#he probably has the world's worst posture!!! i know it!!!!

[tereladea]

i have not stopped thinking about them

#steph lauter #pete spankoffski #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #hatchetfield #team starkid #raghhh lautski worms in my brain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #lazy ass doodle idc!!!! i'm having thoughts about steph and her cringe fail boyfriend that she loves very much #she's the type of girl to wear hairtie bracelets i just KNOW it #he probably has the world's worst posture!!! i know it!!!! #ok . no more tags

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [5/5]

we made it!!! part 5/5 + a mini epilogue (5.6k words) at long last 🥹 (aka the installment in which i remember that h/c has a c in it in addition to the h, haha.) [part 1] is here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

The world comes back to him in pieces—first the wooden panels of the ceiling, the sloped wooden beams. The coldness of the room, the slight, monotonous whir of the air circulating through one of the vents overhead.

He’s leaned up against the wall, seated on the floor in the hallway, and Vincent is kneeling beside him, his eyebrows furrowed.

It takes him a moment to realize where he is. He had been about to head back to the courtyard, hadn’t he? He doesn’t have much memory of anything that happened after, but judging by Vincent’s reaction, he thinks he can probably guess.

“Hi,” Yves says, for lack of a better thing to say. 

He watches a complicated set of expressions flicker through Vincent’s face—relief, first, before it turns to something distinctly less neutral.

“You’re awake,” Vincent says. He turns away, for a moment. Yves notes the clench of his jaw, the tightness of his grip—his fingers white around Yves’s sleeve.

“Was I out for long?”

“A couple minutes.”

Yves wants to say something. He should say something. Anything to lighten the tension, anything to get the point across that this is all just an unlucky miscalculation, on his part. It really isn’t something Vincent should have to be worried about. 

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” he starts. Really, what he means is, I’m sorry for making you worry about me. “I promise I’mb fine.”

The look on Vincent’s face, then, is something that Yves hasn’t seen before. 

“Why do you have to—” he starts, frustration rising in his voice. He sighs, his jaw set. “I don’t understand why you—” He drops his hand from Yves’s sleeve, and it’s then when Yves notices the stiffness to his shoulders, the tension in his posture. He runs a hand through his hair, lets out another short, exasperated breath. “You’re not fine.” 

It’s strange, Yves thinks, to see him like this—Vincent, who usually never wears his emotions on his face, looks clearly displeased, now. 

“Hey,” Yves says, softly. He reaches out to take Vincent’s hand. Vincent goes very still with the contact, but he doesn’t say anything. “I—”

Fuck. His body seems to always pick the worst time for unwanted interjections. He wrenches his hand away just in time to smother a sneeze into his sleeve, though it’s forceful enough to leave him slightly lightheaded. 

“Stay here,” Vincent says, getting to his feet. “Lay down if you get dizzy again.”

Yves blinks. “Where are you going?”

“To tell the others that we’re leaving.”

Yves wants to protest. Dinner is already halfway over. It’s not as if the festivities are particularly strenuous. They’ll probably move inside after dinner, where it’s warmer.

But he thinks better of it. Judging by how exhausted he still feels, how much his head aches, it probably wouldn’t be wise to push it. 

“Don’t tell them about this,” he says.

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Aimee is going to worry if she finds out,” Yves says, dropping his head to his knees. He doesn’t want to look at Vincent, doesn’t want to know what expression is on his face. “Just—let them have this night. It’s—supposed to be perfect.” I really wanted it to be perfect, he almost adds. There’s a strange tightness to his throat as he says it, a strange heaviness to his chest.

He knows what it means. If, after he’s tried so hard to do his part, their evening still ends up ruined on his own accord, he’s not sure if he could live with himself after.

For a moment, Vincent doesn’t say anything at all.

“Okay,” he says, at last. “Just stay here.”

And then he heads down the hallway. The door at the end of the reception hall swings shut behind him. Yves thinks he should be relieved, but he finds that he doesn’t feel much other than exhausted.

—

The ride home on the shuttle is silent. Vincent sits next to him, even though all of the other seats are empty. Yves thinks the proximity is probably inadvisable. He opens his mouth to say as much, and then shuts it.

Vincent sits and stares straight ahead, his posture stiff, and doesn’t say anything for the entirety of the ride. It’s strange. Yves is no stranger to silence—Vincent is, after all, a coworker, and Yves has endured more than a few quiet elevator rides and quiet team lunches at the office, but it’s strange because it’s Vincent.

Vincent, who usually takes care to make conversation with him, whenever it’s just the two of them. Vincent, who stayed up through the lull of antihistamines a couple months ago to talk to Yves, until Yves had given him explicit permission to go to sleep.

Yves tries not to think about it. Through the haze of his fever, everything feels unusually bright—the interior of the shuttle, with its leather seats and metal handrails.

The shuttle stops just outside the main entrance to their hotel. Just before he gets to the doors, he stumbles. Vincent’s hand shoots out, instinctively, to steady him.

“Sorry,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. It’s not that he’s dizzy. The roads are just uneven, and it’s dark. “I can walk.”

But Vincent doesn’t let go—not for the entirety of the walk through the cool, air-conditioned lobby, through the hallways to the hotel elevators. Not when the elevator stops at their floor, not when they pass by the grid of wooden doors leading up to their room. 

Before Yves can manage to reach for his keycard, Vincent has already swiped them in, scarily efficient. He slides the card back into his pocket, pushes the door open. 

“Thadks for walking me back,” Yves says. “Sorry you couldn’t stay longer. You mbust’ve been halfway through dinner.”

“I already finished eating,” Vincent says.

“Even dessert?” Yves says. “I think Aimee got everyone creme brulee from one of the local bakeries. I was excited to try it. Maybe Leon can save us some.” he muffles a yawn into his hand. It’s too early to be sleeping, but his pull out bed looks very inviting right now.

“Take the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “What?”

“The bed’s warmer.”

There’s absolutely no way he’s going to let Vincent take the pull-out bed in his place, Yves thinks blearily. He’s spent the past couple nights muffling sneezes into the covers—if there’s anything he’s certain of, it’s that he really, really doesn’t want Vincent to catch this.

“I dod’t think we should switch,” he says, sniffling. “I’ve been sleeping here ever sidce I started coming down with this. I’mb— hHeh-!” He veers away, raising an elbow to his face. “hh—HHEh’IIDZschH’-iEEW! Ugh, I’mb pretty sure I contaminated it.”

“We can both take the bed, if you’d prefer,” Vincent says. As if it’s that simple.

Yves opens his mouth to protest—is Vincent really okay with sharing a bed with him?—but then he thinks about Vincent finding him in the hallway—the stricken expression on his face, then, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched—and thinks better of himself. 

Instead, he lets Vincent lead him to the bedroom. The bed is neatly made—the covers drawn, the pillows propped up against the headboard.

“Lay down,” Vincent says, pushing lightly down on his shoulders. Yves sits. He peels off his suit jacket, folds it, and sets it aside on the nightstand.

“Hey, I kdow that was sudden,” he says, in reference to earlier. “I’mb sorry you had to witness it. I… probably shouldn’t have pushed it.”

Vincent says nothing, to that.

Yves lays down, shuts his eyes. “You didn’t have to accompady me home, you know.”

Silence. He exhales, burrowing deeper into the covers. “It’s not as bad as it looks, seriously.”

He opens his mouth to say more. He has to say something, he thinks, to convince Vincent that it’s really not that big of a deal. Anything, to assuage that look on Vincent’s face.

But he’s so tired. He can feel the exhaustion now that he’s finally let himself lay down. The bed is traitorously comfortable, with its soft feather pillows and its fluffy layers of blankets, and Vincent was right—it really is warmer.

He feels the press of a hand on his forehead, feels the cold, unyielding pressure. Feels gentle, calloused fingers brush the hair out of his face.

“Sleep,” Vincent says, firmly. 

And Yves—

Yves, already half gone, is powerless, when Vincent says it like that.

—

When he wakes, it’s just barely bright outside. He takes it in—the first few rays of sunlight, streaking through the curtains. The bed, a little more well-cushioned than the pullout bed he’d spent the past few nights on—higher up and decisively sturdier. He blinks.

Beside him, seated on a chair he recognizes as belonging to the desk at the opposite end of the room, is Vincent.

Vincent, awake. Yves isn’t sure if he’s slept at all. He certainly doesn’t look tired, at first glance, but closer inspection reveals a little more. It’s evident in the way he holds his shoulders, stiff, and perhaps a little tired, as if there’s been tension sitting in them all night. 

He’s reading a book. Whether he bought it at the convenience store downstairs, or on one of the other days when Yves was busy running errands for the wedding and Vincent was elsewhere, or whether it’d been sitting in his suitcase since the start of the vacation, Yves doesn’t know.

“How’s the book?” Yves says.

His throat is dry, he realizes, for the way it makes him cough, afterwards. Vincent’s eyes meet his, unerringly. He shuts the book, sets it down on the bedside table.

“It’s a little boring,” Vincent says. “How’s the fever?”

Before Yves can answer, Vincent leans forward and presses the back of his hand to Yves’s forehead. His touch is unerringly gentle, and Yves allows himself to look. 

Vincent’s eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, and Yves wonders, suddenly, if he’s been this worried for awhile, now. If he’s been this worried ever since he’d walked them both back into the hotel room last night.

“I’m fine,” Yves says. 

It has the opposite effect he intends it to.

Vincent’s expression shutters. “The last time you said that, you passed out in front of me,” he says, withdrawing his hand with a frown. “So forgive me if I don’t entirely believe you.”

Yves sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s a fair point. “I’m usually more reliable whed it comes to these things.”

“What things?”

“Kdowing my limits.”

Vincent says, “I think you knew your limits. I think you just didn’t want to honor them, because you decided the wedding took precedence.”

He’s… frustrated, Yves realizes. Still. He’s sure he can guess why. Their fake relationship does not extend to Vincent having to look after him, to Vincent having to drop everything in the middle of a wedding, of all things, to take him home. To Vincent having to worry about all this—the fever Yves knows he has, now, and the bed he’s currently taking up—on top of everything else. As if being in a foreign country, surrounded by people he knows almost exclusively through Yves, who, for the most part, converse in a language he barely speaks, wasn’t already enough work on its own.

And Yves gets it. He hadn’t wanted this to happen, either. He’d told himself that if this—this pretend relationship, this pretense—is contingent upon both of them playing their part, the least he can do is be self-sufficient outside of it.

But now—because Vincent is here with him, and because they share a hotel room—all of this is now Vincent’s problem, too, by extension.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks.

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly, as if the answer is evident. 

“You gave up your bed just for me to steal it,” Yves says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s really comfortable, and all, but I’mb pretty sure they make these kinds of beds for two.”

“Is that a proposition?” Vincent says.

“Maybe.” Yves thinks it through. “Realistically, probably ndot, until I have a chance to shower.” He’s still dressed in his dress shirt and slacks from yesterday, a little embarrassingly—he should probably get changed. “Speaking of which, I should do that soon, so you don’t feel the need to stay up all night reading—” Yves leans forward, squints at the book cover on the nightstand. “—Hemingway? Somehow, I didn’t expect you to be the type.”

“I’m not,” Vincent says. “Victoire lent it to me.”

“Oh,” Yves says, trying to think of when Vincent would’ve had time to ask her for a recommendation. “Yeah. She’s—” He twists aside, ducking into his elbow. “hHEH’IIDzschh-EEW! snf-! She’s quite the literary reader. Is it really that boring?”

“I can see why people think the transparency of his prose is appealing,” Vincent says. “But I’m fifty pages in, and nothing has happened.”

“Isd’t that the sort of thing Hemingway can get away with, since he’s straightforward about it?”

“In a short story, maybe,” Vincent says. Then: “You are trying to make me feel better.”

Ah.

Yves laughs. “Where in the world did you get that idea?”

Vincent just sighs. “I would be exceptionally unobservant not to notice when I’ve seen you do the same thing all this week.”

“What?”

“Telling people that you’re fine,” Vincent says. “And distracting them when they don’t believe you.”

Yves doesn’t think that’s entirely accurate. It’s not like he was trying to be dishonest. It’s just that it was never the most important thing to address.

“Distracting is a bit disingenuous.”

“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, with a frown. “You’re so insistent on putting yourself last, even when you were obviously—” He sighs. There it is—that expression again, the one that makes itself evident through the furrowed eyebrows, the tense set of his jaw—frustration, and maybe something else. “You’re surrounded by people who care about you, so why not just—”

“There are plenty of things more important than how I’mb feeling,” Yves says.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

But of course it is, Yves thinks. A wedding is a once in a lifetime occurrence. An illness is nothing, in the face of that.

“I promised I’d be there,” he says, because when it really comes down to it, it’s true. He had no intention of going back on his word. “I didn’t want to be the one to let them down. Is that so hard to believe?” He reaches up with a hand to massage his temples. His head aches, even though he’s slept for long enough that he feels like it ought to feel a little better, by now. “It’s already bad enough that I had to drag you into this.” 

“You didn’t drag me into this,” Vincent says. “I came on my own volition.”

Yves tries a laugh, but it’s humorless. “I made you leave halfway through the wedding dinner.”

“I’d already finished eating.”

“Ndot to mention, you practically had to carry me upstairs.”

“Because you’re ill.”

“That’s no excuse.” Yves wants to say more, but he finds himself beholden to a tickle in the back of his throat—irritatingly present, until he concedes to it by ducking into his elbow to cough, and cough.

When he looks up, blinking tears out of his vision, Vincent isn’t looking at him.

“You should get some rest,” he says, simply.

Yves can tell—just by the way he says it—that there is no argument to him, anymore. Just like that, Vincent is back to being closed off—poised and perfectly, infuriatingly unreadable, just like he is at work, his face so carefully a mask of indifference, even in the most stressful presentations, the most frustrating disagreements. Yves wants none of it.

 “Hey,” he says. A part of him itches to crack a joke, to change the subject—anything to take away this air of seriousness. A part of him wants to reach out, again—to take Vincent’s hand, entwine their fingers; to reassure him, again, that he’s really fine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, instead. Maybe it’s the fever that loosens his tongue. Maybe it’s just a combination of everything.

He can feel Vincent’s eyes on him, still. Vincent has always held a sort of intensity to him, a quiet sort of perceptiveness. “I’m not sure I follow,” Vincent says.

“This visit was supposed to be fun for you,” he says. “And now you’re here, stuck in the hotel room because of me, even though today was supposed to be for sightseeing.”

It doesn’t feel like enough. What can he say to make it enough? There’s a strange ache in his chest, a strange, crushing pressure. Yves is horrified to find his eyes stinging. He’s held it together for so long, he thinks. Why now? Why, when Vincent is right here?

