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nevertheless-moving · 3 months

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Headcanons for Ladrian children!

Maxillium (waxillium. Who let you flip the first letter of your name upside down. Why.): grows up to be something of a 'gentleman miscreant.' Even at the time, Steris and Wax knew that hiring a pickpocketing tutor for their noble firstborn son was a bad idea, but Max had pleaded that Uncle Wayne had promised him lessons when he grew up. And...well...Wayne would have, no matter how much they tried to stop him...anyway. Sentimentality won the day. Mistakes were made.

Despite his deliberate and consistent flouting of propriety, he's still almost universally well liked. Genuinely charismatic. Doesn't put his foot in his mouth. Smart without being considered mean or dull.

His parents have no idea where he gets it from.

People think he must be a soother but his actual allomantic power is generally considered useless. I'm leaning towards gold auger for true self confidence brought about by super powered self reflection. A+ use of C- skill.

Adrenalin junkie. Likes fast cars. Very fast cars. Only one of the kids who remembers Uncle Wayne, though they all get stories.

...

Tindwyl: somehow oldest, middle, and youngest child syndrome. Wax and Steris reign things in a bit after they realize they've inadvertently been raising their firstborn to become a highly effective career criminal. I'm not saying they're bad parents, they really do care, listen, and adjust. But they're imperfect people and the clash of personalities is the hardest on her.

Hmm twinborn, but still insecure about it, so it's gotta be one of the less flashy combos. Bronze or cadmium compounding, making her very good at either not sleeping, or surviving indefinitely at the bottom of the ocean awaiting rescue after her boat sinks, neither of which is immediately useful ... i mean the sleep thing is pretty cool but might cause some internal issues..

Similar to her parents in the more neurotic ways. Her father's eye twitch, her mother's anxiety. But not much inclination towards the more heroic arts, something her parents love, glad they raise one child unlikely to die in a fire, but she feels ashamed of. No fascination with danger, except in the deeply abstract. She tends to fixate on novels, not disaster planning or solving murders.

Gets motion sick :/ When Wax tries to take her for 'rides' she's giggling until she suddenly pukes without warning, and then she's crying. Wax feels guilty forever about this, but she insists on trying again every so often throughout her childhood.

Oh! Heavily involved in the allomancer jak fan community, first as a joke, but eventually she gets into it despite herself. She delights in discussing his stories around the dinner table and watching her father grit his teeth. I mean, comparing them with her father's own tales - which claims are really less likely, once you break things down, piece by piece -

...

Third child: I don't know their gender! I don't even know their name! But I do know that they're going to be the first natural born mistborn in over three hundred years, and it's going to cause soooo much chaos.

Lotsa religious nuts following to school. Lotta kidnapping attempts. They catch dad yelling at death, no wait, false alarm, hes just yelling at death to pass a message to God, because he doesn't want to talk to God directly. Cool, cool. Something about wanting a promise that that 'they wouldn't be made a sword'

They seem to most consistently run into ladrian luck - things explode around them, they say the exact wrong thing to the exact wrong person. If there's a murderer loose, they end up in the same tree house, if there's a lion escaped from the zoo, it steals their lunch. Assigned protagonist by the narrative, despite the adults in her life genuine and consistent efforts to intervene.

Mixed feelings about it.

Generally Max bails them out of the social faux pas, but, much to tindwyls annoyance, when worst comes to worst they can fall back on the 'mistborn aura' growing 'mysteriously grave' and then jump out an airship window. Mildly jealous of Tindwyl because when she gets lost in the city she doesn't accidentally discover a cult, or get adopted by a circus troupe, or , anyway. If they also get a ferrochemical power people are going to lose. their. shit.

Snaps (I believe snapping is gentler in era 2, but still) way too young during their first kidnapping attempt, possibly same time as/ before older siblings. All kidnapped together?

Please Imagine Max age 12, breaking Tindwyl, age 9, and Misty age 6 out of their cells (of course he pickpocketed the keys from the guards). They all down a full spectrum vial, which of course they all carry in a secret aluminum lined pocket for LITERALLY this EXACT traumatic event because their mother is Steris. Max gets nothing (would gold even be in the vial?), tindwyl is a seeker or cadmium burner.

Cue ridiculously OP six year old bendalloying past the guards, pewter punching their way out... Max takes more than a few hits for them when they accidentally iron pull some loose nails at themselves... it's not pretty, but they do escape and the media goes absolutely bananas.

Please, please imagine tiny child carrying two medium sized childs, and jumping out a window. They're very carefully arranged, Tindwyl clinging to Max's shoulder, Max on Misty's, feeling absolutely ridiculous. Misty breaks the window - Max yelling steel push directions as they just need to get to the next building - Tindwyl yelling, ok they're all yelling now as Misty loses balance -

Ooh Wait if Tindwyl can cadmium create slow time then she burns that as they're falling, so it's extra terrifying from all their perspective, but to other people's view they're just hanging there, dropping very, very slowly. Either way-oh thank the Survivor, Dad's here now, catching them.

Some of this is caught on evanotype. Like I said - absolute media storm.

...

Fourth child: An accident and everybody knows it. The other three are mortified to discover that their parents are still having sex. Steris is mostly bemused that the one (1) time she said 'it'll probably be fine' instead of immediately drinking moon tea after the sheepskin broke, she gets pregnant. Wax is concerned for her health, but after a scare or two, it all goes fairly smoothly.

A good 15, 20 years younger than the rest and maybe a little isolated because of it, doesn't feel like she has the same sibling relationship the other three do, though they all adore her and compete relentlessly for 'best big sibling.'

Cool twinborn combo??? Like pewter allo and gold ferro for super healing. Or zinc super speed, because that's honestly excellent by itself.

Or no powers, because angst and also being underestimated and getting really competent at tech or whatnot. Possibly allomantic status is less important as time passes, and she actually doesnt really have as much issue with it as people assume she will. Infiltrates and takes down some shady hemalurgic group due to the misperception.

Only one of the children to go into law, but ends up more secret agent/spy genre then western/action hero.

Regardless, while Max is effortlessly charming, she's effortlessly cool. The middle children, and possibly parents, are amazed and maybe slightly jealous, though dad insists he used to be cool, honest-

#Mistborn #Wax/steris #Non negotiable: they are good parents. Not perfect #but pretty rusting good #none of that time skip protagonist to awful parents bullshit #Mistborn Era 2 #Nevertheless meta #mistborn era 3 #cosmere #nevertheless cosmere

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hmserebusadjacent · 1 year

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One dance

Part of Seven Days of Izzy Hands week

Izzy Hands x Male Reader (Developing Friendship, Developing Feelings, both Aromantic Asexual)

Summary: Izzy Hands chooses you as his dance partner at a Regency ball to get Edward off his back, and finds in you the hope that had been missing from his life for years.

(If you want to see the dance this fic is referencing, type Emma 2009 dance scene into YouTube. I'm a fan of Jane Austen and adaptations of her works, what can I say?)

Word count: 1,721

Fic link: One dance - Horatio_Hands - Our Flag Means Death (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

“Come on, Iz! Have at least one dance!”

Izzy Hands rolled his eyes at his friend.

“There’s plenty of other people not dancing. The floor doesn’t need my clumsy footwork.”

Edward raised both of his eyebrows theatrically.

“Yes but all of those other people have had at least one dance. And here you are with not even one under your belt! People might start to believe the rumours…”

Oh, Izzy was fully aware of the rumours. That he would spend the rest of his life alone, preferred it that way, liked nothing better than his own company and of those few within his inner circle. His disdain for these rumours were self-evident by the fact that he had ignored them for years and carried on his merry way.

Izzy wouldn’t describe himself as happy with his lot in life, but it was his own and that was good enough.

“You and I know to ignore them…”, Izzy reminded the other man, taking a swig from his glass.

Edward made a little noise of frustration next to him, and Izzy hid a victorious smile behind his sleeve. He did enjoy riling up his friend when he could. There was very little other sport to be had on most days.

“Just dance with someone for me, then. Call it an early birthday present.”

The older man stamped down the urge to sigh or roll his eyes again, merely glancing over at his friend to confirm his suspicions: Edward wouldn’t let him get away with not dancing with someone. And, even worse, if Izzy didn’t pick the man himself, Edward would pick for him. Never again.

“Fine”, Izzy conceded, turning away again as Edward beamed him a smile.

“Who’s the lucky fella?”

That was easy. Izzy Hands had spotted you a second ago mingling by one of the windows, staring out at the night sky. You had been seated next to each other at dinner and even Izzy had to admit that your conversation was more interesting than that of the people he normally had to endure.

Arguably you could still say no to a dance, and then Izzy would have to think of a plan B that may or may not require retrieving Fang from his quiet place in the corner of the room where he had been for most of the evening.

