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musicalchaos07 · 1 month

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Have you noticed that Nancy is much more meek, “feminine,” and at times flirtatious with Steve than with Jonathan? I notice this in season 4 especially and I’m just curious for your thoughts because I ship Jancy too and season 4 confuses me. She seems to like to let Steve do the talking and is a girl of few words in those times. For example when he’s talking about his future kids thing and her responses are “Six?” “That sounds…nice” and other brief “flirty” comments (I would just say they are polite comments). It’s weird to me because to me it feels like the Nancy we see with Steve in season 4 particularly is…wildly different than previous seasons and how season 3 Nancy is with Jonathan. She just genuinely seems to have no filter with Jonathan whatsoever. She doesn’t go quiet, she doesn’t bat her eyelashes, she definitely wouldn’t say “All better” after pulling spider webs out of his hair, I feel like she’d be teasing him the whole time…

Hi Nonny,

I've definitely noticed. It's hard not to tbh. I think, and this is just my personal interpretation, it's intentional on the writers part. Because as you mentioned she's not that way with Jonathan. But more than that, she's not that way with anyone else she interacts with in s4. And the only other time we really see her interact in that "meek" way is with her bosses in s3. And even then she had an earlier breaking point. And I would argue that we do see moments of her true character in s4 when she's interacting with Steve she says "except the six kids part that sounds like a nightmare" and post-Vecna vision she's very much arguing with him and taking back the role of leader.

All this to say St*ncy is forced conformity plain and simple. Since, season 1 we're told that Nancy isn't herself around Steve. Lucas says it, Barb says it and Jonathan says it. But from s2 we see that Nancy has a habit of retreating to "normalcy" especially when she wants to be comforted. She sacrifices who she is and what she wants for the comfort or easiness of Steve. But there's always a breaking point. It's part of Stranger Things overall lesson in not changing for other people. (which we see tie into "date someone you actually like" Will & Mike's entire fight in s3 "normal is a raging psychopath" etc)

Especially, when you consider that Nancy gets more comfort/care from Jonathan when she's just being herself. Nancy and Jonathan don't have any pre-conceived or idealized versions of each other to live up to. They've seen each other at their worst, they've called each other out on their shit multiple times. Of COURSE, there's more of familiarity between them. And their very first fight is over Nancy pretending to be someone else which in itself helps to drop any pretenses between them.

Personally, what I think it boils down to is Nancy falling back into bad habits because she's desperate for a sense of connection with someone in s4 because Jonathan isn't there. And I think we're supposed to notice those changes but unfortunately some people don't.

Anyway, tldr st*ncy = forced conformity

#there's also something to be said about Nancy Wheeler and the weird Maternal reading of her with Steve but that's a whole other post #there's a second thing to be said about Nancy looking for Jonathan in other characters in s4 but again a different post #THERE'S A THIRD THING ABOUT HOW THE ONLY REASON STEVE WENT AFTER NANCY IN S4 IS BECAUSE PEOPLE TOLD HIM TO #anon asks #anti stancy #nancy wheeler

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oasis-nadrama · 1 year

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Short summary of Andrew Hussie‘s “Wizardy Herbert and the Mobius Slipknot”

Oasis "Cauchemar" Nadrama, 28/03/2023 This is a short summary of an unfinished novel written by Hussie in the 2000s. We do not know precisely when they started the text, but we do know the file was last saved 07/27/2008. The following summary leaves out some significant characters and events, shifts various scenes around and merges reveals for the sake of overall clarity. Please refer to the complete summary for a more exhaustive understanding of the novel.

[Drawing by Andrew Hussie]