But a part of him knows, too. Of course traveling to a different country would be more involved than going to a party, or spending an evening at a stranger’s house. But there was a time when he thought this could really just be a fun excursion for the both of them—half a week in his family’s home country, with someone who he thoroughly enjoys spending time with. 

And now, because of this untimely illness—or because of his own short-sightedness in managing it—it isn’t. He didn’t get to stay through dinner, didn’t get to wish Aimee and Genevieve a good rest of their night, like he’d planned to. He has no idea if things went smoothly in his absence. To make matters worse, Vincent is here, having endured a sleepless night, instead of anywhere else.

And really, when he thinks about it, who does have to blame for all of this, except himself?

“I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this,” he says. “So I’m sorry.” He resists the urge to swipe a hand over his eyes—surely, he thinks, that would give him away.

He turns away. It’s convenient, he thinks, that the embarrassing sniffle that follows could be attributed to something else. 

“You’ve been nothing but accommodating to me, this whole visit,” Vincent says. “If anything, I should’ve insisted that you take the bed earlier. You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

He says it with such certainty. Yves opens his mouth to protest this—or to apologize, for all the times he must’ve kept Vincent up, including but not limited to last night—but Vincent presses on.

“You spent all of yesterday morning helping everyone get ready, and when I got back, you apologized for not being around—as if the reason why you weren’t around wasn’t that you were so busy making sure everything was fine for everyone else.” Vincent pauses, takes in a slow, measured breath. Yves is surprised to hear that he sounds… distinctly angry, in a way that Yves is not used to hearing.

“And then you showed up to the rehearsal and the wedding, even though you weren’t feeling well. And you still think you have something to apologize for? Are you even hearing yourself?” Yves hears the creak of the chair as he stands, the sound of quiet footsteps. Feels the dip of the bed as Vincent takes a seat at the edge of it. 

“You know, after you left the dinner table, Genevieve was talking about how much she liked your speech? Do you know that yesterday morning, Solaine told me how grateful she was that you helped her with fixing her dress? Do you know that when I got lunch with Leon and Victoire, they told me how much time you spent preparing for everything—the speech, and the wedding, both?”

Oh. Yves hadn’t known any of those things, and he knows Vincent isn’t the kind of person who would lie about this sort of thing.

“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, sounding distinctly pained to say it. “How could you possibly think that you haven’t done enough?”

Yves finds himself taken aback—by the frustration in his voice, by the fact that Vincent has noticed these things in the first place, by the fact that he’s deemed them important enough to take stock of. He makes it sound so simple. 

“I don’t know,” Yves says, at last. He shuts his eyes. “If it was enough.”

“I’m telling you that it was,” Vincent says.

But Yves knows that he could have done more, if the circumstances were different. If he hadn’t been so out of it during the wedding. If he’d taken the necessary precautions to avoid coming down with this in the first place. If he’d been able to stay through dinner, at least; if he hadn’t needed Vincent to accompany him home. 

“You don’t believe me,” Vincent says, with a sigh.

Yves doesn’t say anything, to that.

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” Vincent says. There’s the slight rustling of the covers as he shifts, rearranging one of the pillows at the headboard. “But I had fun.”

Yves’s heart twists.

It’s sweet, unexpectedly. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better,” Yves says.

“When have I ever said anything just to make you feel better?” Vincent says, with a short laugh. When Yves chances a look at him, he’s smiling down at himself. “I mean it. Meeting your family has been a lot of fun. It’s not often that I get the chance to be a part of something like this.”

Whether he’s referring to France, or the wedding and the festivities, or being surrounded by Yves’s large extended family, Yves isn’t sure. But if Vincent is trying to cheer him up, it’s working.

“I can see why you like France so much,” he says, turning his gaze out the window, though the view outside is filtered through the semi-translucent curtains. “It’s beautiful.”

“Today was supposed to be the last day for sightseeing,” Yves says, a little regretful. “But you’re stuck here.”

“In a sunny, luxurious hotel room, with a view of the pool and the garden?” Vincent says, with a scoff. “I could think of worse places to be.”

Staying up all night, just to check up on Yves, more accurately. Vincent must be tired, too—yesterday was already tiring enough. And now it’s morning already, and he hasn’t gotten any sleep. 

“Reading Hemingway,” Yves adds.

Vincent looks a little surprised. Then he laughs. “Yes. I guess you’re right. Perhaps it’s an agonizing experience after all.”

The yawn he stifles into his hand, after that isn’t half as subtle as he tries to make it.

Yves feels his eyebrows creep up. “Are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep? There’s plenty of room.” He scoots a little closer to the edge of the bed, just to make a point.

Vincent peers down at the space beside him, a little hesitant. “At 10am?”

“It’d be, what, 4am, back in Eastern time?” Yves says. “By Ndew York standards, you’re supposed to already be asleep.”

“That’s not how it works,” Vincent says, but he dutifully moves a little closer to Yves anyways. He’s changed out of yesterday’s wedding attire, more sensibly, but now he’s wearing a knitted cardigan which Yves thinks looks unfairly, terribly good on him. Yves finds himself marveling at the unfairness of it all. How can someone look so good wearing something so casual?

Vincent smells good, up close. When he lays down next to Yves, pulling the covers gingerly over himself—leaving a careful amount of room between them, but still dangerously, intoxicatingly close—Yves feels his breath catch in his throat.

Vincent is right there, less than an arm’s length away from him, closer than he’s ever been, and Yves—Yves is—

“See,” Yves says, as evenly as he can manage to, in his current state, as if his heart isn’t practically beating out of his chest. He swallows. His throat feels dry. “This bed definitely fits two.”

“I suppose it does,” Vincent says. “Now you can tell me if I’m a terrible person to share a bed with.”

“After everything I’ve put you through,” Yves says, “I think I’d honestly feel reassured if you were.”

Vincent smiles, again, as if he finds this humorous. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine?”

“Positive,” Yves says. “You should sleep. I’ll wake you if I ndeed anything.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Vincent shuts his eyes.

It’s not long before his breathing evens out, not long before he goes perfectly still. He must really be tired, Yves thinks, with a pang.

Yves, for some reason, finds that he can’t get to sleep. He stares up at the ceiling for what feels like minutes on end, shuts his eyes, all to no avail. Maybe it’s because he’s already slept far more than his usual share. Maybe it’s the jetlag. Maybe it’s merely Vincent’s unusual presence—the strangeness of having him so close, in an environment so intimate.

But when he allows himself to look, he sees—

Vincent, his eyes shut, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. From the window, the filtered light gleams unevenly across the crown of dark hair on his head. There’s almost no movement to him at all, aside from the even rise and fall of his shoulders.

And Yves knows what the feeling in his chest is. He’s regrettably, intimately familiar with it.

He just isn’t sure he likes what it means.

—

Vincent—despite falling asleep so quickly—is up before him. When Yves wakes, next, it’s to a hand to his forehead.

“Hey,” Vincent is saying, softly. “Yves. You have a visitor.”

Yves opens his eyes.

He’s feeling—a little better, remarkably. Still feverish, still a little unsteady, but leagues better as compared to yesterday. When he looks over, he sees—

He doesn’t jolt upright, but it’s a close thing. “Aimee!”

He barely has a chance to ask before she’s crashing into him, encircling him in a tight hug. “Yves!” she exclaims, pulling back from him. “How are you feeling? Oh my gosh, when I heard you left early because you were unwell, I was so worried…”

Yves grimaces, turning away. “Sorry, I had every idtention of staying until the end—”

“You came all the way out with the flu!” she says. “I honestly can’t believe you. The fact that you still took the trouble to attend with a fever—”

“It—” Yves starts, but he finds himself twisting away, lifting an arm to his face. “hhEH-! HEEhD’TTSCHH-iiiEEw! Snf-! It’s fide, snf-! I’mb practically recovered already.”

“I should’ve told you not to push yourself when you told me you were coming down with something,” Aimee says, shaking her head. “And you stayed and gave such a lovely speech, even though you weren’t feeling well? When I was talking to Victoire after, she mentioned that you’ve been sick for days and Genevieve—you should’ve said something.”

“I’ll say somethidg next time,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. “Did the wedding go okay?”

Aimee visibly brightens, at this. “It was more than okay,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “It blew every expectation that I had out of the water.”

Aimee fills him in on everything that happened after he left, last night—dessert, the first dance, the cake-cutting; her favorites out of the photos they’d taken after the ceremony (a shot of Genevieve braiding her hair during the cocktail hour; a shot of them leaning in close, for the dance, tired but smiling; a shot of the cake with its multiple tiers, the frosting strung like banners across it; another where both of them are holding onto the cutting knife together and Genevieve looks like she is trying not to laugh; a shot of the bouquet toss, the flowers suspended in mid-air). She tells him about the conversations she and Genevieve had with others about marriage and their futures and their plans for their honeymoon.

Then she lectures him on how he should worry about his health first, next time. She tells him, in no uncertain terms, that she’s fully prepared to give him a piece of her mind the next time he tries to pull something like this. She insists that his health is more important than anything. Vincent stands off to the side the entire time, his arms crossed, passively listening in, but when Yves looks over helplessly, mid-lecture, he definitely looks a little smug. 

All in all, she doesn’t seem disappointed in him at all. And, more importantly, she seems happy. Yves finds himself relieved, at this.

Genevieve stops by, too, a little later, to thank him for the advice he’d given her the day before the wedding. She hugs him too, and she leaves him a bag of tea that she promises “is practically a cure to anything—I hope it makes your flight home tomorrow a little more tolerable.” Victoire stops by, with Leon, and Yves resigns himself to more lecturing from the both of them. It’s humbling, a little, to be lectured by his younger sister and his younger brother, though he concedes that perhaps this time, it might be at least partially warranted.

Then Leon opens their hotel fridge to show him the two creme brulees he and Vincent had missed out on, packaged nicely in small paper containers. (“Vincent told me you were interested in these,” he says, and Yves finds himself slightly mortified—but perhaps also a little endeared—that whatever it was that he’d said last night, offhandedly, Vincent had deemed it important enough to text Leon about.)

Later, after Yves showers and gets changed—when he and Vincent eat the creme brulees at the table in the living room, and Vincent tells him that he’s finished the book, perhaps a little masochistically (“it doesn’t get any better,” he says, sounding a little spiteful)—Yves finds himself smiling.

He’s happy, he realizes, despite everything that’s happened. Even with the slight headache, and the lingering congestion, the fever that hasn’t quite gone away entirely. The revelation comes as a surprise to him, at first. But when he thinks about the people he’s surrounded with, he thinks perhaps it isn’t all that surprising.

—

EPILOGUE

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Vincent asks.

“Yes,” Yves says. It’s not a lie.

This time, he’s seated right next to the window, and Vincent is in the middle seat. Yves had offered to take the middle seat instead, but Vincent had insisted(“If you wanted to sleep, you could lean against the window,” he’d said, and Yves had accepted only because it would be better to fall asleep against the window than do something embarrassing, like fall asleep on Vincent’s shoulder).

“It’s just the annoyidg residual symptoms, now,” he says. “I—”

God. He always has the worst timing. He veers away, muffling a tightly contained sneeze into his shoulder.

“hHEH-’IIDDZschH-yyEW! Snf-! I’mb — hHhEHh’DjjsSHH-iEW! Ugh, I’m fine. I feel better thad I sound.”

“Bless you,” Vincent says, leaning over to press his hand against Yves’s forehead. “No fever,” he says. “That’s good. But you should take another day off when we get back.”

Yves doesn’t think taking another day off is necessary. “I spedt the entirety of yesterday sleeping,” he says. “I think I’ve rested enough.”

Vincent just raises an eyebrow at him. “Need I remind you that someone very wise told you to take it easy?”

“Since when has Aimee been your spokesperson?”

“She made a lot of good points,” Vincent says, deceptively unassuming. “I think you should consider taking notes.”

Yves looks at him for a moment. “You’re laughing at me.”

This time, Vincent smiles. “Maybe.”

Yves leans back in his seat, reaching up with one hand to massage his temples. The changing cabin pressure is not exactly comfortable—his head still hurts a little, but he’s flown enough times to know that it won’t be as much of a problem once they finish their ascent. 

“Thadks again for coming,” he says, unwrapping one of the small, packaged pillows the airline has left on their seats. 

“You invited me,” Vincent says, blinking. “All I did was show up.”

But that isn’t true at all, Yves thinks. Vincent is the one who spent time learning basic French, who met Yves’s family and who spoke with everyone with genuine interest, who bought Yves medicine and water, all while being careful to not be overbearing. Vincent is the one who left the wedding early to walk Yves back to the hotel, who stayed with him the entire day afterwards.

“That’s such a huge understatement I don’t even kdow where to get started,” Yves says. “Thanks for meetidg my family—they love you, by the way. They’re going to be askidg about you every summer from now on, I just know it.”

He can already picture it—June, this year, after busy season is over, if their fake relationship lasts that long. Another flight where they’re next to each other. Another dozen conversations about how they’d met, about what it’s like dating a coworker, about what their plans for the future are.

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. This was never meant to be a long-term arrangement in the first place. But something about this—about being here with Vincent—just feels so unthinkingly easy.

“It’s no problem,” Vincent says. “The feeling is mutual. I’m glad I got to meet them.”

“Thanks for looking after me, too,” Yves says, with another apologetic smile. “I’mb sure being stuck in a hotel room all day wasn’t how you were planning on spending your last day of vacation.”

“I don’t mind,” Vincent says, sounding strangely like he means it. “I like spending time with you.”

Yves nearly drops the pillow he’s holding. 

When he looks back at Vincent, Vincent looks faintly amused. “Is that so surprising? I think I’d be a terrible fake boyfriend if I didn’t.”

“You make a really good one, as it stands,” Yves tells him, sincerely, and Vincent smiles.

Yves looks out the window—where the city beneath them begins to resolve itself into miniature, where the sky stretches where he can see Vincent reflected faintly back at him, from the glass—and finds that he feels impossibly light.

#sneeze fic #snz fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snzfic #when i set off to write a slow burn h/c fic i don't think i expected it to be 28k words #this was a journey for me... thank you sincerely to everyone who's joined me for the ride 😭 #i am not sure if this specific chapter feels rushed? or if it's too short? (if it does i'm very sorry 🙇‍♀️) #some thoughts... (spoilers ahead; pls read the chapter before proceeding) #1) this installment in particular is something of a turning point in their relationship development (and i hope that's not too subtle) #2) vincent not being like a traditionally 'soft' caretaker and having his frustration show a little more openly is something i've had in my #head for awhile :') it was fun to let that crystallize this chapter #yvverse #my fic

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Hi! I love you! It’s finals season and I’m barely scraping by and suffering lots, so I could use a fanfic to live through! What about a mini fic where Peter is doing some homework in his room (compound/tower, or just Tony’s house but Morgan doesn’t exist) and he has a pretty bad fever. Tony notices he’s getting frustrated really easy and checks his temperature and then lots of cuddles?