But only time would tell.

“Mr Darcy”, Izzy said, motioning toward you with his glass. He then fobbed that glass off onto Edward and began walking away.

“Wish me luck”, Izzy murmured over his shoulder but by that point he was too far away for Edward to call back to unless he wanted to cause a scene with the noise.

In and out of the crowd Izzy Hands wove, ignoring the stares he received at his out of fashion suit. The closer he got to you, the more Izzy slowly began to be pulled in by you again. There was something oddly calming about your appearance, and something intriguing as well. You’re just here for a dance, Izzy had to remind himself. Maybe some more conversation if you are lucky. Don’t get sucked in.

As he neared you, Izzy called out.

“Mr Darcy. Admiring the stars, are we?”

You turned round with an easy going smile on your face, not even seeming to be shaken by the man’s sudden arrival. If anything, you looked happy about it.

“Ah, Captain Hands! I was, if you would care to join me.”

Don’t mind if I do, Izzy thought to himself as he inclined his head politely in thanks. He joined you at the window, focusing out past the reflections of the candles to the night sky and found himself drawing in his breath in a small gasp. The sky was so clear that all the stars in the world seemed to be visible, maybe even a few planets too.

“Amazing”, Izzy found himself proclaiming, seeing you smile at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Indeed. The sights haven’t been this good for a long while. I confess it has rather stopped me from dancing as much as my friends should like me too.”

Ah. It seems like Izzy wasn’t the only one.

“I confess that my lack of dancing has been through spite rather than for a more valid reason like yours.”

The laugh that you let out did a funny thing to Izzy’s heart. Calm yourself, man.

“Some might call mine an invalid reason. But I’m too content to care.”

Izzy chanced a glance at you and you really did look content. He almost envied you. Unsure of what else to say, Izzy returned his gaze to the window. He could feel you looking at him for a moment, his cheeks flushing under the attention.

“I may have a scheme that could benefit us both, Captain Hands. What say you to a dance?”

Well, that was easier than I expected it to be.

“Lead the way, sir”, Izzy said with a small bow, motioning toward the dance floor where other couples were starting to congregate. You led the way, looking back to make sure that Izzy was following you.

"Ginny's Market", an announcer at the head of the hall called out, and Izzy breathed out a breath of relief. He actually knew this one. It would require you both getting closer to each other than Izzy had planned, but that needn't be a bad thing. You seemed to know it too judging by the smile that came to your face. Even Izzy had to admit that you had a lovely smile. He felt quite privileged to have caused a few of them so far.

The pair of you gained a few interested glances from onlookers as you took your places opposite each other. It felt oddly nice to stand up with a man in a crowd of people, to have Izzy’s own wants plain for other people to see.

And then the music was starting, and Izzy's mind was immediately split between wanting to enjoy your radiant smile and the need to concentrate on bowing to you.

Then the two of you were dancing. Stepping forwards, and then backwards. Joining hands and spinning in a slow circle, the first touch of your hands electric and then the rest was pleasant warmth. As you wrapped your arms around each other, your other hands above your heads, Izzy couldn't help but let his gaze flicker down to your lips whilst you were steadfast in your gaze, a little uptick of your lips the only indication that you had noticed. Then your arms were linked and you were pacing back and forth, both of you moving so fluidly and in time with each other that it was as if you had been dancing for years.

It was at this point that as the two of you moved places up the crowd Izzy caught sight of Edward, swaying in time with the music with a ridiculous grin on his face. Damn him, of course he was watching.

Although when you came back into Izzy's field of view and were bowing so adorably again, Izzy couldn't bring himself to care. The candlelight reflected in your eyes when you got closer again, showing brilliant shades of blue. Your hands fitted together almost perfectly, warmth felt even through gloves. Your heights were perfectly matched so there was no awkwardness when you twirled, easily inhabiting the others' space. On the pull away Izzy noticed you flicking a glance down to his lips and cheered internally for a hope that flickered into life like a candle flame.

Moving up the crowd again, Izzy was even more focused on you. Even you had stopped looking around at the crowd, keeping your gaze fixed on Izzy and constantly offering him little smiles that showed just how much you were enjoying this. Izzy had to admit that he was enjoying himself too, just letting the moment overtake him and draw him in.

He hadn't enjoyed himself whilst dancing like this for a very long time. But right now, in this room with this intriguing man before him, Izzy was content.

The only thing that could bring down his mood at this stage was the realisation that there was only one more rotation of the circuit before you would be stopping this elegant dance of yours. So, in a uniquely non Izzy like way, Izzy Hands dared to dream.

He allowed a little more warmth to flood his gaze, grasped your hands more firmly and squeezed. Much to his delight, you squeezed back, even chancing getting closer than you had done before when you twirled around together. You seemed to be just as into this dance as Izzy was, and the old captain could barely believe it.

All too soon you had both returned to your original places on the dance floor and were bowing to each other once more, perhaps just a bit of longing in your gaze before you joined the rest of the dancers in applauding the musicians.

That just left Izzy to offer his hand to you and for you to take it willingly, allowing yourself to be led back to the window you had been staring out of originally.

"Well!", you started to say as Izzy gently dropped your hand, "You dance very well, Captain Hands. Thank you for that treasure."

Once again Izzy Hands felt his cheeks flushing, delighting in having been able to please so effortlessly.

"Thank you. Rarely has a dance been that enjoyable."

You toasted the man with your reclaimed glass before taking a swig, maintaining eye contact all the while. God, Izzy was fascinated by you. He could do little to deny it now, not when he had been so open during the dance.

Perhaps…

Yes, perhaps something could be made here after all.

"Would you agree to being introduced to my friend Edward? He'll want to meet you after the spectacle we just made."

You smiled, nodding.

"I would be delighted to."

You paused, smile widening.

"Perhaps we could take a walk together to the coast sometime. Get to know one another better."

For the first time in a long time, Izzy Hands felt genuine hope flood his heart.

"I would like that very much", Izzy said with a fond smile.

#izzy hands #izzy fucking hands #izzy hands era #izzy hands our flag means death #our flag means death #erebus adjacent's seven days of izzy hands #seven days of izzy hands x reader #seven days of izzy hands #izzy hands x male reader #izzy hands x reader #ofmd x reader #erebus adjacent writes izzy hands #erebus adjacent writing adventures #erebus adjacent writing links

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20001541 · 7 months

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so I'm going to answer this with the long answer I had typed for this since some wanted to hear it, putting it under read more

oh haha um well it's complicated to say the least

there was a point in time (2021-early 2023) where I was a super hardcore believer, I wrote and read tons of fanfic about it, bought a zine about it, made meta about it, argued with anti dfo who got angry at me in the replies and even joined discord servers about dfo because I was really in love with this theory

but as of late I find myself just not want wanting it at all and actually dislike the thought of it being canon. for numerous reasons I'll get into

first off I feel at this point it'll just be super rushed. maybe if it was done earlier I would've been more warmer towards it as there would actually be time to digest this info. it would be a huge deal with a hero being the son of the number one villain, if it were to be canon I would want a full self reflection from Izuku, more about his mom and her thoughts and feelings about this, flashbacks to inko and afo's first encounter and marriage in its early days, maybe afo trying to isolate Izuku further by releasing this information publicly and turning civilians and some heroes against him. having him and his mom shunned by a lot of people (people calling izuku devils spawn), getting to see his classmates reactions, all mights reaction (!!!). maybe a talk with the vestiges about it and just stuff like that.

but there's no hope of ever getting any of that if it's revealed now. it's the middle of battle and at most I could see Izuku probably being shocked, afo taking advantage of his shock for a brief moment then we move on. which is very :/, feels like it would just be cheap shock value at that point so why even include it when it feels more detrimental than something interesting. maybe he could make it canon and have it not be rushed, but considering how he's treated the other plot points like the ua traitor plot and machia's kind of out of nowhere betrayal in this arc, I'm inclined to believe it would be rushed and messy as well.

