longs to comfort her, even now as a full fledged adult and not the doe-eyed little girl who always wanted his attention... but how would that look to their comrades? Would she accept it after what he had tried to do? The anxiety wrings his stomach out like a wet rag, and locks both legs firmly in place. The scientist is disgusted with his weakness, debasing himself internally even as he countered with the simple truth of not being able to fight your own brain when it had decided on a Freeze response to distress.

He can clearly hear Lifeline and Wraith providing quiet soothing statements to Miss Pacquette, and it lessens his own distress over hers. Until he hears the one voice he would prefer never have been party to the conversation, speak up. “What was his name?” A general query, curiosity and a hint of foreboding there, as if the puzzle pieces were sliding together in the younger man’s mind.

Caustic’s heart freezes in his chest. Of all the Legends, why must Park be the one to overhear this tale? He who knows too much already...

There’s a soft muffled sniffle, muted most likely by Wraith’s shoulder, before Wattson replies; utterly unaware of how she was putting the final nail in his aliases’ coffin. “Oh, did I not say? His name was Alex… or I suppose Alexander. Dr Alexander Nox…”

The sound of Crypto’s drone clattering to the floor almost swallows the high pitched shattering of the ceramic mug meeting the kitchen floor. Almost, being the operative word.

By the time anyone has a chance to check the kitchen, Caustic has long since made a tactical retreat to his room. The racing thoughts feel like they are wrapped about his throat, constricting his chest until he can barely breathe. Hoping that none saw his frantic flight back to the safety of familiar walls.

~)0(~

#apex legends #caustic #please tell me if its too ooc #i have been agonising over chapter 2 #it was meant to be a short little fic and now chapter 2 feels very ooc #31 days of apex

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celestialholz · 4 years

Photo

... I know, right? ‘Where the hell have you been, woman?’ I hear you all shouting from the rafters, and to that I say: the world has fucked me, and not in a good way. I don’t have a job any longer, I probably won’t have an apartment shortly, but what I do have is the ability to write good and ridiculous Qcard again thanks to the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest and I’ll be damned if I squander it! For the uninitiated, the contest aims to find ‘the worst opening lines in all fiction that will hopefully never be complete', and naturally I took one look at this and went ‘inspirational, stunning, fantastic, drown me in it’ because I am absolutely wild. So with my grand thanks to the genius that is Mr Archer, welcome thusly to a little thing I like to called Timed Out. :D

Have missed this, honestly... (Selma, I know you’ll want in, and thus @q-card ^_^)

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

Q of the Continuum hovered in silence, peering dully through a galaxy-wide nebula of dimness, with the exact same grimace he’d been sporting since he’d accidentally destroyed the phenomena known as time, twelve centimetres ago.

“Well, it could be worse,” he thought aloud, rationale not quite keeping up with his inner mutterings. “Who even needs time? I’ll just... I’ll just pretend it never happened. No one will even notice, it’ll be absolutely fine!”

He sighed deeply, dispelling particles of nebula across light... inches? Furlongs? Something non-timey, he imagined.

His siblings were going to kill him.

“It could be worse, it could be worse,” he murmured as a sort of enigmatic mantra, wincing at the sheer chaos; trillions upon trillions of threads were scattered where they’d once led to individual worlds and lives beneath the blankness, the grandest and most horrific tangle of wool in the knitting box that was the universe. “I can absolutely fix this, completely -”

He tugged at sixteen ribbons simultaneously, all of which crumbled to atoms beneath his touch. Well, what was sixteen mortals having no perception of their own mortality, or their wedding anniversaries, or their children’s birthdays? Who would even notice? Certainly not them...

Were entities supposed to covet large quantities of stiff alcohol? Perhaps Jean-Luc would have something relevant, a nice dose of mental clar -

Oh stars, he realised silently. Merde!

He snapped instantly, summoning his beloved captain; Jean-Luc Picard stood stock-still, frozen in a moment, brow ironically risen as he stared unknowingly into the dust of shattered time.

“Well, mildly awkward,” Q began at a man who definitely couldn’t hear him, feeling a practice run may be in order. “You see, dear, this was the linear progression of the universe, but you know of course that I like to tinker whilst you’re at work...” He cleared his throat pointedly, started again - that would hardly pass.

“’What’s this, darling?’ I hear you enquire affectionately, not at all furiously... well, my precious captain, I’m glad you asked! This was time, and now it’s slightly... exploded, but -”

His head spontaneously fell into his hands, a moan of sheer despair rising in an anguished muffle. Maybe he should summon an impenetrable wall, hide behind it for the rest of... space, he assumed. Perhaps several billion metres’ worth.

Never mind his siblings, his husband was going to murder him fathoms before they even realised his cataclysmic idiocy.

What is it humans say, Q - ‘rip the band-aid off’?

He stood a little straighter, grimaced painfully, concentrated, and clicked; Picard’s physical form miraculously began to ignore the fact it was outside the time that no longer existed, though he seemed rather surprised at his position in open space, and even more astonished at what was before him.

“Q? What in the name of - where are we?” He snapped. “I’m rather in the middle of something -”

“Oh, I’m sure you were absolutely swept off your feet,” Q breezed, “but you’ve no need to worry about that any longer, I assure you... or possibly ever again.”

There was an awkward pause, charged by the most caustic of glares.

“What the hell have you done?”

He should vanish, Q knew in the protracted few millimetres, or send him home, find a way to fix it alone, because how in the cosmos’ name was a mere human meant to help with this, however extraordinary he was?

‘Communication is key to this relationship’s success, Q - if we are to flourish, you must explain your actions when necessary, and I mine.’ It had been whispered against his human shell in the dead of evening, a soft understanding, and he’d shivered against the silent vow of the promise his eyes offered.

“You’re going to grievously overreact, Jean-Luc.”

“That is a distinct possibility, yes.”

How very reassuring. He swallowed, spun the man to the madness before him.

“So, once upon a -” wonderful phrasing there, Q... “That whole ‘time’ thing, mon capitaine, the one you really enjoy following the regular mortal pathway of?”

Picard paled four distinct shades, and Q absently checked he’d oxygenated him sufficiently.

“That’s... time?!”

“It was,” the god corrected, wishing the thankfully intact fabric of reality would swallow him, essence and all, where he hovered. “It’s a comprehensive mess, now. We are thoroughly timed out. Out of time, my dear. Do hope your uniform’s a timeless fashion -”

“Fix it,” Picard commanded simply, eyes ablaze with the fires of supernovas. Q rolled his own in exasperation.

“If I could just fix it, do you think we’d be having this conversation?”

Fury and despair in flawless equilibrium met him, and he subtly shifted in discomfort.

“Are you trying to suggest that time itself is irreparably fractured?”

Good galaxies, they’d gotten to raised voices... “Well no, not quite. I’m trying to suggest that it doesn’t exist at all. No connections, threadbare, mostly gaseous... a comprehensive disaster, if you will.” He cleared his throat, chancing a glance at his livid husband. “You’re not appreciating the flippancy.”

“Indeed not,” snapped Picard. “You will fix this, dammit!”

Q was glad one of them had some level of confidence, at least. “I’m going to try very hard, Jean-Luc. What would be helpful is a good mortal perspect -”

Ah, he realised. I’m in love with one of those.

He levelled the still-enraged captain with his most curious gaze, glimmer of a smile tugging at lips. “How good are you at sitting still, dear?”

Picard pursed lips primed to throw the most toxic of statements at his usually beloved before Q tilted his head in deferrence.

“... Might be for several hundred light-kilometres... fear not, I faithfully promise to keep you alive!”

“Consider me reassured,” Picard spat, before letting loose a frustrated sigh that sounded rather more like a snarl. “Will you at least grant me a seat, then?”

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

“Right!” Q muttered three weeks on, having finally reestablished the concept of a week in the past several light millimetres. Seconds had almost reappeared - he estimated it would take an extra quarter-parsec or so. “Almost done, dear - did you perhaps need a break? I could chill some wine -”

No, Picard thought at him coldly, unable to do much else whilst he was viewing the whole of space-time through a wide-angled lens - ‘I need someone who understands linearity, dearest! An electron microscope of simplicity. I avow you shall forget everything you ever learned!’ He took a brief second to twitch just slightly, to pointedly sharpen a dulled glare of utter rage. Finish the damned job!

“Duly noted, just thought I’d ask...”

... He was definitely going to be sleeping on the couch for a good while to come, he knew in defeat.

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

“Well, that was educational,” Q had murmured eventually, withdrawing from his husband’s mental space completely at last. It had been two million, four hundred and nineteen thousand, two hundred and six seconds, a concept that finally made complete sense again. He could divide it down to the yoctosecond, round it up to the closest eon, meet himself in the middle and long-multiply the distance in working days from Saturn to the lower atmosphere of Betazed at warp three and a half.

It might well take at least that long for Jean-Luc to forgive him, he thought dully.

Well, at least they had the luxury of allowing him the time now - and if he snuck in silently next to him once he was asleep, altered his mass to nothingness to remain undetected, he wasn’t about to mention it.

“Goodnight, Jean-Luc,” he announced mildly, readjusting a blanket slung haphazardly across the couch.

“I hate you,” his husband replied frostily. “Lights.”

He knew better than to click them out. “Oh, you don’t.”

“I really wish I did, sometimes.”

Q grinned merrily, hiding it behind the covers of Shakespeare’s complete works.

#qcard #q #picard #tng #star trek #drabble #bulwer-lytton fiction contest #not finishing your killer openings is for sensible people tbh #when your husband's such a top that you're on the couch despite your omnipotence #celestial's back on her bullshit chaps \o/