‘ 1] A nightmare of a summer camp The young boy WIZARDY HERBERT hates fun and magic; consequently, the shady old magician THUNDLESHICK convinces his parents, the EGGWOODS, to send him to a "magical summer camp" under the pretense of an accounting camp. Herbert is the only remaining child of the Eggwood family, since his brothers Louis and Seymour both disappeared. At the gathering, June 5 2004, Thundleshick takes the entire crowd of kids away to another realm, A WORLD OF ETERNAL SUMMER. He then steals all of their luggage (camouflaging his mischief with apparent destruction) before retreating alone in his castle. The kids are attacked by SLURPENOOK DRONES, giant black skeletons with glowing green entrails, which capture them and take them back to FORT SLURPENOOK, an aircraft carrier surrounded by a military fleet, all part of the same faction, in the middle of a lava ocean. In Fort Slurpenook, the malevolent camp councilor SLINUS MARLEVORT reduces the children to slavery. Herbert escapes the skeletons, along with BEATRIX, a girl his age who approached him back on Earth. Little does he know that Beatrix searched for him for years before summer camp. For Herbert and Beatrix are both afflicted with memory issues: they do not remember anything before Christmas of 1998. The duo makes the acquaintance of various other children and teenagers, most importantly GRANT and RUSSET. Grant is a late teenager, around 17 years old, with ulterior motives. Russet is a boy close to their age, 14, alternating between two personalities. One of the Russets is incredibly joyful, elegant and magically skilled, while the other one is depressed, clumsy and cannot use any kind of spell. Distrusting of Grant, Beatrix parts company with the older boy, and also breaks the spell he established to be able to find her, the RUSSIAN DOLL MAGIC. She reunites with Herbert and Russet in the gigantic underground bunker named FORT CROSSNEST where they find COUNCILOR CARMEN, an unhinged character who seems to keep talking to herself, but in fact quarrels with telepathic messages from an yet-unknown entity. Carmen tells the kids they can do CAMP QUESTS to obtain MERIT BADGES and then exchange them for a return ticket for Earth. ‘ ‘ 2] Merit badges and magical locket In the course of the story, Beatrix is attacked by various HUMANIMAL HYBRIDS all sent by Marlevort. They all less interested in the young girl and more in her artifact, a circular locket called the MOBIUS SLIPKNOT. Herbert, despising magic and seemingly incompatible with mystical forces altogether, equips himself with a handgun before starting the camp quests. With the help of Russet and Beatrix, he obtains a large bag of badges, which should be enough to buy a dozen trips back to normalcy. Beatrix leaves Fort Crossnest to find back Grant by reestablishing the Russian doll link. She wants to get the medicine he's carrying for Russet. But right after Beatrix departs, Herbert discovers she's been stalking him! Feeling betrayed, he betrays her in turn, breaking the doll spell once again. This action leaves Beatrix in danger in front of a mighty humanimal, a raging creature destroying the urban environment of FORT PIZZAHUT. Luckily, Beatrix reunites with Grant, other surviving kids, and they escape with their life, using the ship of the Pizzahut faction to go back to Fort Crossnest. Herbert ends up disappointed when reaching Thundleshick in his castle, for the old magician gives him TOILET PAPER in exchange of a preposterous amount of badges, and then Herbert obtains some CLARIFYING POTION to help him see THE TRUTH. Thundleshick, as dishonest as ever, get rid of Herbert by opening a trap door. Herbert falls in the catacombs of the castle, where he finds back his stolen luggage, containing a WEIRD BOOK WITH THE TITLE BLACKENED. It is VOLUME 1. Herbert's book is similar to the one that Marlevort, gravely wounded after a short-lived Slurpenook mutiny, picks up in his safe. This one book is VOLUME 7. Marlevort reads part of the book in order to summon another version of himself, and then transfers his mind in it. ‘ ‘ 3] The magical books Unable to reach Fort Crossnest because of an unpractical water levels mechanism, Herbert tries out a different underground passage which leads him to a version of the WHITE HOUSE covered in vines. In there, he seems to active an OBSCURE CONTAINER; in the container, there is a DARK STONE STATUE. A COUNTDOWN starts. Herbert then accidentally splashes some of the clarifying potion on the weird book and see the title of the text is… "WIZARDY HERBERT". The world of eternal summer and the various characters ALL SEEM TO COME FROM THESE NOVELS, the seven-books series "Wizardy Herbert" made by the young LOUIS EGGWOOD. In admiration of his teenage friend JAMAL K. ROWLING, Louis inadvertantly ripped off the "Harry Potter" series written by Jamal with this creation: he invented a magical summer camp with FOUR FORTS in lieu of the Hogwarts Houses and Allotment Socks replacing the Sorting Hat. Russet picks up the MOBIAN SLIPKNOT in Beatrix's room and, using doll magic, reaches Thundleshick's castle. Russet confesses that he is tormented by his homosexuality; Thundleshick promises to help him out but tricks him into a coma before robbing him and leaving him to the Slurpenook Drones. ‘ ‘ 4] Messages from another you Back to Fort Crossnest, Herbert shows Grant and Beatrix a surprising discovery: a VHS tape carrying a message from someone who seems to be "Future Herbert". But time travel is indicated as impossible in this universe, so it is probably OLDER HERBERT, another version of Herbert invoked from the "Wizardy Herbert" books, just like Marlevort is able to summon other Marlevorts. We learn that back in Christmas 1998, Beatrix's first memories on Earth are seeing an OLDER BEATRIX entrusting her with the Mobius Slipknot before being possessed by an ominous prophecy of Marlevort's reign and dying from a violent disease. In the same winter night, Herbert's first memories on Earth are carrying an unkown cadaver and burying him outside of the family house with his brother Seymour. The VHS message from Older Herbert indicates that the MOBIUS SLIPKNOT is infinitely important, that Marlevort is a huge threat and that everyone is about to die. Herbert, Beatrix and Grant barely have time to digest all of the information before Beatrix is abducted by the most powerful and dangerous humanimal yet, the psychic dog-man hybrid PYCROFT. This entity was the one who communicated with Carmen's mind previously. In the fight against Pycroft, Grant accidentally KILLS an innocent little kid. He hides the tragedy from his friends. Pycroft manages to take Beatrix back to Fort Slurpenook. Beatrix and Russet are reunited in a Slurpenook cell. Russet confesses his desire to kiss Beatrix. She meets his lips... but Russet then fully realizes he is gay. Herbert and Grant then borrow a magical F-16 plane from a near-abandoned airport and head for the lava sea. Time to rescue Beatrix! ‘ ‘ 5] Magical wars In the aircraft on its way to Fort Slurpenook, Grant explains part of the history of this world: from Earth, in the eighties, RONALD REAGAN, THE REPUBLICAN USA PRESIDENT, hijacked the very workings of the summer world, the magical summer camp and its trials, and distorted it to engage Russia in a FULL BLOWN THAUMATURGICAL WAR. The conflict devolved into the local equivalent to a nuclear war, then an apocalypse which engulfed all of the mystical realm. And Marlevort built his empire on the ruins. The aerial battle between the F-16 and the Slurpenook fleet starts well, Herbert's skill with weapons uniting with Grant's magical talent, but turns to COMPLETE DEFEAT for our heroes when Marlevort joins the fight. The evil councilor is about to kill Herbert when, with the unexpected telepathic help of the humanimal Pycroft, Herbert teleports away. Grant manages to land on Fort Slurpenook and to find the cell where his friends are kept captive. He frees them, then convinces Russet to give him the Mobius Slipknot… and disappears with the precious artifact. Beatrix and Russet are left to face Marlevort alone. ‘ ‘ 6] The last answers Doll magic has brought Herbert to Thundleshick's castle. There, Herbert finally gets some answers from the old wizard: - Marlevort is the real power directing all of the summer camp and Thundleshick is his servant. - The Mobius Slipknot is an artifact able to IMMERSE ITSELF AS WELL AS HUMANS FROM THE REAL EARTH INTO BOOKS OF FICTION. Once in the diegesis, both the Slipknot and the human assume different appearances, fit for the local setting. The human being replaces a character from the story, and is stripped from almost all their previous memories. - The Slipknot is also able to EXTRACT FICTIONAL CHARACTERS from novels, repeatedly. - When Seymour Eggwood disappeared from Earth, he was reincarnated into Thundleshick. Thundleshick is Herbert's own brother! After some heated discussion, Seymour Thundleshick teleports Herbert in the sewers of the castle. There, Herbert finds the skeleton of his other brother, as well as the author of the "Wizardy Herbert" books. A SMALL CLAY PARASITE escapes the skull and forces itself in Herbert's ear. He falls inconscious. Meanwhile, on Earth, Ronald Reagan dies. In the world of eternal summer, the countdown on the OBSCURE CONTAINER reaches zero, releasing a SMALL CLAY PARASITE on the MANNEQUIN OF DARK STONE. The parasite merges with the larger statue, which becomes flesh: RONALD REAGAN REBORN, strong, muscular. Reagan, in a spotless suit, starts wandering the world and effortlessly killing extremely creatures. He seems to be the incarnation of power, and the main antagonist.

#andrew hussie #homestuck #wizardy herbert #science fiction #fantasy #various articles

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0junemeatcleaver0 · 2 years

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For the NSFW prompts: Armand and Pandora 👀

Pandora/Armand

Rating: M-ish

Featuring: Their shared annoyance at Marius. Oral sex.

𝔼𝕩'𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕙𝕤

The first time it happens was the same as it happens tonight--the two of them angrily pacing the length of her rooms, exchanging exclamations of, "the gall", and "how dare he".

In short, it happens because of Marius.

The chateau makes them all tense in different ways. While many of them come from times and cultures where living with extended family is der reguer, centuries of living alone or with just a handful of their kind has erased the feeling of normalcy that would have once accompanied being so surrounded by loved ones.

Toes get stepped on. Regrettable words are uttered. Arguments are had as laws are made.

And if Marius's brand of pretension was difficult to palate when he was just a wandering historian or keeper of the Parents, it's absolutely insufferable now that he's Prime Minister.

And love, unfortunately, is one hell of a psychoactive. The way it can warp your perspective until you're the fifteen year old who loved this man with your whole heart when you thought he could do no wrong.

So when one of them flings a particularly vicious barb into the discussion, the other rushes to defend his dishonor until the two of them are throwing barbs at each other.

Neither can remember who kissed who first. Or what impulse prompted such a reaction.