I think I'm far more interested in seeing how afo and tomura's struggle plays out and afo's final encounter with yoichi and an exploration of his past and the person that afo is, rather than some last minute revelation that ends up not adding much to the story.

also the fact that izuku never thinks about hisashi once also plays into me being very "what's the point of having this" here. I know him having his memories tampered with is a popular theory but to me sounds like an awkward way to bypass the fact your main character didn't reflect once on something that ended up being extremely important later. I don't see any evidence of that either, at least with tomura he had some hazy recall about his past before everything came back to him with izuku we get nothing at all about hisashi. at least do where he vaguely remembers a tall man with an eerie presence and gentle smile that didn't reach his eyes whose face is obscured in shadow saying he's going on a short business trip and then he never came back after.

the next reason is I don't really like the more popular fanon characterizations of afo in dfo's settings (and the way people try integrating it with canon) not getting into this as I don't want to step on any toes, but this thing particularly has really turned me off from the theory as a whole.

also I hate the way some dfo fans treat afo, I remember it being common at one point for people to be like "lol afo is only interesting if dfo is true without it he's just some dumb one dimensional villain". when that's not the case, he has a lot of interesting things going on for him. I just hate how some only see his worth in whether he is izuku's dad or not. not all dfo fans think like this though, I'm not generalizing all of them it's just some do this and it irks me so bad. (and to be honest I used to be like this too, but I've changed)

and I also feel like a lot get too caught up in dfo stuff that they end up neglecting afo's character as a whole and it leads to some poor interpretations of his character and certain scenes because I feel some are trying too hard to find evidence/justification that they miss out on some of the more interesting dimensions of his character. not saying all of them do this, but I've seen enough of this along with other stuff I've said that's made me more :/ towards the theory as of late

another thing is that I guess I've also just grew tired of waiting? some people can only wait for so long before they change their minds on things they've used to love. and as I've said before in my first point too I just don't see the point anymore. I don't think even if it does happen we'll get some super in depth look at it and how it affects izuku and other characters. I was more passionate about it during the time where it seemed like we could get a good look into it, but not I'm more meh as it seems like we won't.

that said I do not have anything against dfo theorists. some of my favorite writers are big dfo proponents, one of my favorite fanfics of all time happens to be a dfo fanfic. I have some au's of my own about it and I enjoy reading others au's and I do enjoy the occasional dfo art piece. a lot of dfo theorists in my experience are really nice too.

I think it's so stupid how angry people get at dfo theorists, how you can't mention it outside your circle without risk of being insulted or jumped on. which I have experienced before in my dfo days (not on here though). at the end of the day it's just a little theory people have come up with, if it comes true then whatever if it doesn't then whatever right? just leave people alone and even if you disagree with them at least be respectful. it would be neat if fans with differing opinions on stuff in the story could come together and have an actual conversation once in a while so both sides could better understand each other, but sadly this is the Internet and disagreements like that usually result in a angry back and forth exchanges filled with insults.

as a whole I'm not interested in the dfo theory anymore to me it's something I would prefer to just remain a fanon thing rather than something that becomes canon. but yeah these days it's just very rare for me to read it, it's not something I seek out and I usually only read it from authors I already trust. but if someone wanted me to read their dfo fic and they were nice about it well I wouldn't be opposed to reading it. I don't mind if someone wants to talk about it with me either. I like talking about afo as a whole even if it's in the realms of a theory I'm not crazy about.

I guess I am grateful to dfo in a way as its what made me really take notice of afo in the first place. It made me look more into scenes that he was in and over time I ended up liking him more than the theory itself and ended up just abandoning the theory as a whole. I don't think I would be as in love with him as I am now if it weren't for dfo making me a take closer look at him. also believe it when they say the dfo theorist to afo simping pipeline is real because it happened to me. if you're keeping this man constantly in your thoughts theres a chance it could happen to you.

overall I don't feel like it's going to be canon anymore? I don't really care for it being canon either. there's too much stuff going on that still needs to be wrapped up and I think dfo wouldn't be able to fit in all of it. the only things I would say make me hesitate about it being true is the fact he said hisashi will be revealed back in 2018 and some of the meanings behind hisashi's name. but generally feeling like there's a 20% chance of it happening seeing where we are as of now. I think past me would've been horrified to hear me say this now because I used to be extremely confident it would happen but things change

anyways you wanted my opinion and there it is, this is just how I feel and you're free to disagree with me as long as you're not rude about it.

#yeah I've been kind of skirting around saying my opinion on it because I know a lot of y'all enjoy it and I don't want to be a jerk #but this is how I feel 😓

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 months

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Reflections

Chapter Seven

Master List / Real People Master List / Reflections Master List

Pairing: Mia MacAlsdair x Au Tom Hiddleston

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, mentions of suicide and self-harm, 18+ Minors do not interact

A/N: I apologize in advance should my Scottish/English interpretations be incorrect. I am Canadian playing in a world of my own making. Do not @ me.

**I do not tag. **To be notified of updates and new works, subscribe to me or the story on AO3 for email notification, or follow the library blog @tilltheendwilliwrite-library with notifications turned on so you’re not missing out. An account is required to access my work on AO3. For more information on how to get your FREE AO3 account, see this post.

In a borrowed coat and boots, Mia walked the grounds with Tom. He listened as she talked, asked intelligent and insightful questions, and occasionally interjected with facts about his home.

"So you have an altar for him?"

Mia nodded. "I do. Not just him, though he features. Freya is there, Thor, Odin, Fenrir and Jörmungandr. They're the ones who niggle at me most often."

"Can I see it?"

"No," Mia chuckled.

"Please!"

She shook her head. "One, it's in my bedroom, and two, an altar is very personal. I might be inclined to share it with you someday, but I don't know you well enough right now."

He sighed but nodded. "I understand the hesitation. May I ask what's on it?"

"Candles, crystals, some pretty feathers I found while walking. Loki likes candy, so there's often a bowl with something sweet and a few fun trinkets, again for Loki. Recently, I found a beautifully carved raven that seems to please Odin. Freya likes flowers." She shrugged. "I go where I feel led."

"The way you speak of them…."

She sighed. "It's fine. You wouldn't be the first to call me crazy."

He grasped her elbow, causing her to stop and look at him. "I don't think you're crazy, Camila."

She blinked at him in surprise. "How do you know my full name?"

He tucked his hands in his pockets and ducked his head. "I may have checked out your website. You list yourself as Camila online."

"Yeah, Camila Alasdair. It's my artisan name to help me avoid creepers. Not that I'm anywhere well-known enough to have creepers." She chuckled. "The only person who ever called me Camila was my dad." She smiled at the memory.

"It suits you," Tom murmured. "Camila, the firebrand with the copper penny hair and temper to match."

Mia shook her head. "I don't have a temper. You were an ass."

"Ah, that isn't what I heard. Did you not also threaten Benedict Campbell?"

She crossed her arms. "Again, a perfect example of assery."

Tom chuckled. "I think you Canadians have cultivated this persona of politeness, but it is complete rubbish."

"Don't test me, Hiddleston. You're stomping on the Geneva Accords again."

He snickered and grasped her hand. "And we wouldn't want that, would we love? I'd hate to get on your God's bad side. I know what trouble he can bring."

"And he's already annoyed about the hair," she quipped, attempting to ignore how his thumb pressed and caressed her palm.

"You said that before. What was wrong with my hair?"

"It wasn't red."

"How do you know it should be red?"

She bit her lip, studying him hard. She already spilled much about her private life to this man, but no matter Henry's warning, she felt a pull toward Tom that had nothing to do with liking his acting and everything to do with liking the man.

"No one knows what I'm about to tell you, and I'd appreciate it if it stayed that way."

His smile slipped into seriousness as he closed the distance between them. "You have my promise, Camila."

She sighed. "When I was thirteen, I met him."

His eyes widened. "What? Like actually met him?"

The disbelief was palpable, and Mia stepped back, causing him to release her hand, creating distance to protect herself from the skepticism to follow. "Yeah. I was in the worst of my foster homes, where the dad drank and screamed. There were five of us, four boys and me. Two were terrible, always pinching me and pulling my hair, making fun of my freckles and anything else they could poke at. The oldest one was indifferent, and the youngest didn't care. I learned to defend myself and fight dirty in that home. I had to, but it was a hard time. Really hard. I was thirteen, my body was changing on top of everything else, and I hated it. I hated life. I hated living. I hated foster care."

She hugged her elbows and turned to face the town, the view from the hill spectacular. "I was depressed and still grieving. No one thought to get me help, and after two years, I couldn't do it anymore."

"Camila." His hands were warm through her coat as they squeezed her shoulders.

"I ran away," she whispered. "I found the highest bridge I could and climbed over the railing."

"Fuck, Mia," he murmured against her hair.

"Then, out of nowhere, there was this… person crouched on the railing like a raven. "Girl, what are you doing?" he asked me. For the first few seconds, I couldn't tell if they were male or female. I didn't understand the shifting of their face until it stopped on these pretty masculine features, all angles and sharpness, almost too delicate to be male. His hair was long and red as blood, a sunset, a fall leaf. It was full of braids and twists and feathers, bits of gold and tiny bells. He crouched there with these piercing eyes like he could see my soul."

