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90minsofscreentime · 2 years

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Now that's a Good Omen (I love you, I love you)

Why hello there~~

By golly, I really didn't deliver on the amount of Summer Bingo Prompt Fills I thought I was going to achieve, but here we are! With my Good Omens, Angel/Demon starker AU~

I'm quite proud of this one, truth be told (considering I was rushing to finish this before the deadline), so I hope it's to everyone else's enjoyment also! If you've been mentioned in this post it's because I added you to a taglist of people I'd like to check this story out! Of course, you are under no obligation to read my work if you don't want to, there will be no hard feelings~ <3

Card Below the Cut

Also available on ~ AO3

SFSummerBingo2022 Prompt Fill ~ "Angel/Demon AU" @starkerfestivals

Rating: Explicit

“Hello, Angel.”

Beautiful, golden brown locks flounce as Peter turns his head, his hand halfway through the motion of throwing some feed into the water.

“Oh! Hello there, Anthony!” The bright, melodic ring of Peter’s voice reaches Tony’s ears. It should be annoying - especially after all these years. It isn’t. Tony smiles. “Do you still go by Anthony? I can never be quite sure.”

“You can call me Anthony if you want, Pete,” Tony approaches with his usual swagger, hips swinging from side-to-side. Walking normally is boring - sue him. “But I’ve recently taken a liking to ‘Tony’.”

Peter meets him halfway, a paper bag of duck food clutched in both hands - no doubt fattening the birds they’ve visited for hundreds of years. He’s sporting a very flattering cream sweater with a light brown collared shirt beneath it, tied together with matching cream trousers and smart brown shoes. Ever the picture of immaculate spotlessness. Tony himself is draped with his usual black blazer, t-shirt and skinny jeans - his shades a bold blood-red, just because. Colours are fun, especially when you see the world through them.

“‘Tony’,” Peter turns the name over in his mouth, trying it out, tasting it. Tony hopes it tastes nice - like whiskey and cigar smoke or something (the best flavours). “I like it. It suits you,” Peter starts walking slowly towards a park bench; their bench. “It’s got the same refinement as ‘Anthony’, but with a bit more snark - it’s rather suave, I think,” Peter hums as he sits down, his posture upright and perfect, hands politely clasped in his lap. “Yes… I like it very much.”

“Why thank you, Angel. It’s nice to know I’m still just as suave as I was during that St. James’s Court assembly way back when,” Tony muses, settling into his signature slouch on the cold wood as he recounts the memory, sitting perhaps a bit too close to his holy companion, but it’s been a while, okay? He’s excited to see an old friend, that’s all. That’s all there is to it.

“In 1812?” Peter recalls, turning to look at the demon’s sly grin. Peter, delightfully, smirks back. “I still haven’t forgiven you for that… Sneaking up on me in the middle of a social event… And you weren’t even in the proper attire for an evening ball! People were staring at you! You and your lack of any waistcoat or cravat-”

“And yet I received the most feminine attention out of all the mortal bachelors that evening,” Tony preens, interrupting the perturbed Angel. “Say what you will about ‘high class’ ladies, but they’ll drop any responsibilities or decorum at just a hint of scandal and excitement. Usually in the form of a roguish man. Or another tempting woman.” Tony murmurs, thinking back on his past flings and conquests; all the times he’s seen that unmistakable spark of lust in an innocent human’s eyes - be it towards him, or a fellow human. It’s always so much more deliciously profound when it’s towards a forbidden human too. Well, only forbidden by their earthly standards, but still, it’s one of many reasons why spreading the sin of lust is Tony’s absolute favourite pastime. Peter could use some of that , he thinks. N-Not from him of course, just, y’know, lust in general.

Peter’s lips purse a little at his words, as if he disapproves of them yet can’t help but be charmed by them at the same time. Tony’s been on the receiving end of those pursed lips for centuries now and he still hasn’t bored of seeing them. If only he could do more than just look at those plump-

“Well I don’t blame them if that is the case, the poor things - always forced to conform due to something so inconsequential as gender,” Oh, Peter. Ever the saviour of the masses. If the Angel was given creative control of the Earth, Tony has no doubt that it would be a very different, sunny, equality-ridden safe space. Very healthy. Pretty boring. “But, things are different now, thankfully. What today’s generation lacks in style it certainly makes up for in inclusion and progression.”

“Does it really?” Tony interjects, fighting back a teasing smirk.

“Oh, Anthony, stop being so pessimistic about it all,” Peter rebuts, as petulantly positive as ever.

“C’mon, you can’t honestly look at the world right now and tell me it’s so much more improved compared to what it was when we had the first-”

“Alright, I know it’s not perfect, but I just…” Peter stumbles over his next words, seemingly at a loss. Earth can do that to you; leave you scrambling for justification at its most inexplicable failings and shortcomings. Tony understands. “I… I know what these people are capable of when they are at their very best. Their most kind; their most empathetic. So I… I can’t help but hold out hope for them.” Peter’s expression turns serene, his eyes glazing over slightly as he stares down at the shimmering water of the lake. “Anyway… I know I’ve talked about this with you before a-and it doesn’t even really matter in the grand scheme of things what I think so-”

Tony leans forward. Something takes over him, be it Satan or God (hell forbid), and Tony can’t stop himself from pressing an infatuated kiss on Peter’s porcelain, perfectly smooth, oh-my-god-he’s-so-soft cheek. It’s only when Tony realises he’s actively inhaling the Angel’s perfect scent that he comes back to Earth (ha-ha) and pulls away as if burned.

They both freeze.

Shit, shit, shit–

Centuries have gone by where Tony has managed to hold off the temptation (Yikes, how ironic is that?) and this boring, mundane, 21st Century meet-up by their favourite location is what pushes him over the edge? Really?

If only his fellow demons could see him now… Heart thumping, face flushing and throat drying - all at the prospect of a petty kiss on the cheek. He’d be a laughing stock. The most pathetic demon to ever walk the grounds above Hell. A lovelorn idiot, falling for the biblical charms of the most innocent being he’s ever put up with. Fuck… I really do love him, huh…

A delicate hand reaches up slowly to ghost over the spot on Peter’s cheek that Tony can’t stop staring at. The Angel’s wide doe eyes flicker around Tony’s face, presumably searching for whatever emotion caused this unexpected occurrence.

“Wh…” Peter breathes, seemingly at a loss for words. Tony doesn’t blame him. “What… What was that for?” Peter asks genuinely. Innocently. Holding back a delirious chuckle at such guileless sincerity, Tony scrambles for something to say, still avoiding those curious, ethereal eyes.