Another mini-fic! This time staring a feverish, grumpy little rain cloud Peter and a very dad-like Mr. Stark. :) Very very very mild angst and some good old-fashioned fluff. Oh. And Peter gets a hug.

Finals Week Heat 980 words

Peter sat at his desk in Mr Stark’s workshop and grasped a fistful of his hair. It was only Wednesday, and he was already burnt out. Finals had been going strong all week, and he still had two more to go. His worst subjects. Spanish and world history. He released his hair in favor of rubbing his eyes and stared at his notes. As they blurred in and out of focus he slammed his fist down on the desk.

“Easy, Pete,” Mr. Stark called from across the room. “ What’s got you all worked up over there?”

“Nothing!” Peter snapped before he could stop himself. But he was so exhausted he ached and his head was starting to throb. It was making him unreasonably irritable. “I'm not worked up! I’m just tired.”

Mr. Stark arched a single brow. “It’s only eight o’clock.”

“Does it matter? I’ve been busy for days! I think I’m allowed to be tired.” Peter flourished a dismissive hand and directed his attention to his notes. “Just go back to your work and leave me alone.”

“Hey,” Mr. Stark warned. But for some reason, Peter didn’t take the hint, He visibly bristled and narrowed his eyes.

“What?” he aggressively shouted. “I know you’re in the middle of at least three projects and I have to study. Actually. You know what? I’ll just take this to my room. It’s whatever.” Immediately, he started haphazardly stuffing things into his bag, ready to flee the situation before it escalated further.

“Nuh-uh, no way, no how. Sit back down Kid.” Mr. Stark stood up, taking on an authoritative posture. “We need to talk about your attitude.”

Peter knew he should listen, and any other day he probably would. However, the tension in his body was wound so tight, he snapped instead. “I don’t want to sit down and don't want to talk to you. I just want to get this done.”

Mr. Stark's jaw clenched. “Sit. Down. Now.”

Knowing it was best to give in, Peter threw himself into his chair and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Whether it was out of indignation or because an unexpected chill had consumed him, he wasn’t sure. Rather than contemplate it, he glared across the room.

“What are you studying for?”

“Finals. You know that,” Peter spat.

Mr. Stark’s face remained stoney as he regarded Peter with scrutiny. A few beats passed. He sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been at it for hours with the flashcards, Kiddo. Why don’t you just call it a night?”

“Because I happen to like my 4.0 GPA, Mr. Stark!” The sarcasm was thick but the sentiment was genuine. He was at the top of his class and the pressure to remain in that slot was high. “If I don’t study, I don’t get to keep it.”

Mr. Stark's head tilted to the side. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm fine,” Peter grumbled. “Why?”

“You’re not usually this snippy with me,” Mr. Stark casually replied. He spanned the distance between them and ran his hand through Peter’s hair, down to his neck. The contact Made Peter shiver. “You’re burning up, Buddy,” Tony said, his voice significantly softer. “FRIDAY? Get me a tempt, will you?”

“Mr. Parker’s temperature is at one-hundred and two point three degrees.”

Mr. Stark nodded and gave Peter’s shoulder a squeeze.“Well, that settles it. You’re definitely done studying for tonight. The good news is, you’ll have a few extra days to review the material because you are definitely not going to school to-’”

“I have to go!” Peter growled. “I have finals to take!” He wished he didn’t. Staying home sounded idea.

“Nope. Zip it. The adult is talking.” Mr Stark, sent him a look, daring him to say anything else. Peter snapped his mouth shut. “You’re not going to school with a fever of a hundred and two. Not happening. You can make up the test.”

Peter slumped in his seat. “I want to be done with them,” he mumbled.

“And I want you to feel better,” Tony replied without missing a beat. His fingers went back to Peter’s hair. “You’re clearly miserable, Buddy,”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, his eyes beginning to water. He gathered a tremulous breath and closed his eyes. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t feel good.”

“Okay, Kiddo. You’re going to be okay.” Mr. Stark wiped a stray tear from Peter’s cheek and hauled him into a firm hug. “Let’s get upstairs, hmm?”

Inside the elevator, Peter leaned into Mr. Stark. “Sorry, I yelled at you.”

“I’d say it’s okay, but I definitely don’t want you biting my head off like that,” Mr. Stark said. He paused to swipe the bangs off of Peter’s forehead. Probably gauging the fever again, in the process. “It would be much easier if you just told me when you were sick.”

Peter sighed, unsure of how to explain how difficult it was to satisfy literally everyone’s expectations. “I didn’t want to-” he began, but Mr. Stark cut him off quickly.

“Another time, Bud. We’ll talk about it another time.” They had arrived at the penthouse. Mr. Stark stepped inside first and gestured down the hall. “For now, go get in your pajamas and meet me on the couch. I’ll fetch you some meds, and we’ll watch a movie until you conk out on me.”

Peter huffed a small laugh, knowing that’s exactly what would happen. He’d arrive at the couch wearing his comfiest pajamas, soft blanket in hand. Mr. Stark would give him some pills and sit in the corner of the furniture. He’d allow Peter to burrow into his side and, together, they would pick a movie. Probably something science fiction. It didn’t really matter. Mr. Stark was right. He’d be warm and comfortable and sound asleep before they made it a quarter of the way in.

Super happy to see you again @yescaptainmarvel123875 I feel like it's been a while! Hope you are doing well and enjoy this fic!!

#happyaspie mini fic #<check out that tag #fic under 1k #tumblr mini fic #sick peter parker #fever #grumpiness #very very very mild angst #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #iron man #irondad and spiderson #marvel #mcu #irondad #irondad fic

[afieldinengland]

can i have your full list of movie recs? i’m sure you’ve posted them before but idk where to find them, also i hope you feel better soon i’m not terribly good with comforting ppl but i’m thinking of you tonight <3

oh, of course, friend– well, i have a list on letterboxd of a few of my favourites, but i can be much more expansive here :) hopefully this is alright, thank you very much for the kind words

the wicker man (1973) - the best film ever made. erotic and pagan and rolling the sun on the hips of a lord in tweed. to date the only film i have shown people that invariably had made them come to me the day after to tell me i have introduced something undeniable and strange into their world. thank you anthony shaffer for everything

equus (1977) - and thank you peter shaffer for everything, too. uniquely distressing and terribly, unutterably sensual. i know not everyone has galloped like alan strang has, but i have. and i know how it feels to have a god take your intestines in his teeth

harold and maude (1971) - when i first started university someone told me that i reminded them of harold chansen, but it wasn't for another few months that i found out why. i don't think i'm being overzealous when i say that this film would probably change anyone's life for the better, really. go and love some more

penda's fen (1974) - a rare thing indeed, which i was made aware of by someone i consequently owe a great deal to. homosexuality, paganism, spiritual becoming, angels and demons and the music of edward elgar bleeding like a long-exposure across the soil of the english countryside. again a film i hardly have words for.... it feels like a rare thing indeed for a boy on a hill in england in the 1970s to declare so vitally and so beautifully that his sex is mixed

if.... (1968) - mick travis and the proto-droog, or the boys' boarding school as petri dish for violence. ever so slightly hallucinatory and alternately deft and brutal and comic in encouraging the growth

a field in england (2013) - you are a coward in a seventeenth century field with a wizard and he won't tell you he's feeding you psilocybin, but he's feeding you psilocybin. every time i got drunk in a field between the ages of sixteen and eighteen i turned into whitehead.... has the world ever recovered from when reece shearsmith emerged from that tent-flap mad and on the end of a rope. a tw for strobe images

in the earth (2021) - as above, a ben wheatley-directed film in which reece shearsmith kind of plays whitehead's descendant. a spectral pandemic looms large at the margins of an unmapped forest, while a standing stone and parnag fegg speak and scream through the mycorrhizal mat inside. a tw for strobe images / flash

the rsc richard ii (2013) - david tennant plays shakespeare's self-dramatising, histrionic king as a posturing androgyne, an inept ruler, a hysterical poet, a madwoman in the attic, a ghost at the feast and a scared little boy all at once. deposition comes to find him crawling and strutting and wailing by turns in a matrix of history and tragedy

caligula (1979) - anyone who tells you that this is one of the 'films considered the worst' is a coward. aspiring headily to cleopatra (1964) but with every possible flavour of bodily fluid and sex act and effete little costume on malcolm mcdowell ending just below his balls represented. helen mirren i hope we live forever. tw for sexual violence

caravaggio (1986) - love and violence and paint and anachronism talk brutally about art and muse in a way that reaches far beyond 1610. death ejaculates blood everywhere, complete with contortionism and engraved knife-blades and kissing blood and coins from another man's mouth to your own

dead ringers (1988) - ellie... ellie... can you ever escape something like a twin? parasitic siblinghood as addiction / withdrawal / overdose, and how the body opens under metal no matter their mutations

ravenous (1999) - this is a love story. comparable to a field in england, in many ways. the devil comes whistling over the sierra nevada in the 1840s in the shape of a man, and in his hands and on his palate he carries the hypnotic taste of longpig and unnerving manifest-destiny ideas about the bloody power of eating who you kill

the cook, the thief, his wife and her lover (1989) - the insides govern everything. eyes caught across a restaurant germinate a love affair, then chaos, and then the brutal and total and pyrrhic main course. the dry outside moves unforgiving towards the slippery inside. tw for sexual violence and domestic abuse

sleuth (1972) - anthony shaffer does it again. homoeroticism and class posturing and wry detective novel cliché, hemmed in by the animatronics and board games and sedately hedged walls of a wiltshire manor. above all else you have to keep your eye on the rules of the game

mumsy, nanny, sonny and girly (1970) - speaking of which, this is one of the films that inspired anthony shaffer to write the wicker man. childhood games and childhood language dance laughing circles hand-in-hand with axe violence and imprisonment and jelly for elevenses. everyone in the 'family' commits to their place in the game in a way that would even make sleuth's andrew wyke safeword out, i think, but certainly not the beetle-trapping children of summerisle

robin redbreast (1970) - another predecessor of the wicker man, this time a bbc play for today that places a pregnant citydweller in a remote and rural cottage. somewhere between sergeant howie and rosemary woodhouse, she is surrounded by a knowing and smiling circle happy to pull her closer and closer to the golden bough

the lion in winter (1968) - you will see the script of this film posted in webweaves alongside hannibal and succession, and with good reason. henry ii, eleanor of aquitaine and their sons are a writhing, humid familial sickness at the heart of their christmas court, too close for comfort– alternately struggling for the crown, tearfully reminiscing and threatening one another with knives. as with all family christmases, of course

straight on till morning (1972) - peter pan and dorian gray as post-psycho proto-slasher. shane briant and rita tushingham are equally astounding as children who never grew up, telling stories to keep themselves from shaking apart against the brutalist backdrop of the 1970s south bank and the winding tower of their own never-neverland. wendy and peter on a nihilistic backdrop of stashed jewellery, dog mutilation and recorded screams

the creeping flesh (1973) - somehow a standout among many other cushing/lee vehicles like it. victorian attitudes to madness, to women and to sexuality corrode around an uncanny supernatural force that brings forward a spectre of unaccountable grief. tw for attempted sexual violence

who's afraid of virginia woolf? (1966) - me and who. again the spectre of grief, but in the form of a glass hitting a wall like a broken-necked bird and the ultimate and consequent bilious overspill of truth. violence!! violence!!

corruption (1968) - in 1968 peter 'lavender and linen' cushing obe played a sex murderer. surely one of the most bizarre grindhouse flicks for the casting alone, he beheads a woman in a train carriage and rubs the blood of another all over her exposed breasts (in the european cut). there's also an incredibly silly chase scene on a beach, a guy in john lennon glasses who crushes an apple in his bare hand and a giant laser. thank you

theatre of blood (1973) - four words for you: vincent price does shakespeare. perhaps the most fun film on this list, and starring pretty much everyone who was working in british film at the time. critics forced to eat their words, sometimes literally, with the meat of the speeches given to price and diana rigg to devour with the scenery. from greasepaint to chef's hat to the mud of the thames, vincent price is clearly having a whale of a time, and it really is fucking great

the bride of frankenstein (1935) - i have no idea if it's blasphemous to say this is far better than frankenstein (1931), but that's what i think– largely due to the presences of delightfully camp mephistopheles aka dr septimus pretorius and the unutterably captivating bride herself. to a new world of gods and monsters

bride of reanimator (1991) - i think this, too, is better than reanimator (1985), but that's a very close-run thing as both films are excellent. shoutout to herbert west for proposing to dan cain with the heart of dan's dead ex-girlfriend and shoutout to dan for accepting it. before the wrath of the lamb there were two men in a basement laboratory killing geckos for gecko juice

dragonwyck (1946) - vincent price brooding tall as byronic villain, replete with a manor suffused with hints of rebecca and jane eyre and wuthering heights. death, remarriage and birth pass in an opiate haze that drive relentlessly towards mandess

rope (1948) - nietzschean philosophy, dinner party etiquette, palmistry, incriminating furniture and household items, and why every sign in this room of wonderfully dressed people says to me that gay people ought to be allowed to kill whoever they want

the lair of the white worm (1988) - do you want to see peter capaldi in a kilt pull the pin out of a grenade with his teeth? do you want to see him have vitally homoerotic moments with hugh grant on the stile of a fence while covered in blood? do you want to see a sexy snake lady lie on a tanning bed and taunt a hypnotised woman with a giant strap-on? of fucking course you do watch this film right now they have pickled worms and a specifically written folk song

flesh for frankenstein (1973) - somehow a uniquely nasty take on the frankenstein narrative. the film's acting is as awful as its approach to flesh, explicit blood relation between victor and his sister, obvious motives behind his quest for the 'perfect nasum', and overabundance of gushing mutilation are interesting

the medusa touch (1978) - an oddly quiet thriller about the power of the mind with a climax filmed in the beautiful environs of bristol cathedral. which isn't the only reason it's on here, but it helps– especially as they adamantly want to make you believe that it's a building in london

horror hospital (1973) - similar to the creeping flesh in that i have seen its ideas done much weaker elsewhere, but also completely unlike that film because it is so totally unserious. any film that opens with one man calling another a 'silly little red faggot swirling around in his own smoke, who does she think she is, greta garbo' and then turns into the world's most bizarre narrative about a health spa with a limo that beheads people is a joy to behold

dracula ad (1972) - johnny alucard we are making you king of all the faggots. he whores and scores his way across the groovy baby shagadelic underbelly of london and takes his little gang of freaks to a desanctified church to drag dracula up from the dead, as if the old sod hasn't suffered enough. and then he has the temerity to moan and kneel and ask a reasonably irate christopher lee to bite him– which he does. if nothing else i hope you will watch for the line 'close the devil's circle, dig the music, kids'

the satanic rites of dracula (1973) - the bitch is back, and you better forget everything you know about dracula movies because this time he has an office building, a motorcycle gang in sheepskin vests and a eye for bioterrorism. shoutout to joanna lumley for playing peter cushing's granddaughter in this who just a year before had a different face and body and hair colour and was a different actress entirely

frankenstein and the monster from hell (1974) - shane briant's simon helder is baron frankenstein's johnny alucard. they do not have crazy gay bitesex in a church, but they do transplant a brain together and in the world of hammer frankenstein that is a fingers in the mouth sort of a deal. astonishingly strange and fantastic swansong to the hexad, with briant, cushing and madeline smith making up the mental asylum's worst family unit

martin (1977) - another vampire story undoubtedly for the modern age. walking firmly ahead of the bela lugosis and christopher lees before it, and playing with the ambiguity between supernatural and homicidal behaviour. all vampires should be ringing in to radio shows

the finishing line (1977) - a 1970s public information film about the dangers of walking on railway tracks, except the way they convey this is a dreamlike vision of a sports day held on said tracks that takes on the air of a calmly administered mass ritual sacrifice. i keep behind the yellow line on the platform, now, though

apaches (1977) - another public information film, this time about the dangers of being an unsupervised child on a farm. except, again, the way they convey this is to make the world seem a callous and terrifying place in general, because it is the 1970s. anything from a slurry pit to pesticide to a tractor can lead to the name above your coat-hook at school being quietly spirited away

the insomniac (1971) - a hallucinatory journey between the fantasy of storytelling and the cement world outside. short and peculiar, but shares similar concerns to parts of penda's fen

stigma (1977) - a family moving to avebury aim to have one of the stones removed from their back garden. only half an hour long but again tempering british mundanity with incarnadine consequence