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erikthedead · 3 years

Text

entry #4

Started reading FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY’s ‘Notes from the Underground,’ and I just got into the second half of him rambling and reflecting on his behaviour in detail. I never would have thought a Russian man from the 19th century would make me feel a little bit less alone in this world (or at least the ‘character’ delivering the narrative). Yet the more I read about what goes on in peoples’ heads the less insane I feel, or at least comforted by realising that everyone is a little bit insane, as long as they’re being honest. Should that be comforting? I feel like that should actually be disturbing, but I kinda like being disturbed. The bit that struck me to get writing about myself was how he recurringly mentions this need to be seen and heard and be a noble member of society, but flip flops between that and a state of isolating himself and being a recluse, ashamed by how his own face looks. I hope I’m interpreting it right, as I’m not so sure I’m smart enough to fully understand everything the man was trying to convey. The whole thing reads as him trying to make sense of himself, if anything. But if I am right in that, I can totally relate, and it causes me much distress as it seemed to have tormented him too. His way was to throw himself into busy streets and bars, never feeling comfortable with it from what I’ve read, and possibly did it on purpose to feel uncomfortable, because he was getting bored with the current discomfort of isolating himself in his room with his books. That’s the interesting thing about it, he never once says he ‘leaves the comfort’ of his own home, like you’ll hear many well-adjusted introverts say. People who are content on their own. He obviously wasn’t content, he was bored, sick of his own brain, he tells us how he would break down into tearful fits from some sort of mental anguish that he tried to escape from through consumption of literature. I do exactly the same thing with media of all kinds, not because I ENJOY spending time with myself and my things, but because it helps me COPE with it. I am so envious of consistently introverted people who relish in their alone time. That SHOULD BE ME. All the same, it annoys me to death when someone complains about being ‘stuck in the house’ all day when they want to go out and mingle and see the world, because that is too exhausting a thing to wish for compared to creature comforts and solitude, surely. Both of them irritate me because I’m jealous of their seemingly consistent understanding of themselves, their desires and what makes them content on a regular, general basis. I’ve been trying to hard to figure out my own. I’m twenty-six now, yet I still feel juvenile as hell. I still feel like a child that goes up to the next thing that catches its eye and wants to ask, ‘can I have a go?’ And of course, to an innocent child, you let them have a go, without any expectations. You don’t get that luxury as an adult. You are expected to choose, commit, KNOW what you want. But again, I can’t help but think this isn’t me being special, that everyone probably feels this way, you certainly hear it from a lot of old people who humbly state that they are still always learning and discovering new things. Then again maybe they miss the point. Discovering things is fine, all the time. Learning is appreciated and encouraged. But actually changing or choosing not to change (both can be bad, right?), that is unsettling. We’ve given up good and evil for behaviourism and yet still people like me, Fyodor and to name a few other people I relate to when I read their autobiographies, Russell Brand, Stephen Fry, Steve-O (oh yes I compare myself to the greats, in all my unheard mighty feats), people like us can’t even get that right. Creative, expressive, bipolar people. People with big heads and sensitive souls, I’d say. Although I connect deeply to people like this I’d never want to be around them for too long. I know their torment and quite frankly my own is enough to contend with. There is a feeling of ‘pay attention to me but leave me alone.’ ‘Love me more than anything but don’t care too much about me because I’m bound to hurt you or make a fool of myself.’ Actually, in Notes from the Underground, Fyodor talks about man’s unconscious desire to smash up something he has been building, because he is unconsciously terrified of what to do what he has completed it, and Brand actually mentions this quite a bit in his Bookywooks. How he’d personally reach a level of fame and notoriety but then sabotage it, fearing the peak or what comes after – the come down. I hope I’ve interpreted these guys correctly, because it does make sense to me. The only thing that really sets me aside from these guys is my utter lack of ambition. At least in these peoples’ hypomanic states they were achieving something. What do I do? I’m the classic, slightly mentally ill underachiever that never sticks to anything. The sheer magnitude of my unconscientiousness could be used as an example of how not to be during a Jordan Peterson lecture. My downfalls were not self-sabotages, conscious or unconscious for the first half of my life. The rest you can blame on me, that’s fair enough, but puberty hit me early and like a train, and all that meant was I was spotty and got a bullied a bit, but that didn’t excuse me from performing well in my exams and essays. I was predicted to come out with some of the top grades in the whole school. I even started finding my confidence and standing up for myself to bullies after a few years adjusting to adolescence. Then my mother died suddenly one night from an overdose when I was fourteen, and my whole world flipped upside down. Like an anime main character backstory right there. It wasn’t perfect beforehand, anyone who knows my whole childhood situation will agree, but I had a bloody good chance up until she died. After that, I became nihilistic, rebellious, promiscuous and generally self-destructive. ‘How would your mother feel if she could see you now? She wouldn’t have wanted this.’ Oh how I wish I slapped anyone that said this to me. How dare they even try to assume what she would have wanted, having never known her. Of course, I said it to myself all the time, I still do sometimes, but I have that right. The rest of you don’t. Hah, rights. What a joke, even as I try to be dominant through typing to imaginary figments of the past and the future, I’m not even convincing myself.

The inconsistency, of my desires, my attitudes, my cognitions, my emotions and ultimately my behaviour is what pains me. I would rather be a complete abolition that was sure in himself than be like this. What’s even more frustrating is that it’s not that uncommon for people to be like me in that sense, but they just go with the flow with it, seemingly unaware of their inconsistency, and become incredibly defensive when you point it out. It’s understandable, I get defensive with myself, which could be an early sign of schizophrenia, who knows, time will tell. At the moment though I am without doubt an anxious, depressive, inconsistent muddled mess of a person, and even the HOPE for my future self comes and goes in powerful forms. I have the grandiose fantasies of being interviewed by people because I’m just that interesting and my achievements are that remarkable, and I also have the sheer terror while preparing to talk to the shop assistant when I’m buying something. Oh yeah, buying things, that’s a tricky one for me an’ all! The trick with me is not to give me too much choice, because if I have I will never decide, or I will make a silly last minute decision or pick the third thing after debating with myself for ten minutes between choosing from the first and the second. Not only indecisiveness, but impulsiveness plagues me. Not just buying things I don’t need, or don’t even want yet because I haven’t finished the last thing, but even charitably so. I saw a stranger E-begging by chance and decided to send him money. I have no idea why. Am I just a good person? I don’t have enough money for myself, and even if I do have some to spare, that should go to others who have helped me financially before a stranger on the internet. Maybe I’m not a good person, and I just did it to cleanse myself of some feeling of shame or guilt for wasting money on myself. As well as the positive fantasies of my future where I am destined to greatness through nothing other than my own conviction and virtues, I have the other vision in the crystal ball that shows myself destitute and addicted to hard drugs, homeless or institutionalised, ultimately suicided. Addiction and suicide run through my veins afterall, and I’ve been close to becoming the 3rd generation of my bloodline to go out by my own hand. The decently sized scar on my arm from a self-inflicted slash that was intended for my neck, that nearly severed my nerves and would have left me with a malfunctioning left hand had I gone any deeper. Sometimes I look at it and feel ashamed for doing it, for trying to throw away my beautiful, special life, and other times I look at it and feel ashamed for missing my real target, my consciousness. I battle with my consciousness a lot, I try to minimise it through drink and drugs or healthy mental exercises, distract it with my media, sublimate it through writing and drawing, but rarely do I get peace from it. Then other times, I count my blessings and praise the universe for bestowing onto me just the ability to think and feel and be a person. Neither approach to life is crazy to me, what’s crazy to me is not being able to bloody pick one and settle on it for more than a couple of days at a time. Like Fyodor describes his character going out into a busy bustling area in his urges to be part of society after a stint of isolation, I will go out some weekends and do the same, but that’s only a more recent, probably more healthy advance in my development than what I have been doing for a long time which is going online to provoke and debate people with my thoughts and opinions, and sometimes cheeky insults. I really resent when people who know me call it ‘trolling’ when I go off on these episodes. Trolling to me is when you put something out there that you don’t actually stand by, but you know will get a reaction out of people because you’re bored and want to mess with people. Now fair enough, there’s a lot to be said for that last part, but I have no reason to say things I don’t really think/feel/believe when the things I say genuinely are enough to upset people on their own, things I sincerely believe are correct. I’ll feel ever so right and convicted during these online tirades, then the next day want to delete all my social media and wipe my name from the planetary database. Perhaps I could just delete my existence while I’m at it. Seems like my self-doubt and my self-assuredness play equal part in my misery, because like everything else, I can’t choose one. The same happens if I go out and meet new people on the weekend, I’ll exchange numbers and add people with all intention of meeting up in the future, only to ghost them afterwards. I don’t know why.

#rambling #4 #entry #entry 4 #four

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waitingtoexhale · 3 years

Text

Queer Media One Tragic at a Time Has Reprogrammed My Brain

I find myself continually lowering my standards for the type of media I consume. Queer character? Check. Limited tragedy? Check. At least once instance of happiness? Check. Alright, that’s good enough for me. I LOVE THIS *insert media type here* SHOW, MOVIE, SONG! But, along with the good comes the bad and the ugly. Along with the brief instances of happy, complex, characters come the violence, the stereotypes, the woe. At this point, simply having a queer character that doesn’t die is the best I can hope for and that truly stresses me out. On a regular basis.

In Queer Youth Cultures, Karen said it perfectly, “I think there's a lack of homosexual characters who are presented in a positive and uplifting, or not even positive and uplifting but just represented on the screen or in the media in general. I guess it's a desire to have a voice. I know this sounds like pure shit, but it's a desire to have a voice, to feel that l'm being spoken for or even just represented. But that there's a voice up there that's representing, or at least trying to represent my own experience. I want to have a say in what's going on and I'm not willing to just accept the images that are represented in front of me as being the only possibility. I take it maybe beyond its limitations of what's there. I try to expand, try to just open it up to possible choices that exist for me that might not exist for the creators for that particular film or TV show. But I will be heard” (2008, p.175-176).

Shameless acceptance of the toxic gay dynamic:

While sexuality is particular to each individual, the social constructions of heterosexuality and homosexuality are cultural categories humans use to make sense of their sexuality (Queer Analysis, 2010, p.198). Shameless, an American comedy-drama television series based on a British show of the same name, stars Cameron Monaghan as Ian, a closeted teenage boy who realizes he is gay and navigates the complexities of his queerness as a social identity and Noel Fisher as Mickey, a closeted homophobic thug who upon realizing he is gay engages in a sexual relationship with the one other queer person he knows who also happens to be the kid he violently bullied. Ian and Mickey start as a toxic portrayal of settling and acceptability in its truest form. Ian is in a predatory relationship with an adult and still possess a great deal of internalized homophobia when he is essentially propositioned by Mickey and their turbulent relationship begins. Mickey is struggling between his desires as a closeted gay teen and his need to match the criminal ideals expected of his father and family name. They are an explosive pair that seem to cause each other physical pain and mental anguish, yet the fans are wholly supportive. Even when healthy potential partners are introduced, the toxic couple of Ian and Mickey are reunited time and time again because media has established a trope where queer characters are only allowed complicated togetherness. Queer characters are punished for choosing their queerness and therefore not allowed true love and happiness. Despite having this knowledge and nothing in common personally with these characters, I love this couple and I love this pairing, so I am part of the problem. I am a product of this generation of idolizing toxic behaviors between characters because unfortunately those are the only “happy” queer characters I have seen continually produced. I have settled into a pattern of accepting negative stereotypes as simply good enough. I have traded the simple fact that the queer character doesn’t die for the harsh reality of their lives.

Another sad queer lacking Glee:

When queer characters are introduced, there are a set number of personality types and lived experiences they are allowed to have. Take Dave Kurofsky from Glee who serves as the closeted homophobic bully who after being outed in the “On My Way” episode attempts suicide and is comforted by the out-and-proud effeminate Kurt, a previous victim of Kurofsky’s wrath. We get to observe the pointed shift in Kurofsky’s personality from homophobic bully to repentant closeted queer, but the lack of character development unfortunately makes it difficult to feel sorry for him as a character. Instead, as an audience, we are forced to revel in “media representations of queer culture as essentialist, marking out the dichotomies between male and female, heterosexual versus homosexual (Queer Youth Cultures, 2008, p.175). Kurofsky is unable to learn what it means to be a queer man and grow from his internalized homophobia because he is coming his existence and framing his life experiences through that of Kurt; this is apparent when Kurofsky is unable to dance with Kurt at prom because of the perception of gayness. We accept Kurofsky’s story as powerful and real and heartbreaking because it is, but at what point do content creators have an obligation to tell the story a different way, in a positive uplifting light?

Degrassi: The Next Generation of bury your gays tropes:

Degrassi: The Next Generation, a Canadian teen drama television series, made history for tackling the tough social issues affecting teens, but frequently not talked about. They embraced diversity in their casting and range of topics covered while spearheading a progressive movement of introducing characters traditionally absent from popular media. Adam, a trans male character played by a cis female actress is a well-rounded first introduction to many into the lives of trans youth. The audience is familiarized with concepts such as passing and outing as well as the complexities involved in sexuality vs gender. Adam, besides being inaccurately portrayed by a cis woman, which is damaging to the idea that trans folks are the gender they have identified with rather than their gender assigned at birth, provides a much needed avenue of representation for queer youth in popular media. Continuing with our previously identified tropes, as a result of Adam being happy, relatively healthy, and well-liked he has to die. Queer characters are not afforded regular happiness in media they are given a taste then sacrificed as tools of writing via violence, sacrifice, or martyrdom. Adam is not gay bashed or driven to suicide as other queer characters are, but instead tragically killed as a texting while driving PSA. This death is particularly hard felt because Adam was truly shaping out to be a normal high school kid facing the complexities of life and surviving, but the creators, once again, took a queer character as the source for a lesson in some predetermined idea that queer happiness is short lived and tragic regardless of circumstance. There is a need for punishment of their queerness.