“I just…” Tony finally glances up, his shades halfway down his nose now, painting just half of the Angel in a rosy tint, while the other half is bathed in the white rays of the midday sun. The once rouge tinged hue of his skin now glowing with purity and goodness and undeniable beauty, as painful as the sun. Tony pushes the frames back over his eyes. “I just really missed you, Angel.” The sincerity of his comment must’ve surprised Peter, his pink lips parting slightly in a silent gasp. Tony holds his breath, waiting for an inevitable slap or rebuttal or perhaps something as simple as Peter walking away until the next Millenia, but neither of them are moving.

Peter’s features slowly shift into an expression of unadulterated fondness, his eyes crinkling delightfully and his mouth smoothing into a gentle smile. Even Tony’s shades can’t disguise Peter’s unsullied brightness and, by proxy, Tony’s contaminated darkness can’t help but smirk in reply. So fucking beautiful.

“I really missed you too…” Tender fingers slip through the gaps between Tony’s, clasping the Demon’s hand in an achingly sincere grasp. “...Tony.” The air between them thickens as they continue to gaze at each other, hands tightening in an affectionate squeeze. They probably look sickening to any outside observer. Tony couldn’t care less.

In a flash, Peter rushes to connect their lips in a chaste peck, instantly drawing straight back before Tony has a chance to respond. Peter’s eyes widen in anticipation and barely concealed eagerness; a very good omen indeed . Tony can see he is being handed the reins, the power, to decide how this progresses. By now they’ve crossed the point of no return and there’s no need to be chaste about his feelings anymore - his desires. Peter is just too delicious to pass up.

Their lips crash in a much more passionate, violent, dangerous slide than before, with Tony pushing and pushing to get his tongue inside that forbidden mouth, prompting a delightful squeal from the scandalised Angel. Christ, he tastes better than anything I could’ve ever imagined… Tony’s much larger hands grasp the sides of Peter’s face with uncontrollable desperation, he has to grip every soft, supple part of this creature that he can reach, he has to kiss these untouched lips like a mortal starved, he has to appreciate - no, worship - every inch of Peter that has been neglected for millenia, he has to, he has to, he has to–

“Ah, Tony!” Peter gasps, disconnecting their mouths with a wet smack – not at all very far, mind you, as Tony is still clutching onto Peter’s flaming cheeks, so they’re basically still sharing air. “I… I–”

“Yeah?” Tony sighs, licking and mouthing at Peter’s lips; the fire inside him well and truly stoked. You’re never getting rid of me now, Angel .

“I-I think we should mmpf–” Tony captures Peter’s mouth and swallows the rest of his words, unable to help himself. The urgent press of their mouths is almost deliriously painful at this point, but judging by the exquisite breathy moan Peter lets out, he probably doesn’t care either. “W-We should… ngh, definitely stop this public display, Tony…” Oh that’s right, they’re still sitting on this damned bench next to those damned ducks in the middle of this godforsaken park.

“I would say fuck ‘em and put on a proper show for them to gawk at–”

“Tony! That’s disgustingly vulgar!”

“-But I’d really love to properly defile you somewhere private… All to myself…” Tony presses another firm kiss on Peter’s gorgeous rosebud lips. This beauty deserves to have rapturous sex away from the greedy public – they don’t have the right to set eyes on such an ethereal creature – that pleasure cannot be wasted on baseless mortal idiots. Peter needs to be taken apart in a bed , naked and glorious, without fear, awkwardness or shame, aided by an experienced demon of lust to really explore all of his… possibilities. Enter: Tony. Whoever said he wasn’t a gentleman? “...So… Your place?”

“Oh, Tony,” Peter’s breath hitches as Tony starts planting kisses all over his cheeks, nose, jaw, neck– “I-I don’t think that’s, hah, such a good idea,”

“No?” Tony pulls back from sucking on Peter’s throat, a grin spreading across his face when the Angel instinctively follows after him, no doubt not wanting the sensation to end. Peter’s eyes flutter as his mouth parts - clearly he’s holding onto the very last threads of protest within himself.

“N-No… I mean yeah, I mean–” Peter clears his throat delicately, his dilated eyes not leaving Tony’s. “We probably shouldn’t…”

“Well, if you say so, Angel,” Tony murmurs, a false air of ease and indifference about the situation, smirk still firmly plastered on his face.

“Y-Yeah, I… yeah.”

“Oh my G–! Uh! Oh my goodness, Tony!” Peter’s soft, plush bed probably feels heavenly to sleep, relax, whatever in, but Tony can attest that it doesn’t provide very good leverage for when one is trying to fuck the brains out of his friend/lover/enemy. Peter himself, however, is probably the most heavenly (haha) thing his cock has ever buried itself into, and for that, Tony can let the infuriating bed slide. He’ll just have to push Peter up against a much firmer surface right after this, and then another after that, and another after that–

“D-Don’t slow down, please, please, please! ” Peter whines, his hands shooting forwards to desperately clutch at any part of Tony he can reach. Tony leans forward and obliges.

“You want me to go faster do you? Harder? Rougher? ” Tony shoves forward in a particularly ruthless thrust in reply, his arms start to shake with the effort of holding himself up over Peter’s squirming form. Somehow they had ended up in missionary position. It almost seemed inevitable what with how they couldn’t stop kissing each other on the way up the stairs, while tearing each other’s clothes and flopping gracelessly onto the bed (although Peter is always graceful, so he probably looked amazing doing it. Tony couldn’t see, obviously. They were kissing. Remember?). They’re still kissing now, and Tony doesn’t think either of them could’ve torn away from the other to discuss an optimal position. It was all so naturally decided – so easy – and somehow it’s the most incredible sex of Tony’s prolonged, never-ending life.

“Oh, G– Oh, Tony, it’s– it’s too much, I-” Peter can barely string his words together with how much the slap of their bodies is knocking the breath from his lungs, causing delicate “ah”s to interrupt almost every word.

“Oh, Angel… Unh, God, does it feel good?” Tony groans, his stomach flaming with impending heat, his thighs burning with exertion and euphoria. He can feel beads of sweat falling onto Peter’s already glistening stomach and can’t stop himself from leaning forward to nuzzle, open-mouthed, at the wetness. God, he’s so fucking delicious.

“I don’t– ngh, it feels, I-I feel…” a despairing keen pushes out of Peter’s throat as Tony buries himself and starts rotating his hips painfully slowly.

“Do you want me to stop?” Tony asks, with great, great effort. Let this be his only good deed for the rest of time — his one in a million exception before he doubles down on his usual mischief. If Peter isn’t comfortable, then giving in to his adorable, oblivious charms simply isn’t worth it. Shit, maybe I am going soft.

“No, no, no, no!” Peter flings his legs up and around Tony’s waist and pulls, somehow shoving Tony even deeper. “Don’t you dare stop!” Okay then, nope, he’s definitely not going soft, in fact, he is still hard (very, very much hard) and primed to burst at a moment’s notice. Jesus, Peter, you’re really gonna make me blow my load like a horned-up mortal teenager, huh?