She stopped to wipe her cheeks, the tears coming unbidden. "Girl, what are you doing?' He sounded disappointed, shocked, and sad. I told him I was tired and couldn't keep going when everyone dragged me down. He talked to me, told me this wasn't the way, that there were other paths to follow, and when I took his offered hand, he helped me back over the railing."

It was why she always knew his touch. She could never forget it or his voice that day.

"He kissed my forehead and walked with me as we headed back to that house. He told me he could help, that he understood and loved the parts of me others saw as weird or quirky. He said it would be hard, but I could make it if I had the heart to try."

"And so you tried at the behest of the God of Mischief?"

"Not at first." She smiled. "I didn't even know who he was for a while. Then, we had a class on Norse Mythology at school, and it clicked. I spent weeks in the library figuring it out. He's been around ever since."

You would miss me if I left, girl.

"And he still calls me girl. And yeah, I did think I was losing it for a while. I wondered if I had a tumour - I don't. I even considered that I was hallucinating because I was malnourished and sleep-deprived, but when both of those regulated, he remained. Like a tick, you can't scrape off."

Rude.

"Does he appreciate such remarks?" Tom chuckled.

"He makes worse ones."

Lies.

"You do, too, and you know it," she huffed.

"He's speaking to you now?"

She turned to face Tom, eyes narrowed, wondering if he was humouring the crazy girl, but his genuine curiosity released the tension from her shoulders. "Yes."

"Can you see him?"

She shook her head. "Not since the bridge, but I can feel his presence and his touch. Sometimes, when he wants me to know I'm not alone, there will be a flash of red and a raven."

One quorked in the nearby tree before flying down to land in the grass and hop along beside them.

"Like that," she chuckled.

Tom stared at the raven.

"Look, I get that you probably don't believe any of this, and that's fine. As I said, faith versus fiction is hard for people. Most people. My stuff is likely dry, so I'll just change and head home."

She tried to walk around him, but he pulled her back.

"I do believe you."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You do?"

"Yes, and I'll be forever grateful he stopped a child from ending her life," he whispered hoarsely as he cupped her cheek. "So she could grow into an incredible woman. A very beautiful woman. A fascinating woman."

His voice dropped sentence by sentence into a deadly velvet-soft purr that shook her to the core.

"I'm… I'm not fascinating," Mia insisted without much effort behind it, her knees now weak.

"Oh, but you are, Camila. You are bewitching. I thought it the moment we met."

"You didn't even like me."

"I was under a misconception," he huffed. "An error that irritated me."

"Why?"

He moved closer. "Can you not guess, Camila? Can you not feel the pull between us?"

She nodded, her eyes drifting to his lips as he licked them.

"Fuck it," he murmured. "I can be a gentleman later."

Again, Mia saw it coming, but when Tom ducked his head, she pressed up on her toes and met him in the middle. Her mind blanked as his mouth slid over hers, tilted, and locked.

Mountains could tumble, stars could fall, and Gods could walk the Earth. Nothing would drag her from the lightning wick of excitement that coursed her veins and dropped her to drown in a sea of searing desire unlike any she'd ever known.

The intensity made her gasp and break the kiss, but they didn't pull apart. His nose brushed against hers as tingling lips came together in small, almost delicate kisses.

Big and warm, his hand caressed and cupped her nape, keeping her near. He held her close, fingers splayed against her lower back, urging her into his body where she relished his heat.

Mia worked her arms up his chest and around his neck, her knees threatening to buckle when he bit gently into her lower lip.

When he finally drew back, it was only an inch, allowing her to see kiss-darkened lips and heavy-lidded eyes full of want.

She couldn't remember the last time someone looked at her like that or if Colt ever had.

"Camila MacAlasdair, where in the world did you come from?" he murmured, gently squeezing her nape.

"Canada," she said, a little lust drunk.

The man had power over parts of her she thought dried up and out of commission long ago. Now, they were awake, alive, and firing on all cylinders. She was embarrassingly wet. Add in her lack of underwear, and Mia was practically dripping down her leg from nothing more than a few devastating kisses.

He chuckled softly. "I suppose you did."

"So, that was unexpected," she said, rocking back on her heels.

"But not unwelcome?" he asked.

She blushed and shook her head.

"Mm," he hummed, eyes twinkling.

Mia didn't know they could do that outside fiction.

He stroked her hair, collected her hand, and led her to stroll toward a paddock fence. A couple of horses wandered over when they stopped at the railing.

Mia pet their soft noses.

"Do you ride?"

She shook her head. "That's the second time someone asked me that today."

"Oh?"

"Henry, he said my grandmother rode. He offered to teach me."

Tom stiffened. "Henry Stewart?"

Mia nodded, watching the emotions sweep across his face.

He cleared his throat. "How do you know Henry?"

"He looks after the farm."

The wince was subtle but present. "And he is aware you are here?"

"Yes. I drove his truck."

Surprise widened his eyes. "And he let you come?"

Mia frowned. "Because he's my keeper and has a say?"

"No, of course not! But…" He struggled to find the words.

Mia took pity on him. "He doesn't like you. I'm aware."

Tom cringed. "It's a bit more than that."

"Oh?"

He looked at her and sighed. She wasn't going to prod him into telling her. If he wanted to, he would.

Tom rubbed a hand over his mouth, then scratched the chin of the horse when it nudged him. "Henry blames me for his sister's death."

Emma squealed and yanked on Kip's arm. "I knew it! Oh, she's perfect for him."

Kip chuckled as they spied from a third-story window as Tom showed Mia around the grounds. Emma had her nose stuck to the glass and attempted to break his ears with enthusiasm.

"She's quite perfect for him. Sweet but unwilling to put up with his brooding," he agreed.

Tom spent the last years with his chin tucked, full steam ahead, fighting and clawing to save what they nearly lost. Sometimes, it felt like he meant to prove the sacrifice of his career wasn't in vain.

Kip wished it hadn't happened. He knew how much Tom loved acting, but he wouldn't hear of it when Kip offered to step back and do the hard thing. Tom insisted it was his duty, his responsibility. He wouldn't pass the burden to someone else.

That he sank nearly every quid he had into keeping Highpark afloat while they figured things out didn't go unnoticed. He never said anything, not one peep about basically going broke to keep the lights on, but it was a scant few years before and during the pandemic.

Now, they had breathing room and thriving businesses, and Kip was working more than ever. So much so that taking time for Serina and the baby was an easy choice to make.

But once in a while, he could see the far-off look, the stare of longing, the memories surface and hold his brother hostage, as he looked at Kip's life and thought… what if?

Tom spent so much time with his head down that he stopped living. If he kept going, the resentment would kill him.

Meeting Mia at the market was like a little miracle. She was funny, easy to talk to, and not impressed by fame. But oh, how her eyes lit up when she spoke of the other Loki. And not in the crazed superfan, murder you in your sleep and wear your skin as a trophy kind of way, but in the, I appreciate the effort you put into making the role something special way.

She didn't even cop to the name, making him doubly sure he wasn't introducing his brother to a nutter.

Then the idiot went and nearly muffed it.

The wanker.

"Oh… oh… oh!" Emma shrieked and slapped his arm repeatedly, dragging him from his musings.

"Dammit, Em! Leave off-" He caught what she was on about and stared in disbelief. "Oh, that cheeky bastard! And he gave me shit for moving too fast with Serina."

They were locked in an embrace, too far away to know for sure, but if he weren't kissing Mia, Kip would be disappointed.

Then, like something out of a damn period film, the sky broke just enough to bathe them in a shaft of sunlight. Mia's hair glowed like copper fire, Tom's like aged bronze.

As quickly as it came, it went, hidden behind the clouds that appeared less daunting than before.

"I have to tell Ethan!" Emma shrieked and dashed off, leaving Kip watching alone.

They'd plotted to toss the pair together as often as possible for just this moment. That his brother made a move in barely hours impressed and surprised Kip. He didn't think Tom had it in him to steal a kiss so blatantly.

Their moment lingered for long heartbeats before they broke apart.

Kip couldn't help his smile.

"Well done, Tom."

It was about time he found his happily ever after.

When they walked off toward the paddocks, Kip left the room.

Mia stared at him, her face drained of colour, causing her freckles to stand out starkly against the cream and her ocean eyes to appear bigger. "He… what?"

Tom sighed. It was never an easy thing to talk about. "Back in the day, Henry and I were mates. Best mates. I spent as much time at his as he did mine, and Sarah, his sister, often tagged along. She was friends with Emma, as they were in the same year of school, but often wanted to chase after Hen and me." He patted the horse's cheek and pushed her face away when she tried to nibble on his shoulder.

"Do you mind if we walk and talk?" he murmured, motioning down the fence line toward the barns.

Surprisingly, Mia took his hand and squeezed it encouragingly. That one point of contact slowed his racing heart and calmed his fear that she would run from him when she heard what he had to say.