In the end, it doesn't matter. Not when the outcome is the same each time. The two of them fighting and then kissing and then fighting for dominance until the playful tussle ends with one of them flat on their back.

Armand thought it was preposterously stupid the first time it happened--absurd to the point that it crossed over the boundary into the surreal. Until he slid his hand between Pandora's legs and his fingertips were met with the overflow of her desire.

They hadn't even bothered to undress that first time--Armand had simply thrown her skirt over his head and gotten to work. A fraction of a second before his mouth met her he worried he might be too out of practice--would disappoint her. He needn't have worried. His time in the brothels came back a quick as a breath and he found himself building a nice rhythm with his tongue and lips until Pandora broke his concentration by saying:

"He watched you in the brothels, you know."

"How would you know?" Armand asks, fighting his way out from under her long skirt. "Did he tell you?"

"He doesn't need to." Pandora shrugs and presses her palm into the crown of his head, forcing him back down. "There were...rumors about Marius around the vici."

The idea of Marius--their shared Maker and apparent peeping tom--was too much for Armand and he laughed into Pandora's flesh, tongue still out against her clitoris. She kicks out at him, her heel connecting with his hip until he stops his giggling and takes her between his lips, sucking at the bundle of nerves until she's seizing--her legs shaking against his shoulders.

#my fic stuff #pandora/armand #talk hard #ficlet

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watching-pictures-move · 7 months

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Put On Your Raincoats | Daughters of Discipline (Costello, 1978)

This review contains mild spoilers.

This is a ‘70s BDSM-inflected horrorish porno from Shaun Costello, and it’s got some of that classic grungy, no-budget style that you can expect from his work. There’s the striking if blunt editing. There’s the sense of moral corruption in the narrative and the perverse erotic imagination. There’s the way the energy of the streets seems not entirely separate from the energy in the bedroom. There’s a pan up the side of an apartment building, as if to suggest that whatever pretense of normalcy the city presents on the outside, depravity is lurking behind every closed door, and if you just look through any window, you can see it.

The plot features the great CJ Laing learning that she’s been selected as the next victim of the cult she joined to explore her desire for pain. The opening sex scene handily delivers the goods and is strikingly directed to boot. Laing and another female victim are tortured by a pair of male sadists, one of whom is played by Costello in a black mask as a personification of his directorial sadism. The victims are pushed together and tortured and ravished in tandem, and the movie cuts between the torturers, the whipped flesh, the screaming faces, the demands of “Louder!” like harsh music on the soundtrack, the doms and the subs collapsing into one amorphous sadomasochistic entity. The scene concludes with Laing masturbating to her memory of the experience, having internalized this almost transcendent experience. Whatever your thoughts on the sexual content (and I think this stuff is a lot easier to enjoy when Laing is involved, as she commits the full force of her physicality to the proceedings), the scene works on sheer cinematic force.

If anything, it creates a structural problem for the movie as none of the other sex scenes can match its impact. It’s followed by a few vanilla scenes which are nothing to write home about, and the climactic scene where Laing meets her demise in a strange BDSM-inflected ritual involving a noose, an electric dildo chair, nipple clamps and a surrounding orgy in which she can’t partake. Laing is vocal about her anguish, not from the electric dildo or the nipple clamps but from the sex she’s being denied. (She graphically describes what exactly she wants and which exact orifices she wants them in.) Which makes sense as she joined the cult for masochistic reasons so really shouldn’t complain about the nipple clamps. There’s a crude stylization to the mise en scene in this sequence, with the rays of wood protruding from the top of the chair, which also doesn’t have a seat and looks like uncomfortable. But it can’t help but come up short against the opening, especially as it’s mostly a bunch of boring orgy footage (although Laing in the chair does ground it to an extent).

And while I’m used to the embrace of evil in roughies, there’s a strange moralistic quality to this movie I found quite off putting, with Laing ultimately being killed for her sexual desires. I think the genre has potency as horror as it puts you on the side of unapologetic evil without any pretense of morality, but there’s something hypocritical in how this one punishes its heroine and weaponizes her consent against her. Maybe that makes it more effective as horror, but it rubbed me the wrong way a little more than these movies usually do. This is worth a look for that opening sequence, but be prepared to grouse about the movie’s worldview after.

#film #movie review #put on your raincoats #daughters of discipline #shaun costello

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angstmonsterwrites · 1 year

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Today in ~Words Have Meanings, Damnit...~

I've been seeing "trauma dumping" thrown around casually as of late, to the point where it seems like some take this term to refer to *any* sharing of difficult info, even if expressly solicited or invited to do so. What's especially disturbing is that many of the same people who've decided to use "trauma dumping" so broadly appear to persist in assigning it the same derogatory implications associated with the more narrow and accurate usage.

In a few words, trauma dumping is supposed to refer to when someone repeatedly over-shares deeply disturbing or unhappy personal news without being asked and in a context or situation where doing so is incredibly awkward or even outright inappropriate. Its considered extremely rude and can even potentially play a role in manipulative or abusive behavior patterns, as one of its key features is that it tends to involve zero consideration for others' boundaries or whether they have the emotional bandwidth to handle receiving that kind of information.

Because of the vastly negative implications of "trauma dumping", this term shouldn't be applied to:

Someone who was explicitly asked how they were doing, why they've been scarce, or if anything is wrong. These are all invitations to share--the fact that it might be intensely negative shouldn't preclude the person being asked from feeling free to answer honestly.

Someone who's not generally known for constantly spilling all their life's messy details, but in a moment of emotional overload, reveal what's been stressing them out so badly. This is not typically a person looking for attention or who doesn't give a damn about how they affect others--this is someone who's in desperate need of support and understanding.

Someone who pisses and moans about their troubles and trauma on a personal blog. (Like myself.) Yes, it may be open to the "public", but no one's forcing anyone to interact with that blog or its posts. Blocking, unfollowing, or tag filtering exist for a reason, and screaming into the void doesn't violate anyone's boundaries.

Another thing to keep in mind is that a great many abuse and trauma survivors have been told repeatedly to avoid sharing their troubles and maintain an abnormally high degree of privacy to protect the abuser's reputation. An act of normalcy or even false contentedness was cruelly demanded of them so that the persons doing the harm could continue with impunity behind closed doors. While respecting others' boundaries and energy levels remains important, pressuring such individuals to keep up the silence first enforced by those who hurt them for the sake of mere politeness can cause further harm.

Indeed, no one should have to feel like venting automatically makes them guilty of intruding on or violating another person's peace of mind. No one should have to feel like there's wrongdoing in seeking a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on for hard times and deep stressors. None of us should have to stand on ceremony and lie about our state of affairs when asked if things truly aren't going great.

It's a fucked up world we all live in--people need one another's support. The last thing anyone needs is to be shamed, isolated, and demonized for seeking that support or refusing to remain wholly silent about living a difficult reality. Whether or not that difficulty is anyone else's business is up to the sufferer and any intended listeners, not cowards who prefer their total silence because it facilitates a tidy pretense of a happier, safer world.

#mental health things #and bitching and moaning #trauma dumping #What it is and what it is not.