#answered #film recs #thank you friend!! i think i've included all my main recs... sorry it's a long one. i haven't tagged gore so take it as par for the course

[bonniewame]

Want to pick my brain for a moment?

Well, you see, I was walking. As one does. And suddenly there was someone standing by a bus stop, waiting for something it seemed - wow, how wonderful, to wait for something - and so suddenly, it was so sudden, I had the ugliest thought. I was walking funny. Huh, that's strange, I'm walking funny and everyone's noticed, and this person looking up at me from the bus stop has noticed too, and the pinch in their brow is from judgement. My legs were probably stepping in the wrong places, or perhaps my posture is too slouched, my clothes are half off and I've been walking around half naked, and no one's told me.

Okay. So I was talking to my friend, as one does. And we're telling jokes, when suddenly, it was so sudden, there was the smallest change of tone in their voice. I've always known my worst trait is my observation, but my brain immediately froze, and I couldn't fumble for a response. They hated me surely. The tiny twitch in their eye says so, and the way they turned their head to talk to everyone else just proves I'm inadequate. I'M SORRY, I wanted to scream at them, but that would be useless, and I'd rather be hated than look pathetic.

You care to poke more? There's a man in my house. I'm convinced of it. Or, perhaps, he's gonna come in, anytime now, break in through the front door and kill everyone. I can hear his footsteps, the creaking on the floor, he's actually right behind me or under my bed, or somewhere hidden and disconcerting. He's gonna get my father first, as he's always downstairs, and I can't bare the thought, it chokes me it chokes me so.

I'm horrible. That's right, I'm a terrible human being - being generous - and everyone bared with me. Those laughs? They surely mean I've got shit all over me and no one's told me - why has no one told me? - and everyone's laughing and making fun of the shit smeared all over my face, and GOD it would help if you just told me you didn't want to talk to me instead of thinning your lips into a tight line as though my words are painful to you, and Lord I wish you would just tell me I'm not funny so I can stop trying to make you laugh, because you must understand that your happiness is what thrives the last bit of brokenness instead of me.

But then my friends smile at me and take my hand, and suddenly the world isn't against me anymore. The people on the streets aren't looking at me because I have something laughable to stare at, but because they are looking for something else, or perhaps their eyes can't find anything else as interesting. There is no man in my house, not under my bed, not watching me either - I'm just too alone to understand the concept of being it. Time is a feeble thing, and it's running out, and here is where I know I can't spend the rest of my life fretting over these trivial things because my heart isn't made for it. I was made with extra fragility.

#creative writing #writer #writing #on writing #poet #poetry #writeblr #poems on tumblr #writer stuff #poem #original writing #writblr #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writerscommunity #poems #original poets on tumblr #original poetry #poets on tumblr #paranoia

[opinated-user]

lily is comparing courtney to leyley in her new video lol

first of all, lol, she talked about the incest game more than anything else. she literally just added the other two character because those were the only examples of "shocking" media she knew about and not to be so obvious about how she was literally only interested in posturing against incest. i should have expected it, tbh. LO always overcompensate like this. not telling on yourself at all there, LO. okay, for those who never knew about the game or care about, Leyley is the most openly toxic of the two siblings. she's possesive, so she sends death threats through letters and anonymous calls to every girlfriend Andrew had; she's self-centered, literally incapable of thinking about anyone else, including Andrew; petty, immoral and manipulative. Andrew leaving her is literally her worst nightmare because no one else in the world can't stand her, not even her own mother, and therefore she never had friends outside of Andrew or any boyfriend (that we know of now in the game). but the part i think LO got fixated the most, probably because is the one that wished it were true, is that any physical affection between the siblings, any proximity there is there, Leyley is the one who always initiates. Courtney in the other hand has spend more than a decade without any contact to LO or anyone else on her immediate family. she send one message to LO through DA, but as soon Courtney started seeing what LO was like online he decided that expose her so she wouldn't be able to hurt more people the way LO traumatize her. he has recognized that LO had good qualities when they were children and they used to be close, but with the years the continuous molestation and LO openly talking about "dating a girl like Courtney" has broken any kind of affection that there was between the two of them, at least from his part. Courtney has friends that he talks to everyday, offline and online, lives with a partner that loves him and he loves back (which you can clearly see whenever Courtney does speak about him), and he doesn't directly interact with their immediate family because, well, they enabled both of her abusers and neglected her needs all his lives so i'd say that is a pretty understandable mindset. if LO stopped posting altogether tomorrow, was arrested or just decided to dissapear, Courtney would still have a plentiful life that wouldn't be affected that much without her as a subject. right now Courtney is thinking of making his own youtube channel to talk about scary stories and make up, not even to talk about LO at all. does those two personalities sound anything alike? does that sound anything like Leyley? or... could it be that LO is just trying to compare the victim of her molestation and incestuous coercion into an evil character to further demonize her and thus poison the well to throughfully that people won't believe him?

#lily orchard

[eridude]

for ship ask thing erisol arafef and (hear me out) erisolkat

YEAH YEAH YOU KNOW ME YOU KNOW WHAT IM ABOUT,,,

ERISOL:

IM A HUGE ERISOL FAN. IM SORRY. I KNOW. THEY'RE JUST SO FUCKING RRRAGHHHDHEH. i like my ships absolutely pathetic failboy disaster hellpiles and eridan is the King of Being The Worst so Unfortunately i love him and yet i also hate him and also he is my brand ??? eridude or whatever... AND sollux. is my Favorite troll in the comic. im absolutely fanatical about him. and they hate each other so much and are so miserable all the time and yet they are constantly drawn right back to one another do they REALLY hate each other ??? do they??? yes but also no but also YES. they are absolutely obsessed with each other in the best way and the worst way and is it healthy maybe not but it COULD BE HEALTHY?? and maybe that's the hook??? they are such an absolute fucking mess together and i know canonically it probably would not work out but in my Mind i have invented a universe where they absolutely would work out and they're dating and it's so fucking funny ahhahaha laughs evilly and manically. kings of quadrant flipping??? kings of being Maybe Nonbinary??? eridan looks at sollux hunched over with the worst posture known to man in his fucking gamer chair and sollux looks over at eridan in the worlds gaudiest outfit being a terrible person and they are both have thoughts of "oh fuck this should not be attractive at all and YET???"

AND DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON DOMESTIC LIVING SO HELP ME GOD.

i just really like them hee hee :3

ARAFEF:

rubs my hands together deviously. i love arafef so much guys. THEY HAVE SOME OF . THE SILLIEST PARADOX SPACE CONTENT. its so small and its still got me absolutely giggling and kicking my feet.

basically these two girls are so WEIRD and kind of terrifying and both so wonderful. it is actually heartbreaking we Don't ever get to see them really interact in main comic (the only interaction we get i believe is when aradia is a ghost and that's not even like a head on convo i think it's just aradia kind of commenting on something feferi says in alterniabound. sign. feel free to correct me if im wrong tho!!)

i love them and i think they could get up to so many shenanigans together- silly girls going on adventures together, aradia shows feferi all her cool dead stuff and feferi is like "380 !! 38) <3", watching scary movies together(these two would be so fucking into horror!!!) if sollux and eridan are lame nerds these two are the COOLEST NERDS IN EXISTENCE. like this is a couple that you would meet and be like oh my god they're awesome..and maybe they even hold hands? kiss a little? kiss a LOT even?? fall asleep in a pile together?? PERHAPS THEY SNUGGLE???

anyways i think about them a normal amount. also i love them in arasolfef (sollux deserves TWO scary girlfriends.) and arafefnep? catfishbones maybe?? nepeta has such a cute relationship with both of these girls so methinks they deserve to all kiss :3.

ERISOLKAT:

BACK TO ERISOL. BUT THIS TIME. KARKAT. so obviously all of the erisol stuff still holds true for this but somehow adding karkat to the mix makes it all so much more domestic? i think maybe it's because karkat has the NEED to take care of his friends and these two both need a lot of attention. it just all balances out so perfectly imo. and all of these characters have such interesting relationships with each other and it is all genuinely so sweet. and yet they're all such gripe-y whiney assholes so it's baffling that it SHOULD be as sweet as it is.

maybe im biased cause some of my favorite fluff fanfics i've read for hs were erisolkat. but heyyyy. anyways i love these horrible creatures and i think all of them holding hands is a Fantastic fucking idea.

#homestuck #ship bingo #erisol #arafef #erisolkat #fun fact #i draw and talk about erisol so much that my friend who's just started reading homestuck asked me which characters were dating #and i was like i cant tell u its spoiler #and she was like well ik eridan and sollux are from ur Instagram #man

[doubleddenden]

I think the worst pokemon to turn into in the PMD universe would probably be a Turtwig. And this isn't hating the little guy just hear me out

You're a human, then one day you're a small turtle on all fours. It might take some work getting used to walking again, but you might be okay. Sucks losing your hands, no more thumbs especially, so you have to do everything with your mouth which, btw, can no longer eat outside of its specialized turtle diet.

One day you evolve into Grotle, either by age or natural accumulated experience. Your body is bigger and much heavier, and you can't go as fast. You're feeling a huge weight on your back as your shell gets larger and heavier. Stairs are so much harder for you. You can at least get in and out of water if you have some help.

More time passes or you become stronger. You are now Torterra. Your body is far heavier and bigger than ever, the weight on your back intensifies as a tree and boulders forcefully grow out of your shell. You now move at a snail's pace, unable to outrun potential predators, each step heavier than the last. Winters are unbearable due to your grass/ground combination unless you find warmth. Pokemon, especially children, just decide to LIVE on your back. You're a tortoise too, so you're going to be stuck like this for a while. Hundreds of years of this inescapable hell.

You one day look into your reflection of a pond. You have to be careful because if you fall in, nothing short of a powerful Psychic pokemon or several pokemon boasting insane strength will be able to get you out or save you from drowning.

You know you used to be human. Bipedal. Thumbs and all. You had back pain but you didn't have a ton of biome growing out of your back. You weren't the fastest by a long shot but your old self would look like a professional athlete compared to your present form. You weren't a fish, but suddenly this pond looks like an easy swim to the other side if you had actual limbs again.

Out of all the Pokémon you can turn into, this has to be the most far removed from human you can possibly be. Bulbasaur and Chikorita at least have adjustable vines they can make into hands. Squirtle remains upright and has actual hands. Vulpix, Skitty, Shinx, and Eevee at least are very agile, flexible, and can eat whatever.

The lucky ones of course turn into something like Charizard and take to the skies, Blaziken and basically regain their human stature at the cost of thumbs. Infernape in fact might be the luckiest since they are almost humanoid again with THUMBS.

But a human becoming a Torterra is a punishment from hell itself. Doomed to embrace the long, LONG life of a true to form *animal* with the mind of a human. You cannot turn back due to some plot device or another- possibly your partner's crying wish as you were ALMOST set free and returned to life as a human. Possibly the direct interference of a deity that saw to keep you from dying after saving the world. Either way you're stuck like this.

Your best hope is that the kids you raise on your back are loyal enough to help you. You don't even have mega evolution to help you. You've hit your apex. I'm sure your partner thinks it's the greatest thing in the world- the irony stinging most if he's an Infernape or Incineroar. What with their upright posture and hands and ability to move more than 10 feet in an hour.

Maybe someday you'll meet a Jirachi or maybe even claim the graces of Arceus to grant you sweet freedom from the life of a Torterra. If you're lucky.

Are they magnificent creatures? Of course. Would I ever want to be one? Absolutely not.

#pokemon #pokemon mystery dungeon #turtwig #grotle #torterra

[alecmagnuslwb]

The Way You Shake and Shiver

Read on AO3

Zatanna pokes at the creature lying on the floor with the tip of her chunky pink suede heels careful to sidestep the oozing purple and black goo seeping from the beast. It’s dead, definitely dead, and yet she wishes she could give it a fate far worse than this. She wishes the thing had a soul that could be tormented deep in the pits of hell by Lucifer for centuries.

But alas there was no soul inside of this sickly thing, just the twisted ability to make people relive their worst days and feed off the fear and loathing that comes with those days.

She sighs waving a hand over the body and the ooze it’s left behind cleaning up the mess in just a few backwards words before crossing her arms and surveying the room at large. It’s a mess. John’s destruction while he relived days over and over again leaving the storage room in total disarray.

She runs a hand through her hair loosening up the once tight curls now frazzled after her battle with the monster.

“Leave it till tomorrow,” a voice says startling her from exhausted silence.

She sighs again, this time a little louder. “It’s better if I get it done now,” she says slipping her eyes away from the mess to Boston. Who knows what sort of magical artifact has been broken or book has been burned. It’s moments like this where she wishes her father had kept better records of what exactly was living inside the walls of Shadowcrest. Not leaving her sitting here with a mini natural disaster to clean up and a traumatized boyfriend somewhere in the halls of this mansion. He could have at least left a post-it note telling anyone not to open the books on the top shelf.