"At four years her senior, neither of us wanted to entertain his little sister. It was our last summer before college, and Sarah was especially clingy. She was taking Henry's leaving hard, but the minor infatuation I had ignored for some time escalated that summer."

She left him notes, snuck into his room, and showed up at parties she knew he would be at, causing him or Henry to have to take her home.

"She was fourteen to my eighteen, and while four years now may not seem that big of a deal…."

"It was a really big deal when you were dealing with a girl trying to be a woman," Mia murmured.

"Yes," he sighed, relieved she understood. "The night before I was set to leave for school, she showed up here, in my room, in my bed."

"Oh, wow," Mia whispered.

"It made me sick, a little mad, and desperately frustrated. The implications and the gravity of the situation were not lost on me. Luckily, I was with Emma and Kip, so they knew I had nothing to do with her appearance." Even now, the thought of what could have happened, the accusations that could have followed, broke him into a cold sweat. "I sent Emma in to get her out of my bed and dressed and Kip off to get Mum and Dad because enough was enough. She damn near invented a scandal with me at the centre."

They left the grass to crunch into the gravel drive that led to the barns. "How mortified was she?"

"Very," he sighed. "And Emma has never been known to hold back. I don't know what she said, but they weren't friends afterward."

"Emma would have wanted to protect you," Mia murmured, tightening her grip.

"Unnecessary but appreciated. When Kip returned, I found out Mum and Dad had gone out, leaving three teenagers to handle the mess alone." He thrust his free hand through his hair, remembering with a clarity clearer than glass. "So we marched her into the parlour, where, with Kip and Emma as witnesses, I told Sarah that I didn't like her that way. She was Henry's sister, would always be Henry's sister, and I would never see her as a woman."

“Ouch,” Mia murmured.

"I admit, I could have handled it better, been nicer about it, but I was leaving for college. I thought four years without me around would cure her of her obsession. Had I known, fuck, I don't know…."

Mia drew him to a stop just inside the shade of the cool, musty barn. "Tom, so far, I don't think you did anything wrong. I think you're fortunate that so much of it went right. If Kip and Emma hadn't been there…" She shook her head. "She was a girl with a crush and a dangerous infatuation. I don't know if nicer would have been better or encouraged her to try harder."

He nodded. "Such were my thoughts."

"So what happened? Henry mentioned Sarah died at sixteen. If you were away at college, how are you responsible?"

He closed his eyes against the sick feeling rising in his stomach. "I was home for the holiday, Christmas. Highpark always hosts a party, and that year was no different. Henry and I kept in touch, but we drifted. Going to different colleges, school work, and life made it hard to keep up our friendship, but he was there, and so was Sarah. We never told anyone what happened; Emma and Kip ensured she got home safe, but not even our parents knew what she'd done. But that night, she was dressed to the nines, flirted with everyone and pretended like I didn't exist. I was relieved."

"Clearly, she was planning something."

He snorted and shook his head. "Clearly, you are smarter than me. I didn't suspect a thing."

"I'm suspicious by nature," Mia shrugged.

"If only I were the same, I wouldn't have gotten pissed. I would have noticed when she disappeared toward the end of the party. I would have checked before I walked into my room and turned on the light only to find her naked on my sheets… with a fully pissed Henry on my heels."

Mia's eyes widened into round orbs. "Oh, shit!"

"Yes, well, as you can imagine, it went about that well. Henry raged and took a swing at me; I took one at him. Sarah screamed and cried, racing to get her clothes on as we beat on each other. When she finally managed to make us stop, I…" He swallowed thickly past the bile. "I said, "I told you the last time you pulled this stunt, I wasn't interested in fucking a child." She paled to a ghostly white and ran off. Henry cursed me out and went after her."

Tom attempted to release Mia's hand, but her grip tightened, and her free one lifted to rest against his chest. "Tell me."

He swallowed hard. "I chose to wash my hands of it. Sarah could explain to Henry whatever she wanted. I was done. The next morning, he found her dead. She'd overdosed on sleeping pills."

Mia's jaw dropped.

"Henry blames me. I went to him, tried to apologize, tried to explain what happened, but he wouldn't hear it. Sarah was troubled, he said. If I hadn't been so brutal, maybe she wouldn't have-"

Soft fingers pressed against his lips.

"You are not at fault for the decision she made. When a person decides…" Tears caused her eyes to sparkle. "When they make up their mind, not much will stop them."

He cupped her cheek, heart aching for her. "You stopped."

She leaned into his hand. "I had an intervention. I'm sorry the same didn't happen for Sarah."

"As am I. Over the years, Henry's hatred of me has grown. Now, we avoid each other as much as possible."

"The town isn't that big. You're going to have to come to terms with this eventually."

Tom shook his head. "I've tried. He damn near takes my head off each time."

"Then what you need is a peacekeeper." She smirked. "Oh, would you look at that? A Canadian. How fortunate."

Tom chuckled. "I still think it's all poppycock. A reputation built on fabrication."

Mia rolled her eyes.

"You do that a lot," he murmured. Every time, he wanted to back her into the wall or spank her bottom pink.

"You annoy me a lot," she quipped.

He leaned closer. "I think you enjoy it."

"Maybe." Mia snickered, heading into the barn where a few faces watched them over stall doors.

"Welcome to the stud," Tom purred against her ear, his hand spanning her waist.

The woman had an ass on her that would make a pleasing handful and thighs he longed to grip, but she had a tucked-in waist and generous breasts, and he tried hard not to think about how she had nothing on under his clothes.

"Why does that feel like a line?"

He chuckled. "Unintentional, but would it work?"

Mia snorted. "No."

He laughed, and the sound echoed, causing a few people working in the barn to stop and stare. Tom ignored them as he introduced her to each stallion waiting for his attention.

"These five are our top producers."

Mia stroked the white spot on the end of Mystic's nose. "Producer of what?"

"Foals, love. They are our prize breeders. Once, they were tops in their fields." He turned and pointed at each. "Jumper. Steeples. Polo. Racer and this old man," he patted the cheek of the black whose nose she stroked, "ran like the wind in his day. They are all proven sires whose offspring have gone on to be just as talented as they are."

"So you just breed them? You don't raise racing stock too?"

"Ah, that would be the other barn. We have a few prospects we breed or purchase ourselves yearly, but the stud is where the money is. Ethan, Emma's husband, does the training and travels for the races or shows when needed, and while I'm fit to ride and give the old men their exercise, I leave the pairings to the farm's breeding manager."

"Did your family always raise horses?"

"Back down the roots of the family tree." He chuckled. "We weren't always Lords of Highpark, but horses are in the blood, though we shifted away from racehorses into a wider range. I was a polo man myself in my younger years."

"And you still ride every day."

He looked at her sharply. "And how would you know that?"

She glanced at him, a slight blush in her cheeks. "I see you when I walk the fields most mornings."

"Do you? And do you enjoy watching me ride?"

She nodded, and he could tell she held a firm appreciation for him on the back of his horse. It was a nice stroke to his ego.

They made their way out the far side of the barn, where he crowded her against the wall, bracing his hands to either side of her. "Perhaps tomorrow I will ride down to the fence so you may see everything closer."

"That…" Her voice caught. "That would be nice."

His grin spread, wicked and wide, as he leaned in. "Maybe you would like to ride with me?"

"I don't know how yet."

"That won't be a problem," he murmured, his heavy-lidded gaze back on her mouth before his lips slowly brushed across hers.

"Tom," she sighed, slipping her hands inside his open jacket.

"Sweet, surprising, Camila," he purred, cupping her nape and tilting her head up.

His lips brushed and retreated. Brushed and pulled her bottom lip. Brushed and teased until she whimpered, body erupting in shivers. His nose caressed hers. She breathed in his exhale. Their mouths met, and she moaned.

Potent wasn't the right word for Camila. Explosive. Dangerous. Devastating. Those were closer to how easy it would be for him to fall into something with her. He could only imagine how the rest would go if kissing her was this good.

He kissed her until she was breathless and panting, then traced his lips down her throat to suck where his jumper gaped between her shoulder and neck. The quiet groan she released had him slipping his knee between her thighs and pressing more of his weight into her welcoming body.

"Would you have dinner with me?" he asked, tugging her earlobe with his teeth.

"I would. When?"

"Tomorrow. I would say tonight, but I have an obligation I cannot escape," he murmured before sucking on her neck again.

"Tomorrow is good," she agreed, running her hands up his back.

"Excellent," he crooned, returning to her mouth to kiss her because he couldn't get enough of how she tasted.

A drizzle began to fall, dampening only a little of the heat they created, but it was enough for Tom to lift his head. "I should return you to my sister. I seem to have monopolized your time."