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despiite · 10 months

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✎ @silencedrage penned: Can we love nature for what it really is: predatory? - lottie/misty ✎ richard siken / war of the foxes.

She stares at Lottie, long and hard as an itchy feeling spreads up the back of her neck and she wraps her arms around herself, chasing away the discomfort thrumming beneath her skin. She doesn't like the way Lottie looks at her with that sense of knowing, the way it seems that she sees all the way down into her most secret places, and she tries harder to keep her guard up and force the other woman out of her head. Lottie makes her feel...unmoored. Wild. It's a dangerous path for Misty to go down, and she has worked too hard at being good and, in some small way, normal enough. She's tried, really she has, but they all know that she misses this, that she likes the sensation of letting all that pretense drop, that she's not good at faking normalcy anyway, so really, what's the point?

It doesn't feel like 'nature' is what Lottie is really talking about.

"That's not true." She tries to distance herself, to build that wall higher between them so she can focus on what's important, focus on saving Natalie, but her voice comes out too small, too petulant to hold much fight. I'm not predatory.

#answered.#silencedrage #(misty quigley.)

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nokmietarchive · 11 months

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moar cringe. villainsona au for supersonas...

during 2.5 six sides has wild evil looking claws and eyes and realizes that that wasn't part of the possession but an innate power that was forced into use.

stressed from media attention and being branded as a criminal, she tries to modify her body under the pretense of being able to roam the city freely without fear of being caught. it gets out of hand quickly.

it quickly gets out of hand (i think the shifting was never something she was supposed to ever use, let alone to this extent)

lacking concrete records of herself, she struggles to put herself back together in a way that feels "correct" or "normal". i think her new form immediately triggers an uncanny valley feeling to onlookers.

anyways she somehow ends up getting on her jigsaw bullshit and puts together a maze made of mirrors and glass panels. she can see the whole maze from isometric view via observation room and is able to add walls/obstacles at will with her powers in order to suddenly alter or increase the difficulty. heroes vigilantes civilians and villains alike get put in the glass pear wiggler to atone for existing.

she gets pretty creepy with the whole freezing-air powers and is able to pretty effectively kidnap people and put them in the big evil maze by suffocating them out, but that has a dangerously high mortality rate and she really truly doesn't want to kill anyone so will try to convince them to just take a sleeping potion instead.

i want her vibe to be a little macabre like unintentionally. i think whatever she did to herself makes her less cognizant of what it really means to be "normal" and misunderstanding how to achieve normalcy. colluding getting back to her old self as normalcy. i need her to be this freaky broken gmod model ai generated looking ass villain.

unrelated to the plot bits, her freaky body accessories sometimes just fall off of her randomly. she tries to be diligent about picking them up because it can be disorienting getting sensory input from random other locations (it's not helpful in any way, just overlaps with the main body's sensory input and creates a jumble distracted mess of thoughts)

#art #supersonas

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sloshed-cinema · 1 year

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Jacquot de Nantes (1991)

How wonderful to have someone so caring for and about you that they find ways to immortalize and share you with the world, to create a little precious gem of what they see in you. Here we witness how Agnès Varda documents her love for another great filmmaker, her husband Jacques Demy.

The beach is an important primordial sort of place for Varda throughout her filmography, so it seems an apt location to bookend her love-letter to Jacques Demy in this film. Soothing waves wash over strains of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” and her camera wanders freely over the sand before returning to consider Demy himself, lounging near the shore. Sand again becomes emblematic of ephemerality and impermanence, fitting for a man reflecting on his formative years near the end of his life. While largely a biopic, Varda nods to her documentarian tendencies, allowing Demy to comment and reflect on his life, if in broad terms. She presses in on him, considering him in the same sense that she does oil paintings or architectural details, all these little hairs and birthmarks and liver spots, a stunning composition worthy of notice to her eye. Most touchingly, Varda allows for Demy to pass the torch in a sense, showing a grandchild one of his earliest movies, the boy tinkering with the mechanism of the 9mm camera. Cinema meant the world to Demy. But in this presentation of his personage, his passion lacked the clinical pretense of the Cahiers du Cinéma crowd. For him, it was a labor of love, something to toil over and share with others.

While not explicitly a war movie, Jacquot does effectively capture the everyday horrors of living in Occupied France for this family. Daily life tries to find a way to carry on with some degree of normalcy. Sunday matinees at the cinema remain a tradition, and aside from the occasional jaunt to the country to stay, classes continue. But it’s a fragile existence balanced on the edge of a knife. An assassination could prompt retaliatory measures from the occupying Germans as the Vichy administration sits on their hands, or Allied bombardment of the city upends an otherwise normal afternoon. The class are distracted by a nearby dogfight as an airman parachutes from the sky, and a soldier steals Demy’s father’s bicycle as German forces begin to retreat and fall apart. Small, yet indelible moments in a life, made all the more striking in Varda’s passive structuring of her narrative.

THE RULES

SIP

Someone says ‘camera’.

Someone names a film or director.

Voiceover begins.

BIG DRINK

The Demy boy character changes actors.

Closeup of Jacques Demy.

#drinking games #jacquot de nantes #french cinema #agnes varda #jacques demy #drama

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bondedforlife · 2 years

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Overdue by HgwrtsExchngeStdnt

Harry threw his gear haphazardly into his locker, stuffing and shoving it hastily so he could get the door closed. "Merlin, Potter, what's the rush?" Albert Dewhurst on his left chuckled, "I know you're pretty beat up, but you won't die if you can't get to hospital this minute." "I'm not going to Hospital," he muttered quietly. "Oh, that's right…" Dewhurst grinned knowingly, working off his jacket. "Got your very own Healer at home, haven't you? Going to let her work her magic?" he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "It's not that – she's probably going spare, though. We meant to be finished with this mission two and a half weeks ago…She knows she wont get any information from the Office – I have to get home…" he forced his locker shut, and headed for the door. "Don't you have reports you have to do?" "They can wait," Harry stated. "Aren't you at least going to change so you can turn in your uniform for repairs?" Dewhurst called, holding his own torn and slightly bloodied jacket in the air. "Don't have the time!" Harry called back. He jogged to the apparition point, ignoring the alarmed looks his appearance garnered. He hadn't seen his reflection, and frankly he didn't care to. He just wanted to be home. … Hermione emerged from Teddy's room, clutching Fellowship of the Ring to her chest. She ached. Through and through. She tried to be strong for Teddy, tried to keep up the pretense of normalcy when every little daily habit felt lonesome and cold. Every night they read. She and Teddy would sit against the headboard, taking turns reading aloud, and Harry would stretch out over the rest of the bed, providing commentary and sound effects for Teddy's amusement. Lord of the Rings just wasn't as funny without Harry. She wanted him back. She hadn't slept in a week and as frustrating as the lack of contact from Harry or the Auror Office was, no news was the only good news she had. And normally, she was fine. Well, better, anyway. But it was nearly 3 weeks past when he was due to return, and putting on a brave face got steadily more difficult. She sighed, and went to her room to get ready for bed. Standing in the shower, she tried to think which book she wanted to read before bed…tried to convince herself that she wanted to read at all. When she couldn't justify standing under the hot stream any longer, she got out, toweled off, and began brushing her hair. … The gash in Harry's side had coagulated, and the one on his right arm had nearly stopped bleeding. His partly rashed, partly shredded knuckles seemed to scream in protest as he curled his fingers around the doorknob and pushed through. … Hermione sat up straight, distracted from a particularly stubborn knot in her hair by the sound of the front door opening. She clambered off the bed and rushed to the entry. "Harry James -!" She was rounding a corner when she saw him. Bloodied and gashed and exhausted. She gasped, "Oh, Harry!" "Don't worry, Hermione," he smiled wryly, "It's all cosmetic – no real damage." Hermione was not amused. How dare he waltz back in looking like he'd been in a cage fight with a Hungarian Horntail and pretend like all was well. "Harry James Potter! You are impossible!" she fumed, marching up to him, "I know you're on a mission but couldn't you find some way to let us know you were alive? That you'd be longer than you planned? You had poor Teddy petrified he'd be fatherless all over again!" "Hermione, I-" "No! Harry, you had me worried sick! I can't believe –" … As Hermione ranted on, Harry didn't quite get most of the words, but he saw her swiping at angry tears, and how she wouldn't come close to him. She marched around, swooped in and withdrew, but never touched him. She wasn't really angry with him at all. If she was properly angry, she'd be jinxing him and pounding her fists against his chest. So, he strode towards her, and as she raised a hand to keep him away, he pushed her wrist away gently, and kissed her. Once she stopped trying to hit him, she held to him as if her very existence depended upon it. Harry