“Don’t worry, Angel, I’m not gonna stop… Shit, I don’t think you’ll ever get me to stop now,” Peter sighs in delight at Tony’s words, his face scrunched in new, undiscovered ecstasy. And the Angel deserves every second of it.

Tony doesn’t realise his eyes beginning to close or his mouth beginning to gape in unrestrained pleasure, his primary movements being relegated to: thrust, thrust, hold Peter as close as possible, repeat. He can guess that Peter is right there with him, just as lethargic and just as far gone judging by the never ending stream of “unnnhhh” leaving his mouth, made jerky and irregular with every pounding thrust into his body. Tony adores how unintelligible he’s caused his Angel to be, how carnal … Reducing such a holy, virginal creation to an obscene, amorous creature could grant Tony the most unheard of bragging rights in hell – he could be recognised as one of the very few demons in history to tempt and have his way with a forbidden being. But, strangely… the thought is completely reprehensible to him.

Why on Earth would he let anyone else get their dirty hands on something so intimate? Peter isn’t a notch in his centuries-old bedpost. Now that he’s finally been invited to savour the Angel – to guide him through such uncharted pleasure – why would he ever distribute that with anyone else so undeserving? Hell, Tony is nowhere near deserving of everything Peter’s giving him; everything he has to handle with unwavering tenderness, so as to not let the Angel break like porcelain beneath his scarred hands. No one can get anywhere close to breaking Peter. He can’t let them.

A small gasp emits from beneath him, a separate sound to the passionate utterings of their intercourse, so Tony pries his eyes open to investigate. Peter isn’t looking at him, instead he is looking past him, above him and around him with a disbelieving expression of fondness. Tony blinks rapidly and realises the added weight behind his shoulders – something that must’ve appeared so gradually he didn’t notice – and just in the corner of his vision does he spot shining black feathers. My wings are out…

Slowly, but surely, Tony feels his cheeks bleed into an embarrassing shade of pink or red or whatever the hell colour blush is. What the fuck. This is too much, Peter surely knows just how far gone he is by now, and it’s probably fucking everything up.

“Hah, uhhh sorry about that,” Tony breathes, still in disbelief that he lost so much control over himself to stop concealing his wings. “I-I’ll put them away,” He hasn’t done anything like that since he was first created, and even then it quickly became second nature to hide the large span of his wings unless absolutely necessary. What kind of pathetic demon have I become?

“No!” Peter exclaims loudly, surprising himself as well as Tony with his urgency. “N-No, don’t do that…” the Angel repeats, gentler this time. Delicately, Peter begins to lift himself up and off of his back, legs still wrapped around Tony; their bodies still connected at the crotch. Tony reaches to help pull him up and hold his back for security and balance. Tony feels… nervous. Exposed. He feels inexplicably… human. Waiting for a rejection or a confirmation that seems life changing in its importance, when really it’s just another occurrence in a universe full of events that couldn’t be more meaningless. But… it feels…

Peter’s eyes gaze at Tony’s, his hair ravaged and his face sweaty, still the most beautiful person Tony’s ever laid eyes on. Their heartbeats throb in ferocious tandem together, so uncertain, yet so undeniably full of… something. Something indescribably universal that even two weary spirits can feel it so deeply.

An astonished sound punches out of Tony’s chest when he sees two magnificent wings emerge from Peter’s shoulders, stretching out to their full glory behind him, so incredibly grand and opulent; so exquisitely white. Tony reaches up and feels, and a shuddering moan escapes Peter as he rushes to touch Tony’s wings in reply, both of their hands tentative and full of wonder. Liquid heat lustfully rushes to every inch of Tony’s form, causing his hips to jerk and Peter to quiver at the sensation.

It doesn’t take long for them to start humping against each other urgently, still sitting upright, and still clutching onto each others’ wings. Huffs and pants and groans fill the air around them – too desperate to be restrained – and Tony is barely holding back from his climax, his entire lower body straining with the tension needed to thrust, stay upright and clutch onto Peter. It’s a monumental task he is willing to perform for Millenia if it means Peter gets to experience the crest, the peak , of his pleasure a hundred times before himself. God, he can’t wait for Peter to cum.

Neither can Peter, it seems. The Angel’s grip on Tony’s wing and shoulder, respectively, tightens and tightens until the Demon is certain there will be scratches on his flesh and loose feathers all over the bed – a thought that leaves Tony absolutely gleeful.

“Woah, I–” Peter gasps in surprise at something and tips his head back before looking down at where their bodies are connected, squirming restlessly in Tony’s lap. “ Ah! Oh my– Tony, I feel, something’s–” Oh fuck yes, he’s getting close. Tony immediately speeds up his hips.

“ Yes, do you feel it, Angel? That heat inside of you?” Tony purrs, eyes glued to Peter’s helpless expression. He’s not missing one second of this.

“I do, I feel it– Oh my G– Tony it’s coming! It’s getting– Ah! ” Peter yelps as his whole body begins to shake delightfully, his back arching dramatically until his head hovers just above the mattress, an irresistibly erotic picture. Fuck, I love him so much. Wait. Shit.

… Love?

Tony whimpers and keeps thrusting forward, trying to ignore the echo of that word in his head, but looking down at Peter, at one of his hands smoothing across the miles of ivory skin laid out in front of him, the feeling of his other supporting hand – holding the skin right in between those silky, white feathers – he can’t help but repeat the thought. Again and again. Fuck it, I do love you, I love you, I love everything about you, I want to see you cum for me, I want to feel your pleasure squeeze me when you climax, I love you, I love how you feel, I want to cum inside you and never pull out, ever, I love you, I adore you, I need you–

“ Tony! ” Peter wails desperately, scrambling for purchase, pulling Tony on top of him as he lets himself go and falls back onto the sheets, his moans rising in pitch, volume and urgency. “I-I’m going to– I! I need– Ah, fuck, Anthony! ” Tony feels the exact moment when Peter cums, the tightness that immediately follows, accompanied by an lascivious scream. It’s heaven.

His thrusts become violent, ardent and needy, making sure to hit that sweet spot inside Peter every single time so that the Angel’s elation can last that much longer. Tony’s stomach flames with a familiar intensity and he lunges forward to kiss Peter ferociously, needing to taste and feel every inch of him as the heat rises and rises and rises inside of him, before finally, exquisitely, coming to a crest. There is about half a second of stillness. And then . Liquid pleasure floods Tony’s entire body, shooting up from the tip of his toes to the highest point of his temple, intensive, extreme, it’s too much. It’s perfect .