Mia laughed. "I don't think she'll mind."

"Why's that, love?" he frowned.

"Well, she's spent the last two weeks texting me about how great her brother is, and she wasn't talking about Kip. They think they're so tricky, but I know they intended to set us up."

Tom cursed softly but inventively and shook his head. "And I nearly muffed it up. No wonder Kip looked seconds away from beating my arse."

"At the time, it was an arse worth beating," Mia teased.

He snorted and stepped back, pulling her from the wall to tuck her under his arm as they headed for the house. "I was a complete prat, but I've never been so thoroughly jealous of Kip in my life."

"Not even when he took over as Loki?"

He looked down at her. She couldn't possibly know losing her to Kip - had that been a possibility - would have hurt far more than losing Loki.

He slowly shook his head. "Not even then."

Mia blushed and tightened her grip on his waist.

Unable to stand it any longer, he asked, "Do you still regret meeting your hero?"

"Oh, Gods!" she cringed. "I can't believe I said that to you."

As they crossed the lawn, he whispered in her ear, "Would you like to explain how, in all the realms, I'm your hero?"

Her face burned scarlet, but she murmured, "You did him justice. You took the role and very clearly put thought, research, and effort into it. There was passion in your performance, and while I wasn't familiar with the comics then, I could tell you researched the source material. The guy who played Thor was decent, but if he ever read a passage of the Eddas, you could have fooled me."

Tom stopped, drawing her to a stop with him in the grey mist that added tiny droplets to her hair like individual crystals. "You could tell that from my performance? And this makes me your hero?"

She shook her head. "It's difficult to explain. What I am, who I am, being Lokean is part of my identity. By then, I'd practiced for years, hearing him, following him, and, yes, loving him. I had also put up with ridicule and discrimination for just as long. When I found out about and then watched Thor, seeing someone else care that much?" She shook her head. "You don't know what that was like for me. Did I think you were Lokean? No, but you cared enough about Loki, about doing him justice as a character to go above and beyond what was asked of you."

Heat warmed his cheeks. "Camila, I'm… I'm honoured."

She tilted her head. "I was so disappointed when you weren't in Ragnarok, but then I didn't enjoy that movie. I felt it made a mockery of the growth and effort put into the other films. I stopped watching after that, and I never was much of a movie watcher before Thor."

"Which is why you didn't know who Kip was."

"Yeah. And I've never been great with names, so yours just slipped my mind until Emma explained who you were." She shrugged.

"Yes." He sighed. "I faded swiftly and thoroughly from the limelight and everyone's memories."

"Maybe," Mia murmured. "But today, Loki isn't why I think you're a hero."

He frowned. "Oh?"

She shook her head and hesitantly brushed her fingers over his cheek before combing the water droplets from his hair. "No. What you did to save your home and your family is far more heroic than anything you might have done on screen. I know it's not my place, and my opinion isn't likely to matter, but… I'm really proud of you, Tom."

"Camila," he whispered, voice thick and hoarse with emotion. Her opinion suddenly mattered most of all.

She smiled, pressed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "We should head in."

He cleared his throat and nodded before tucking her back under his arm and leading her to the house.

Next Chapter

#reflections #au tom hiddleston fiction #rpf #real people fiction #tom hiddleston

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youremyheaven · 1 month

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Hi I found that remark about moon dominants very offensive, even if you meant it in a harmless lighthearted way which I'm sure you did, I can't help but feel hurt about how people view moon dominants. As we live in a deeply rooted patriarchal civilisation there is a lot to deconstruct in every field of knowledge, like the human concept of the so called passivity for instance which has nothing to do with the sociological power dynamics that rob women of their freedom to self determine. Living your whole life pleasing and depending on your husband is not a human inclination, it's a material condition. I'm sorry to be that person I don't wanna fight with you and don't feel obligated to reply ofc I just wanted to share my thoughts, I'd love if you agreed with me though...

i make jokes about astrological placements from time to time. it's not that deep

but that said, I find your message very 🤔🤔 "you'd love it if I agreed with you"?? lol

why does it matter to you what some random girl on Tumblr thinks? what does it matter whether or not I agree with you? why do you act as though you were specifically singled out/targeted by something I said? and why should it matter to me that you found something i said to be offensive?

first of all, the spiritual dimension of life isn't separate from any other dimension. obviously your socioeconomic conditions affect you deeply but your life is a reflection of who you are. you cannot be a spiritual being and claim that who you are on the inside is separate from the life you live and choices you make

the human tendency towards passivity isn't any one thing specifically. it's tamas, it's inertia. this takes many forms and can be manifest in many ways. if I had to assign the seven deadly sins to each planet, Moon would be assigned "sloth".

im not saying that Moon dominant women = women who want to rely on men and be doormats but it's not exactly a reach to say that "the human inclination towards passivity" can manifest that way because to survive and thrive in our socio-economic system, you need Yang influence, many women opt out of that and do indeed choose to depend on men. im not saying that spiritual passivity is directly tied to serving men but it is a negative manifestation of extreme Yin influence, the tendency to depend on others, not just men and the inability to be independent thinking as Moon dominant people are easily influenced.

Claire Nakti, who I've always suspected to be Moon influenced talks repeatedly of the female spiritual path in terms of extreme passivity and inability to be a source of light or whatever and ive always thought that tendency of hers reflected her worldview more than any deep spiritual truth.

everytime you're irked by something someone says or does, it's your shadow being triggered.perhaps you hate the idea of being dependent on a man or being perceived that way. which is understandable.

i meant no harm but I stand by what I said.

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femmefatalevibe · 9 months

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Hi I have always been super sensitive to people's comments. That is really annoying for me but I don't really know how to deal with those emotions and thoughts because somebody would just make a joke of me (maybe just a funny joke) but that stays in my mind for a long time. I don't want to take what people say personally so, can you please give me how to stop being so sensitive and start treating jokes just as jokes. Hope you have a good day.

Hi love. I'm sorry to hear that people are making jokes at your expense. Please know, though, that learning how to not take others' words personally and expecting others to treat you with respect are not mutually exclusive standards/boundaries to uphold in your interactions and relationships with others.

To not take others' words personally, remember that most people's comments about others are a reflection of how they feel about themselves. Individuals who frequently criticize others or feel the need to put others down for their own pleasure typically are projecting their own self-hatred, negative self-talk, and low self-esteem. Take others' sentiments are a reflection of their self-concept, inner world, thoughts, and experiences – you rarely have anything to do with you.

However, with that being said, you have every right to be upset at someone's "joke" about you and let the person know that their comment upset you. While I don't know the types of remarks people are making towards you and the intention behind these statements, you have every right to share that these comments make you feel upset or uncomfortable. If someone is actively making fun of you or trying to put you down, do not tolerate this disrespect. Stand up for yourself. Call them out.

Please start valuing your needs. While people are still going to do and say these please, you have the right to do the same.

If you're being triggered by very impersonal, benign comments, it's worth exploring why these comments are so triggering to you. Those remarks will come up in life and you just have to understand that it says more about the person making the "joke" than anything about you personally, your appearance, actions, or intentions. Some people will box you into a certain role to self-validate their internal life narrative –nothing you do or say will change their minds, so you just have to understand that this person chooses to have blinders on and has not done the internal work to deeply self-reflect/see outside of themselves.

However, especially if these comments are solely directed at you, once you let others know you're uncomfortable, you have every right to walk away from the situation if your discomfort doesn't make them stop and respect your interpersonal/conversational boundaries.

If you're ever unsure if you're taking a comment too personally, try this gut-check exercise. Ask yourself: If a friend or a loved one told you a similar remark was made to them as you just heard expressed to you, how would you react? Would you be more inclined to tell your friend they're overreacting or be appalled that someone would speak to someone you love in this manner? Let your answer to this question guide you to a more objective and self-loving interpretation/response to these comments.

Hope this helps xx

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heartlurch · 8 months

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if u had to define it, what is it that u try most to bring out or represent in what u make, both aesthetically and narratively? I get a lot of the feeling if weird childhood feelings intersecting with like, adult feelings we don't quite understand yet- a kind of innocent puppy love that leads to a very sado-masochistic but equally innocent frame of mind. the idea that you want someone to be completely part of you, in every sense, in the most innocent- but not necessarily nice- way possible. like, when you're little, anything makes sense because nothing makes sense. (and also something something the inherent closeness of siblings...)

A real thinker. Hmm, how do I word this...