“If the world was gonna start ending in this room I think it would have by now,” Boston says settling down beside her. She drops her arms to her sides. Boston’s right, she must concede, if it was going to get worse it would have by now. She’s a mess, there’s a cut on her arm and a tear in her shirt and she probably desperately needs a shower, but none of that matters right now, not as much as one other thing does.

“He’s upstairs in the hall outside your bedroom,” Boston says without missing a beat, without needing her to ask. Zatanna wordlessly nods her head in thanks walking around him, just because he’s non-corporeal doesn’t mean it’s not rude to just walk through him, and heads for the stairs.

She spots John as soon as she turns the corner into the long hall where her bedroom lies. He’s sitting vacant and staring at nothing on the opposite wall, one leg bent and the other stretched out his foot tapping a nervous beat and visible tremors passing through his hands that rest at his sides.

“Fuck,” she hears him whisper shaking out his hands in an attempt to get them to steady. He lifts up digging into his pocket retrieving a near empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She watches as he tips one out the pack shaking in his hand lightly. He barely gets the cigarette between his lips his hands are shaking so much, the pack slipping from his hands to the floor.

She walks towards him slowly like she’s walking towards a wounded wild animal, her posture relaxed even though she’s not relaxed at all, her hands visible and non-threatening at her sides.

He flicks the lighter several times failing to ever get it lit with the way his hands are shaking. He finally gets a light but before he can bring it to the tip of the cigarette his hands give a violent shake the lighter dropping into his lap before rolling off and landing loud on the hardwood floor. The sound makes him jump and he curses a string of words under his breath that would make most flinch.

It doesn’t faze her though; he’s had the dirty mouth of a sailor as long as she’s known him. She stops her quite footfall across from him and slides to the floor. She’s not even certain he’s aware she’s there so she settles quietly her head pressed back into the wall.  

She just sits there silently her hands folded in her lap watching him with concerned eyes as he just stares down dejectedly at the lighter, the cigarette still loosely hanging from his lips but she can tell he’s fighting not just being done with it and biting down hard.

“Can you give me a light?” John asks breaking the silence, the first coherent words he’s said since she broke him free of the beast’s control.

She looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Of course,” she says quietly pushing off the wall and inching closer towards him until her feet touch the wall he’s leaning against, their thighs close but not quite touching. He never outright asks, she’s either already at the ready with a flame at the end of her fingers or he’s jokingly holding out the pack to her offering her a smoke as a silent request for a light.

She says the words low and snaps her fingers quietly holding them out to him, he leans forward a bit a tremor running through him as the flame catches the end of his cigarette.

John nods and takes a long first drag falling back against the wall again, his eyes still not quite meeting hers.

“Have I ever told you it’s real cute when you’re my little lighter,” John says attempting flirtation and joking, but falling about a mile short of it with the way he’s still trembling. She smiles at him hoping it’s reassuring, chuckling a bit and hoping it’s not hollow as she makes to move back to her side of the hall, John stops her though with a heavy hand on her thigh his fingers twitching when they land.

She listens to his silent request staying put inching over ever so slightly so their thighs are pressed against one another. His hand stays put light tremors running through it every time he tries to squeeze lightly.

They’re quiet for a long while after that, until John’s cigarette is nearly gone. He takes the barely stub and prepares to put it out on her nice hardwood floor and she tsks at him conjuring up a little pentagram shaped ash tray on his other side.

The corner of his lips turns up ever so slightly as he stamps the cigarette out into the center of the tray. The hand on her thigh slides down still tremoring ever so slightly as it moves down to her calf fingers moving in the shape of circles to sooth her or him or maybe just the shaking of his hands, she’s not sure which or if it’s all of the above. No matter what it feels nice, almost normal after the night they’ve had.

“It’ll come as no surprise, that it was Newcastle,” John says tilting his head back a little too hard for Zatanna’s liking into the wall, his eyes slipping shut. Zatanna stays quiet, he never talks about Newcastle not really in any depth since he first told her what happened years ago. But it comes as no surprise that a creature that makes you relive your worst days would make him relive that one.

“Then I guess it got bored so it started showing me some good ol’ days with dad,” he says sounding more dejected with every word. His father, oh if there was ever a way for Zatanna to kill that man all over again she’d take the opportunity in a heartbeat. She’s got a violent streak when it comes to protecting the people she loves, and maybe no one brings out that particular streak of it quite like a man she’s never met.  

She takes a risk to touch his hand that’s running far faster and more nervous circles into her calf. She threads their fingers together and bends her legs scooting forward so they’re closer together. His eyes stay closed but his hand squeezes hers shaking just a bit as he lets out a long choppy breath.

“Just when you started to get better sleep,” Zatanna says trying to at least ease his shaking with a bit of stupid banter. It’s always been a part of them, a part that’s kept them at ease with one another at even the tensest of times.

John snorts squeezing his eyes shut even tighter, “Well you know me. Shit timing since the day I was born.”

She has a feeling those words are borrowed from the memories of his father so she squeezes his hand a little tighter.

His head falls down eyes trained on their hands. The shaking finally starts to subside a bit.

“Did I break millions in priceless magical artifacts down there?” he asks rubbing his thumb over hers before slipping his fingers out from between hers. He runs a hand over his forehead fighting off the starts of a killer headache to add to everything else.

Zatanna just shakes her head lifting her hand up to hold his cheek, her fingers rubbing lightly over his stubble. She lifts his chin, turning so he’s facing her. He still won’t look at her, out of fear and out of shame.

“Wouldn’t know. That’s tomorrow’s problem,” she says as he leans into her hand his eyes falling shut again. “Right now all that matters is you.”

He lets out a breath of relief his eyes finally opening to look at her.

“Don’t hear that very often,” John says, a sadness and tiredness in those blue eyes that she wishes she could magic away. She moves her free hand to take one of his bringing it up to her lips and kissing the back of it, right along the edge of an old carved sigil scar.

“I know this is going to make me sound like a placating broken record girlfriend,” she starts cautiously slipping her hand on his jaw down to rest on his collarbone. “But not a damn thing he said is true and that night wasn’t your fault.”

He falls forward, right into her arms his head resting on her shoulder. She cards her fingers through his hair, feeling as the tremors slip away bit by bit. It’s not comfortable by any means, the blood on her arm is starting to dry and become itchy, the hardwood floor is unforgiving on her leather clad ass, her legs are bent at an odd angle pressed up against the wall and John smells overwhelmingly of days old stale cigarettes, but there isn’t a power on this earth that could make her move until he’s ready to.

“Well I’ll never believe that second one,” he mumbles into her shoulder. “And it’s gonna take a good while to remember that first one again.” He presses a kiss to her shoulder running one hand up along her arm. She flinches ever so imperceptibly when he slides over the cut on her arm, hoping he won’t notice. He does though, he always does. Keenly aware of her comfort at all times in favor of ignoring his own.

“Your hurt?” he says pulling back from her running his hand over her arm even more gently this time.

“Just a little monster scratch, nothing to fuss over,” she says shrugging it off as she slips one hand back into the base of his hair that’s been getting a little long of late.

He stares at the scratch still sliding his hand along her arm fiddling at the bracelet around her wrist every time he reaches it. It’s a nervous twitch of a habit, but he’s barely shaking anymore and she’s fairly certain he hasn’t noticed that fact yet.

“We should get you cleaned up, I won’t be sleeping any tonight, but zoning out for a bit in the shower seems like something I could do,” he says moving to stand. He does so with a bit of struggle totally worn down to the point that Zatanna’s not certain he’ll be able to stand in the shower for long. He drags her up along with him.

“Promise to clean the monster goo from me and I’ll join you,” she says almost whispering. She’ll join him whether he promises to or not, if for no other reason to make certain he doesn’t drown himself in the shower by accident from exhaustion.

“Promise,” he says going easily as she pulls him from the hall into the bedroom.

He pulls off his clothes robotically stepping into the shower and immediately leaning against the wall. He keeps his promise though cleaning every bit of goo from her cut and everywhere else once she joins him under the warm water.

They stay in there just keeping close until the water starts to run a touch cold, Zatanna could make it stay warm longer with a little magic, but they’re both dead on their feet so she shuts the water off and pulls John out, looking like a sad dripping wet dog. The drying off process is cursory at best, but John doesn’t flinch once when she runs the towel over him so she calls it a win.

By the time they slip into bed he’s not shaking anymore, but now he seems to be unable to even think about closing his eyes. She brushes her hand through his hair, humming his favorite The Clash song softly in the hopes it soothes him a tad. He won’t sleep, she knows this, she expects this, and she intends to stay awake with him so he doesn’t have to face this night alone.

#my fic #johnzee #john constantine #zatanna zatara #magicblazersource

[aaprilshowers]

at this point it might become a series… AT Aide thoughts? Yeah, i’ll call it that.

ANYWAY these are various TCW/TBB characters, the kind of patient i think they would be, and my thoughts of them as a patient. This is my opinion.

DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL! I NEEDED A MEDICAL SCIENCE CREDIT FOR GRADUATION AND I CHOSE SPORTS MEDICINE!

••••••

Anakin Skywalker- I honestly feel like he would be half competent about his injuries. Emphasis on the HALF… He’d go to see the AT and listen to their advice and just NOT take it.

I’d like the fact that he’d show up and actually “take his injury seriously”… but then he’d show up with the SAME INJURY and i’d want to strangle him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi- I saw someone call him “Obi-Wan ‘if it’s not broken i’m fine’ Kenobi” and honestly i whole heartedly agree. I feel like he dreads the ATs office and REFUSES to go.

I’m under the impression that it would be hell on earth to GET HIM INTO THE OFFICE but when he’s there he actually pays attention and takes it seriously.

Ahsoka Tano- ok so i have many thoughts about this one

Pre-leaving the order: she HATES the ATs office. She’d refuse to go under any circumstance. Sprained ankle? she’ll walk it off. Broken wrist? No big deal. She would rather be ANYWHERE but the AT’s. Post-leaving the order, she’s not partial to it but she takes her injuries more seriously, if she feels like something is wrong, she’ll go.

Pre-leaving, she would be my worst nightmare patient, it would be like playing the worlds most costly game of tag to get her in and on a table. Post-leaving she’s my angel patient, she’s attentive and actually takes care of herself

Captain Rex- Similarly to post-order Ahsoka it’s not his favorite spot but he’ll go, different from Ahsoka he’ll only go if his injury is like… concerning my severe. He’d come in and be like “ok i’m here and i think i subluxed my shoulder” and my ass would go “HUH?”

One of the more difficult ones, when he’s actually on the table though he’s a relatively easy person to diagnose and treat.

Kix- I LOVE KIX HES MY FAVORITE not only that, he’s a medic so he UNDERSTANDS the importance of care. I feel like theres a stereotype with doctors/medics that they won’t get care for themselves but i don’t think that’s true at all, especially in this case. He’s so on his personal well-being. The only thing i think is he’s a tenant bit skiddish when someone else is treating him 🗿

ANGEL ANGEL ANGEL the best patient. i mean he’s probably yelling at everyone else to take care of themselves why wouldn’t he advocate for himself?

Commander Cody- Another one who doesn’t enjoy the Med bay/ATs office but he’ll go. He’s a commander and he sets the example so if he doesn’t do what should be done no one will 💀

He’s a good patient. I can’t really say much more beyond that because he shows up, he listens AND he follows direction. Stellar.

Crosshair- Now we get into the slander because i feel like TBB is the WORST when it comes to medical checks. Personally, i love Crosshair but i have this headcanon that he has the WORST posture so he probably has some spinal issues (takes one to know one my spine is fucked). However, whenever he has an injury he needs attending, no fuss he’s in the office getting examined and any recovery advice he’s given he takes. I feel like he and hunter are the most competent about getting checkups.

Personally i would love to have crosshair as a patient because i don’t think he’d be an office frequent. In my opinion he’s definitely not injured frequently and when he does get injured he’s not going to the AT because someone told him to, he’s there to recover. 10/10

Hunter- Like i said, he’s more health check conscious. I don’t think he necessarily enjoys is ATs office but he’ll begrudgingly go.

not a terrible patient. but i get the impression he’d zone out and i’d have to check if he’s still paying attention. he might come back with a similar injury a few times but he’s probably ok.

Tech- Tech refuses. I cannot tell you WHY he refuses but he does. he’d probably say some shit like “it’s not a necessary course of action” while having a concussion or something like bitch get your ass in the AT office i swear to god.

Not Ahsoka level avoidance. I feel like if i’d drag his ass to the office he’d sit and listen (with great difficulty because hes 6’4” and i’m 5’2) but other than that if no one forces him he just like… won’t go.

Echo- Another conscious one but i feel like he has major anxiety surrounding any medical office… i don’t enjoy the doctors either when i’m on the patient side so i sort of get it.

pretty good patient. i think i’d have some difficulty but over all he’s not bad.

Wrecker- I really don’t know what to make of Wrecker because i feel like he’s mega ADHD so it’s not that he’d NOT go i just think he’d do what i do and forget. Like i’ve gotten injured and fully been like “i’ll go to the dr” and i’ve just forgotten to go. So it’s not that hes a chronic avoider he just needs to remember to go.

I feel like when he actually remembers to go he’s pretty conscious of what’s being said. He probably wouldn’t follow every single step to the T but he’s pretty good.

Omega- My sweet baby angel. She’s not injured very often, rarely ever which automatically makes her my favorite. Beyond that, she grew up around Nala Se who was a Kaminoan medical professional so she’s comfortable in a doctors office.

She’s my favorite. Her and Kix are literally the best patients ever you can’t change my mind on this.

ONCE AGAIN:

1: these are all just my opinion

2: I AM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL! IM A HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT WHO AIDES THE SCHOOL AT! If you need medical advice CONSULT YOUR DOCTOR!

#at aide thoughts #i am not a medical professional #i can’t stress that enough #i am not a medical professional at all #star wars the clone wars #star wars #the bad batch #the bad batch season 2 #i’m a high school student with a med science requirement #SERIOUSLY IM NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL

[gazelessmenagerie]

Blood, Pride and God (for Broly 💚)

“DAMN.” Questions for Muses.

BLOOD. -What types of injuries has your muse sustained? What was the worst?  PRIDE. -What is your muses biggest flaw?  GOD. -Does your muse believe in a god? If so, describe it. 