“Unhhhh, fuck ,” Tony groans, exhausted, sinking on top of Peter just carefully enough to not completely crush him or his wings. Tony’s black feathers stretch and flex before coming to curl around his and Peter’s quivering forms. The quiet is comfortable and natural, filled with only their tired breaths and the occasional smack of lips against skin whenever one of them feels like blindly kissing whatever they could reach. Tony has never felt so content.

“I love you too.”

Shit, never mind.

Tony’s eyes snap open at the whispered confession, his heart rate starting to pick up once more. For a moment he is confused… Unsure. ‘ I love you too?’. But then he remembers. ‘ Fuck it, I do love you, I love you, I love everything about you–’, Fuuuuuck.

Did he… Did he really say all of that out loud?

“Did I really say all of that out loud?” Tony quips, still not daring to move and have Peter see his face. There’s a rustle of fabric and Tony can just tell that Peter has turned to look at his face, turned to the side as it is.

“Did you not mean it?” Peters murmurs at length, his voice quieter and insecure. Dammnit, you’re messing it up, Tony.

“No, no, no. I mean yes! I mean,” Tony huffs and shifts his position, coming to lay on his side facing Peter, rather than lay on top of him. Stop being a coward. “I… I did mean it – I do – I just… didn’t think I was saying it all out loud,” He chuckles, braving a glance at Peter’s face. The Angel looks amused.

“Well, you did,” Peter affirms, a playful grin beginning to spread. “And I enjoyed hearing it very much,” Peter purrs, seductively. Holy shit, Tony’s created a monster. And he couldn’t be more perfect.

Let’s just say that Tony continues to tell Peter he loves him for the rest of the night, again and again and again until his voice is hoarse (and thoroughly used) and Peter responds just as excitedly to every utterance of the phrase. They’re still saying it by the time morning arrives and Tony can hazard a guess that – after 13.7 billion years of waiting – neither of them are going to stop making the other scream it anytime soon.

taglist: @helaisthequeen, @starkerforlife6969, @darker-soft-starker, @gayspacesprinkles, @starkwub, @tinytintina, @monster-cock69, @jordanparker, @the-mad-starker, @vaguekiwi, @thegreenmetblue, @starkly, @sinditia, @muse-of-gods, @lanyakea-universe, @longlivestarker, @nerdylocksandthethreebears, @awesomestarker, @starkerhead, @starkrpro, @shivanessa, @anonoite, @ursafootprints, @starkerhowlter, @starkerscoop, @khalixascorner , @obligatorynasty

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egg04 · 7 months

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They're meant to be in a very dimly lit room, but I never got around to the actual room .

In the WIPs for a couple months. This was going to be a comic page thing, but I didn't like how I paneled it, so I made them separated. Unfinished-ish, but I wanted to post Jem Jitsu today.

［　☕️please commission or tip me on ko-fi! ］

Bonus Doodles:

(Meant to still be in the same dark room, but again, removed this panel)

15 years later:

#tuko's art #my art #doodley doos #rottmnt doodles #jem jitsu au #jem jitsu au silly time #rottmnt jem and the holograms au #tuko's au stuff #||#id in alt text #alt text available

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my-craft · 6 months

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The most outrageous team up in secret life

#secret life #gem and the scotts #secret life smp #secret life fanart #‘outrageous’ is a reference to Jem #a little messier than I usually post #the design may need a few more iterations #but colors pretty #and it’s sparkly!#like usually I like to be a bit bolder with these #but I’m getting back to drawing stuff again!#griff art #my art

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jemrising · 3 months

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Sketches for forum games~

Left belongs to heronzcourt, right belongs to Ikadu

#flight rising #fr art #jem draws #fr obelisk #veilspun #frfanart #fr gijinka #just needed something quick and lowkey #practicing some things #trying to not sweat the small stuff #flight rising art

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sadisthetic · 9 months

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my only critique of hi fi rush is that there shouldve been blood. and sure, maybe it wouldve been totally tonally incongruous, but consider this: i want BLOOD.

#chai hi fi rush #hi fi rush #hi fi rush chai #they couldve made it work. gag anime does it all the time.#THEY SHOULDVE ADDED BLOOD BECAUSE ***I*** WANT IT. ME. I THINK I DESERVE IT. JUST A LITTLE BIT EVEN..... AS A TREAT... FOR ME..............#anyways absolutely no one following me is surprised that i drew nosebleed art for chai. this is a classic jem move.#ough. i didnt plan on animating this and i was simultaneously lazy and extra with this.#the arm animation is the laziest part lmao.....#the extra comes from the fact i animated the blink the drip and the hand movement at all.#my art #my animation #holds my head. my bloodlust. is driving me N U T S #also technically i do have a few more criticism than this........ but it mostly boils down to #i wish it was longer and had more character stuff.... more fleshing and chara development and relationship development....#but i get why its not like that tho. its the nature of the game...#anyways.... lies down. spread eagle. punches a straw into a caprisun pouch. that has chais blood. sips.

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beatupcorpse · 7 months

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equality

#ghost talk #had this idea this.. .afternoon? my sense of time is terrible. the arm ripping at least. the equality #Friend!Jem gave the setting which is like one of the AUs being fucked up grassworld #and foliage stuff trapping her arm and basically ripping it off.#and then I also just. thought. hey. what ifi t was partially Caakes fault too

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 months

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...

#so my mom's wake thing was today and that was a lot. not in an emotional sense but in a im standing here talking for 3hrs #to ppl i dont kno or barely kno. ya kno? but it was good bc so many ppl showed up to talk abt her #so many people. my mom made a huge impact on the school system. so many ppl relied on her. she encouraged at least 2 ppl to get their #master. for one person to specilize in helping the dyslexic after her experience advocating for 3 dyslexic daughters. she wrote and was #awarded a 10000 dollar grant for special needs and intervention curriculum. which will affect so many lives.#everyone loved her. she's gonna get a track meet named after her and a scholarship created in her honor.#she was an amazing person and she affected a lot of lives and im glad she was my mom. and she raised at least one jem in my littlest #sister who is so sweet and is a great teacher. god but there was some weird stuff too. were pretty sure her old boss was in love with her.#and there were some weird comments abt her being a strong woman or this woman doing so much and its like hm y do i detect a note of sexism #y not say she was an amazing person? y the surprise? weird comments about how pretty i looked. which yes i looked great lol. my funeral fit #was cute. we did bright colors bc it was a celebration not a dower event. and im sure it was ment well but it was a lil weird. and then #everyone was telling my grandma what a great job she did raising my mom and like god fuck off she didn't do jack. my mom was great despite #her terrible mother. ugh. but altogether it was good that everyone was able to express their love for her. it was def a day that was for #them mostly. i mean partly for us but mostly for them. none of us even cried. ay but we have 2 more parties in her honor #bc everyone loved her so much we have to do one in her hometown too. plus a personal friends get together. ugh. im so tired #i wish i wasnt the most awkward. eye contact avoidant person in the room but like ya kno. what can ya do?#unrelated

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thenachlegacy · 11 months

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This is the outlander during the entirety of the Umbara/Nathema arc.