Queer punishment, a Supernatural concept:

What do shipping, fandoms, and heteronormative dominant culture have in common? Queerbaiting. Queerbaiting, “a term employed by media fans to criticize homoerotic suggestiveness in contemporary television when this suggestiveness is not actualized in the program narrative” (Brennan, 2016, p.1). A concept typically negatively connoted is a primary tool of heteronormative culture ensuring queer culture remains as a subculture rather than its own, established independent source of media. Audiences, particularly queer individuals, are forced to imagine scenarios and worlds where their identities are represented and dominant. “By creating a fantasy space, queer youth have an environment where they are free to explore many possibilities” (Queer Youth Culture, 2008, p.174). From these creative worlds come the likes of couples like Dean and Castiel (#Destiel) from Supernatural. The creators introduce intimacy and connectedness; the couple is ideal and non-stereotypical or superficial. Unfortunately, our trend of no happy endings for queer media continues because despite the fan observations and urging this couple is never acknowledged or confirmed as such. They instead give several seasons of romantic teasing culminating in a teary subversive confession immediately preceded by death and not just any death, a death where Castiel, an angel character is drug to hell. The sub context is overwhelming in deciding queerness is so offensive that any acknowledgement to the sort should result in punishment akin to biblical reckoning.

Lingua Franca, the road to universal language and communication:

Even as queer media continually evolves becoming evermore accurate and inclusive the conditioning I have been subjected to, as a consumer of queer media, completely reprogram my brain. While watching something as relevant and present as Lingua Franca I am unable to completely enjoy the film as I am waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Lingua Franca is a progressive film about a trans Filipina woman seeking a path to legal immigration in Trump’s America. The film is written, directed, and stars Isabel Sandoval an actual trans woman of color and therefore the portrayal is very real. As a film about a trans woman, the pace is melodic and light while the subject matter is focused on the life of Olivia rather than her transition or identity as a trans woman. While watching the film, I found it beyond refreshing that there were no invasive surgery questions or blatant misgendering by supposed loved ones. That being said, as a first watch through, it was anxiety inducing; the lack of discussion regarding Olivia’s trans identity led me to worry for her safety in a cis-heteropatriarchal world. When Olivia is engaging in her relationship with Alex I see the natural connections, simplicity, sensuality, and beauty, but I also worry about the potential for the violence I have come to expect when viewing true queer happiness. The scene where Olivia is outed by Alex’s friend shifted the entire tone of the film for me as I watched Alex spiral and truly cringed at the thought of watching another film showing an act of physical violence against a trans woman of color. While that thankfully did not happen, the fact that I remained restless throughout the entirety of the film waiting for it alludes to this reprogramming of sorts that has occurred. Creators show queer characters as poor unfortunate souls brought down by their queer identities therefore, I have come to expect and root for in some regards, a victim. There are limited instances when I can truly enjoy a queer film without a sinking feeling in my stomach waiting for the catch, waiting to exhale and simply experience queer joy.

#queer representation #intersectionality #queer youth culture #tragic queer #shameless #glee #degrassi #supernatural #lingua franca

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nancythebisexualslutwheeler · 4 years

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I’m Coming Home to You

Please read this and validate me.. I wrote this monster in like three hours. XX T

Part One Part Two

He texts Eddie probably too soon. He’s barely folded himself into an uncomfortable seat to wait for the airplane and he only forces himself to send a text to Sarah, before he sends one to Eddie.

From your number: One step closer to home man!

His phone chirps nearly instantly,

From Edward Kaspbrak: I’m glad. Are you in pain?

Physical? Absolutely not. Mental anguish that Eddie thinks he’s playing a game with him because he couldn’t man up and kiss him back? Um, yes.

From your number: I’m fine. Can’t wait to get back home and hit the booze though.

From Edward Kaspbrak: No plane drinking for you?

From your number: And end up crying into the lap of a random stranger? No thanks.

From Edward Kaspbrak: I offered to go with you. You played yourself.

He sends the shrugging emoji and Richie bursts into laughter.

From your number: I’m scared.

From Edward Kaspbrak: I know. Doesn’t mean I love you any less.

Richie’s heart pounds. This is what he means. He can’t do this, he can’t. Their chance is over. They could have had so much, everything. High school and college and they could have gotten married dammit. But nope. Now he’s middle aged and the thought of Eddie saying those words directly to his face, makes him want to vomit.

He puts Eddie on do not disturb, thinks better of it and then powers down the entire phone. He’s having difficulty breathing, and he’s convinced it’s not all entirely his lung.

Richie takes three weeks off to recover, reschedules eight shows and loses about ten grand. His ankle is healed, as well as his head but his lung still hurts if he moves too quickly and he still has this disgusting scar on his face. That’s gonna cost a pretty penny to fix.

He flies out to New York to see Sarah for a few days, and he’s been keeping regular contact with the Losers.

Him and Eddie are.. well. They talk on the phone. Every night. Eddie’s healing up, back to work- analyzing risks- or whatever that bullshit meant. Plugging along with his divorce from Myra. Begging Richie to see him.

Richie avoided it at all costs, terrified of seeing him. So he rambled about his day, his new set, everything.

Richie’s a touch nervous about his show. He’s been laying lower than low since his accident, making extremely sure no one saw him before he was damn well ready.

And apparently that time was gone because he’d no more than ordered his iced latte when some teenager who in all reality is a little too young to be watching his sets, asks for a picture.

It takes him over an hour to get out of the small coffee shop, and that’s only because a manager comes out, pissed.

He doesn’t even want his watered down latte any longer. He angrily throws the coffee into a nearby garbage can and rests heavily against the wall of the building. If even that little interaction was too much, how was he going to get through an entire set tonight?

His phone rings and he has every intention of letting it go to voicemail, until he sees it’s his manager, Steve.

“Hey-o.”

“Rich man, what the fuck were you thinking?! You want to get attacked or something?!”

“I’m barely famous,” Richie says flippantly, hoping he’s not going to get actually yelled at because he can not handle that right now.

“You’re a fucking bum from Maine who somehow got signed with the top comedian company and was promised two back to back tours before you even took pen to paper. Not to mention you nearly died Richie.”

He’s getting sick of hearing those words come out of Steve, and his wife’s mouth. The first entire week he’d been back, he’d stayed with them. He’d gained like fifteen pounds from all the home cooked meals. He’d taken a bubble bath. With epsom salt. So he knows how Steve feels about his accident, he does.

“I just wanted to be normal. For once.” Richie admits quietly.

Steve laughs lightly,

“Me too. Maybe if you were normal, it wouldn’t be so hard being your manager.”

Richie knows it’s a joke, but the sudden thought that Steve wouldn’t want to manage him anymore. His wife is Christian, they have a daughter for Christ’s sake... they don’t need Richie being a bad influence. God, he was just going to get up there and make jokes without any care for anyone else. Not Steve. Not.. he who must not be named. (Okay this isn’t fucking Harry Potter, pull it together Rich.)

“Hey Steve?”

“Yes o favorite client of mine.”

“I made a new set.”

“I know. I am thrilled.”

“Well you may want to taper that back a little.”

“Rich? Is this one of your moments? Do I need to amp you up? Do we need to play Beyoncé?”

Richie is going to kill him. He doesn’t know how to do this. Come out. This is a problem for thirteen year old girls who realized they liked the taste of their best friends lip gloss during practice kissing rather than a boy’s bad breath during real kissing.

“Um, some of my jokes revolve around a guy.”

“Oh cool. You know, you’re not as ugly as you think, but the crowd does go wild for that self hate shit, mainly because your photo of you shirtless at the pool on Instagram got flagged as inappropriate content because people kept commenting “daddy” under it. It’s funny Rich.”

Richie had forgotten about that. He’d thought it was a joke, and he’d sat up drinking beer and eating pizza with his beard Natalie as she insisted, no, he was daddy material. Natalie was a twenty seven year old from fucking Wisconsin of all places and played a ditzy granddaughter on a soap opera that Richie, being the terrible boyfriend he is, has never seen. She wouldn’t know daddy material if it slapped her in the face. She insists she does. But it’s kind of like the way she insists she's slept with Liam Hemsworth. Her beautiful blue eyes beg you to believe her, but she can’t keep the smirk off of her lips.

“No, I mean. Fuck Steve, you know you’re like a brother to me,”

Steve cackles,

“Damn, this is how you treat your family?”

“Ask my sister because the answer most definitely is yes. Anyway, the joke is about me liking a guy.”

There’s a pause,

“Um, Rich my dude. There’s a word for that and it’s called homophobia.”

Richie grunts and balls his free fist at his side,

“No like, I like a guy. For real.”

There’s a pause,

“Is something wrong with Natalie?”

“No, no no! Oh god Natalie. I have to tell her. Oh god, I can’t go on tonight. I can’t.” He says pathetically. Desperately.

“I understand this is a crisis situation, I do, but we’ve got a baby on the way, and this show is raking in like a quarter of a mill so, you’re going on.”

“A baby? Oh wow!”

Something Richie will never have. Wait. Where did that come from? Does he want kids?

“Richie, shut up. Okay, I’m only going to ask once, are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Richie hesitates. He wonders if Natalie will still want to be friends.

“If you think this will ruin her career, we’re not doing it.”

“Other than that?”

Richie presses his thumbs against his eyelids in concentration.

“Yes.”

It’s barely a whisper.

“I’ll take care of everything.”

“Steve-“

“Everything. Be at the studio at 5.”

“But I don’t go on til 8.”

“Richie, be there on time I swear to god.”

Richie shows up around 6:30. He hasn’t heard from Natalie or Steve, so they can’t be too pissed.

He’d had to shower twice. He’d talked to Mike on the phone. He’d texted Eddie about twice before he got nervous. He’s tired and crabby and this is not the way he’s supposed to be starting his first show back. Not by a long shot.

So the first thing he does is ask the first person he sees for some scotch. Steve might kill him but he needs to be at least tipsy to make it through this one.

He’d thought he was ready, but maybe he wasn’t. He’s not ready to face Steve’s inevitable wrath, or at least annoyance, so he ducks into the dressing room.

To his dismay, Natalie is in there, talking to his hairstylist Maggie. She stands up immediately and she’s got her wide smile on and she hugs him tightly and kisses his cheek instead of his lips,

“You’re late.”

“Sue me.”

She snorts, “I have a lot of reasons too, so I’d shut up. Anyway, I have dinner for you.”

“Dinner?”

“I’m not just a pretty face you know.” And she hands him a Tupperware container.

He hasn’t seen Tupperware in like 15 years. He laughs and she rolls her eyes,

“Come on, there’s a microwave over here.”

She places her hand on the small of his back, perhaps more out of muscle memory and she leads him into the small kitchenette, taking back the Tupperware before heating the food.

“So? This is interesting.”

“You can’t be.. surprised.” He says, even though that’s a straight lie.

“I assumed all men in their forties had issues getting it up, even when a pair of perfect tits in their face.”

He knows she’s kidding. He does, and it’s not even the first time she’d given it back as good as she got but he suddenly feels like crying. She must sense this immediately because Natalie is amazing like that, and she’s wrapping her arms around him. He cries into her chest like a fucking child. They only pull away after the microwave beeps for like the millionth time.

“Oh honey. It’s going to be okay.”

“How are you going to be?”

“Oh you’re cutting me a check. Steve promised.”

“You should be cutting me a check princess. I know your contract just got renewed.”

“You’re making nearly 25k... tonight.”

“Snooping are we?”

She shoves the Tupperware at him,

“Eat your dinner.”

“Natalie, are we still, gonna be friends I mean?” He asks sheepishly.

She made him chicken, potatoes and green beans. He knows everything is homemade. She hated the chemicals in the fake meat he ate. Hey, he was gonna die for a lot of other shit, and probably first. The environment was worth it. Okay not time for a fucking rant right now.

“Honey, we’re family.”

There’s a knock on the door,

“Rich? I’ve got the fucking liquor you ordered.” Steve says, handing him the bottle. “Do not get too wasted.”

Richie gets like.. half a shot too wasted. He’s buzzing. He’s flushed and warm and his hands are sweaty and Natalie isn’t fawning all over him like she usually does and he is stressed. He’s alone. He wants to message Eddie but he pussies out.

When he goes out, the screams are deafening. Once he gets the mic in his hand, he’s flying. He goes on about the nasty gash on his face, hobbling around with a twisted rib and how his crazy, lazy, halfway drunk ass is going to be an uncle. The jokes flow easily, even if he didn’t plan on saying it, and suddenly he has the terrible thought, shrugs and hopes that Sarah has already told her baby daddy.

And then he gets into it.