Alcohol’s touch was plain to see blushing over tanned features, glazed eyes staring off to whatever may hold their interest by texture or color while the questions were casually spoken as a way to pass the ‘nonexistence’ of time. Inhibition of his usual guard led down the path of being far more relaxed, loose and without care save for when he’d satiated that need for a deeper indulgence upon the bottle he nursed over. Another few gulps off the smooth lip of the rim against his own and the container was void of all its contents.. easily discarded with a toss and a heavy clank that threatened to shatter before it rolled away to rest wherever it may.

Heavy frame leaned against the plush comforts of a cushion, moving to lay on his back and sling an arm over his eyes. Numbness fell over his head.. mind swimming in that scatter of warmth and free of worry. It wasn’t restrictive.. it wasn’t cold.. it felt... Embracing..                                                             simple and unconvoluted..

However.. reaching for those memories became an obstacle in itself as the vexed whips of a tail would signify as it coiled and flopped over clumsily on itself. Forgotten seconds dribbled endless.. bled into minutes.. words fumbling over to make sense and connect the dots of those fog-bound memories of pain and personal little scraps of information being softly pried past the armor of heavily guarded mistrust and malice.

“ .. The worst.. ” What could be defined as ‘the worst’? His imprisonment within his own body and mind..? The various fights he got into as means for survival and then for conquest..? Plenty of injury had been suffered during his adolescent years.. those transformative experiences of learning to relish the taste of an enemy’s blood upon his tongue. Feeling the fangs of predators larger than himself manage to snag their jaws around an arm or leg, attempting to rip it off had he not been quick to pry open their maws.

“ ..Hmph... broke six ribs.. fracture three others. Hurt to breathe while healing but I became stronger for it. ”

A biggest flaw now.. of course that’d be some stupid question to ask. The Sorry Bastard called Kakarot should count their blessings Broly was too far in that sea of intoxicating warmth to really consider getting up and throttling him. Probably couldn’t even make it five steps before he’d need to steady himself but that was something else to carelessly toss onto the half-baked reasons for why he remained as he were on that comfortable cushion.

“ Wouldn’t... Wouldn’t you like to know..? ... Fucking stupid son of a bitch.. ”

Next question... asking about whether he believed in a god..

Doesn’t the moron ever know when to shut up..? What was bringing this sudden round of questions poking him for whatever information that can be milked from him. What was the goal of this...

All he came for was to indulge himself in getting inebriated off his ass after a particularly long and stressful set of weeks of having to find new hunting grounds after the last ones he visited were abandoned. That, coupled with the change of seasons signifying he needed to stock up on resources for the approach of scarcity in winter.. 

“ .. Once I heard how the old.. ” He hadn’t moved from his lounging posture, never letting the world see into those glassy eyes, “ ... Old way of living.. the ancient Saiyans... they worshipped the moon for the power it gave them. A deity.. ”

“ Hmph.. for all the good it did those idiots.. knowing now that no gods exist than the ones born by blood and flesh. ” What deity would even come down from their pearlescent thrones..? Gods of war.. destruction.. power and strength. What did it matter. Thinking back to sparse moments of where curious eyes would quietly observe intelligent life worship their gods and goddesses.. it only begged question to ask his father about it. Were there anything like that with the Saiyans no longer present..? Did they have something like that..

The answer came with a snippet of what the Ancients had believed before the simple factuality of the moon being nothing more than a lifeless satellite orbiting around another, larger planet. Science and technological advancements dispelled those beliefs and now, they had no gods to speak of other than ones inscribed to and lost to history. The only ones to care about such frivolous things were few and far in between as their society demanded warriors more than history keepers and other such indulgences.

“ I.. am a God in my own right. ”

“ ..And I’ll gleefully slaughter anyone who says they are a god.. ”

#likesguyskakarot #|| Tag: Answered #|| Tag: Gazing over the Abyss of Stars { Broly } #|| Character Study: {Broly} #( afljg i seen people answer ic but i'll blurb my thoughts in the tags bc lamflsjg ) #( that was hard to pull out of him even when he's drunk off his ass. ) #( Blood: ooo this actually may have a few answers depending on verse ) #( I mean overall. he'd have a rough time growing up. broke an arm once. snapped an ankle. got stomped so damn hard in a brutal fight ) #( against a powerful opponent when he was probably around 8 or 10. afnlsgj he might've mentioned a bit of that ) #( to kakarot on a previous time they were drunk if I recall but if not afnlsgj yeah ) #( he got hsi shit rocked and almost died bc of that but welp. he survived and went on a berserk episode. ) #( HOWEVER BESIDES THAT... i think his worst injuries have been the rib breaking / fracturing ) #( and having his own power backfire on him from his first movie but idk how that even fits into Kakarot's lore. ) #( it might never had happened or idk what exactly even happened that led him to being on earth and free of control ) #( but thats things to figure out later. ) #( at any rate. another verse is with him getting his ass handed to him bc lmfao revenge is a bitch when he burned down a village ) #( and a half saiyan hybrid spent a good chunk of her life getting strong enough to fight him ) #( bc lamflsjg guess who was the big brute who nearly paralyzed a certain saiyan hybrid who tagged along with him for a while.) #( by nearly breaking their spine bc he got jealous over something. ) #( it was a pretty hard battle but he was the one to actually go down first and as an ironic scar. he got his back stabbed into by fingers ) #( like pretty much getting grabbed by his spinal column and getting thrashed around in the ground like that before he was dropped. ) #( he still has those scars. four divots on the left of his spinal dip and one on the right side. ) #( pretty sure its not hard to imagine it does pain him time to time and hitting him there is gonna give a good 30 seconds - a minute ) #( of being unable to move as quickly or even flat out cause that much pain he can't move until he recovers after a minute or several. ) #( nothing else came as close as that moment but aflsjf again. depends on verse ;w; ) #( moving on to his biggest flaw. afnlas;jgsgdj his inability to even trust anyone outside of himself. his arrogance is another one. ) #( not sure what is the BIGGEST bc they seem pretty even so far until something happenes or I play around with it a bit more. ) #( haven't really explored that part bc he's already a flaming trash dumpster of a character asfklgj ) #( bit hard to really pin down the main thing but ???? anfldgj i just feel at this moment that Arrogance and Distrust seem to be the ) #( most contributing factors to all his other /charming/ little quirks in personality. if not. at least loneliness bc lol. )

[errorsharingiscaring]

Moon Knight System Relationship Analysis + Other Notes (Episode 2)

Marc and Steven are here! Jake is missing! Marvel BANNED!

Disclaimer: I do not have DID and to my knowledge have never met a system. I will fix any mistakes that people point out. 

TW: A bit of Swearing.

<_>

 Straight into my heart.

That’s where they go.

I know this is how hyperfixations work but I am so baffled by how HARD these guys have clawed into my heart. I’ve rewatched the entire show beginning to end with full interest, not even wanting it as background noise for scrolling on my phone (even though I was scrolling through the Moon Knight tag) it was just that compelling – Marc, Steven, Layla, Jake, Khonshu, Arthur, just fricking everything like what the fish.

Yeah I’ll get bored of this eventually. This clinical analysis of each moment is killing the interest, so soon this is just gonna become another Marvel show that I remember being obsessed with but forget most important stuff about in like two weeks.

Until that happens, I wanna leave notes for myself when I come back to this season in the future. (istg if they don’t give a season 2 before they have Moon Knight appear in a major movie I’m gonna become a Jake Lockley stan out of pure spite.)

Let’s go!

Starting off the same way that the Alps dream ended – Marc's best attempt to make it seem like a nightmare to Steven. And honestly at any other point it probably would have worked again. Steven’s core emotion is denial, refusing to acknowledge that he may need help, refusing to talk to even his mother about his issues – Marc has probably been making Steven believe that he has the most vivid and wild nightmares in the world for a while.

But this time doesn’t work. Too much has come together, and as I said before, Steven’s “I’m gonna die” was him finally refusing denial and accepting that this is reality. So he wakes up running, with a tired sigh, broken from his own denial illusions, and the first thing he does – getting in front of a mirror and taunting Marc – was where Steven’s transformation from meek, shy nerd to someone who can actually hold his own begins. With sarcasm and frustration and anger, Steven without the lies he tells himself - “You there? Hmm? No?... Yeah [bitch], didn’t think so.”

And I think at this point when he sees Marc fronting at the museum, Steven has only an inkling about their DID. The way he called Marc not real - that was Steven calling himself insane, that he has voices in his head, you know. And while the jackal may have been invisible, Marc appearing on the cameras, very clearly a different demeanor and posture than Steven - “That’s not me” - it’s confirmation that he isn’t insane, that at least Marc is real.

But the frustration doesn’t end – the security camera footage was contradictory, jackal being “not real”, Marc “real”, and Steven, who has lived in denial for so long, can’t make his mind up fully that he isn’t crazy. So he seeks more proof – the storage locker.

Broken out of denial, Steven has no nice emotions to display. He’s frustrated, he’s lost, he’s angry, he is still very confused about what Marc actually is and how he’s affected his life. Added to his very real and reasonable anger is all the illegal stuff Marc has hidden away – all Steven sees are the worst parts of Marc, his country-hopping mercenary work that made him an international fugitive. From this point on, Steven is fully antagonistic towards a very real criminal that should be behind bars (in his opinion, at least), and the guy “that’s behind all of the bad things that have happened in his life” (in his opinion, obviously).

That’s why Steven is at Marc’s throat. And Marc reacts reasonably – how would you treat a person that obviously hates you? Be snarky and annoyed and sarcastic right back to them.

It’s miscommunication, it’s Marc’s main issue – he wants to protect Steven from this life until the very bitter end, when he has no other choice. Steven isn’t an equal partner to him like Layla is. Steven is... Well, we figure out what Steven is to Marc in Episode 5. Until then, the comparison of Marc as oldest brother, Jake the middle brother and Steven the youngest is quite accurate.

And this episode is where the main cast figures out that Steven and Marc are a system, separate alters. The one who figured it out first was Harrow – off-screen, mostly. In episode one, he calls Steven by Marc’s moniker – mercenary, someone that’s gotten in his way. But then in the Alps he meets Steven, a complete opposite of the mercenary – easy to assume that was a temporary act to get him out of a tough spot, especially the “Here you can have it! Oh no my hand has clasped around it!” (Classic taunt)

But finding Steven Grant in the museum he said he worked at changed things. From how Harrow talks to him, we can assume that while Harrow knows of the mercenary, it was probably only his second time actually meeting him – Harrow is trying to reason with a hired gun, trying to appeal to his morality, recruit him to his cult. Perhaps an inkling that Steven Grant and Marc Mercenary Spector aren’t exactly the same, but then he sees the calling card of Khonshu – flickering lights, mysterious wind, and he tries his scales maybe to kill him, maybe to prove a point against Khonshu. But it’s not what he expected - “There’s chaos in you”, scales in perpetual motion. (Which if we really think about it should be everyone’s - how can you know for sure that everything will occur in just the right way to make a person do the evil/good thing that the scales see? The whole concept of Ammit is apparently she knows you so well she can predict your actions in the future – taking in every factor around you, taking in every possibility, everything that can happen to you, heck, she can apparently see how other people around you will affect you, and she can see all of those peoples’ scales and somehow nothing contradicts itself and the future is just that predetermined that she can accurately say that this and this will happen – it’s just the same issue with time travel that MCU avoided with that “Your present is now your past” shtick. How omniscient is she, how far into the future can she see, could she have seen the world-ending events that shaped the Avengers – it would be worth freeing her for that, preparation for destruction- BUT THEN THE PARADOX OF TIME TRAVEL IF YOU KNOW THAT SOMETHING WILL HAPPEN AND THAT KNOWLEDGE IS WHAT PREVENTS IT HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU FIND OUT ABOUT THE EVENT IF YOU KNOWING ABOUT THE EVENT PREVENTS IT FROM HAPPENING AAAAAAAAAAA-)

Ammit is confusing. Harrow doesn’t seem to realize that. But he does realize that Steven Grant is not the Marc Mercenary Spector he is looking for. Few people could come to the conclusion of DID that easily, it’s not a common thing that pops into one’s head, but Harrow has some experience in that aspect. He was Khonshu’s Avatar – in a way, he had a Khonshu alter. Maybe the thought doesn’t fully form after he weighs Steven’s scales, but from how later on the “detectives” talk to Steven, it’s reasonable to assume the three of them came to the conclusion that they “should make sure”, hence the dance to bring Steven to Harrow’s community, where Harrow is then 100% sure.

Layla’s first thought seems to be “amnesia”. “You really don’t remember why we’ve been looking for this”, “I know you have the suit, you bring it out”. But then Steven dons the suit, and, subsequently, Marc. The difference between the two of them, how they’ve acted, how they look wearing the same armor – it clicks at that moment. There was her Marc – in his “best feature”. And from then on they’re separate.

So how does Steven come to terms with it? Well pretty much the whole episode people are mistaking Marc for him, and he has to keep saying (and reassuring himself) that it’s not him. The only person that seems to actually believe his dilemma – that he and Marc are not the same – is Harrow. Would be comforting, if it weren’t for the fact he wants to kill millions of people based on poor beliefs in an all-mighty omniscient being that has to transcend every time travel paradox ever created to be a good... god? Judge? Purger of the world? Thanos 2.0? Take out the mass murder and questionable moral standing and... yeah, Harrow’s comfort is comforting.

So does Steven believe he’s not insane? Maybe. Even in episode 4 he is adamant about Marc “disappearing” once he’s done with Khonshu, although that can be taken as just him biting back at Marc. If I had to pick a moment where Steven stopped treating Marc as an insanity-provoked hallucination, it would be post storage locker. At that point, he knew Marc wasn’t just a voice, he could be in control of the body the same way Steven is. And the money, the passport, it spoke to a history that this “voice” could have very realistically had, considering Steven’s frequent blackouts. He asks what Marc is, and even though his words sound ridiculous, there’s been a fair share of crazy these past few days. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard” - has a panic attack because the stupidest thing he’s ever heard is real.

DID is never used as a term in the show, it can be explained as both the showrunners/writers chickening out of an actual conversation about it, and it can be the fact that the system itself doesn’t know the term, nor do most, possibly all of the characters. But Steven listening to Marc in the conversation with Layla, seeming to understand that the two of them are separately in control of the body, is a confirmation for us that Steven is aware of what is happening to him, even if he doesn’t give it a name.

So by the time Harrow acquires the scarab and episode 2 ends, everyone important is aware that Steven Grant and Marc Spector are separate.