Aesthetically, I've always been drawn to 'cute' things. Little anime mascots, pretty creatures with bright eyes and long flowing hair. I'm inspired by things like Hamtaro, early Pokemon/Neopets design sense, a couple aspects of Digimon... My Little Pony! All things that have been dear to me since I was a lil kid. :3

I was also an edgy kid, though, so the kind of narratives I was inclined towards making were full of, er, murder, kidnapping, rape, slavery, cannibalism, torture... debauchery. Le weird age gap relationships, le interspecies, le forbidden love. (Funnily enough, I was late to the game with incest, it didn't really 'click' until I was about 17...) But yes, sado-maso, that was the core fixation. I wanted to see raw emotions! Misery! Scary situations! Dire romances!! And, I wanted all of these things to be inflicted to the pokemon, the my little ponies. I wanted to see those designs, that I was so attracted to, be put through this. Being honest, I don't think it was about contrasting something from my 'childhood' with something 'adult'... Well ah, real animals experience violence, death, rape, subjugation... *taps chin* I'm not sure if it feels like an 'adult' concept, because it's not as if it's exclusive to adults... Anything can experience intense circumstance, right? At that point, it's a matter of wanting to apply a sense of 'reality' to these creatures... Beyond that, it's also as simple as mashing up my favorite things together in a big pile. At that point, it's just incidental I wasn't like, idk, into detective dramas and putting the pokemon in that. (Not to nitpick too much... I'm just reflecting on my perspective. I'll circle back to this.)

Anyhoo... His little pea was thinking of such things at age like, 8, or something. Though I think I was closer to 11-13 when I was trying to actually write and draw these thoughts. None of this is so unique really; you can find tons of dA galleries from kids who want to see pikachu be fucked up and evil. As a result, I didn't feel like I was weird for what was doing, tbh. If anything, discovering fanfic dot net and dA made me feel validated — lots of people want to see this stuff! It was euphoric for a moment. Ah, so lots of people think like me... Cool!

I was mostly self-conscious at my own feeble skills. I'd have in my mind all these complex, winding narratives... Envisioning demon rituals where a kid needs to crush a live mouse between his teeth, swallow it whole, to complete it — but I couldn't remotely illustrate my thoughts. I'd barely be able to make some chicken scratch scribble of the design, and it'd be some feeble chibi lol. I felt a dissonance between my art and my desires. And it felt incompetent of me...

(You wouldn't know this girlie is a despondent sex slave, would you-??)

How do I improve drawing things that are pretty, cute, and appealing to me... but also, how do I create atmosphere? How do I convey all they are going through? This is where it's difficult, because there's not much to teach you how to... draw your cutesy little critter, writhing in agony. Expressive faces and posing are such a hill to conquer. And then beyond that, I have to realize there's other art that inspires me... I really love moeblob anime girls! Frilly shoujo styles! Expressive toons and furries... The simplicity of something like Adventure Time. What do I take away from these things? How do I integrate them-? I was honestly so clueless about it for years. Kind of at a loss of how to convey everything.

By now, I realize I want things to be mm... fluid, fantastical, a bit boneless... But not TOO boneless, it needs to be! Grounded! It needs volume, weight, I don't want things to get too loose, too flat, too 'shapes'. There's a lot of beauty to organic form... Grit to the living body. I want to imbue my favorite designs with that! A mascot is often designed with no intention to see it twist, flex, roll around, writhe... I want to look at a design like pichu and give it muscle and organs. It has a skeletal structure! It breathes! It exists. With all the dreamy, unreal smoothness of a real mouse. :3

Beyond that, I had much to hone about what I value in narratives. Getting it down to a science... What do I really want? At first, I think I over-emphasized wanting 'bad things' to happen. Harm happened, but too much for the sake of it. There was not enough meaning behind it. What imbues it with meaning...? I've found that the answer is: characters being obsessively, madly in love. A love that consumes everything, a love that drives you to act in a way you can't understand. This is where you get into the 'want to be completely intertwined, want all of you, no matter what '. That mentality. The kidnapping should happen because of love! The cannibalism should happen because of love! The rape should happen because of love! Love, love, love. It's always out of love! Love is the only thing that matters.

As for your bit about "adult feelings we don't quite understand yet", I do ponder this sort of thing quite a lot. I feel like... a lot of your experience as a child is that people underestimate what you are capable of. It's kind of frustrating! You see how children are depicted in things... and it makes you feel microaggressed, almost, haha. I'm not so gormless... I have an inner world, I have desires. One can develop an arrogance about this even... I think kids are pretty arrogant, often. Since they know they're being underestimated?

But... you... don't know everything yet! You can be in over your head. That's the tricky thing; there's a lot you haven't experienced before and cannot put to words yet. There are feelings that you have, that you chase, but you don't even know why. Sometimes it's fully unconscious... or sometimes, you're half-aware of it, but you struggle to confront it. Maybe you'll let yourself 'get away' with what you're doing, by not looking at it head on... Ah, and then, I think about all the memories I have of being pointlessly scared or confused about something that was so simple in reality. There are so many anecdotes people share from childhood that I really dwell on. An innocuous post like this really sums up how you can have a very inexplicable but real fear, that gets overturned by something very arbitrary. DON'T YOU HAVE A 100 MEMORIES LIKE THIS...?? It's the comical aspect of it all.

I really like the respective 'flavors' of specific ages as well. So it's fun to get into the head of a 15 yo, a 13 yo, a 12 yo, a 9yo, a 6yo... And the intersection of different personalities and ages! What about a distinctly 'slow' or immature kid, paired with someone younger yet more mature? Or perfectly on their level? Or... [goes on and on...] How do they encourage one another, who instigates what, what do they incidentally stumble into? I love accidents. I love not planning to do something... not intending to do anything more than an innocuous game. Or a mish-mash of, one of you is more clueless, the other knows they're doing something underhanded... Indeed, it's not always nice. It's often selfish. Love makes you selfish, love makes you impulsive and reckless. But it also makes you covet, find things precious. You end up feeling protective, as much as you feel destructive. How contradictory it all is!! Hehe. As you can probably tell, by now, I could spend all day thinking about this stuff...

Now that I have my ultimate best friend forever and ever, my wifey, it's all I want to think about. :3 I feel like being with her specifically, is what helped me fully understand the appeal of sibling characters. I've kind of dabbled in it before but, it's really being with Avvy that makes me crave the fantasy of wanting to be born together, grow up together... Never be apart. We're inseparable and spend every second with one another, so it's very natural to translate our dynamic into something like the Yugi twins. How warm and cozy! Let's play forever!

Bit of a tangent, but it's all relevant, I promise.

So hm... going over my art journey and all... As an adult, I've reached a point where I can reflect on everything I've been drawn to, and why, and I can understand what I want to make of it all. I felt more aimless before, and helpless about how to make everything harmonize. It all kind of felt like a big soup of disparate things I was trying to mash together, with mixed results. Now I feel more exact. And I can reflect on my own experiences and memories and use that to connect and explore characters. I like this... it's like my entire life becomes a reference point, something to pull from. A moment, a feeling, a tactile experience... It can be plucked and made into art. Which is lovely. At this point, it makes me a little excited when I experience stressful things, because it can be something I use later. Physical illness is fodder for a sickly character. When I'm bedridden and my wife is bringing me water, it's like some weird kinnie euphoria lol. My twin is here for meeee... kaff kaff

I keep trying to think of how to succinctly summarize this all... Maybe I can't. The last thing I want to say is I put a lot of reverence in my personal art, now. And I'm pretty severe about this, I don't want to draw something out of any other reason than adoration. It needs to matter to me. I have to love it. A lot of my old art is embarrassing, but as long as I was trying my best, it's not so bad. The stuff I truly hate was when I faffed off and drew some meaningless meme, just cuz my friends were doing it. And drawing things purposefully ugly. Making fun of my interests, out of shame, or something... I resent this. I won't ever do this again! If I draw Tsukasa... I need to make sure I'm conveying how I love him and how he is beautiful! At most, if I'm drawing something silly, it still needs to be cute. Appealing. A silly little comic. It's no fun of me, I know, but I hate meme-y art as a result. Useless to me. It's easy to be irreverent. Try praying to something next time you draw, if you want a challenge... *insane person voice*

Something something... oh, the reason I feel 'weird' and 'crazy' nowadays, is because I think a lot of people outgrow the edgelord, drawing pikachu crying blood phase. Or, it developed into something more... *squints* 'respectable'...? But I feel as though my raw desires haven't changed. If anything, I'm leaning into it allharder into it than I ever did when I was young.

I hope any of this was interesting. 🙇‍♀️

#asks #under the cut bc too much waxing

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shehili · 1 year

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For @vixtionary. Continued from here.

They were sat in the embassy's lounging area, consisting of a handful of seating furniture encircling a small table presently laden with refreshments.

The ceiling was high, the northernmost wall, which would reflect less sunlight throughout the day, occupied by scroll bookcases of dark palmwood with lozenge-shaped shelves for effective storing.