“So I know you’re all dying to know what the hell happened. I wish I could say that it was some badass like, car robbery. But it was just a straight up mugging. The thing is that I was with my friends, right? I know that’s shocking, hardy har har. But I’m with some friends, and I have this one friend. Her name is Bev, she’s gorgeous, and a bad ass through and through, strongest person I know, my bad, I’m exposing myself a bit too much, I am a heartless prick, I promise.

“But we’re at a bar, and some skeeze, no a real dick, I mean it. Takes her purse. Is this fucking 1992? Who steals a purse? Now, I’ve got a shit ton of liquor in me, but suddenly I’m running. And it’s cold, we’re in Maine and it’s winter And I’m freezing my balls off. And I’ve almost got him, I did track in high school, yeah yeah I don’t look like I can run from here to backstage, I get it.”

The crowd roars.

“The point is, I’m almost on him. This motherfucker pulls out a knife. Now, I know this doesn’t sound funny but listen, number one, Bev is a fucking receptionist at a dental office, she’s not even raking in the dollars. Trust me, I’ve paid her rent a few times,” he straight up hasn’t and even though he thinks it’s funny ,he shouts out a quick, “love you Bev!”

“Anyway, the guy pulls out a knife and goes insane. I thought this beer belly would protect me, but alas,” his voice is getting sad, so he pulls it together, “Anyway. The first of my friends to find me is someone I’m close to right. My first love. And I’m bleeding out on the cold cement, for real, Natalie, though she could have given me some tips on how to handle it so beautifully, but my first love’s in front of me and I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

“So I’m going on and on and throwing around big words that my man child ass doesn’t know the meaning of, like love and forever, and he’s staring at me like the idiot I am, and I promise there’s a point to this joke, and the joke is that once again, Richie fumbled. Good old Rich just lost it. So the fuck up you see right here, it turns out I’m actually this way in real life. So please remember what an absolute goof I am, especially next time you want to stalk me at fucking Dunn Brothers, and fuck up my oat milk latte, which is an extra ninety cents by the way, please remember that I’m a big dork,”

Suddenly there’s a commotion in the crowd and some guy is standing on his chair and Richie’s never wanted to die more,

“Did you say a guy?” He shouts.

It’s silent, before he nods slightly,

“Yes I did. I’m a big ol-“ he doesn’t even know what fucked up thing he’s going to say, when the crowd erupts into applause.

And he’s sure that some people left, or there’s comments, but the applause is all he needs. He is a slut for validation after all. Thank you love language quiz. Words of affirmation baby!

The rest of the set goes great and he’s still properly buzzed when he steps off stage. Steve is clapping him on the shoulder, even though he’s on the phone and then Richie’s rushed backstage and handed water and there’s. He squeezes the water bottle too tight and it explodes all over him. It’s freezing, even though he feels warm and before he’s thinking about it, he’s yanking off his shirts and suddenly someone’s handing him a towel and he hears a dog whistle. He’s about to tell Natalie to fuck off, when he sees who she’s standing by.

There. In the flesh, is Eddie Kaspbrak. He looks good, dammit. A maroon sweater and tight black jeans. His cheeks are flushed and he’s holding his black jacket in his arms.

“No one took his coat?” Richie yanks it out of his hands and throws it somewhere. “Where’s everybody else?”

He looks confused,

“What do you mean?”

“Impromptu Loser’s trip to my show. Is Bev pissed about the rent thing because I swear-“

Natalie sips at some cocktail awkwardly and Eddie swallows hard,

“Um, it’s just me.”

Richie halts. He sees someone off the scene - he knows these people’s names- he swears, it’s just dark. But he gestures for the booze again. Eddie came to see him. For his first show. Oh god. Eddie heard him go on about his jawline for Christ’s sake and now. He looks like a deer in headlights. The scotch is thrust into his hands and he takes three long pulls before doing anything.

The worst part is Eddie is just chilling. Kicking it, while Richie has this internal meltdown which he knows is showing on his face. He doesn’t know what to do so he all but thrusts the liquor at Eddie, grabs Natalie’s arm and storms off.

“What am I gonna do? Shit he’s here, he’s here.”

“You knew he was gonna hear the sketch anyway, why does it matter?”

“Because I’m drunk. I acted like a lovesick fool. My dad bod is exposed. What am I gonna do?! And be serious. There’s only room for one funny one in this relationship.”

She smiles,

“Good thing it’s me, my darling. Talk to him. He seems cool.”

“You talked to him?!”

“Uh yeah. He’s been back here since about half way through the set. Barged right back here. Lucky I recognized the name.”

He stares and she sighs,

“You’ve been saying his name in your sleep. Ever since the accident.”

“Oh god. You probably think I’m pathetic.”

“Not pathetic, in love.”

“In love? But I’m, we don’t know each other. We haven’t kept in touch in years.”

“Love doesn’t fade with age sweetie.”

“Oh stop being reasonable! I understand you just got a new gay best friend, but be logical.”

She snorts,

“Trust me, no one wants to go shopping with you. I am being logical. That man is head over heels for you. And you’re head over heels for him. Now do something about it before I kick your ass.”

“Your shoes are too expensive.”

“What am I gonna do? Talk about my feelings?”

She shakes her head quickly,

“Oh god no. Who knows what would come out. Just, ya know, go seduce him, with all of this.”

If it were anyone else he’d think they were kidding, but the have had sex dozens of times and so he knows she can’t be joking too much. His insecure ass isn’t that desperate so he keeps his mouth shut. She touches his shoulder,

“Go out there and kiss him. Just kiss him.”

He stares and she whacks his arm,

“And keep your mouth shut. No jokes.”

“What if he tries to slip in a little tongue?” He wags his eyebrows.

“You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

“Eddie thinks so,” he says quickly, before he can stop himself.

Natalie grins,

“By the grace of god he does. Now go kiss him dammit!”

He strides out of the room, not paying any attention to if she’s following him, but he bets she is, as if she’d miss this. Eddie is looking flushed and cradling the scotch bottle like a pacifier and all Richie does is take it out of his hand and set it down quickly. Eddie stares. Eddie’s here. Eddie came here. To California. To see his set. He’d paid to see Richie. He remembers to ask Steve about a refund, vaguely of course, before he’s fitting a hand around Eddie’s jaw, Eddie’s beautiful jaw and ducking in to kiss him.

There’s no symphony or choir that starts singing but his heart does feel about three sizes too big like that Dr.Seuss book, and Eddie kisses him back so softly, as if he’s going to break. More likely that he’ll pull away, but Richie can’t imagine. Pulling away from this magical kiss. Eddie’s tongue licks tentatively at his lips and Richie opens his mouth immediately in a grin.

He hears a dog whistle and an “Atta boy!” And wow he hates his team so much. They’re getting fired, the whole lot of them.

Things must get a little heated because he hears the sharp clearing of a throat,

“I can get you out the back way,” says Steve, sheepishly.

Except Steve, Steve can stay.

Richie is being handed a clean, dry shirt from someone, he’d forgotten, that wouldn’t be a good look, and then he takes Eddie’s hand. Firmly. It’s a good hand.

“You ready to get out of here?”

“After you,” Eddie says, squeezing back.

“Why not after you? You’re the one with the ass that won’t quit.”

“You’re the one paying for this Lyft so you’re going first.”

“Hm, expensive date. Am I going to get into your pants later at least?”

Eddie scoffs,

“Do you ever stop?”

Richie halts,

“Actually no. Is that a deal breaker, because-“

Eddie shakes his head quickly,

“No. No. I love it. I love you.”

Richie’s head swirls,

“Um. I’m not ready.”

He knows he’d brought this up. His secret had started it, but, the last person he’d said I love you to was Sarah. And he most certainly was not in love with Sarah.

“It’s okay. I just don’t want there to be any confusion on how I feel. I love you Richie.”

Eddie squeezes his hand as a black car pulls up in front of them.

“Damn that was fast.”

“Oh Edward, bold of you to assume I don’t have my own car.”

“Don’t call me that! God, you really are famous.”

“A little bit,” he says in a singsong voice, opening the door for Eddie.

“Shut up dick.”

“Hey, your face will look good in paper print, I think.”

Richie slides in the car next to Eddie,

“Your face would look good-

“Where Eddie?” He dares, “where?”

“You know what, your... mom. It’s unfair, I haven’t worked on my insults in thirty years, you’re over here being a professional cornball.”

Richie snorts,

“Not my problem. Cause I can go all night baby.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow,

“Can you now?”

There’s a cough from the front seat,

“Sorry Carl. I’ll tell my friend to simmer down, there are innocents around.”

“You know I can hear you starting it Richie. Right?”

“Carl, you wound me. How can you think that I would have such a dirty mind?”

“Where are we going sir?”

He makes a puking noise,

“Sir.. gross. Just home.”

“Sounds good sir,” Carl says once more to be a dick.

“I like the sound of that,” Eddie teases, “Sir.”

“Oh hell no. First of all, fuck off. Second of all, you’d be referring to me as sir under entirely different circumstances.”

Eddie’s face flames,

“Natalie didn’t say you were this insane.”

“Natalie, Angel, light of my life, would never betray me like that. What did she tell you?”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips,

“Secrets, secrets.”

“I don’t think you’re meant to be friends with my ex.”

Eddie pales slightly at that and Richie wonders if he made it too weird.

“I mean, she’s my best friend too so,”

“No no, it’s fine, I just never thought of it like that. Oh god? That’s my competition? Teenie bopper soap star with a great rack?”

Richie stiffens at hearing Natalie being reduced to that, but he hears what Eddie is saying,

“There’s no competition Eds. Never been one.”

Eddie looks up at him and smiles softly. Richie leans in for a kiss. It gets a little heated and Richie tries to stretch out so Eddie can lay beside him, but Eddie kicks Carl’s chair and there’s a very judgmental stare coming from the rear view mirror,

“Mr.Tozier, there’s a reason I don’t drive preteens anymore.”

“Fine, fine, can you speed up then?”

“I am happily going the five over the speed limit you usually request.”

“If I pay you extra can you make it ten?”

He hesitates like he wouldn’t do it for free, before grinning,

“3%?”

“Done.”

The car speeds a little faster and luckily Eddie’s short enough to crunch his legs up on the seat so that he can lay on Richie’s chest. He feels good. He feels real. He feels promised.

#reddie #reddie fan fiction #richie tozier #Eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #it 2019 #please validate me #my writing #long post

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dukereviewstv · 3 years

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Duke Reviews TV: Batman: The Animated Series 1x10 And 1x11 Two-Face

Hello, I'm Andrew Leduc And Welcome To Duke Reviews TV, Where We Continue Our Look At Batman: The Animated Series By Talking About Episodes 10 And 11 Of Season 1, Two-Face...

This Episode Sees Harvey Dent Starting To Transform Into The Duality Obsessed Two-Face When He Expresses Anger Issues That Are Being Caused By Another Personality In Harvey's Subconscious Called "Big Bad Harv"...

Big Bad Harv...

Going To Get Psychiatric Help At Bruce's Behest, His Psych File Ends Up In The Hands Of Mobster Rupert Thorne (Played By Officer Mooney From Killer Klowns From Outer Space) Who Decides To Blackmail Him In Exchange For Favors In D.A'S Office...

Will Batman Be Able To Save Harvey From Thorne? Or Will Big Bad Harv Take Over Completely And Handle The Problem For The Bat?

Let's Find Out As We Watch Two-Face...

The Episode Starts With A Dream Sequence As Harvey Runs From A Disembodied Voice Saying "It's Time"...

Woken Up By His Secretary, Carlos, Who Tells Him That Gordon Called Saying That They Started A Raid On A Derelict Building Being Held By Rupert Thorne's Men...

With Batman's Help, The Men Are Captured As Harvey Congratulates Gordon And The Police But When One Of The Crooks Kicks Mud In Harvey's Face, Dent Goes Beserk On The Crook And Has To Be Pulled Off Him

Reverting Back To His Regular Self After That, Dent Has No Memory Of What Happened And Just Simply Says That Maybe The Criminal Hit The Right Button...