A bit of a tangent, Harrow is quite a complicated character. In the most metaphorical way possible, him and the Moon Knight system are the same. Both were abused by a figure of authority (Marc’s mom, Khonshu), both were shaped by that abuse (in different ways), and now are just trying to do what they believe in, seeking penance for what they feel was their fault (Marc remembers every person he killed in Khonshu’s name, even the cities he was in – he's a mercenary, it’s “what he’s good at”. Harrow enjoyed the killing, but was somehow brought out of that high and realized Khonshu enabled his most sinful desire. Marc wants to avoid killing, and is trying to be a hero by stopping a mass-murderer in the making as the only service he can offer, while Harrow wants to destroy all evil from the roots. Marc internalizes his abuse and punishes himself; Harrow wants to punish the world.). It’s tough to say if the only difference between them is the age they were subjected to their abuse, but while they are similar in many regards, they are fundamentally different.

Which is why Harrow thinks he can get Steven Grant on his side (or at least “reason” with him for the scarab) and why he is so wrong. Later on the system sees Harrow as their psychiatrist – he's more knowledgeable in this, he acts as comforting voice, but all while misunderstanding the differences between them so so horribly. Because Harrow doesn’t understand that he and the system actually want really different things, Steven is able to challenge his thinking of Ammit’s untouchability – sure, Harrow seems to understand his struggle and seems to understand the difficulty of having Khonshu as a voice in one’s head, but he may be what the system isn’t - a bit broken, almost crazy to blindly believe the purity that an extreme measure of judgement without trial is promising.

So the scene plays out as it does. And we get to enjoy every second of it.

(Tiny tiny side note – did anyone think that Steven was actually going to say Layla’s name when asked about the scarab? I know Marc is paranoid and underestimates Steven at this point, but… the boy is absolutely enamored with Layla and stopped in his tracks when Marc said “You’re gonna get her killed”, there is no way he says her name, even if he did put some trust in Harrow (which obviously no sane person would, he literally opened with “We want to kill millions of people :D”)

I guess Marc being this jumpy around Steven makes their relationship by the end all the more satisfying. This is where they started – and by god how far they’ve come.

(But Marc pls did you not SEE how Steven LOOKED AT HER he would rather get stabbed than let any harm come to her he is SIMPING.))

ADDED NOTE

Someone pointed out how Steven reacts after Harrow tries talking directly to Marc, trying to discredit Khonshu and turn the entire system over to his cult. Again, obvious failure, but at this point in the show Steven only knows Marc Mercenary Spector, he thinks the absolute worst of him. And the only explanation Marc offered for his existence was “I’m an Avatar of Khonshu, I serve him”. Steven was already doubting Ammit, calling her a weird crocodile lady – he wasn’t believing a word Harrow was telling him. When Harrow was talking to Marc about how awful Khonshu is Steven was listening and seeing Khonshu through the eyes of those that served him – and it just so happens that those are the people that hate him the most. Steven was looking at Harrow - “Trust me when I tell you, Khonshu, is a liar” - and then after “There’s always one last thing”, he looks to Marc, almost asking for an explanation, and Marc doesn’t say anything in response, just shies away from the reflection, like he’d taken a punch to the gut. He doesn’t deny what Harrow implied – that serving Khonshu diligently is just a way to speed up the process of getting rid of him. And in that moment Steven’s perception of Marc changes – and maybe, just maybe, he starts to feel a little pity for him.

Which would endear him to Marc more.

So Steven takes his stance.

Screw Ammit.

(A bit about the time travel paradoxes Amitt transcends – the more I watch this scene the more that “might do evil in the future thing” not being disproven sticks. Harrow is just utterly convinced Ammit is correct and when he questioned her in the past (that strangely quick response to child murder), he found an answer to continue his loyalty. Steven’s first thought is “trusting the judgement of a weird crocodile lady is a bit dodgy” and that stays the general idea about Ammit within the system. So on one side you have a zealot with unshakeable beliefs and on the other you have a little confused but well-spirited guy just trying to do his best. The time travel paradoxes aren’t even considered because I guess no one’s interested in the inner workings of Ammit enough to go past “oh she wants to kill children” and question how and why it isn’t unreasonable to some people?

I get the conflict, I get why Steven is as fired up about stopping Ammit as Marc is who is just there as a servant of Khonshu, but GODDAMIT CAN YOU AT LEAST THINK ABOUT MORE REASONS WHY AMMIT IS JUST THE WORST-CASE SCENARIO FOR A DREAM-LIKE ACHIEVEMENT?!)

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee! My name is Steven with a V!

He is precious. And he’s gaining a bit of confidence (even if it is misplaced). And Marc agrees – “That was a hell of a punch back there” - while also being realistic – “Someone’s gonna get hurt if you don’t let me help” - good big bro, letting Steven test out his limits and realize on his own that he’s not quite there yet, which lets Marc use minimal convincing for Steven to give up the front.

(If I had a nickel for every time Marc looked to someone to tell him what to do in a situation I think he had well under control, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s strange that this first time he’s looking to Layla specifically to reassure/convince her this is him/try to apologize/something along the lines of remembering their bond and the second time he listened to Khonshu telling him to threaten a child with death after two failed attempts at getting crucial dig site information (it’s funny, Harrow misjudged the system’s motivations and now Marc misjudges Ammit’s followers’ loyalty. It’s almost poetic. If it wasn’t for the birb. “I thought he’d talk” - motherfucker your only understanding of humans and their inner workings is 1. A guy you manipulated so hard he literally didn’t see any chance of redemption for himself other than purging the entire world of evil, including himself, and 2. A fledgling system where each of the alters were living in constant denial over each other’s existence, wtf do you, a stupid flightless fucking pidgeon, know about people?

Whatever Marc thought to threaten the kid with was 10,000 times better than HOLDING HIM BY HIS SCARF OVER A FRICKING CLIFF.)

Oh right the relevance with Marc looking/listening to other people in certain situations – specifically, the ones described above. I don’t think it’s that Marc doesn’t trust his own judgement? It would be thematically relevant, with him hating his mercenary work, but then he would ask for advice way more often than he actually does.

I think it speaks to a different part of Marc’s character. And also the situations only have the similarity of Marc thinking he let the person he’s asking for advice from down.

With Layla it’s obvious – that was the first time she’s seen him in months, after he ghosted her. The way he looked at her, the stare they shared – it held a thousand words.

With Khonshu, he failed the mission twice and now for the third time, he actually listens to what he first considers to be bad advice. “He’s just a kid”, “He’ll talk”.

The part with Khonshu can be traced back to his abusive mother – you rarely don’t listen to what that kind of authority figure tells you to do.

But with Layla it may be a type of trust. Like how for someone he cares about he’s willing to put his life in their hands. He knew he needed to get the jackal away from the people, but he still looked to Layla to tell him that. It may just be their dynamic – when the deal at Mogart’s goes wrong, he shields Layla and immediately agrees with her plan. But while he seems reluctant, he does the same with Steven. He trusts his knowledge of ancient Egypt enough to let him front when absolutely necessary, and during that chase at the beginning of episode 3, why do you think Jake was switching in when Marc had the situations under control? Could it be because Marc would’ve actually listened to Steven telling him to stop?

It’s a stretch, I know. But I like to think that Marc chooses to relinquish control to very specific people, as a way of showing them how much he trusts and loves them, when he can’t quite put it into words.)

Anyway, Marc kills the Jackal.

And Steven is claustrophobic.

I mean it’s not said, not even particularly heavily implied, but do you hear his voice in this scene?

“So this is what it’s like?

Being on the inside?”

And how gentle Marc’s voice is?

“...yeah.”

“It’s horrible.”

“It’s alright, you’re alright.”

“...I feel like I can scarcely move.”

“It’s alright just breathe through it. It gets easier.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“...

I don’t know, it’s... a long time.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Long time...”

“I don’t want it. Can I have my body back?”

“I can’t do that right now-”

“Please.”

“-Steven.”

First of all it breaks my heart, second of all this is one of the most compelling scenes in the show (If we don’t count episode five where literally every scene was perfect), this is the first time they both actually talk without the frustration and confusion that this sudden realization of their system existing was. Steven is quiet, nearly on the verge of tears, his hands are almost clasped together as if even in the reflection just a flinch is bringing him pain, and Marc is recalling the moment(s) he felt the same way and his voice is just so soft as he reassures Steven, like he’s giving him a calming hug with just his words.

Maybe he knows that Steven is claustrophobic, maybe it actually is a very difficult thing to change the perception of an eye so much that the reflection is not what it expects it to be. Either way, one of my favorite scenes in the show.

And once Steven accustoms to the feeling of being just a reflection, his usual frustration with Marc comes right back. “You can’t keep me trapped in here” - like you kept Marc trapped?

It’s an endless back and forth the whole series because, again, miscommunication, and because they don’t understand each other. Marc just wants Steven to be his “stress ball”, not involved in any of his mercenary work that he deems “shameful”, and Steven only sees the criminal in Marc, not any of the history or choices that led him there. And they don’t try to talk – I guess in a way they both think the other is ruining their lives at the moment and they just want the other gone. Put up the wall again, stop their lives bleeding into each other, go back into what life was like before – amnesia, sleepwalking, tiredness, denial.

But Steven is never going back into denial. And Marc can’t force him – eventually, he realizes he needs Steven.

But that’s later :)

Until then, Steven will shout the angriest words that, unknowingly to him, cause Marc the most pain, and he, in return, will be the most patient and self-deprecating and self-sacrificial he’s ever been just to try and reassure Steven and ease his anger.

And Marc tries to separate him and Steven, saying that his servitude is the price he pays, in the same sentence he says that they wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Khonshu.

In an ironic twist of events, Marc, the alter aware of the system, is the one trying to claim individuality, while Steven, the one still quite unaware, is the one saying that one alter’s body count is all of theirs’ body count, refusing individuality and separate weights on their shoulders.

And notice how Marc’s tone changes when the conversation turns to Layla. The person he loves, the person he sacrificed his own happiness for, well, one of the people he’s done that for. However patient he is trying to be with Steven, he won’t let him say that he is being cruel to Layla, that he doesn’t care about her, that he’s a shitty human being for leaving her. It hurts Marc, to hear those words from Steven, who he also sacrificed time for just to convince him he had a normal life, that his fish didn’t die every time Marc had to go on a longer mission, that the accidental wakings during those missions were just bad dreams.

It hurts Marc. And it’s not the first time he lashes out in violence. He is trying his best, as a person who thinks he is undeserving of anything good in life, he is trying his best.

And he doesn’t get appreciation. Not yet.

Not to mention that Khonshu talks to him exactly how a manipulative, abusive parent would. Demeaning him, making Marc apologize, then suddenly acting nice to remind him why he stays in the first place. Pidgeon deserves to be bound to stone for eternity.

And episode 2 ends with a cool Cairo reveal!

The soundtrack slaps. It’s a fact.

Before this I haven’t really sat down to analyze the show, this was a really spontaneous thing. It’s surprising how much is in episode 2- well, after knowing the rest of the show. It’s only 6 episodes and not a frame is wasted!

It’s beautiful.

I love this show.

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #MKSRA #episode 2 #moon knight episode 2 #mk episode 2 #moon knight spoiilers #mk spoilers

[batteredbrillianceforhim]

"Why can't you do anything right?"

Just that question alone probably triggered a few things in your head just now. Hi everyone! It's Hadassah Grace here. It's time for week two of being Battered Brilliance! This question alone sent me back to my childhood, and I can only imagine what it does for the rest of you. For me, it reminds me first of my mom and how she made me feel growing up, and how I could never fit into the box that she wanted me to fit into as a person. Honestly, it was the worst teen years ever, because I never could fit into her box, and so, I felt like a complete failure when it came to being able to please her. Because my dad was working to provide for his family, and my mom stayed at home with the kids, I was always there with her. I never really felt safe with her, and it made me feel like I was never really wanted to cherished.

Growing up in that kind of environment really did a number on my self-esteem and self-confidence. I never really understood what I had done to deserve that kind of treatment, but at the same time, I never knew how to fix it either. I was never taught how to effectively communicate, since all I knew was how to argue and fight and yell at people. I never knew how to have actual conversations with people, so just having normal conversations were uncomfortable, with me seeing them as always confrontational. When people were having conversations with me, I could never look at them in the face. I would always look to the side, or look down. When it came to being confident in front of people, I didn't mind being in the background or one of the extras on stage, but I did not want to be in the spotlight, or even, have a solo! Oh no! That was the last place I wanted to be!

So...when I married my first husband, I thought I knew what real marriage would be like. In reality, I had no clue. I was completely clueless. It didn't help that I married him for all the WRONG reasons. My heart posture was completely wicked and evil. As a result, I paid heavily for it. Even then, G-d still chose to use my really bad choice for my good. Thank G-d for His goodness and mercy! He showed me through that experience that what my first husband showed me, was definitely NOT love. That He was demonically influenced, and on assignment to not love me, and to try to kill me in essence. I was a threat to the Enemy, and he was trying to do all he could to eliminate me before I realized my true purpose.

Funny thing is, I haven't even begun to walk in my full purpose yet, but I know that I am getting closer to it. I have been shown bits and pieces, and even though, I am not going to be well-liked (most prophets and prophetesses aren't), that G-d will make sure that I am okay through all of it. I will be used by G-d to speak His words to the nations. One of those words are that His kids who are battered, are not worthless or unworthy. They are battered brilliance, designed by G-d to be His light to those in the darkness, who have been hurt just like them, and who are willing to shine where others are not willing to do it.

Shine in His brilliance! Shine in His favor! Shine in His anointing! Be His light to this lost and fallen world!

Yah, help these people be Your light to the lost! Heal their hearts, heal their minds, heal their spirits and souls. Be the One who can take their brokenness and battered mindset, and make it all brand new. Be the One who takes their feelings of unworthiness and dirtiness, and make them the most beautiful masterpiece that this world has ever known. Use them for Your glory and for Your Kingdom. May they know and understand that the Enemy is not okay with them, and wants to destroy them. Protect them against all forms of wickedness and evil, and be their refuge and strength in this time of greatest trials and tribulations. Most importantly, be their L-rd and Savior of their heart, mind, soul, and spirit. Reign in their hearts. Reign in them. Be King of them. Love them. Guide them. Protect them. Hold them close to Your heart. Amein.

#narcissisticabusers #christian faith #healing #godlovesyou #prophetic #christian authors #authors #batteredbrilliance #prophets #the prophetess #domestic violence #christian believers #domestic violence survivors #survivors of abuse

[themculibrary]

Friends To Lovers Masterlist 2

part one

5 Times Ned Gave Peter His Sweatshirt (ao3) - red_to_black ned/peter T, 6k

Summary: Five times Ned Leeds gave Peter his sweatshirt, and one time Peter returned the favour.

(AKA Ned is a dork in love and Peter's a mess but someone has to take care of him. That someone is Ned.)

Dissonance (ao3) - stuckybarnes peter/wade M, 121k

Summary: Wherein Deadpool is reluctantly hired to protect Peter Parker from an organization out to hunt him, with varying success on both ends and quite a lot of feelings, revelations, and identity crises.