#Where are my Jem and the holograms stans at #i love That Show #jem and the holograms #star wars #swtor #game: swtor #swtor stuff #swtor memes #swtor meme #theron shan meme #theron shan #nathema #nathema arc #umbara #crisis on umbara #umbara arc #betrayal arc

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agnerd-bot · 11 days

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Another commission done by the ever-talented @carbonatedjem! This time featuring the protagonist of an original story I'm writing, Saint Barbara, and her battle with a demon.

Barbara actually started out as another one of my Fate Fanservants, but she slowly evolved into the protagonist of her own story with her own world and all, and I'm hoping I can share more about her and what she does if'n any of yall are interested in hearing. I'd love to talk more about my OCs here.

If ya haven't checked out Jem's work before PLEASE do so. She's an amazingly talented artist and deserves all the love ya can give her.

#saint barbara #barbara #empty heaven #writing and other stuff #oc #commission #carbonated-jem #i'd like to try and talk more about my OCs if folks find this interesting enough so please #feel free to ask any questions if you wanna learn more

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hysterical-cats · 8 months

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mexico's jemima design goes absolutely CRAZY btw

#cats the musical #cats musical #jemima cats #cats jemima #cats mexico #cats mexico tour 2013 #cats mexico tour 2018 #i think my ideal jem design is a mix between this and zurich #mexico has both jemima and sillabub which i always forget..........#silli is the one who gets all the stuff to do which makes me wonder what jemis role was #she was probably just an ensemble character but what was she doin!!!!#id probably know this if i actually watched the mexico recording #i have it i just havent watched it #n e ways #i love how silli and jem have lots of visual similarities but also look quite different #theyre both rlly pinky and have the bib #but jem is super dark while silli is super light #its a fun contrast

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90minsofscreentime · 2 years

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Grief

Hello, hello, hello! Here is a new work of mine~ Yes it has been a long while, I completely and utterly blame the education system. Why can’t a girl write fics forever in peace??

Anywho~ This is one of my squares for the Starker Festivals Summer Bingo 2022 and it's just my luck that the first square I manage to finish is the angst-iest of them all. 😅Some warnings for this story: This is the immediate aftermath of Uncle Ben's death, so Peter's point of view goes into detail about his overwhelming emotions and the terrifying situation. If reading about the death of a close family member or friend is particularly triggering for you, then it may be best to skip this one - I will never take it personally~

Take care, my friends and I hope you enjoy! 🌺

Also available on ~ AO3

SFSummerBingo2022 Prompt Fill ~ “Grief” @starkerfestivals

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Peter can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe, his chest is expanding and expanding and expanding and no breath is coming out. He can’t stop gasping, he can’t stop looking at him; his chest, his face, the blood – Oh my god there’s so much blood –

Peter’s eyes are wide and frantic, darting around every inch of the scene in front of him; the ghostly image of his Uncle. No, no, no, that can’t be right, Peter thinks, panicked, He was just speaking a second ago, I could hear his voice, he was going to be fine I could hear his breath I could–

The indescribable shift of Uncle Ben’s eyes from warm and comforting and home to unrecognisably empty and cold and grey cannot stop flashing through Peter’s mind. His rabbiting heart has sunk low into his chest and even now the unforgiving pulse of desperation is throbbing against Peter’s entire body, scratching and pulling to break free and take over him completely.

It hurts. Oh god, it hurts so much, please make it stop, please, please, I can’t breathe–

The world becomes blurry and distorted with trembling tears, shaken by the constant tremors vibrating through his skin, stuck in his frozen eyes and stinging the length of his throat, begging to be released. But Peter can’t blink. He can’t move, he can’t see, he can feel the sticky weight of something on his hands, but he doesn’t dare glance down and look. Instead he remains stunned still in his new warped world, full of tears and blood and cold, cold eyes; all alone, never to be rescued.

Uncle Ben.

I can’t breathe.

Muffled voices start to filter into Peter’s lonely world, the words indistinguishable, as if Peter is drowning and his ears are full of tears and blood. He can’t hear anything. He can’t see.

Uncle Ben.

“Hey, Kid,” A single, gentle sound pierces the ocean surrounding Peter, fading slowly into his world, approaching his side like a torch in a cave; a lighthouse at sea. “Hey there, buddy,” The voice continues, its words clear and concise – comforting. “It’s gonna be okay, my name is Tony Stark, I’m an officer with the NYPD, the ambulance has arrived–”

“Un–” Peter’s throat closes up, fighting the onslaught of tears.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” The gentle voice – a man – has a body. It comes closer and presses their temples together so that the man’s ear is presumably closer to Peter’s trembling mouth. Peter can’t breathe.

“Uh– Un-” Peter gasps wetly. “Uncle Ben– ”

An animalistic cry tears its way through the oceanic barrier in Peter’s throat as he throws himself into the stranger’s arms and suddenly, the dam holding everything back bursts. A thunder drum of sound claps around his ears as he surfaces – hot, painful tears sliding from his eyes; deafening street life and onlookers surrounding every inch of him; his distorted world turning black as he squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. Please make it stop, it hurts, it hurts, I can’t see, my throat hurts so much, please help me, please help–

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ve got you – I’m here now,” The man cradles him, protects him from the terrifying world, the people, the body lying just a few inches in front of him that he just can’t stop seeing. “I know it hurts, I know, you’ve been through something very frightening, and I’m so sorry you had to experience that.” A litany of comfort flows from the stranger’s mouth, the repetitive hum of his voice anchoring Peter. The tears don’t stop – his sobs continue to tear their way out of Peter’s throat – but the man keeps murmuring. Peter doesn’t want him to stop.

Time seems to twist and deform around them as they crouch there on the rain soaked pavement, everything and nothing happening all at once. Peter starts to make out the sound of other officers managing the crowd, passing civilians stopping to gawk and chatter with each other at the scene, different tires of different vehicles arriving and leaving one after the other, so many voices of so many people that Peter wants to scream at. He wants to demand that they all leave, that they stop their incessant staring and whispering and judging and sympathies, as if his Uncle Ben is some freak show or social commentary or anything close to these strangers’ business. Peter grips a little tighter at the gentle man’s clothes and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Can you hear me, Kid?”

Peter nods slowly.

“Shall we get out of this crowd and find somewhere quiet?”

Peter nods again.