Back At His Headquarters, Rupert Thorne Tells His Hot Mole, Candice...

youtube

To Find Something Dirty About Dent's Past That Could Be Used In His Favor

Later At A Campaign Rally At Wayne Manor, Carlos Tells Harvey That The Judge Let Thorne's Men Go Because The Warrant Was "Incomplete" This Leads To Harvey Losing His Temper Again Because He Believes That The Judge Was Bought Off Like Everyone In Thorne's Employ...

Bruce Tries To Calm Harvey Down But All It Does Is Make Harvey Take His Anger Out On Him, It's Only When Harvey's Fiancee Grace Slaps Him...

With Bruce Advising Harvey To Get Psychiatric Help, Grace Tells Him That Harvey Already Is, Only For Harvey To Be Embarrassed, Despite Being Reluctant To Due To His Campaign...

Visiting His Doctor That Night, She Induces Hypno Therapy On Harvey, Where She Meets Harvey's Other Personality, Big Bad Harv...

And This Scene Frightens Me Every Time I See It....

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(Start At 0:37, End At 2:26)

Asking If There's Any Other Way, The Doctor Suggests Increasing Their Sessions And Doing Less Campaigning Which Harvey Agrees To Do As Long As It's Kept Quiet, But Unfortunately, Thorne's Mole Candice Is Right Outside The Door And She Heard Everything...

Months Pass And Harvey Is About To Recieve A Landslide Victory In His Re-Election But When He Gets A Phone Call From Rupert Thorne Who Tells Harvey That He Knows About Big Bad Harv, And That If He Doesn't Get Into A Car Outside In The Alley, His Political Career Wont Be Intact For Much Longer...

Worried About His Friend, Bruce Suits Up And Follows Harvey To Thorne At A Chemical Plant Where He Tells Harvey That In Exchange For Keeping Quiet About Harvey's Psych Record, He'll Want A Few Favors From The D.A'S Office...

With Thorne Asking If They Have A Deal, Harvey Has A Psychotic Break And Attacks Thorne And His Men...

Harvey Smash!

Batman Tries To Stop Harvey Not Realizing That It's Not Harvey He's Dealing With But Big Bad Harv...

With Thorne's Men Fighting Both Harvey And Batman, Thorne Eventually Grabs The File And Bolts With Harvey Going After Him...

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(Start At 2:26, End At 3:12)

I Usually Love Kevin Conroy But I Don't Like That No He Did There (Despite Knowing That Alot Of People Do) I'm Sorry But I Just Wish It Was Louder So I Could Feel His Anguish To The Situation Where Here I Just Don't Feel It...

Taking Harvey To The Hospital, Bruce Worries About The Mental Scars Than The Physical Scars While Candice Rejoices At Getting Rid Of Dent Despite Thorne Not Being So Convinced Harvey Is Gone..

Later At The Hospital, The Doctor Starts Removing The Bandages...

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(Start At 1:29)

So, Yeah, That Ends Part 1, So, Now We Move On To Part 2...

A Few Months Have Passed And Harvey Is Now Full Two Face, Hitting Rupert Thorne's Joints, Humiliating Him Just As He Humiliated Harvey With The Help Of His Boys, Min And Max (Voiced By Micky Dolenz Of The Monkees)...

And He's Not Using James Cagney Impression Voice For The 2 Henchmen?...

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(Start At 0:04, End At 0:10)

I Am So Over This Show!

I'm Kidding Of Course, That Would Make It Cartoony And God Knows We Can't Do That For 2 Seconds With This Show...

Infuriated That Harvey Took Him For $200,000, Candice Is Basically Like...

Because They Created Him While Rupert Places Out A Contract A Million A Face For Two Face...

Back In The Batcave, Bruce Has A Nightmare About Harvey...

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(End At 1:09)

Finding A Picture Of Two Face, Bruce Vows To Save Harvey By Any Means Necessary...

Getting A Visit From A Detective Leopold Who Wants Her Help In Finding Harvey, Grace Is Given A Transmitter Which She's To Activate If Dent Contacts Her...

However It's Revealed To Us, That Leopold Is Really Candice In Disguise...

Going Over His Profits, Two Face Opens His Wallet Only To See A Picture Of Grace Which Causes Him To Freeze For A Second...

Min And Max Offer To Bring Grace To Him If He Misses Her So Much, But When He Gets His Coin Out And Flips It, It's Lands On The Bad Side So It'll Have To Wait While They Pull Off Their Big Plan Of Taking Down Thorne Once And For All..

Back In The Batcave, Batman Looks At Two Face's Previous Targets Realizes That Aside From The Fact That They All Have The Number 2 In Them, They're All Fronts For Thorne's Activities, This Leads Batman To Realize Where Harvey Is Headed Next...

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(Start At 1:26)

Batman Is Woken Up By A Janitor Who Tells Him That Two Face Is Gone...

Driving By A Wedding Shop Where He Imagines Grace As The Bride On A Cake. Asking His Boys To Stop So He Can Flip His Coin...

And It Must Have Landed On Good Heads Because He Calls Grace And Says That He Wants To See Her...

Having Min And Max Outside Of The Apartment Waiting For Her, Grace Hangs Up Before Activating The Transmitter Giving Candice The Signal As Thorne Rages About The File Harvey Stole...

Arriving At The Abandoned Wild Deuce Club, Grace Sees Two Face Who Has A Cloth Over His Scared Side (Kind Of A la Phantom Of The Opera)...

As He Tells Her How He Is Now With Chance And She's Basically Unable To Accept It As It Wasn't Chance That Made Him D.A. Or Made Him Fall In Love With Her As He Removes The Cloth Telling Him That He Never Has To Be Afraid Of Her...

But It All Goes Down The Crapper When Thorne's Men Knock Out Min And Max And Thorne Enters With Candice, Who Tells Two Face What Grace Did Despite Thorne Saying That She Thought She Was Warning The Police...

Despite Thorne's Men Searching All Over, They Can't Find Thorne's File Which Forces Thorne To Go After Grace..,

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(Start At 0:43, End At 3:32)

Alot Of People Have Said That Joel Schumacher Took The Last Couple Of Minutes Of This Part And Turned It Into This Part In Batman Forever...

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(Start At 0:44, End At 0:59)

But Like The Part With Scarecrow In Nothing To Fear I See It As A Meer Coincidence...

With The Police Arresting Thorne And His Gang Along With Two Face Who Has Grace By His Side. Gordon Wonders If There's Hope For Harvey And Batman Replies Simply Where There's Love, There's Hope, Before He Tosses A Coin Into A Fountain For Harvey Ending Our Episode...

Now Before I Give My Opinion On The Episodes, I'd Like To Talk About Those Last Words Of The Episode...

"Where There's Love, There's Hope"

Those Lines Are Slightly Melancholy For Me...

Why?

Because After This Episode We Never See Grace With Harvey Again....

After This Episode And A Brief Cameo In Fear Of Victory, The Next Time We See Two Face Is In The Strange Secret Of Bruce Wayne Where He's Full On Two Face And Bidding On Bruce's Secret Alongside The Joker And The Penguin..

So, The Question Is What Happened To Grace? Did She Fall Off The Edge Of The DCAU Continuity?

Hi, Duke Here, The Following Was Going To Be A Long Winded Rant On Grace And What I Thought The Writers And Creators Did To Her, But After I Wrote That Rant, I Looked On DCAU Wiki And Discovered That They Moved Grace's Story With Harvey To The Comics...

Namely The Batman And Robin Adventures Comic, Where In Issues #1 And #2..

She Falls Victim To A Nefarious Plot By The Joker, Who Enrages Harvey By Suggesting That Grace And Bruce Wayne Are A Couple, This Leads Two Face To Kidnap Grace, Bruce And Dick, Threatening To Kill Them All...

But Realizing That He Has Succumbed To His Bad Side, Grace Stabs Two Face In The Face With His Coin Implicating That Their Relationship Is Over...

However, In Issue 22 Of Batman And Robin Adventures...

Two Face's Life Is Thrown Into Chaos When He Loses His Trademark Coin During A Breakout And Has Replaced It With A Quarter. Little Jonni Infantino, A Gangster Who Caused The Breakout..

And An Obvious Nod To Carmine Infantino, Comic Book Artist And Former Editor Of DC Comics...

Threatens To Kill Grace If Two Face Doesn't Provide Him Information On One Of Rupert Thorne's Thugs, Weird Tony Hendra, Who Was One Of Harvey's Last Cases As D.A....

Running To A Payphone, Two Face Calls Grace, Warning Her To Get Out Of Her Apartment Before Jonni Can Get To Her. Calling Bruce Afterwards To Tell Him That Harvey Saved Her Life, He Tells Her That He Will Send Alfred To Pick Her Up And Bring Her To The Mansion...

After That, That's The Last We See Of Grace, But It's Hinted That She Still Deeply Loves Harvey...

These Stories Are Good, But I Wish That #1 And #2 Were Portrayed On The Animated Series...

Mainly Because I Know There Are People Like Me Who Don't Go Out To Comic Book Stores And Get The Comics, So, In Turn People Like Me Are Confused About Where Characters Like Grace Are...

Not That There Are Anymore Characters That Leave The Show And Have Me Asking Where They Are, Like I Did With Grace But Still...

If Paul Dini Or Bruce Timm Are Looking At This I'd Like To Know Why They Went This Route With Grace And Didn't Explain Where She Was On The Animated Series For The People Who Didn't Read The Comic?

I Mean They Explained What Happened To Nora Fries After Sub Zero The Least They Can Do Is Explain What Happened To Grace After Two Face...

Anyway We Now Return You To Your Review Already In Progress....

God!

But Aside From My Problems With That These Two Episodes Are Very Good...

The Story And Characters Were Well Written And Their Take On The Character Of Two Face Is Brilliantly Written, Definite Props To Richard Moll For Amazingly Voicing Two Face In This And Many Episodes Of BTAS, All In All I Say See Them Both...

Till Next Time, This Is Duke, Signing Off...

#batman the animated series #BTAS #Kevin Conroy #Bob Hastings #efrem zimbalist jr.#richard moll #Mari Devon #John Vernon #micky dolenz #dc animated universe #DCAU

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maddie-grove · 4 years

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My Top Ten Georgian (Ish) Romance Novels

Notes: I’m doing a top ten instead of a top five for Georgian, Regency, and Victorian romance novels, because I’ve just read way too many good ones to stop at five! Also, I’m using Georgian to mean the years from 1714 (when George I became King of Great Britain and Ireland) to 1803 (when the Napoleonic Wars started). Once a romance novel’s set in 1803 or 1804, it starts to feel less like “French Revolution hangover” and more like “it’s almost the Regency.”

1. The Leopard Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt (2007)

Exact Setting: 1760s England.

Premise: Independently wealthy Lady Georgina Maitland doesn’t care to marry, instead preferring to collect fairy tales and look after her rural estate with the help of her steward, Harry Pye. Yet she feels drawn to Harry, who is quiet and gentle and very good at carving small animal figurines out of wood. Their budding romance is threatened, though, by the growing hostility of their community, Harry’s complicated family secrets, and, yes, a series of sinister sheep-murders.

Why I Like It: Sometimes, the sexiest thing a man can do is make an exquisite little wooden hedgehog with his own two hands. Harry is a wonderful hero, kind and unassuming and ready to throw down the second some evil nobleman threatens the poacher’s son. I am also very fond of Georgina, an absent-minded folklore aficionado after my own heart. The rural setting is delightfully spooky, and the plot pulls together a lot of moving parts in a very effective way.

Favorite Scene: Harry and Georgina are reunited after he’s kidnapped and nearly murdered by said evil nobleman.

2. To Seduce a Sinner by Elizabeth Hoyt (2008)

Exact Setting: 1760s England.

Premise: When Jasper Renshaw, Lord Vale, is jilted for the second time in one year, unassuming Melisande Fleming offers herself as a substitute bride. Although Jasper seems like an ordinary and rather dry man, Melisande has secretly loved him ever since she saw his extraordinary kindness in a private moment. Jasper accepts because it’s convenient, only to be pleasantly surprised by their chemistry. Their marriage is going well...except that his horrible experiences during the Seven Years’ War are coming back to haunt him, both psychologically and in the sense that somebody is trying to murder them.