grinned, pulling back, "It's nice to see you too." Her insistence that she hated him was made less effective by the hiccough-sob combination that interrupted it. … "Hagrid's Umbrella! How did you manage this one!" Hermione asked, looking more closely at the gash on his side and reaching for ointment. "Er…that one was my own fault. I had one in front of me and one to the side. Based on what little I could make out of their incantations, I decided to block the curse from the side, and I narrowly missed the one from the front – I jumped out of the way and scraped up against a bloody rock." He grimaced as the cleansing ointments stung, waiting for the cool sensation that accompanied Hermione's frequent soothing charms. … Hermione saw a lot of blood. Plenty of things a great deal more severe than Harry's 'cosmetic' damage. And she knew that Harry was no stranger to injury, but each time he returned the worse for wear, her legs shook and her throat stopped up like a first year Healing intern. "I'm sorry I couldn't get word to you…about it being longer than planned," Harry said quietly. "Harry, I didn't mean that, I'm so sorry…It's just that –well, you know me – I worry." "Still. I am sorry." She muttered a soothing charm over the ragged skin and bandaged it quickly. "All right – hands?" Harry sat up, offering them. "Oh!" Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth. She'd thought the other injuries were ugly. "Oh my…" "Yeah…Sorry," Harry said apologetically, "I think I got some blood in your hair…earlier." … Harry watched her gaze flicker from his hands to his face, horrified. "Hermione? Are you all right?…the muscles and everything are fine, it just looks bad." She shook her head, eyes shutting tight. "Would you like me to go to St. Mungo's?" he asked gently. Hermione breathed deeply after a few moments, and exhaled, "No…I'll take care of it," She got up, and without looking at him, went to her medicine cupboard. She returned with several bowls floating beside her. Harry acquiesced as she took his hand gingerly and sent a stream of water over his hand to clean out the debris, and then set it in a bowl of what he could only assume was Murtlap Essence. But Hermione didn't speak or look away from her work. Eventually, when both his hands were resting in bowls, and the sting was starting to dissipate, Harry cleared his throat. Hermione paused in cleaning her Healing equipment, and looked at him. "Yes?" "Are you all right?" She smiled sadly. "I don't like seeing you hurt." "I can start going to hospital before I come home, if you like…" "No," she shook her head, "It's fine…really, I prefer you coming here. I know I'm a good Healer, and I feel safer knowing nothing will be overlooked." "But if it distresses you…" "Before you come home, I wonder if the injuries will be worse than the last," Hermione stated calmly, "…wonder about the day when I can't cure you at home with Murtlap essence and disinfectant potions…wonder about the days you'll be confined to some bed in St. Mungos…I can't bear feeling like I wont be enough to take care of you." "You are, Hermione, you're the best there is," he said, wishing he could take a hold of her like he usually did when she worried. "I can't fix everyone, Harry. And I can't lose you. Not now, not after so much." Harry swallowed a heavy sigh, and waited for Hermione to look at him. When she did, he kept his voice gentle and even, and asked, "Hermione…do you want me to find different work? I'm sure I could find a teaching post…or, I'm qualified to move up in rank…I'd be home more, and involved in the planning and intel rather than the actual missions." Hermione looked as if she might cry, and kissed him, then hugged his neck, breathing against the sensitive skin. And he loved Hermione, but something in his heart cracked, until her whispered reply. "Oh goodness, Harry. Don't you dare give up all you worked at for my sake." "But Teddy –" "-knows he has the bravest fathers in the world. You're his idol, Harry." "Thank you, Hermione." "Just keep coming home to

me," she insisted, curling against him and tracing the designs on his shirt. "I don't care how battered or bruised, as long as you make it home." "I'll do my best," he promised, and kissed her head.

#harry x hermione #harmione #hhr #harry and hermione #harmony

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furiousgoldfish · 4 years

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Abusive parents make sure their children always act like everything's okay. That's one of the first things you learn there: don't let the neighbours hear you scream, don't cry in public, don't show your marks from being beaten to anyone, don't talk about things that go on at home, show that you're okay, don't be a weakling, don't let people get the 'wrong' idea. You learn that 'acting' okay and making sure nothing is suspicious about your appearance comes way before your needs or your well being; keeping the family's secrets is imposed on you before you even know what's being asked of you.

There's almost unspoken rule to not ask for help; in fact if you do, you'll be punished, so asking for help will feel as the same thing as asking for pain and humiliation, something highly inadvisable to do. So on top like feeling that most of the abuse is your fault just because you never said anything or showed symptoms, you learn not to ask for help, ever. The mere thought is humiliating and like you're making yourself weak and a target for bullying, even when it would be okay, even preferable for anyone else to ask for help in the same situation.

It's not your fault if you can't ask for help. If pretense of normalcy was ingrained into your mind since you were a kid, that's not something you can fight. Trauma conditioning is powerful and it created a real barrier between you and anyone who could possibly help, just to keep you abused in secrecy, to make sure you're keeping it secret, isolated and alone in it. This is not something you could have done to yourself, or chosen, it's inflicted, and none of your responsibility.