Sitting in a police station is a very foreign experience for Peter. He’s always lived a life free of delinquency and misbehaviour. He never planned on ever seeing the inside of a prison cell and therefore assumed he’d live a life of blissful ignorance, only hearing of crime when it came from the lips of a detached news anchor. But the seats of the washed out, fluorescently lit police department are cold, uncomfortable and much too real for him to deny. He just wants to go home. He wants… that kind man to come back.

Peter was far too overwhelmed and lonely to feel embarrassed at the way he clung onto the police officer, not daring to let go lest he get swept up in a sea of first responders and never find that comforting presence ever again. The constant contact continued all the way through the tests, check-ups and investigations he sat through – different professionals rotating one after the other from their jobs on the crime scene to asking Peter the same few questions: “ What’s your name?” , “Are you alright?” , “Are you hurting anywhere?” , “Can you look into this light, please?” , “Can you follow my finger with just your eyes, please?” . The kind stranger started answering questions for Peter at some point when the repetition began to make him shut down almost completely, spurring the man to steal Peter away from all the disquietude and into a police car.

After another nonverbal insistence from Peter, the stranger – Tony Stark, as he reintroduced himself – ended up sitting in the backseat with him, another officer of some sort driving instead. The journey to the police department simultaneously took ages and no time at all. In reality, Peter couldn’t tell you how far away they were from that godforsaken street, or anywhere for that matter. The only thing he remembers from that car journey is his shy fingers reaching across the car seat towards Mr. Stark’s, seeking ever so much more comfort than he knows a police officer is willing (or allowed) to give to a random kid like himself, but even so, his trembling fingers were met halfway and grasped reassuringly tight, kickstarting a new, warm beating of his heart. For the first time that evening, he had begun to relax.

Now, however, that familiar, dreadful hollowness sits deep in his chest, Mr. Stark having left him with a gentle promise that Peter can’t remember. Was he promising to come back? Was he promising to send someone else? Am I being left here all night by myself? Constant what-ifs swell and congest in Peter’s mind, suffocating and confusing, but far better than the horrible, terrifying alternative that occasionally sneaks through the cracks in his thoughts, showing flashes of cold eyes, slack features and stained hands. Peter’s face crumples painfully in his attempts to not burst into pathetic wails again, his shoes squeaking against the floor as he tucks his whole body onto the plastic chair, hiding his face in his knees like a child afraid of a looming monster. Except there is no Uncle Ben, this time, to chase them away.

“Hey, Peter.”

Lifting his head up slightly, Peter sees Mr. Stark standing off to his side, a steaming paper cup in one hand and a spiral notebook in the other. For the first time, Peter actually looks at the man – at his features, his uniform, his height and his stance – and he is just lucid enough to recognise the man’s handsomeness. Mr. Stark’s face is aged, but by no means less attractive for being so; his entire air is distinguished yet there is a recognisable stiffness in his shoulders and a heaviness to his gait, hinting at a concealed exhaustion only made visible in moments of solitary weakness. Though, Peter can hardly imagine a strong, comforting figure like Mr. Stark ever appearing weak. A painfully obvious difference between them, Peter notes, bitterly. He doesn’t think their positions could be any more contrasting, in fact; a shivering teen next to an experienced cop. What a pathetic picture they must be painting.

“The break room only has either coffee that tastes like soot or watery hot chocolate, so I thought I’d spring for the lesser of two evils,” Tony gestures to the cup in his hand, moving forward to place it on a low circular table next to Peter’s chair, right on top of some scattered helpline pamphlets and police recruitment ads displaying triumphant imagery of young men and women in trainee uniforms – now a makeshift coaster. “Don’t feel obliged to drink, I certainly wouldn’t blame you – I’ve certainly had my fill of the refreshments here – I just thought it would be better than nothing,” The older man squats down in front of Peter attentively, face open and understanding, not even the slightest hint of condescension. Peter is grateful.

“Thank you,” He croaks out, immediately clearing his throat in embarrassment. Great, as if he didn’t feel small enough already.

“You’re very welcome, Peter,” A simple smile accompanies Mr. Stark’s words, simple but ever so comforting. After briefly shifting his weight on his heels, Mr. Stark’s features dim slightly into an expression of seriousness. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to brief you on what needs to happen now, for you at least.”

Peter’s chest stutters, his jaw tightening against the infuriating tremble of his chin. Goddammit, Peter, get a grip. He quickly looks down at his lap before Mr. Stark can see the immense effort it’s taking for him to not burst into tears; to not scream at the top of his lungs for Uncle Ben or May or his parents; to not lunge forward and bury himself in the arms of this poor police officer and hide away until the pain finally stops. His fingers grip tighter at the material of his jeans as Peter breathes a shaky inhale. His nails are still stained red.

Before Peter can spiral any further, a tender hand rests on top of his shaking knuckles, unmoving and unwavering.

“Take some deep breaths with me, Pete, there’s absolutely no rush,” Mr. Stark starts breathing loud and slow, his thumb smoothing over Peter’s skin. “I’ve got nowhere to be tonight, okay? Breathe nice and slow for me, there you go, in-and-out – you’ve got this,” In and out, in and out, God, Peter can’t believe he has to be instructed on how to breathe. It’s humiliating and terrifying, but damn if it isn’t helping to steady him. Mr. Stark’s hand is so comfortingly grounding, fostering a newfound desire in Peter to tilt up his palm and squeeze back just as tight, so that he may share all of this emotion through touch alone, so that he won’t have to feel so completely isolated in the frightening promise of what is bound to change about him and his life from this day forward. It scares him, but he starts to settle. His fingers flex underneath Mr. Stark’s. He receives an answering squeeze.

“How are we doing, Pete?” That compassionate voice sounds once more – soft and pleasant as ever. I don’t know, I don’t know, just- please don’t let me go. “Do you think you’re okay to talk now?” Peter nods, somewhat robotically.

“Yeah, I think so,” Peter murmurs, voice more firm now, but still worn out. Overused. Exhausted. “I mean, if not now, when, right?”

“Well,” Mr. Stark smiles amiably. “Like I said, I’ve got nowhere to be,” His arms spread grandly, a mock display that is completely charming. “So just let me know if you ever need to take a break or anything, alright?”

“Mhm,” Peter hums, reaching to his side to grasp the abandoned drink, his senses soothing slightly at the gentle warmth of the paper. He almost misses the pleased look on Mr. Stark’s face.

The evening stretches on after that, with Peter being informed about inevitable police reports, investigations and possible court proceedings regarding the… incident, as well as funeral and mortuary information that Peter can’t help but break down again at. Cue some more restrained tears and an eventual embrace where Mr. Stark is still leaning up from his crouched position in front of Peter’s chair, resolute and enduring as ever, even though his whole frame must’ve been uncomfortable holding Peter like that for so long. But not a single complaint leaves the older man’s mouth.