A mural had been painted on the wall opposite depicting a typical Tereshan vista populated by characters with dark-lined eyes pointed in the same direction. On the horizon stood two people, one in Noxian armor, the other wearing sumptuous colorful robes. Heads bowed in agreement, Noxian side brandishing a scroll as a blood-red sun haloed around them. 'The Empire Welcomes Tereshni' informed a plaque written in both languages.

Mariam watched him intently, every move, down to his very blinking, as a hawk might watch fish wiggling in shallow waters. His face had already begun to bloom carnation pink, and it wasn't entirely the fault of sunburn. For her part, she was pleasantly dangling from the precipice, keeping her wits about her but enjoying the way it frayed at her edges regardless.

A glittering half-moon smile fanned across her face.

"So, I was right. You can say it. I like when you say that."

She chuckled darkly, plucking a piece of fruit off of the platter sat between them and motioning for him to wait as she mulled over his confession. A moment later, as she was dabbing juice off of the corner of her lip, she gave her reply.

"Thank you for your honesty. I'm pleased with my younger self for standing by her decision. Especially under pressure from someone older and more persuasive. I stand by it still, even if I do wonder sometimes where I'd be in life if I'd chosen differently."

She made as if to continue, cup suspended in mid-air, and fastened her mouth to its fragrant lip instead. There were things she wasn't yet comfortable sharing. The wine, Jericho's choice, wallowed bitterly on the floor of her mouth.

"Seeing you to battle knowing I cannot join you would have been difficult. I would've lost my form, too, between the child-bearing and the lack of exercise. Now that's a tragedy."

Mariam reached across to squeeze Jericho's arm, leaning in and softening her voice to a whisper as if she were about to impart a secret.

"Speaking of, do you remember Kamose? Big fellow, misshapen head, a bit daft but very friendly. Skilled warrior too. Hated the feel of armor so he'd march in just his smallclothes. He died last year, right in front of his children. Wanted to teach them to swim, didn't account for his size nor the shallowness of the water. Landed hard on his head, died on the spot."

Mariam filled her half-full cup, the unfeeling side of her mouth twitching involuntarily. She allowed for a comfortable silence to stretch between them at the sombering news, inclining the bottle towards him in silent question.

"One more, then it's your turn to ask your bloody questions."

Bottle came down with a louder clang than she meant to. She narrowed her eyes at him, clearing her throat as one does before launching a challenge.

"Why did it take fifteen years and an earth-shaking discovery to bring you to this table? If you claim unavailability, I'll get you in your bad leg," Mariam bounced her foot for emphasis. "Remember: honesty. If you may give me this rare privilege again."

#/ ic #vixtionary #just two friends enjoying a drinking game nothing to see here

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ezrak · 2 years

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The Beginner's Guide (2015)

Davey Wreden's narrative game The Beginner's Guide approaches self-identity from an ENFP (Ne-Fe-Ti-Si) perspective. The game is about attempting to understand a person through various game levels they've created, effectively a display of Fe2-Ti3: Using the artistic expressions of a person to reconstruct their identity. The narration is all about "possible meanings" and reading into this person's work. And one of the first lines already (vaguely) points toward NF: "I want us to see past the games themselves. I want to get to know who this human being really is."

As always, I recommend playing the game first before reading this analysis. It's only two hours long, and is one of the few "artistic" video games that actually has something to say.

youtube

This video is an excellent analysis of the tricky relationship between "narrator" and "author" in this game, and in case you're not sure about the ending it's a great watch:

youtube

Let's start with the basic concepts. The fictionalized ENFP narrator (who I'll refer to as Davey-narrator, to not get confused with the real life author) guides the player through various games created by Coda (which were really created by the real-life Davey). By compiling all of these games, Davey-narrator expects to be able to understand Coda himself.

This sort of "psychological gallery" seems like the result of gTe3→Ti3, transforming the gameplay of each level into various concepts and symbols. The most prominent example is the recurring door puzzle, which Davey-narrator reads as proof that "sooner or later you have to pick up and move". The dark area in the middle is similarly read as "a pause just for a moment [...] to reflect on and let go of the events that lead you here". These two descriptions essentially come from Ne1, which matches Davey-narrator's interest in change and experimentation. He thinks he's the only one who can understand Coda's work, and presents his biased view as authoritarian.

The levels themselves are a sort of freak collage, combining the everyday and the surreal (Si4→gSe4). There's a particular obsession with rearranging everyday objects into different patterns, looking for the "best outcome". For example, the variations on the prison game come from a natural inclination toward exploring all the possibilities (Ne1), then deciding which ones "fit" the best (Fe2). The final prison game that we see, supposedly the "one that works", is a time travel story, a total Si4 thing.

Continuing with the Ne1 theme, Davey-narrator constantly expresses a sense of amazement about Coda's work, and is enthusiastic to show it to others: "when I took your work and I was showing it to people, it felt as though I were responsible for something important and valuable". And Ne1 > Fe2 leads to the attitude of: "I always felt okay as long as I had your work to see myself in". Davey-narrator becomes obsessed with reading his own meanings into people's work, and everything becomes intensely personal. The bits of autobiography we get also point toward ENFP:

"I saw him working on this very level, and it was just so different from anything that anyone else was doing so right away I was like, I have to be friends with this person. In retrospect, I think I was probably a bit too pushy trying to get his attention. I was overenthusiastic. But he was very gracious about it and very patient with me. And I cooled off eventually." There's a clear interest in novelty, and of course the characteristic overenthusiasm.

And that's where the problem lies. After listening to Davey-narrator's ideas for two hours, we begin to realize his flaws. He begins making major assumptions about not just what Coda's trying to express, but about what's happening in his life, particularly his supposed creative frustration, anger, and depression. He takes it on himself to share Coda's work:

"[...] all he needs to do is just start showing his work to people! To get some actual feedback on his games! It might get him out of isolation. As so, I'm thinking this, I realize that I could be the one to initiate it."

"[...] when I took your work and I was showing it to people, it actually felt… It felt as though I were responsible for something important and valuable. And the people who played them, they treated me like I was important! They really listened and cared about what I had to say. ."

He's all about social discovery, helping other people be amazed and "having their minds blown" at the novelty and experimentation of Coda's work. The external validation he gets (Fe2) is so important to him that he almost can't help but share Coda's work.

By the end of the game, Davey-narrator no longer feels like he understands who Coda is. He finally realizes that he's been reading meaning into things he shouldn't be and ignoring everything that doesn't fit, like the three dots. Even more crucially, he admits that he's been modifying the games in significant ways.

Davey-narrator is trying to fit everything cleanly into an ENFP lens: Certain gameplay mechanics (gTe3) that turn into conceptual notions (Ti3) that imply shared values (Fe2). For example, the housecleaning game that conceptually fits the idea of "refuge" or "cleansing", which is parsed by Davey-narrator as "the moment after a difficult experience where you just need to let it sit [...] and eventually cohere into something meaningful". Once the housecleaning portion ends, he mentions that "you have to keep moving, it’s how you stay alive", which fits Ne1. But of course, the housecleaning game actually lasts forever, Davey-narrator just edited it to fit what he expected, what he saw of himself in the game.

Similarly, the stairs game is sped up, the prison section is skipped past, walls and barriers are removed, etc. His impatience changes the meanings of these games, and he transforms the unknown into the possible. But in the end he realizes his mistakes and feels like a failure for not understanding, for losing the validation he thrives upon.

The final section, along with the dramatic apology and the whole notion of "releasing this collection of your work", fits the idea of only feeling social in a market (Ne1 > Fe2). He's more willing to understand Coda through his work rather than through actually talking to him, and ultimately interacts with other people based on something novel and creative he has to offer. Once his ideas about Coda's games stopped mattering, he was cut off socially.

It's very dangerous to type Coda, of course, since we'd be making the same mistake Davey-narrator would be making. It's complicated, of course, by the fact that real-life Davey (also an ENFP) is behind the design of all of these games. Ignoring the work, though, the best guess would be ITJ, likely ISTJ (Ti-Si-Ne-Fe), Davey-narrator's contrary. That would match his ability to keep things to himself, and the ending of the game: "When you finally see what I am talking about: don’t say anything."

The contrary relationship also explains the admiration Davey-narrator has for Coda's work, as it "shows" Davey-narrator what he's trying to access in his unconscious. That could also be why Davey-narrator feels such a strong need to help⁠—Coda's work seems like a real problem to him, and he's willing to do whatever he can.

"There will come a time when you believe everything is finished; that will be the beginning." — Louis L'Amour

#mbti #enfp #davey wreden #the beginner's guide #beginner's guide

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