Why I Like It: Jasper’s combination of dry humor and hidden tenderness is pretty irresistible, while Melisandre’s gradual overcoming of her near-pathological reserve and self-denial is very moving. The suspense plot is exciting and carries unexpected emotional weight, plus there’s a nice side-romance between Jasper’s tough valet and Melisande’s enterprising lady’s maid. Finally, the sex scenes are super-hot.

Favorite Scene: Melisande flashes back to the moment she fell in love with Jasper.

3. An Unlikely Countess by Jo Beverley (2011)

Exact Setting: 1760s England.

Premise: After doing a good turn for genteel but desperately poor Prudence Youlgrave, directionless Catesby “Cate” Burgoyne thinks he’ll never see her again. Then he inherits an earldom from his estranged older brother. Not eager to return to his difficult family, Cate stops by Prudence’s village on the way home, hoping to check on the stranger he so fondly remembers. When he finds that she’s on the verge of marrying a lecherous old man at her shitty brother’s insistence, he impulsively offers to marry her instead...forgetting to mention that he’s no longer a cash-strapped second son. Prudence is prepared to deal with financial woes, but is she ready to handle the duties of a countess, a semi-dysfunctional aristocratic family, and murder?

Why I Like It: It should be clear by now that I’m a sucker for stories about creepy English country houses, and this novel certainly delivers. Beverley also takes a great deal of care in establishing the personalities of Prudence and Cate outside of their relationship, making the romance between them especially potent. Their consideration for each other makes me like them a lot, and it’s also weirdly sexy.

Favorite Scene: Cate and Prudence have a quiet moment together after he saves her from ruffians.

4. Thief of Shadows by Elizabeth Hoyt (2012)

Exact Setting: 1730s England.

Premise: Widowed Isabel, Lady Beckinhall, may be jaded and a touch hedonistic, but she’s also very interested in the welfare of the St. Giles Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children. In order to do this, she’s willing to teach Winter Makepeace, the middle-class proprietor, some social graces so he can help with fundraising. Winter disagrees that he needs to develop his networking skills, plus he has other reasons for wanting to keep this improper yet intriguing lady at bay...reasons that may or may not involve a secret crime-fighting identity!

Why I Like It: The contrast between Isabel’s insouciance and Winter’s severity is a lot of fun; it’s not uncommon for a rakish hero to be paired with a buttoned-up heroine, yet the reverse is rare. He’s more softhearted and she’s more interested in being a good person than their exteriors would suggest, but those exteriors add a little spice. This novel is also one of the best adventure stories in the genre, with plenty of skulduggery and derring-do to go around.

Favorite Scene: Isabel discovers Winter’s secret identity (it’s sexy).

5. A Scandalous Countess by Jo Beverley (2012)

Exact Setting: 1760s England.

Premise: Georgia, Lady Maybury, used to be the darling of society...until her young husband died in a duel and rumors spread that she put his opponent up to it because she wanted to be with him instead. Now she’s out of mourning and trying to start anew, but someone has resurrected the old rumors. Prickly Humphrey, Lord Dracy, is willing to stand by her side, but could he have ulterior motives?

Why I Like It: Although I like the romance, the main appeal of this book is that it’s top-drawer melodrama starring a complex, charismatic heroine. There is no shortage of deliciously lurid nonsense, and Beverley builds a wonderfully constructed plot around it. I just luxuriated in the drama of it all the first time I read it. In addition, Georgia’s anguish over the loss of her husband (who was more of a best friend than a lover but still extremely important to her) and loneliness when she’s left behind by her friends gives the book a strong emotional core beneath the pulp. She also matures without having to flagellate herself for being high-spirited or making minor mistakes.

Favorite Scene: Georgia and Dracy try to solve her husband’s murder and deal with additional drama at a masquerade ball.

6. Heartless by Mary Balogh (1995)

Exact Setting: 1750s England.

Premise: Lucas Kendrick returns to London after years of exile to take over the dukedom he inherited from his estranged brother. He’s also looking for a bride and, instead of doing the expected thing and marrying beautiful debutante Lady Agnes Marlowe, he chooses her older sister Anna, who sacrificed her early youth to keep her family together through tough times. Charmed by Anna’s sweetness and maturity, he believes that this convenient marriage may turn out to be a love match as well. Unfortunately, Anna is being stalked by a traumatic past, both metaphorically and literally, that sows mistrusts between them and also puts them in physical danger. Plus, Lucas’s family relationships have to be sorted out and Anna’s deaf teenage sister needs to learn sign language! There’s a lot going on.

Why I Like It: In theory, I should dislike this romance. If Lucas had used a shred of understanding in the first act of the novel, he would’ve picked up on Anna’s traumatic past early on, saving them both a lot of heartache and enabling them to stop her stalker at least one hundred pages sooner. I think it works here because (a) Lucas’s negative reaction to Anna’s suspicious behavior is pretty measured (he withdraws emotionally and makes some stupid assumptions, but he’s not ever really mad at her and he still wants to make the marriage of convenience work) and (b) both characters are set up in such a way that you get why it takes so long for them to communicate (his default mode is to keep to himself, while she’s understandably reticent to talk about the horrible stuff she’s been through and stung by Lucas’s assumptions). Instead of frustrating the reader, Balogh wrings maximum angst from the set-up, making for great catharsis.

Favorite Scene: As much as I love the angst, the unexpected initial romance of Anna and Lucas’s courtship was what truly reeled me in.

7. Duke of Desire by Elizabeth Hoyt (2017)

Exact Setting: 1740s England.

Premise: Proper widow Iris Daniels, Lady Jordan, is traveling home from a friend’s wedding when she’s waylaid by a secret society of evil aristocrats. Raphael de Chartres, the Duke of Dyemore, has infiltrated the society to bring it down, but he endangers his cover by rescuing Iris and throwing her in his carriage. Unfortunately, Iris thinks he’s just a regular evil aristocrat, so she shoots him, making it necessary for her to nurse him back to health at his secluded estate. She does a good job, but they still have to deal with the evil secret society and his all-consuming desire for revenge.

Why I Like It: Hoyt’s romances all have a fairy-tale feel, and she makes wonderful use of that atmosphere in Duke of Desire. Rafe lives in a dusty, disused castle, filled with old secrets and staffed by fiercely protective Corsican servants. Scarred and angry, Rafe has serious Beast-from-Beauty-and-the-Beast vibes, except he never kidnaps anyone and actually tries to deal with his serious mental health issues even before Iris brings a more sensible perspective into his life. I appreciated his family relationships, both with his sweet, disfigured maternal aunt and the monstrous father that he nevertheless loved.

Favorite Scene: I really like Rafe’s aunt, who could have easily been a Morality Pet but instead comes across as a capable, kindhearted woman who returns Rafe’s uncharacteristically gentle concern for her welfare.

8. The Pursuit of ... by Courtney Milan (2017)

Exact Setting: 1780s America (on a road trip from Virginia to Maine) and England.

Premise: John Hunter, a black Patriot soldier in the American Revolutionary War, finds himself fighting a white Redcoat who (a) won’t shut up and (b) outright asks John to kill him because he doesn’t want to go home. Instead, John gives the other soldier his jacket and tells him to start a new life in America. The last thing he expects is for the other soldier, Henry Latham, to show up at his camp post-battle and ask how he can repay John for saving his life. It turns out that John could use a companion on the long, perilous trip to his home in Maine, although he’s reluctant to trust a white dude who could choose to disregard his debt at any moment. As the trip progresses, however, they get to know each other and grow closer.

Why I Like It: When I read a Courtney Milan romance, I know that I’m not going to be bored. Her zippy dialogue, sense of humor, and use of interesting themes make even her weaker romances fun reads, and The Pursuit of ... is among her strongest. John and Henry are both engaging, sympathetic characters who interact with each other wonderfully; I especially enjoy how Henry’s incessant loopy patter bounces off of John’s deadpan remarks. The novella also balances its humor very well with serious discussions on what it means to live in a country whose reality falls so short of its ideals.

Favorite Scene: John’s reaction to hearing why Henry’s dad made him join the military.

9. Duke of Sin by Elizabeth Hoyt (2016)

Exact Setting: 1740s England.

Premise: Valentine Napier, the Duke of Montgomery, is a very bad man who goes around blackmailing and kidnapping his fellow aristocrats willy-nilly. Bridget Crumb, his housekeeper, is determined to stop him from blackmailing one lady in particular. They get along surprisingly well! Also, a bunch of crazy shit happens involving the evil society from Duke of Desire.

Why I Like It: I don’t know why, but Valentine Napier just cracks me up. He’s like a hotter, more sinister Dr. Doofenshmirtz, and I love him. He brags to Bridget about doing evil stuff that he doesn’t actually do, and then she goes behind his back and quietly undoes his latest scheme. Then he does something nice for her dog. Then he spouts a lot of flowery poetic nonsense (usually about how he has no heart and she’s a beautiful angel filled with integrity). Then they make out. It’s a beautiful, ridiculous relationship that’s propped up by a delightfully baroque novel.

Favorite Scene: Val sulks because his heartless self can’t relate to his beloved half-sister now that she’s happily married. EVIL.

10. Promised Land by Rose Lerner (2017)

Exact Setting: 1780s America (New York and Virginia).

Premise: Some time ago, Rachel Mendelson left her home and marriage in New York City to disguise herself as Ezra Jacobs and join the Patriot Army. Now she’s a corporal, and the Battle of Yorktown looms on the horizon. And who should show up but Nathan, the husband she loved but couldn’t live with, working as a Patriot spy? As the battle approaches, they struggle to work out the reasons why their first attempt at marriage failed, as well as their future as Jewish Americans.

Why I Like It: Lerner fits a lot of complexity into one novella without ever descending into inelegance. Without a single flashback, she communicates the entire history of Rachel and Nathan’s marriage, which was marked by affection and sexual attraction as well as painful class tensions and family dynamics. She tackles Nathan and Rachel’s differing approaches to their religion in an intelligent, nuanced way. Plus, the battlefield scenes wouldn’t be out of place in Hemingway--like, top-tier Hemingway, not the kind you make fun of.

Favorite Scene: The battlefield scenes, or Rachel’s description of her planned memoirs.

Further Notes: The Leopard Prince is #2 in the Prince Trilogy (which are only very loosely related). To Seduce a Sinner is #2 in the Four Soldiers series, and I would recommend reading the also-very-good To Taste Temptation first. Thief of Shadows, Duke of Sin, and Duke of Pleasure are #4, #10, and #12 in the Maiden Lane series, respectively, and that’s a series that I’d recommend reading in order, because I started with #2 instead of #1 and that alone was confusing. An Unlikely Countess and A Scandalous Countess are both spinoffs of Jo Beverley’s Malloren series, but I enjoyed them despite only reading one Malloren romance proper and one other spinoff. Heartless has a sequel, Silent Melody, which is also very good in a bonkers way. The Pursuit of ... and Promised Land are both part of the Hamilton’s Battalion anthology, plus The Pursuit of ... is technically part of Milan’s Worth Saga, although you don’t need to read any of them to understand it.

#romance novels #the leopard prince #to seduce a sinner #an unlikely countess #thief of shadows #a scandalous countess #heartless #duke of desire #the pursuit of ...#duke of sin #promised land #elizabeth hoyt #jo beverley #mary balogh #courtney milan #rose lerner

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sockori · 5 years

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oh god ryu’s rambling about ninjas again- quick, batten down the hatches

(Episode 1 Season 1: Sasori’s Transformation Interpretations + Brief Reason Why It’s Canonically Written This Way)

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ a popular ‘headcanon’, or interpretation really, for Sasori I’ve seen pop up a couple of times is: his entire body is quite literally a corpse and not simply just his core. As we know, it’s essentially already been canonically confirmed that this isn’t the deal- but, we all love to disrespect canon rules completely, whether we admit it or not, so let’s roll with it: say we don’t know what Sasori is yet, other then that he isn’t necessarily human, so some propose he’s a human corpse, or another organic material. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, at least to me, so I tend to disagree with this whole idea. But I can see both sides of the situation on why people implement this overall change or interpretation.