It’s with his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder that Peter notices Aunt May shuffling through the automatic doors, face pale and body hunched over, a terribly lost look in her eyes. Peter’s never hugged her so hard in his life. They’ve never cried together so desperately, all without having to utter a single word.

The night continues to draw on.

Aunt May, Mr. Stark and Peter visit several different rooms to talk to several different people for different exhausting reasons. Recounting the events of the evening to men in white shirts and notepads takes physical effort at some points, but Mr. Stark always speaks up to rephrase, ask easier questions or just to pat a reassuring hand on his shoulder or his back or his leg. It eases his nerves also to see him do the same for Aunt May.

After the sufficient amount of questions seem to have been asked (too many), he and Aunt May are led back to the main lobby by Mr. Stark once more, condolences and final goodbyes exchanged (with Peter glancing a tad too longingly at the man who spent the whole night by his side). Just as they’re both steeling themselves for the eeriest car ride of their lives, back to their cold apartment, Mr. Stark calls out.

“Peter! Could you come back over here for a second?” A quick, wordless glance at Aunt May communicates her approval. Peter walks back into the building as she ventures out into the car park.

“Yeah, Mr. Stark?” Peter asks quietly, awkwardly slipping his hands into his pockets.

“‘Mr. Stark’, huh? That's very cute, I’ve only ever been called that in job interviews,” Mr. Stark jokes gently, with a grin so comfortable that Peter can’t help but huff a laugh in return. This man. “‘ Mr. Stark ’, very cool, very… distinguished,” The older man trails off as he scribbles quickly in his notepad before tearing out the sheet and holding it out to Peter proudly. “Here.”

“What’s that?” Peter eyes the paper, confused.

“These are my contact details,” Mr. Stark answers, nonchalant. Peter, on the other hand, has stopped functioning. “In case you have any questions about anything police-wise, investigation-wise, or just- if you need someone to talk to about anything,” The man’s face is too sincere to be joking about this. Peter takes the paper, still dumbfounded.

“Y-You… want me to talk to you about stuff?” Peter questions, still waiting for the catch. This police officer spent all night tending to him and he isn’t kicking Peter out at the first chance he gets? He’s actively extending the offer to keep in touch?

“Well it’s not obligatory, of course, but y’know, you can just text or phone or email or something – I did write my email on the, uh–”

“Okay,” Peter blurts, probably embarrassingly, but he’s still too stunned to notice. “Okay, I-I’ll… text you?”

“Yeah! Texting’s great, that’s great – anything you need, Peter,” Mr. Stark’s eyes glance up, his dark brown eyes swimming with contentment. Peter looks back, entranced. He can feel that his eyes aren’t glowing as much as they used to – his emotions no longer shining through as freely as they once did. He’s closed off. But this man saved him from shutting down altogether and for that, Peter tries his best to convey just how grateful he is through his eyes; greyed and dimmed.

To Peter’s surprise, he starts to see his own grief reflect back at him. Everything that terrified, confused and damaged Peter from tonight flashes behind the colour of Mr. Stark’s irises – a colour that, on closer inspection, was probably just as dulled as Peter’s feel right now. All the exhaustion is there; the uncertainty and guilt and blame, all hidden, but also… overcome. Peter sees himself. He sees pain. He sees love.

“Have a safe journey home, Peter,” Mr. Stark – Tony – rumbles. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon,” Peter has so much to say to this man, so much to ask… He settles for a final tight hug that is reciprocated tenfold.

“I’ll see you then,” Peter whispers, the last defiant sting in his throat resurfacing, silent tears starting to brim.

“You better, Mr. Parker,” A promise is shared. Something implicit and beyond words is shared. Peter doesn’t want to go.

“Bye, Mr. Stark,” A parting wave is the last thing he sees before he turns to go out into the chilled early-morning mist, the sun beginning to peek its way through the city’s buildings. A new day. Peter walks towards the family car.

On the journey back home to their apartment, their lives and the inescapable change, Peter looks down at his phone and then at the paper clutched tightly in one hand. He creates a new phone contact.

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spartanlocke · 7 months

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She is a Witch

#i keep forgetting to post my stuff on here ffs #jem blogs #destiny #destiny 2 #hive #hive worm #halloween #witch

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spacenintendogs · 29 days

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i have decided i'm too bonded to you now through booping :) i'm not losing you to the abyss

i will say u are giving me a run for my money

#hello <333 #we are bonded by booping now yes #i hope u are ok with how to train your dragon stuff 😭#rose answers #potato-jem #boop

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imabitchforjemcarstairs · 4 months

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I'm assuming (again pls correct me if i'm wrong! :D<3) that ur fav shadowhunter character is Jem!

Would you mind indulging me as to why u love him and his character arc throughout the series? 😊

I am finally attacking this question. I took some time answering it because I wanted to give it justice. Now, bear in mind, that it’s been a while since my last read of TID/GotSM, and I forgot a lot about the series. I will try to give my best answer (and probably come back to this when I will do my huge reread of the whole series before TWP).

First, I want to clarify that Jem is one of my favourite characters in the series, but not the only one. I could write the same about Will and Tessa. Like, I’m a real herongraystairs trash and the main reason why I continue with the series. I don’t know why, but they stuck with me. I think it’s assumed that Jem is my only fav because of my username, but no, the username was a joke that stuck, and I don’t mind, because I am his bitch, and it made CC giggle when I told her, and according to her, aren’t we all😭

Now, before going to the essay, I would like to say contrary to a lot of the fandom (who like Jem or dislike him), I do not think we have a lot of him. I think he is the most present character, yet, we still know so little of him.

Hear me out, he is the only protagonist with zero POV, in his series, (we got Cecy’s POV in CP2, and she arrived in the epilogue of book 2). Even in GotSM, which is supposed to be a book about Zachariah, and his mission to find the lost Herondale, he still gets sidelined to follow the stories of other characters (Matthew, Anna, Tessa, Celine, Jace, Alec, Livvy and Janus). Zachariah is used as a vehicle to tell us about the other characters' stories, and sometimes we get a glimpse of what he thinks and feels. I would argue that the only real story where we dive into his head, and get to know him is Learn About Loss. Add to the fact that in TID we only see him through the eyes of Will and Tessa, yeah, he’s the character with the most cameos with Magnus, yet what do we know about Jem, other than he is the 3rd person in a love triangle, Will’s parabatai, and Tessa’s second love interest, AND that he is the kindest, selfless character in the series? Practically nothing.