#abusive parents #toxic parents #narcissistic parents #child abuse #trauma #asking for help #isolation #scapegoat #forcing children to cover up abuse #pretense of normalcy #forcing children to uphold family image while they're being abuse #grooming children for scapegoats #grooming for abuse targets #traumatic childhood #secrecy #psychological abuse #brainwashing

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defectivehero · 2 years

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Consider, Whumper and Whumpee are the same person. To get extra specific and I mean really specific lets say Whumpee fused bodies with this evil entity, the whumper. Whumpee no longer has sense of indentity, he is not himself, and this evil entity is all there is. He makes himself present within the mind and body, if whumpee disobeys an evil command, he is met with a throbbing headache, forcing him to double over in pain. Whumper twists memories, and destroys the mind, whumper forces whumpee to fill his stomach with high calorie junk just because whumper craves it. This garbage diet is detrimental to whumpee's health but he cant stop it. Whumpee gets sick very often because of this, his immune system is poor, his bones are weak. Whumpee hates it all, obviously, the bouts of pain the illness the isolation, its crippling. Go nuts with this!! I would adore to see what you come up with!

It was now one week since the hero became imprisoned in their own body and mind. It was a constant battle- one the hero wasn’t confident in winning. The first few days, they just felt a faint buzzing behind their eyes- like a swarm of flies was in their skull.

Evidently, the villain didn’t think that simple mind control was enough. They had to have more- they were greedy like that. That morning, just four days ago, the hero woke as a puppet. They were the puppet, and the villain was the puppeteer- bending them to their will.

The hero was forced to watch in mute horror as the villain kept up a pretense of normalcy, even going as far as to socialize with their friends and make small-talk with their boss. It was a gut-wrenching feeling- watching from an outside perspective as someone else acted as you. The hero felt rather like a prisoner.

The worst part was that the villain was clearly enjoying themselves. It was like a game to them- wreaking havoc on the hero’s personal life. The hero had tried their best to keep their personal life separate from their work life, but the villain didn’t seem to have a problem with breaching the gap between the two.

The villain had only had control over the hero’s life for a week, and somehow they had managed to fuck it all up. The hero watched from under their own skin and bones, as the villain forced words of hatred and contempt down their throat. They vomited spews of cruelty, all aimed at the insecurities of their families and friends.

The social ostracism was combined with sugar-coated smiles and enthusiastic waves, in a malevolent twist of fate that left the hero struggling to stay afloat. They genuinely had no idea what the villain would say to each person they came across. They were perfectly unpredictable.

One of the villain’s favorite hobbies seemed to be forcing the hero into doing things they hated to do. At first, the hero was curious as to how they knew these things, but they then realized that the villain had access to their entire mind, and lost their curiosity. That didn’t seem to stop the villain, though. Anything from an awkward conversation with an ex to purposefully triggering their anxiety was fair game.

The hero met with their therapist at one point in the week. They weren’t quite sure when, as time seemed to be completely lost on them. It must’ve been later on, they supposed.

Their therapist asked them what was wrong. The hero choked out a laugh that sounded far too strangled to be the villain’s. Where would they even start?

Yes, Mrs. Jones, I have been feeling particularly bad lately. The villain decided it would be a good idea to take control of my mind and body. I was forced to surrender the reins, and watch as everything in my life crumbled around me. Relationships, friendships, and everything else are fair game to the villain. Even now, on the sixth day that the villain inhabits my mind, I am floundering about in confusion and barely restrained horror. Do you know what it feels like... to not be alone in your own mind?

I’m doing fine, they say instead. The hero watched in horror as the villain guides them through a therapy session with the fake smile plastered on their face. The second they arrived home, they were forced into their bedroom- the door locked and the covers drawn over their head. The hero knew that isolation would make their mental state far worse, but they suspected that the villain had that in mind when they forced them in.

The hero craved privacy. They had never expected to be wrenched from their body and mind in such a brutal manner, and the constant company of the villain was not welcome. Even if their body was alone, their mind never was. The villain had a monopoly over the hero’s thoughts, and it had gotten to the point where their thoughts had molded together. The hero wasn’t sure which thoughts were theirs, and which were the villain’s.

The hero killed someone on the ninth day of the villain’s control.

The villain’s presence had been muted that day- as if they had other things to focus on. The hero welcomed their semi-absence. The villain still resided over their body, but their mind was left relatively untouched. The hero should’ve known something was amiss.

They didn’t quite realize it until it was too late- until they were towering over an innocent, cowering civilian with a knife in their hand and a grin on their face. No matter how much the hero resisted, their body didn’t listen. They were forced to watch themselves brutally take the life of an innocent.

The hero didn’t quite feel like a hero anymore. It didn’t matter that the villain forced them to kill, because the knife was in the hero’s hand. They heard the sickening crack as it went into the civilian’s rib cage. The blood splattered over their clothes, not the villain’s. They collapsed to the floor, with an iron grip on the knife they had used to take another’s life. The villain might have thought it out, but the hero did it. It didn’t matter what the hero wanted, in the end. The villain just took and took, until the hero was left with nothing to give.

The villain finally left their mind and body a grueling twelve days later. The prospect of being alone in their mind once more was just about the only thing that kept them alive through that time. The hero had spent those twelve days praying for the day when they would be set free from the prison of their own body.

The hero felt the exact moment when the villain relinquished control. They were sitting at their kitchen table, watching as their hand spooned cereal into their mouth. At first, they had objected to the villain’s breakfasts. The hero hadn’t really eaten much of breakfast before. But, by the twelfth day, they had given in.

The hero had just finished their bowl and was preparing themselves for another day of the villain’s control when they felt a strange sensation. They could only describe it as a release of tension- a string being cut or ties being severed. They fell to the floor immediately, head hitting the floor so hard that they had stars in their eyes. The hero laid there for a while, as the world seemed to move around them. They hesitantly raised their arm and wiggled their fingers in front of their eyes.

The villain had relinquished control, it seemed. After twelve long and taxing days of living as a guest in their own body, the hero was finally back. They slowly got up and sat back in the chair at their kitchen table. Their body felt weird now. Before, it felt fluid and loose. Now, it felt extremely tense and wound-up.

The hero supposed they should have been happy. After all, regaining control over their body was the one prospect that kept them going through the villain’s abuse. They should be jumping for joy, running to their friends and family. Instead, they sat mutely with their hands clasped. As the hero sat at their kitchen table, completely alone for the first time in twelve days, all they could feel was loss. They ached for the familiar buzzing feeling in their skull- the subtle presence of the villain in their body and mind. They ached for the unsettling feeling of being seen. The hero swallowed hard, trying their best to ignore the burning feeling prickling behind their eyes.

The hero wasn’t sure what was more painful- the severing of their bond, or the knowing grin on the villain’s face when they appeared on their doorstep, just hours later.