For you, bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths (ao3) - danverbarnes steve/bucky, clint/natasha G, 54k

Summary: "god knows what that cat is capable of, he's probably a killing machine!" Steve said, making them both laugh as they looked back to Goose who was tossing a small stuffed fish back and forth playfully between his paws. "And you say my life's not interesting, I'm a babysitter for a lethal killing...." Steve trailed off as he thought, "Yeah? a what?" Bucky pushed him, looking at him with a smile, excitedly. "Flerken" Steve decided. "really" Bucky commented unimpressed, but Steve turned back to rescue some more toast, nodding to himself, "Yep, Flerken" he said, proud of himself. They spent the rest of the day lounging around, Goose seemed to settle in right away, Bucky enjoying playing with him and softly stroking his head when he fell asleep on his lap.

Happily (ao3) - 19harmony yelena/kate T, 130k

Summary: Russian Operations Specialist Yelena Romanoff learns that she may face deportation from the U.S. because her visa renewal application was denied. Determined to retain her job, she convinces her assistant to temporarily act as her fiancé.

Proposal AU

Heart in My Hand (ao3) - roane steve/sam E, 6k

Summary: They had rules in place for a reason. The world around them has gone mad and Steve isn't sure of his place in it. They have a brainwashed assassin to catch and Sam's still healing from grief of his own. It's the worst possible time to fall in love, but Steve has always had a bad relationship with time and with timing.

I Think I Missed a Step ('Cause I'm Fallin' For You) (ao3) - mokuyoubi peter/wade, steve/bucky E, 42k

Summary: There’s a weird familiarity about the kid's tone and posture, and it’s true that Wade is pretty far from home today but he’s also certain he’d remember that baby-face if he’d seen it before. On the other hand, he has spent the better part of the past few years feeling like he’s missed a step, so this conversation isn’t exactly anything new. [[A hot guy is willingly talking to us. Go with it.]] [Don’t make an ass of yourself.] “Shaddup,” Wade grumbles, though Yellow has a point...

OR Peter thinks Wade knows his secret identity, and Wade is really confused by the hot coed who keeps popping up and hanging out with him.

One Caress (ao3) - fuck_me_barnes steve/bucky E, 26k

Summary: Steve's rarely been touched in a way that didn't equate to some kind of hurt. The cold metal of a stethoscope against his frail chest or the sting of a needle drawing yet another blood sample, when he was a sickly child. The bone-shattering punches thrown by the neighborhood bullies on the playground, or by his own father at home, drunk and wild. His mother, weak and clutching at him as she grew more incoherent with the drugs as the cancer ate away at her insides. Touch was something he shied away from, something he told himself he just didn't want.

Except...he did. He just didn't know how.

Until he finds a flyer for a local "affection and intimacy services" program.

In which Steve learns how to become comfortable with touch, and there is one very good dog, and a slow-burn romance.

Philophilia (ao3) - second_skin clint/phil M, 4k

Summary: Phil and Clint go to the beach. It's basically a hostage situation. Backstory. Takes place a couple of years before the Avengers assembled.

Sharpen Your Teeth (ao3) - STARSdidathing loki/tony M, 369k

Summary: A betrayed Tony Stark leaves the Avengers. He's angry and bitter but he's not about to stop being a hero. The problem is that not everyone is happy with his decision.

Slow Work (ao3) - lorata steve/bucky T, 81k

Summary: It's 2011, men are allowed to marry, and Bucky is dead.

The future isn't all that's strange. Together in peacetime for the first time since before Steve took the serum, Steve and Bucky struggle to find their place -- and each other -- in the middle of a new millennium, new bodies, and new dynamics.

Or, just because you wake up in a century where everything you've repressed is magically okay, that doesn't make it easy.

Soulbound With Benefits (ao3) - schifaroo clint/phil E, 13k

Summary: Clint has been in love with Phil since before they started casually sleeping together. So far, he's pretty sure he's done a good job hiding his real feelings. He's not so sure how he's supposed to keep that up, though, now that they’re telepathically bonded.

Such Sweet Revenge (ao3) - ali_aliska bucky/tony M, 167k

Summary: When the Rogues are back in the States after being pardoned, the New Avengers want nothing to do with them and as far as Tony is concerned, if he never speaks to them again, it'll be too soon. After all, he didn't spend the last year putting himself (and his family) back together only for his former co-workers to ruin all of his hard work.

But then he gets a hand-written letter from the Winter Soldier himself, apologizing for the events that transpired and an off-handed comment from Rhodey about Rogers failing to take care of an obviously miserable Bucky Barnes sets in motion Tony's new, oh-so-evil plan to get some payback.

After all, what better revenge than to steal the Winter Soldier away from his best friend?

The only problem: Tony sucks at being vengeful, but apparently he's an expert at inadvertently falling in love.

They’ve All Gone to Look for America (ao3) - longwhitecoats steve/sam M, 26k

Summary: In which Steve and Sam go on a road trip across America, see the sights, learn about mixtapes, make surprising friends, and fall in love a little.

We always know (ao3) - bangyababy steve/bucky, bucky/thor M, 32k

Summary: Steve and Bucky were best friends until middle school when Steve overheard Bucky saying it was weird he didn’t talk. Soon after, Bucky moved away and they never spoke again. Almost fifteen years later, they've somehow managed to become roommates.

whatever souls are made of (ao3) - atypicalsnowman tony/stephen M, 320k

Summary: Soul bonding canon divergence. Fourteen million futures and Stephen saw just one where they win. Tony has to soul bond to a virtual stranger whereas Stephen... Stephen is in love.

This is a story of how two broken men became friends, then family, then fell in love.

And saved the universe.

Worlds Collide (ao3) - SugarFey clint/natasha E, 13k

Summary: Their worlds collided when they met, so they rebuilt a world together.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #masterlists #friends to lovers #friends to lovers masterlist

[pearblossommina]

ToG Read-A-Long, Tower of Dawn, day 2

Ch 6

“to completion”

Gosh this hurts my heart. So much of sex is focused on a man’s orgasm, anyways. Especially for a young man, like Chaol. He probably feels so inadequate, and I feel like that was the worst come-on imaginable. I just love her for offering, for being willing to love him and treat him like she always has. Chaol needs someone like her. But this whole “completion” thing - I feel for him. I think the most important thing right now is just making sure they both enjoy themselves. Don’t put so much pressure on the act of an orgasm, male or female, I can’t think of a worse way to make a sexual encounter feel like an obligation instead of just letting it be as fun and meaningful as any other part of a relationship.

I also get the vibe this prince is kinda flirtatious with Nesryn. We love a flirtatious prince!

But uh, I’m growing to like Nesryn a lot. And I don’t want to see her break Chaol’s heart. I mean, she can do what she wants, she can flirt with a prince and go for a breathtaking ride on a ruk through the skies of Antica - she should be able to do that, she should be able to enjoy herself, and flirt, and fall in love - and I want her to. I want to see her live her best life, believe me, I do. But i’m a little bit obsessed on Chaol, lol, and I need to see him be treated with kindness and love.

Ch 7

Ah political intrigue, and peacocks and posturing.

I’m not sure how to feel about Chaol being obsessive over Nesryn, lol. I know I just stood up for him in the last chapter but he was being kind of possessive and mean in this one. She’s Captian of the Guard, and she’s strong and capable, and this is her family and her home. Probably their dynamic needs to change a little bit. Mutual respect, yeah.

I’m glad her family is okay.

I’m glad she’s not in eminent danger.

Ch 8

There are… too many new characters lmao I’m having such a hard time keeping them straight.

One prince wants to be with Yrene and one prince was flirting with Nesryn. One prince was posturing politically to Chaol. One princess is a lesbian and she’s friends with Yrene and likes to go out drinking. My ability to focus is so strained right now for this.

"There are choices in my past," he said tightly,

"that I have come to regret. But I can only move on - and attempt to fix them. Fight to make sure they do not occur again."

That’s right baby! Good for you Chaol! You still fight for a better world, and for a better you! Never forget that you are a hero - you are my hero!

This chapter was so touching, ugh. Yrene is gonna be a hell of a healer someday, but she does need to work on herself. I think agreeing to work with Chaol is going to end up benefiting both of them.

Ch 9

“Indeed, some small part of him hoped Yrene would stay away, if only to avoid what she so heavily implied they'd also be doing: talking.

Discussing things. Himself.”

This is the book where Chaol gets therapy

I love this book, lol

The little dinner scene is good and helps me kinda get more familiar with all these characters.

I like Hasar the most, surprise surprise, Maddy latching onto the only sapphic character

Ch 10

“She knew that face, gaunt as it was. Knew the golden-brown hair, nearly the twin to her own. The healer from the Womb, the very one she'd comforted only hours earlier -“

WTF

Who’s sucking out souls in the library???? What entity - is it a valg - this is BS, we’re all over here without firepower and magic (except healing magic) HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO FIGHT SOUL SUCKING DEMONIC FORCES

I’m very upset about this

#tog read along 2023 #tower of dawn

[qqueenofhades]

Can I ask in your opinion if Russias invasion spills into NATO countries how fast will this become a full scale war in Europe?

Welp. That is... a question, and the fact that it has to be asked is (yet another) terrifying hallmark of the darkest timeline we are, unfortunately, still living in. The image of people wearing face masks to protect themselves from a deadly plague, while they flee their country where the site of the world's worst nuclear accident is now under enemy control and isn't clear whether it's stable, while maybe-maybe-not-WWIII rages around them is... yeah.

In other words, humanity really, really sucks sometime. By which I mean powerful egomaniacs addicted to wreaking pain, cruelty, and control for absolutely no reason, because at the same time, the actual, individual humans that we see are either fighting back, protesting, or trying to help each other in terrible circumstances. Including in Russia, where any hint of systematic and public dissent comes with automatic and severe consequences, and where these brave people KNOW they'll pay a tangible price in ways that western keyboard jockeys are probably never going to choose to face. So.

That said: this situation is absolutely terrible, and there are plenty of ways in which it still can get much, much worse, but for now, I would advise (so much as it is possible) not to catastrophize ahead of time. This is already not going the way Putin planned. Russian troop morale is allegedly very low, we've had reports of Russian battalions surrendering because they too were unaware that they were sent for a full-scale invasion and were lied to by their leaders, and the Committee for Soldiers' Mothers, a USSR-era organization that is still considerably powerful in the eroded remains of Russian civil society, is up in arms over their sons -- often largely untrained young civilian conscripts, due to Russia's policy of mandatory male military service -- being beaten, tricked, and threatened to head to the Ukrainian front lines. Don’t mess with mothers, or -- as anyone who has ever been to an Eastern European country knows -- the babushkas, who in Ukraine are literally willing to pick up AK-47s and fight.

In all Putin's posturing and paranoia about how Ukraine and Russia should be one country, he's forgotten that many, many citizens of both countries have friends and family in the other, and it's going to get a whole lot harder to convince them to keep up this indiscriminate destruction. Obviously, there are, unfortunately, still plenty of Russian soldiers who are willing to follow orders and proceed with the invasion, but it seems fairly clear that they're encountering a whole lot more resistance than they did in 2014, when the Ukrainian army barely existed. Putin is an opportunist, and he (usually, at least) tries to pick fights that he's sure that he can win. This one, however, is much less clear. Even if (God forbid) the Russian army does take Kyiv and the country, it's going to wreck Russia's international cachet pretty much worldwide. Even China, the ultimate opportunist and no friend to the West, is tilting to the side of telling Putin to back off and return to diplomacy. Given that Xi and Putin were so cozy at the Olympic Games last month, I think that's a sign that China doesn't see any long-term advantage of turning themselves into a pariah too, which they might do if they thought Russia had the upper hand here.

Likewise, although Russia's foreign ministry is back to issuing dire threats to Finland and Sweden not to even think about joining NATO, this strategy of unbridled denial, aggression, and destruction is... just not going to work in the long term. I know that because I'm a historian and, well, it never does, and it's already proven that in Russia, multiple times. Yet again, for all Putin's appeals to a glorious imperial history, he has forgotten that the USSR's disintegration was hastened by the refusal of Soviet troops to fire on Soviet citizens, and that while he has gotten plenty of advantage out of the divide-and-conquer strategy, eventually you cut everything into too many little pieces and it collapses. Longtime Putin observers say that he's gone off the handle; this kind of reckless, all-chips-down attack isn't in character for him, he's gotten openly more deranged, he's been living in a COVID bubble for years where he's become more and more the mad king advised by sycophants who only tell him what he wants to hear, there have been long-term rumors of serious health problems, and so forth. While it's terrifying, and he can do a lot of damage on the way out, it also means he's at the twilight stage of his downfall, not the ascendancy.

Anyway, if nothing else, this horrible situation has brought NATO together like no other, and while Putin is bullying Ukraine because he thinks he can get away with it and knows that the West has already said it wouldn't bring forces in to oppose him, it would be a HUGE blunder for him to try to take the attack beyond that, and the Russian armed forces and military command knows that. I have another ask about whether the West should send boots-on-the-ground troops to Ukraine, which I'll answer after this one, but thus far, Putin is still calculating on the Ukrainians having to face the Russians by themselves. Russia has something like the third-largest army in the world, and the terrible truth is that Ukraine is probably going to come under some amount of Russian military control before much longer. However, I wouldn't lay odds on whatever figurehead regime Putin tries to set up lasting very long. Ukrainians are furious and motivated like no other, Putin has absolutely no international support to speak of, and even troublesome, hard-right-leaning EU members like Poland and Hungary are coming together to work with the rest of the team. Turkey, a NATO member but an unsatisfied one taking its own authoritarian turn, has likewise stood firm with the rest of the alliance. Because when you see what's happening in Ukraine right now, it's pretty hard to actually want that in your own backyard.

Anyway: this is a fairly long-winded way of saying that while everything is terrible and horrifying right now, and there is absolutely a lot of room for it to get much worse, it's better to talk about all the reasons this is going to horrifically fail for Putin, whether in the short, medium, or long term, rather than worrying that he has the ability to drag the entire world down with him. He's a strongman on the outs, trying desperately to make his enemies think that he has the power to totally ruin them if they don't capitulate to everything he wants, and that rests on frightening them as much as possible. So if you can, don't conceptualize scenarios where this turns into the end of the world, but keep talking instead about why it's a sad action by a sad little man who history is going to vilify, and why, for that reason and many others, it's never going to actually work or get him what he wants, and the Russian people he claims to speak for and act on behalf of have a lot more room to get fed up and know exactly how to deal with tyrannical dictators. Slava Ukraini.

#anonymous #ask #russia ukraine war