Like I said above, in TID, we only see him through the eyes of Will and Tessa, who literally see him as this perfect, angelic person. Tessa because she arrives at the institute after 6 weeks of torture, and is in need of kindness and friendship, and eventually falls in love with him. And then we have Will, who sees Jem as his opposite, everything that is pure and kind, and everything that he is not. And because of the inevitable death of Jem and his curse, this bond is what keeps him alive, and he will cherish it like hell (one day I will write an essay on the terms and conditions Will put on his “curse” when he was a kid). So yeah, we have a series written through two protagonists, who see the third as this precious thing, that needs the utmost protection against the world, but also against themselves; see Tessa once she arrived, she started talking about finding cures and defending him against Will, in CP1:

- “You should,” Tessa said softly, “think about the way the things you do affect Jem.”

Will rolled his head back against the leather of the chair and regarded her. He looked drowsy and tired and beautiful. He could have been some Pre-Raphaelite Apollo. “Is this a serious conversation now, Tess?” His voice still held humor but was edged, like a gold blade edged in razored steel.

Tessa came and sat down in the armchair across from his. “Aren’t you worried that he’s cross with you? He’s your parabatai. And he’s Jem. He’s never cross.

“Perhaps it’s better that he’s cross with me,” said Will. “So much saintlike patience cannot be good for anyone.”

“Do not mock him.” Tessa’s tone was sharp.

“Nothing is beyond mockery, Tess.”

“Jem is. He has always been good to you. He is nothing but goodness. That he hit you last night, that only shows how capable you are of driving even saints to madness.”

“Jem hit me?” Will, fingering his cheek, looked amazed. “I must confess, I remember very little of last night. Only that the two of you woke me, though I very much wanted to stay asleep. I remember Jem shouting at me, and you holding me. I knew it was you. You always smell of lavender.”

Tessa ignored this. “Well, Jem hit you. And you deserved it.” […]

“No, you don’t,” Tessa cried in frustration. “Do you think he cares about the danger? Do you? His whole life has been destroyed by this drug, this yin fen, and there you go off to a warlock den and drug yourself up as if it doesn’t even matter, as if it’s just a game to you. He has to take this foul stuff every day just so he can live, but in the meantime, it’s killing him. He hates to be dependent on it. He can’t even bring himself to buy it; he has you do that.” Will made a sound of protest, but Tessa held up a hand. “And then you swan down to Whitechapel and throw your money at the people who make these drugs and addict other people to them, as if it were some sort of holiday on the Continent for you. What were you thinking?”

“But it had nothing to do with Jem at all—”

“You didn’t think about him,” said Tessa. “But perhaps you should have. Don’t you understand he thinks you made a mockery out of what’s killing him? And you’re supposed to be his brother.”

Will had whitened. “He can’t think that”

“ He does,” she said. “He understands you don’t care what other people think about you. But I believe he always expected you’d care what he thought. What he felt.”

That is just an example, but the whole series is like that when it comes to Jem. Them defending him to each other when they fuck up, or defending him against the world, because for them he is that almost angelic person. And that’s cool and all, but what about him as a person? As a whole entity, and not an addition to the other two. (but then I read TLH, and TDA, and I think CC does not know/or doesn’t want to write the three separated from each other, but that is for another discussion, because these three always come in a package deal, and can’t be separated, I guess)

Now, that this is out in the clear, let’s get to the question, why is he one of fav characters? Well, for everything we don’t see, and know about him. And from the little we can get of him in the books. The minimum info on him is so freaking interesting, it just pushes us to read between the lines and do a lot of character study, (academic style) to get to his head.

Even though the surface-level reading of the character is that he is very kind, empathic, helpful and selfless. Now, that’s normal because Jem is a very discreet character, and in contrast, we have Will, who is very loud, very look at me (because of his curse). At some point, Tessa observes that Jem is like the owner of a very annoying dog. So, in a way, on a first read, he is kind of overshadowed by funny/clown Will. However, the man is funny as hell:

- “Jem gave her a wistful look. “Must you go? I was rather hoping you’d stay and be a ministering angel, but if you must go, you must.”

“I’ll stay,” Will said a bit crossly, and threw himself down in the armchair Tessa had just vacated. “I can minister angelically.”

“None too convincingly. And you’re not as pretty to look at as Tessa is,” Jem said, closing his eyes as he leaned back against the pillow.

“How rude. Many who have gazed upon me have compared the experience to gazing at the radiance of the sun.”

Jem still had his eyes closed. “If they mean it gives you a headache, they aren’t wrong.”

- “A demonic worm,” said Jem, pausing to peer cautiously around a hedgerow. “A great serpent. Would that help your inappropriate humor?”

He is also very eloquent when he wants to be (see Lily in GotSM), in his proposal, his apology to Tessa in CP2, him comforting Charlotte in CP2, etc…

And we also see his flaws, in the series, but there is no emphasis on them. His selfishness. Now, I know, he is a teenage boy, who knows that he is dying, but in that scene in CP2 when he threw Yin Fen in the fire, with no regard for the other members of his family, and how they do not want to lose him. We can also read that he is a very scared person. One because of the trauma he went through, but also because he will not live for a long time. Ex: his rushed engagement to Tessa.

This leads to one flaw we rarely talk about when it comes to Jem, which is his insecurities. His insecurity over his body, hell, even in After the Bridge, which is 100 years later, he was still insecure about his scared body. His insecurity about not being enough to Tessa, and that she deserves the best like his crazy consumption of Yin Fen to be perfect for her in CP2.

And all of this could have been explored if we had his POV. It would have added depth to his character. In TID, he is a teenage boy who is trying to survive in a country so far from his own. I would have loved to see his feelings over his trauma. I mean he saw his parents die, was tortured, and is still being tortured by what is keeping him alive. I would have loved to see his feelings about being in a way abandoned by his family (Elias) in a foreign country. Being alone at twelve, with no support system. Navigating his new life as a child, the mental and physical toll of having to take the Yin Fen in order to survive, but also how it will eventually kill him. The mental toll of believing and defending his only best friend who was fucking it big during that time, (same for Will, and how mentally draining it must have been to know your only best friend is dying as a child, especially after witnessing the death of his sister but that is for another post). I wanted to see his insecurities regarding his body, in contrast with the body of Will, especially because they are living in a very able-body culture, and how being a Shadowhunter is all they have, and their noble cause. I wanted to see his feelings of how limited he is physically compared to the other Shadowhunters of his age, and how he felt about the critics and remarks the other said about him. And when he was engaged, his feelings about not living for a long time with Tessa, and only giving her little.

And later in GotSM, I wanted to see how he felt about his life as a silent brother, and how he was cheated of his death. How he was present in the life of his loved ones, yet not very. I wanted to know how he felt when Elias said that he did not want him to be part of his family.

Anyway, this is getting too long. But, yeah, my love for Jem is for all that is not written, and what we can deduct from the multiple rereads of the series. I will probably come back to this post when I reread everything, and add stuff to it.

#ouuf this is long #about #jem carstairs #feel free to add stuff #tsc #ask #emmalovesfitzloved

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