Here’s one idea. I would like to believe that Sasori is not entirely impatient. Rather, he values his patience in relation to others much differently to how he views patience in means to his collection/craftsmanship. For example, spending little time on a co-worker, whether it be feelings, personality and wants, yet very much willing to spend large amounts of time with his puppets. And a thought that comes to mind is, well, that’s because of many factors (ex. Sasori hates the trivial matters of humanity, instead retreating to puppets who won’t argue with him, which is true), and make the point that they’re artworks not necessarily co-workers, which is also true, but I think this can also illustrate where Sasori’s channeling his overall energy to in the big picture- that being he’s focusing much more his work and himself. So where in the world am I dragging this whole almost off-topic mess to? And, right here, is my other hand on the matter.

Embalming (looking at the modern example of the Russian scientists who work(ed) on both the corpses of Vladimir Lenin and various North Korean leaders) is a tedious process that is, overall, time consuming. One body alone requires a whole slew of careful monitoring, regular re-embalming, and scheduled cleaning, which can go from many hours, to multiple days at a time. Realizing just how much work is inserted into fighting the grim reaper that is decomposition, one can imagine that Sasori has quite a lot of work on his hands already. If he constantly has to dedicate his focus to the preservation of multiple puppets at once on a regular basis, how would he have any time for his own body?

And, in an counterargument, the believer of the headcanon probably has this to say: what if his suspected ‘kinjutsu’ surrounding the creation of human puppets pretty much eliminates this whole process to begin with? such as, the chakra channeled into this technique possibly making the conversation of organic material a self-sustaining process- thus, no need to keep up with the whole collection (at least not incessantly) and, in turn, have more time to focus on their functionality as puppets. If that is the reason one would want to propose to fill the void of ‘famously ambiguous human puppetry’, then Sasori’s body can, indeed, perhaps be a preserved version of himself, and provide a reason as to how he can take care of his work.

However, there’s a whole side of the coin we haven’t flipped yet- and that’s the subjective purpose. The reason behind Sasori’s wanted transformation to mechanics- philosophically and psychologically. Why go through all the trouble with such a complex, complicated metamorphosis if one wants a quick, easy escape from weakness? Or, in much simpler terms, why even turn yourself into a puppet(-like form) to start? Based on all the inner tribulations with see with gross puppet man, here’s the potential/general reasons that we know (not all of them, but the most important).

For the sake of “Eternal Beauty”, or an artistic reason: that being to exist long into the future while still pertaining an ‘attractive’ physical form.

To bypass the process of decomposition, or to gain the ability to do the opposite (synthesize- be able to be re-assembled after deconstruction).

Potentially eliminate physical human processes altogether, such as eating, drinking, sleeping/resting, among other steps.

Eliminate weaknesses in combat, such as fatigue/pain, blood loss, being mortally wounded, or wounded altogether (at least, when you disregard getting stabbed in the core)- in relation to being rid of physical human processes.

To destroy emotional connections, such as ties to people or memories (big clue: eliminating the ability to literally grieve).

To hinder the control that emotions and feelings have over the mind; to tear down impulses; to level the physical sense of feeling.

The list, at a glance, seems to portray: Sasori has transformed to separate himself from the concept of humanity or a “mortal lifespan”- to create distance between him and the fragility and ‘weaknesses’ of organic life by, in a rebellious way, converting to an inorganic form.

It’s obvious that the puppeteer has had bad experiences with being a human being- anguish from death, lack of appreciation/affection, lack of encouraging stimuli, unsatisfactory higher authority, and mental disturbance due to all these factors. It would make sense for Sasori, in response, to generate quite a lot of distrust, if not all out hatred, for the concept of a human body, and to go against its principles (and to take it out on others, but the complications of that could be another post entirely). Looking at Sasori’s canon descriptions of himself, he very much emphasizes that his inorganic form and his organic part (the core) are two separate entities (” My heart… is just like this body…“ or his most famous “I am an unfinished puppet, whose lifeless frame still contains a beating heart at its core. I am neither dead, nor am I alive.“). I mean, seriously, in one of these situations, he looks down upon Sakura and Chiyo because they’re being human, describing helping each other as pointless, speaking of his inability to feel, such as the possibility of his grandmother’s death, as a higher-ranking trait in comparison. The divide is right there.

So, if THAT’S the case- why persist to be a preserved human life form and go against that goal entirely? If one believes Sasori thinks puppets are superior to human beings, and/or himself being superior to his puppets, wouldn’t it make more sense for him to push past merely being a hollowed out dead body, and further pursue being an actual puppet?- Not only for the emotional reasons, like the distance, but to emphasize his dominance over humanity itself by simply not being apart of it? Wouldn’t him being an inorganic form better portray his ability to manipulate mortality (being different from his human puppets)? Wasn’t all the effort he put into, canonically, for the attempt to push himself away from mortality as much as possible?

And THAT’S why I disagree with this concept.

So In conclusion, I think our puppet man staying a preserved corpse could work physically and scientifically, but not subjectively. The possibility is there, certainly, with the right factors, but the overall purpose of it is unreasonable, particularly to the definition of his role as an antagonist. With all Sasori’s personal opinions about preservation, eternity, puppetry, humanity, etc. I think him wanting to stay human would be pretty ‘ooc’ of him.

What I’m trying to say is, Sasori in canon right now- turning his body into an incomplete puppet, containing the ‘beating heart’ at its core- is incredibly crucial to his overall character. Very much symbolically. Again, keep in mind, Sasori does have organic life residing within him still- that already portrays the hypocrisy (or at least some form of oxymoron) of his beliefs and his actions. It does a phenomenal job of that alone, and should stay that way. ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ok ryu are you done yet

I just wrote this entire “rant but an analysis but an argument but also a rant analysis post” for no reason at all other then impulse and I hope and pray that an explanation about some skinny mannequin guy does not lead to any potential discourse within the much s̶u̶r̶p̶e̶r̶i̶o̶r̶ sophisticated sasori stan community cause i know some folks in the naruto world really can’t handle even the slightest disagreement

oh and there’s probably a lot of weird phrasing in this because i typed it all without thinking, so if there’s any inconsistencies i am sorry

yes I’m aware this is a Wendy’s drive thru

#queue drawer #sasori #i believe some come to this conclusion to correlate sasori with his human puppet process- (typically) portrayed to be preserved corpses #and yes i can confirm im one of those sasori stans who believes that the human puppet process and the sasori self-metamorphosis -#- are entirely different processes altogether #and due to that; sasori's puppet form is simply a variation of the human puppet process- or a fraction of it- not it in its entirety #in simpler terms: you've got the original process; and then there's the abridged version #and there's many reasons why i believe sasori would want himself to be different from his preserved organic counterparts #some obvious- some stated in this post- among others.#but yeah #we get it sock go home #sasori headcanons #(?)#⚠️ orochimaru do not interact ⚠️

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yve-e · 4 years

Text

Contribution

Anger can be a very powerful motivator. However, it can also be exhausting to maintain for long periods of time, not just mentally and emotionally, but can take a physical toll on the body itself.

At the same time, if we really want to change the world, we need to continue to act. This means that we each need to find a way to contribute on a regular basis to create that change. Over the past week, the focus has been bringing to light the atrocities that those in power inflict upon those they consider powerless, especially how “law enforcement” denigrates, abuses, and murders Blacks. Thousands upon thousands of people all over the world have gathered to protest the status quo, sharing horrific footage of the violence perpetrated by those who are at least nominally supposed to protect us.This has been crucial in bringing attention to the problem.

“Problem.”

What an inane word to describe the wanton destruction of human lives. Still, it is a problem, and it’s something we need to solve. Making people aware of the situation is only the first step. It’s complicated and has been around for hundreds of years in one form or another. If we are serious about creating sustainable change, we need to approach it from multiple angles.

We need people to continue to show up and protest, speak up and sign petitions.

We need people to continue to share information.

We need people to donate to both national and local organizations to provide legal and social services.

We need people to provide those services.

We need to vote, especially in local elections that most directly impact our lives.

We need people to work to make sure that voting is fair and accessible to all.

We need people to run for public office to represent those who have been ignored or suppressed.

We need people to support those campaigns.

We need people to create stories, music, and art that convey the anguish and heartbreak of the oppressed.

We need people to create stories, music, and art that show us how much better the world could be and inspire us to work towards it. Fiction is a wonderful thing; even pure fantasy can contain Truth and give hope for the future.

We need people to volunteer in their communities, building connections with their neighbors, one human being to another.

We need to seek out and support minority-owned businesses.

We need teachers who can explain things to the next generations so that our children not only expect better but are stong enough to demand it.

We need everyone to have easy and affordable access to healthcare and nourishing food.

We need everyone to have easy, affordable, and non-stigmatizing access to mental health services.

We need so much, and there’s no way any single person can do it all.

Fortunately, we’re in this together. Find out what calls to your heart, and that can be your contribution to our human tapestry.

The only thing that each of us needs to do is to work on ourselves.

I’m a middlish-class white woman. I grew up in a community that was almost entirely white with a handful of Hispanics. The only black kid I remember in my elementary school was Julie, then in middle school there was Vince. That was it. I only knew TWO black kids until high school. I used to joke that the reason I didn’t grow up prejudiced was because there wasn’t anyone around to be prejudiced against.

At the same time, even though I didn’t have negative assumptions about blacks, I also had NO idea what it was like to be black in the United States. It wasn’t until I was at university that I started to discover that the color of your skin had a huge impact on your world.

I entered UCLA at the tail end of anti-apartheid protests. I thought that racism was something that happened Over There. Then one of my English classes assigned Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and my heart shattered at the horror of a black girl who had so deeply absorbed racist societal standards of “beauty” that she thought that the only way she could ever be considered pretty is if she had blue eyes. Later, I was chatting up this hella cute black guy, talking about how much I loved Johnny Clegg’s music and the way his bands combined Celtic melodies and “tribal rhythms.” With extreme politeness, the guy I was talking with gently informed me that he “found that term offensive.” I was stunned. To me, “tribal” was just a description that, in this case, referred to traditional Zulu music. I didn’t know how to respond, but the incident obviously stayed with me as I thought about it, long and hard.

I’d already been interested in psychology, especially in terms of identity and experience. I ended up majoring in social psychology, curious about how individuals and groups influenced one another. Race became another facet that I sought to understand.

That was 30+ years ago. And you know what? I’m still seeking to understand. Being “woke” isn’t something that happens once where you gain enlightenment and you’re done. It needs to be an active verb, something that you do, throughout your life. I’m still asking myself:

Am I making unfounded assumptions? How can I double-check both my premises and conclusions?

Am I speaking over anyone?

Am I projecting my own experience on someone else and mistaking it for Truth?

If I find myself reacting defensively to something someone else says, what does that mean about me? (Generally, it means that, on some level, my own thoughts, feelings, desires and actions are out of integrity; I need to step back and look at myself to see where I need to up my game and do more to walk my talk.)

How can I improve how I phrase my words to better convey my thoughts in a way that can be heard and understood as I intend them? And is my intention truly in the service of others or, if I’m just seeking validation or to hear myself talk, would it be better to keep silent?

We all have different backgrounds, experiences, gifts, and fears. We have different dreams and different ways of seeing the world. But we’re all human, and we’re all in this together, and while none of us can single-handedly do everything that needs to be done, we can all do something, even if it’s as small as trying to be a little kinder than we need to be.

We can do this.

You have to wash with the crocodile in the river You have to swim with the sharks in the sea You have to live with the crooked politician Trust those things that you can never see Ayeye ayeye jesse mfana (jesse boy) ayeye ayeye

You have to trust your lover when you go away Keep on believing tomorrow will bring a better day Sometimes you will smile while you’re crying inside And just once you’ll turn away while the truth is shining bright Ayeye ayeye Jesse mfana ayeye ayeye

It's a cruel crazy beautiful world Every time you wake up I hope it's under a blue sky It's a cruel crazy beautiful world One day when you wake up I will have to say goodbye Goodbye… It's your world so live in it!