#NOT A PROMPT #whumpee #whumper #hero whumpee #villain whumper #mind control #hero x villain #hero and villain #angst #ig? idfk #uhhhhh #ya #writing #short fic #snippet #writeblr

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mothmvn · 2 years

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ive had a grand total of 5 hours of sleep over the course of 2 nights

to hear “russian troops have surrounded the capital” is fucking surreal

“there are russian terrorist groups operating in Kyiv; 5 explosions were just heard in the city” says our mayor in a paradoxically calm voice

the government TV channel hosts were forced to move their broadcast to their bomb shelter long-term, wearing their parkas and reading news off of tablets instead of a teleprompter, the deep background of a parking garage behind them and occasional interruptions from car alarms

i cannot wrap my mind around the idea that russian troops are surrounding our city with the aim of taking it over, choking it out, yearning to ride in and hang their flag over our Rada like nazis 80 years ago, the brain refuses to accept this; that these people are shelling hospitals and orphanages and residential areas on purpose, shooting people dead on purpose, on the roads across the country

it’s only been 2 days, less than 24 hours, and any semblance - any pretense of normalcy melted away at 5am on the 24th

#ukraine #surreal. surreal. surreal

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chasingfictions · 2 years

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Thinking about the parallel between xander not telling the gang about proposing to Anya at first and then buffy not telling the gang about spike … something about the way they were both depressed but trying to hide it and not wanting to admit their relationship status out loud because that makes it real and I think neither of them think they really deserve it, to have a good relationship, to have their friends support them, to have a semblance of normalcy bc that’s always ended badly, they don’t think they deserve happy endings : (

OH???? OH OH OH OH OH???? ok YEAH this is so?????? xander as buffy's heart, xander and buffy constantly projecting and entangling their love lives onto each other ..... (xander @ biley in "into the woods," // buffy projecting Back onto xander with is anya more than a convenience in that same episode // buffy @ xanya in "triangle" // xander @ buffy all of s1 // xander dating buffy's shadow self in s2-s3 // xander being attracted to all of buffy's boyfriends and also sleeping with her girlfriend faith // tbh cordy getting involved too with making her whole breakup with xander about buffy in "the wish...")

but in s6 this feels especially insane with like??? they're sort of playing tag with each other? this weird revolving door? xander cant tell his friends about his engagement because buffy's dead (which is also insane bc like. if xander is buffy's heart. what does it mean for the being you exist inside of as a heart to be dead i JUST??? like xander cant tell people. his heart is buffy's heart and buffy is dead and JUST???? ill stop now before i cry) ->and then it's because buffy's just recently alive, in the period when she is most intensely repressing her feelings about her resurrection -> xander DOES finally tell everyone about his engagement, and it's the episode before buffy lets go of her attempted forced normalcy, tells everyone about being in heaven, starts her relationship with spike -> also in omwf, i mean all 3 of the couple songs are in a row and all deal with things under the surface that the couples aren't saying, and there's parallels between all three. BUT there is something specifically about xanya's refrain being literally "ill never tell" and spike telling buffy "being with you touches me more than i can say". "im under your spell" is structurally different, where tara doesnt find out until later the double meaning of her song. but the other two songs are explictly about hidden feelings you explictly dont want the other person to hear being spoken out loud, feelings about your true feelings on the relationship -> buffy breaks up with spike the episode before xander's wedding -> buffy and spike have a very sweet moment at xander's wedding and part as equals and also have tbh stunningly good communication considering their whole deal up to this point? the openness of "she seems like a very good attempt at making me jealous" "is it working?" "a little" "im sorry" theyre both just, plainly saying what they think and feel ! the openness is even lampshaded with spike bringing back the pretense in "or-- good -> meanwhile xanya fall apart, dont communicate, havent been communicating their feelings, xander hides things, and they dissolve -> and then the two relationships!!! literally !!! come to a head!!! buffy's ex fucks xander's ex, xander's ex fucks buffy's ex!!!!! and it is this act that finally reveals buffy's relationship to xander!!!!! it's SO!!!! it's SO!!!!!!!!

anyway i didnt mean to go that insane but xander being buffy's heart is INSANE literally she is circling her heart in a cage match until her shadow forcibly confesses to her heart what buffy's true desires are ... I JUST????? and the way this is all also of course about the demon thing. buffy's heart is attracted to demons. buffy's heart is attracted to women who all their friends think are embarrassing . i JUST!!

#btvs meta #ask #SORRY I WENT CRAZY AGAIN GUYS

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cant-think-of-anything · 3 years

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All my energy was used on the fic, you don't get a title

Basically I took the scenes of lord of shadows and replaced the characters

( @littlx-songbxrd helped me develop the plot a lot so thank you Zia)

TW: descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of homophobia and ableism

Thomas had quickly come to the conclusion that he hated the land of Fae. Not because the location itself harboured ill experiences, but rather because of his travel companions.

He glanced at said travel companions. Alastair and Christopher were attempting to assemble a fire, struggling greatly because London wasn't exactly a place of forests. Alastair's face was stern with concentration, eyebrows drawn together as they always were, a permanent appearance of disapproval. His lips were turned down slightly, frustration causing him to scrunch up his face.

It wasn't adorable, Thomas scolded himself, it was intolerable. And entirely unenjoyable. He breathed a sigh, turning away from them and back at the rushing waters of a river. They'd been sent to be audience to the Seelie court and request their assistance to defeat Belial. It was a useless excursion, the Faerie wouldn't intervene unless their own land was being threatened. But the Clave had sent them regardless.

Christopher called his name, his voice a whispered yell as to not draw attention from whatever lurked in the forests. He picked his way back, settling on his sleeping mat and looking up. Without a fire, only moonlight made anything visible. Christopher had curled up already, but Alastair was awake. He was staring up at the stars his eyes wide with something like wonder.

The sight was disarming, but Thomas turned away, before Alastair caught his stare. Nothing good could result from that. The Sanctuary was a few weeks past, and what had started as longing glances and tortured pining turned into short tempers and quick annoyance. They hadn't talked, not the way Thomas desperately wanted to, but they had argued and bickered nearly every time they crossed paths. And he despised it.

Curling his hand into a fist, he turned onto his side and willed himself to sleep.

____

Alastair was fairly certain they were lost. It was as if Faerie shifted everytime they were on the correct path, and it accomplished nothing but adding to his frustration. And apparently, Thomas's.

"We should go north." He said, his eyes glinting with annoyance.

"Are you stupid? Do you want us to get killed? We'll end up there either way."

"Your method would take longer and time is something I don't fancy to waste."

"And your brilliant solution is to- what? Traverse through an entirely unmapped territory? It's far too dangerous, and I would like to keep my head adjoined to my body."

"Maybe sometimes it would do you some good to do something dangerous."

"Oh?" Alastair whirled towards him, their faces inches away from the other, each sparked with anger. "Do something dangerous? Like you? To my memory, it got you imprisoned!"

"Perhaps it would suit you to travel in solitude! Since you always seem to prefer that anyway!"

"I do not-"

"I really do not think we should be causing this much of a disturbance," Christopher chimed in, his face twisted in confusion, head swiveling between both of them. "They're simply... directions?"

"Without directions." Alastair said, "you end up lost." His eyes stayed locked with Thomas's, head tilted to meet his infuriating height.

"We won't get lost," he hissed back.

"For someone with a tattoo of a compass you truly have a horrendous sense of direction-"

"We could just," Christopher started, flipping the map over, before looking up with wide eyes. "Go through here." He gestured at the map.

"Absolutely wonderful. Let's leave, I wish to depart as soon as we're able."