Beyond the door, strange cruel beautiful years lie waiting for you It kills me to know you won't escape loneliness, Maybe you’ll lose hope, too Ayeye ayeye jesse mfana ayeye ayeye

It's a cruel crazy beautiful world Every time you wake up I hope it's under a blue sky It's a cruel crazy beautiful world One day when you wake up I will have to say goodbye Goodbye…. It's your world so live in it!

When I feel your small body close to mine I feel weak and strong at the same time So few years to give you wings to fly Show you the stars to guide your ship by

It's a cruel crazy beautiful world Every time you wake up I hope it's under a blue sky It's a cruel crazy beautiful world One day when you wake up I will have to say goodbye Goodbye….

It's your world so live in it!

Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World Johnny Clegg

#blm #change #self-care #contribution #systemic inequality

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hejer-maomao · 5 years

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Can I make a request in how the Ikerev suitors react to a MC with Depression? If you aren't comfortable writing this, I understand.

… This right here has to be the most challenging request I have ever received and I’m honestly terrified of writing it.

I have hesitated for some time now and I even thought of simply turning you down because depression is not an easy topic to write about. But when I thought of the possibility of these HCs somehow making anyone, anyone, out there feel a little bit better about themselves, then I will force myself out of my comfort zone for it.

Just few words of serious warning here. I am not an expert on mental illnesses nor am I a doctor. Although I am not exactly mentally healthy myself, I have never been diagnosed with depression either. I will try my best to make this as accurate as possible, based on my readings, my own experience and my friends’ struggles. So, please, do not hesitate to tell me if something is erroneous or can potentially offend or trigger anyone who has depression and I will immediately take this post down, you have my word.

The purpose of these HCs will be to heal and to comfort and NOT to belittle or mock depression.

For all of you out there, who are battling with depression, you are real warriors my friends and I pray to God you never stop fighting. Keep clinging to hope and never be ashamed to seek out help. Many people , including myself, are always ready to hear you out. My ask box is also open for everyone who simply wants an ear to listen.

Trigger Warning: Depression.

Ikemen Revolution Suitors Reacting to an MC with Depression:

Lancelot:

Lancelot would quietly listen to you as you confess everything to him, his eyes never leaving your face, his hands gently enveloping your cold ones.

Once he is sure you have said it all, Lancelot will slowly guide your body to face his own, bring his face closer to yours and solemnly say, “You’re not a burden. You’re a strong woman. So strong. But I’m here now, so try to lean on me even for a while.”

Lancelot would tightly embrace your trembling body with his strong arms, trapping you against the solid warmth of his chest, and burying his face into the crook of your shoulder, leaving behind soft kisses on your skin.

His hands would come up to pat your hair, tightening his hold on you further as soon as he begins to hear your sobs echoing in the room. After letting you cry your heart out, the King of Hearts would gently pick you up and carry you to the bed. Carefully tucking you under the covers, he would place a soothing kiss on your forehead.

Lancelot will not leave your side for the rest of the night, nor the night after it as well as all nights for the rest of your lives.

Just like you have managed to save him from the throes of despair, supported him when he was distant and cold, and forgave his cruelest actions, Lancelot took an oath to himself to never stray away from your side, and to hold your hand as you find your way out of the darkness inside your head.

Jonah:

As soon as the words left your lips, it would take some time for Jonah to process the situation and for his brain to register the new information. When it fully sinks in, Jonah’s eyes would immediately begin to water, his cheeks taking on a soft shade of red before he chokes out. “How can you be so strong?”

Jonah would gently hold your hands, bringing them to his lips, kissing each and every knuckle of yours before nuzzling your palm against his own cheeks. Throwing his arms around you in a hug, Jonah would gently whisper how strong, how fierce and how beautiful you are, because even in your darkest hours, you never gave up on yourself.

The Queen of Hearts would then puff up his chest and slightly pout, his eyes still red from all the tears he shed and order you to stay put until be comes back. Jonah would then leave for a few minutes before returning with a plate full of sweet treats, plopping next to you on the sofa and shoving them into your mouth. For each cookie you successfully eat, Jonah would reward you with a gently peck on your lips, softly smiling at you as you slowly make your way through the desserts, Pine nestled quietly on your lap.

Jonah cannot be prouder of you after your confession. He always respected the incredible woman he fell in love with right from the start, but knowing how much pain and suffering you had to go through on a daily basis made Jonah wants to hold you inside his arms and never let you go.

You’re the bravest soldier Jonah has ever met.

Edgar:

Edgar’s surprise in reaction to your words barely lasts for a few seconds before his regular, soft smile returns to his lips. He adorably tilts his head and softly tells you, “I love you regardless of anything.”

For Edgar, there’s nothing you can say to him that can make his love for you decrease even by a mere inch. After all, you have accepted him wholly, with his bloody past and disappointing actions, deceiving nature and horrible secrets. How can he not do the same for you?

The Jack of Hearts knows all about self-loathing and the awful feelings of anguish and hopelessness. Even now, Edgar still hasn’t learned how to completely let go of his past, nor how to accept that this cruel world actually deserves to be loved.

Edgar will hold your hand in his, and will ask you to stay by his side as you both learn, bit by bit, to love life again and see that there’s hope even in the midst of the darkest nights.

If Edgar managed to return from hell itself with your help, then you have no doubts that he will give up everything he has in order for you to keep on living and learn how to smile again.

Zero:

Zero’s first words to you would be, “It’s okay to feel this way,” as he tightly holds your hand, his eyes trembling with raw emotions.

Zero is no stranger to the feeling of utter emptiness in one’s chest. He has, for very long time now, felt as if he does not belong anywhere, as if he is destined to feel lost and meaningless for the rest of his life.

So Zero, knowing that you feel almost the same as he, if not worse, smiles gently at you and squeezes your hand a bit tighter. Just as you chose to see past his flaws and his deeply-rooted insecurities, Zero will forever see you as the strong warrior you are. In your dark just as your bright days, Zero promises he will be there. He will smile when you do and hold you close whenever you feel like crying. He will give you space and time whenever you need them and stick close to you if you feel like the world is crashing around you.

Zero will be more than content to simply walk by your side and match your pace. He will be there when you feel courageous enough to take baby steps towards healing and he will never abandon you even when you shut yourself in your room and come so close to giving everything up. Zero will be there, through it all. So do not be afraid, and lean on his sturdy back, and let his gentle warmth and kind heart heal your very soul.

Kyle:

“Is there anything I can do to help?” would be Kyle’s softly whispered words as he gently holds you close to his chest, one hand patting the crown of your head, tousling your hair in a familiar gesture.

Kyle might not be a psychologist, but as a doctor, he knows that talking about one’s fears and doubts might prove quiet efficient in the process of healing. He is more than ready to introduce you to one of his psychologists friends, whom he has absolute trust in their skills. But if you do not feel ready to talk to anyone yet, Kyle will respect your decision and encourage you to take as much time as you need. He will be there, whichever choice you make.

Kyle’s soft heart and awkward kindness will shine through your darkest days as his rough hands will guide you back to the surface every time you feel like you’re drowning. Kyle will use every means in his hands to bring you back to health, all the while making sure he does not force you beyond your limits.

His golden eyes will never stray from you as he alternates between gently pushing you towards the sun and tenderly enveloping you in the safety of your shared room. No matter how hard things become, Kyle will be there with his silly smiles and stupid jokes, and he will repeatedly save you whenever you feel too tired to even stand on your own.

Ray:

Ray’s emerald eyes would tremble for so long, his hands softly rubbing your back as he quietly waits for you to finish speaking before he calmly whisperer: “There is hope.”

Ray is not excessively optimistic, nor is he unreasonably idealistic. He simply knows the woman he loves and he knows what she is capable of. He is certain that she will make it through it all, no matter how many times she falls, no matter how much it bleeds and hurts, he knows you will get back up even if you choose to stay down for some time, gathering up your strength.

Ray fell in love with a real fighter, same as him. And just like he never gave up on his own self for years, Ray will undoubtedly never give up on you either.

He knows it’s hard. He knows how painful it is to get up in the morning when all you want to do is to lay in bed, crying your heart out, doing nothing at all. He knows how tedious life can become, when all the people around you are smiling and enjoying themselves while you feel like suffocating with each breath you take, your insecurities piling up on your shoulders, threatening o pull you under the tide at any given chance.

Be ready to be completely accepted by this man. All of you, from head to toe, will be embraced by Ray as he walks you the same road as you towards self-healing.

Take as much time as you need with this man by your side. With Belle gathered in his arms, he will follow you to the ends of the world.

Sirius:

Sirius will be silent for a long while after you finish talking. He will hold your hands between his own, his fingers tenderly caressing your knuckles, as he thinks for a while.

Once he reaches his final conclusion, Sirius will hum in approval before getting up, dragging you with him in the process.

“Let me help,” is Sirius’ next words as he wears his usual, familiar smile.

You will pampered to death by this man. Do you feel like staying at your room all day without doing nothing at all? Sirius will make sure you have soft blankets, water and warm meals whenever the darkness in your head gets too overwhelming. Do you feel a little bit better, ready to go out for a while? Sirius will also be there, hand intertwined with yours, as he allows to pick whichever destination you want to go to, without ever pushing you too far or forcing you do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable.

Life is unfair, and Sirius is well aware if that. Although he cannot exactly banish your doubts and insecurities, he will be there to deny them all and remind you how much you are loved and that when all of this is over, he will still be here and so will you.

Seth:

Ever wondered how it would feel if you had someone who understands your very soul without even needing to speak? Well, Seth will become that person for you.

You don’t even need to spell everything out, Seth would be up on his feet declaring that you’ll get through this together.

Just like Sirius, Seth will be able to read your every mood and act according to your feelings for the day. He will alternate between providing you with days full with shopping trips, delicious food and girls’ talk and others simply spent watching classical movies in the darkness of your shared room, curled up together under the blankets, munching on simple treats.

Don’t hesitate to lay everything bare to this man and rely on him to hold your hand as you fight your way through it all to reach the surface. Seth will never judge you nor deny any of your efforts. Whether you only manage to get up from your bed in the morning or spend an entire day smiling or laughing, Seth will be proud of you regardless.

Harr:

“I love you”, is Harr’s response to your confession.

For him, a strong fighter like you who managed to help him out of his own darkness is more than capable to save herself, but he will be there with you, each step of the way, keeping you safe from the demons inside your head, and holding your hand whenever it feels too much to bear.

Harr’s kindness and concern will mainly show in actions rather than words. A cup of warm chocolate and soft tissues after you finish sobbing your heart out for no reason. Your favorite flower appearing right beside your pillow after you spent an entire day holed up in your room, refusing to let anyone inside.

Small acts like these will contentiously prove Harr’s determination to share his warmth with you, as you both find your ways towards loving yourselves and loving this world.

Oliver:

Clenching his teeth in irritation, Oliver will most certainty tell you how much of an idiot you are, if you thought this will change anything between you.

“You chose me, so don’t go around trying to escape. You’re stuck with me, so deal with it. You won’t drive me away.”

Oliver’s behavior will not undergo any major changes after your declaration. He will still treat you the same way since he does not consider you to be any different. In his eyes, you’re the same silly woman he fell in love with. It doesn’t matter for him that at certain days, you would feel too empty to even get up from the bed or too tired to even brush your hair or drink your coffee. It does not matter because Oliver will be there in any case, every day, whether good or bad, and will kiss you good morning, insult your bed hair before threading his fingers through it, tenderly kissing its ends.

Oliver is the same as ever, and his love for you will remain unchanged. He fell in love with a human after all, and he will embrace that human, with all of her mood swings and flaws.

Hey little fighter, soon things will be brighter ❤

#ikemen revolution #i did as many suitors as I could before I ran out of ideas and I got too emotional to even write #so i hope you forgive me #just know that you're not alone and that we are all suffering each in our own way #... stay strong #❤

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