A few moments passed before a loud screech like noise emerged from the forests. Because why, Alastair thought drawing out his weapons, would anything ever be simple for him. Christopher and Thomas pressed closer when the creature burst forth from the trees. And really creature was the only world he had for it. It appeared as a demon but not one Alastair had ever studied, and from the looks on the others faces they hadn't either.

"Do we-"

The creature lunged faster than any demon could, a flash of the murky green that colored it's scales. It's claws flashed, charging at Thomas. Alastair briefly registered slipping in between the two, lodging the wooden shaft of his spear between it's jaw. He sought out Christopher sliding under the thing to stab it with his blade, killing it quickly but not quickly enough to prevent when the creatures claws raked against the top of his chest.

Air rushed out of his lungs and he felt familiar arms wrap around him, catching him before he could fall. His eyes fluttered shut on their own record. He fought to regain conciusness, he refused to be unconscious around the likes of his companions, but he felt himself dragged into blackness regardless.

---

Christopher was accustomed to his friends odd relations. He had certainly gained enough practice observing the spats they often had. But whatever anger his cousin held towards Alastair was always a puzzle to him. He was sure it was a puzzle to them too considering their never ending shifts in emotion.

He looked over at Thomas who's face was twisted in something between intense worry and sorrow. His eyes dropped to Alastair who had still not woken up, bandages covered the scratches that stretched from his shoulder to the top of his neck. He winced remembering the injury, bleeding profusely with no runes to stem it. His own worry for Alastair had occupied much of his mind. James and Matthew would be furious at such a thing but Christopher found he didn't care.

"I'll go stand watch," Christopher offered, making his way to the outside of the cave they'd taken shelter in.

Thomas hated being in debt, he remembered. When they were younger he would never accept help unless it was forced upon him, his stubborn nature preventing it. And now after Alastair had risked his life twice to help him, he must feel like he owed something.

Christopher pulled himself onto one of the rocks resting outside of the cave and tipped his head back. He missed his home. Not whatever had overtaken it in the months past, he missed Henry, he missed his parents who he'd barely conversed with since before the killings had happened. He missed Alexander even if the child cried a storm. He glanced up at the sky, noticing the first rays of dawn breaking through the clouds. He pulled himself off of his rock with a sigh. He wished for normalcy more than anything. But he doubted it would grace them anytime soon.

He ducked under the entrance of the cave, opening his mouth to call out for Thomas to get ready to depart. But Thomas wasn't awake.

He was curled onto his side, facing Alastair, both evidently asleep. Their hands stretched out the distance between them and were laced together.

Christopher sucked in a breath. "Oh, Thomas," he breathed.

He'd known of his cousin's vauge feelings for Alastair from the time that Thomas was quite a bit shorter than him. But he hadn't fully understood what the two felt towards each other. He knelt between them, gently attempting to pry their hands apart, but both their grips tightened. As if through the small action they were able to pour every unsaid emotion they'd held.

Christopher wasn't a stranger to the way the Clave treated anyone they viewed as different. The way they shut down every attempt Henry had made to better the Shadowhunter world, the way they would continue to deny any of his own attempts. They claimed to want happiness and order for all but the moment someone proved to differ from their standards they would shut them down and rid of the evidence. They would remain under the pretense of fairness while they claimed credit for any accomplishments him or his uncle managed to force into them.

Thomas never had chosen himself, never his own happiness. Christopher let go of their intertwined hands, then looking at Thomas's face. It was almost drawn up in concentration. He stood, glancing at them once more before returning to the front of the cave and yelling for Thomas to wake up so they could depart to the castle. It wasn't as much as he wanted to do, but it was all he could.

___

Thomas dumped their small pile of belongings near the foot of the bed. The Seelie Queen had apparently chosen graciousness that night and permitted them two rooms. Christopher claimed the first one, leaving Thomas and Alastair to occupy the other. Not that Alastair had woken yet.

Thomas crossed the room, refusing to look where Alastair was laying on the bed, where he would soon need to lay next to him. He made his way to Christopher's room, too tired to truly marvel at the tall marble pillars and regal decor adorning the halls and bedrooms. Christopher was cross-legged on the bed, scrawling something into a notebook under the dim lights that shone through the waterfall close to the wall.

He pulled himself onto the bed next to him, worrying at the material of his nightshirt. Christopher looked up after a moment, fixing his peculiar eyes on Thomas.

"Are you all right Tom?"

The question shouldn't have startled him as much as it did. "I'm okay."

Christopher lips tightened. "You're lying. You usually do when people ask you."

Thomas breathed a soft sigh, pulling his legs up onto the bed. "I know."

Christopher studied him for a few moments, debating something in his mind before saying "You don't have to sacrifice yourself to make us happy Thomas. Anyone who truly cares for you will not love you any less for your decisions."

Thomas startled, looking at him with widened eyes. Something in his heart sped up, as if a weight had lifted from it causing it to beat faster in it's absence. "I don't- I don't understand-"

A hand gripped his forearm. "Go back to your room Thomas. I suspect he'll wake soon."

___

When Alastair woke he wasn't in a forest. He had known the Faerie were images of royalty but the room seemed ridiculously extravagant. He wanted to pull himself up in the bed but a sharp sting on his neck forced him back down.

The door swung open then, Thomas entered with a odd look on his face. It switched to overwhelming relief when he saw Alastair.

Swallowing, Alastair rose a hand his neck. The Faeries must have worked on the wound, it had healed over somewhat but not enough to relieve him of the pain.

He heard Thomas clear his throat. When Alastair looked up again, he'd moved to the other side of his bed. "You had gotten injured in the forest. We're in the Seelie Courts now, you've been indisposed for a few hours."

"Oh." He wasn't sure what else to add.

Thomas stared at him for a few unnerving moments before making a frustrated noise. He slid onto the bed, folding his legs underneath him and giving Alastair an imploring sort of look. "I'm sorry. For everything I've done. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you the right words in the sanctuary. I'll try to give them now."

Alastair inhaled sharply, from surprise rather than pain. "I don't understand. You shouldn't be apologizing-"

Thomas half smiled before cutting him off. "Let someone apologize to you for once. You deserve as much after the way we've treated you."

Biting his lip and looking away, Alastair noticed the pile of clothes and other luggage in the corner of the room. Oh. He turned back.

"Well Mr. Lightwood I find your apology to be satisfactory, despite it still being unnecessary."

Thomas smiled fully then and something in Alastair's chest loosened.

"Does this mean I am permitted to use the bed alongside you?" His voice was teasing.

"As long as you manage to stay on your side of it."

But that rule was quickly broken, Thonas shifted close and carefully curled his body around Alastair, his head resting on in his curls and limb wrapped loosely around him. Alastair breathed a small breath of relief before pressing his face into Thomas's neck and sleeping peacefully for the first time in years.

Happy birthday Zia!! Ilysm and you deserve literally every good thing in the world, you're amazing and very talented and yeah <33

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno @thewarthatsavedmylife @eugeniaslongsword @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @alice-got-the-blues @writeforjordelia (lmk if you want to be added or removed)

I'll tag @youngreckless for thomastair week

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #tlh #thomastair #the last hours #tsc

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