#AND MANY THINGS WE CANNOT SEE AND OTHER THINGS WE CANNOT KNOW. IS THERE NO SHAPE FOR WONDER IN THIS WORLD

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

I'm Disabled.

Before applying for the federal program SSDI, we married. This was to prevent losing the life-saving insurance I needed. At that point, I was still on my parents' insurance, but would soon age out of being able to use it.

After we married, I applied for SSDI, which takes about two years. Everyone is denied by default, so I was prepared with an SSDI lawyer (they only take the case if they know they can win, and their payment is a very small portion of your backpay; my lawyer was paid just 15% of my backpay)backpack. When the rejection letter arrived, I immediately went to her for help.

I inquired about the state program SSI. She told me I didn't qualify because I'm married. I applied anyway, because I ad nothing to lose. Here's what the person at the SSI office told me I would have to do before I could apply:

I need to divorce my husband.

I need to live alone. We could not be living together because this would be seen as us basically being married.

I need to have less than $2k to my name at all times.

I cannot work.

I cannot live with my parents because their income would count against me.

I cannot own expensive things that could be sold for money.

If I was approved, I would have to continue following these rules with a few additions.

I cannot receive gifts of money.

I must have a bank account, and they would monitor it to make sure I never went even a single cent over $2000.

I cannot have a savings account.

I cannot have a safety deposit box.

I would have to continue living alone.

They can stop by my home at anytime to inspect how I'm living. They could talk to my neighbors to see if I had anyone who visited and helped me as more than just a friend. This means I could not have my former husband turned boyfriend stay overnight, and he cannot be perceived as taking care of me.

I cannot have anyone help me financially. This means no one else can pay my bills. If I cannot afford those bills on my own, I would have to apply for programs that would. Most of those have long waiting lists, like section 8 housing (we had applied for section 8 housing in 2008, and three years ago I received an email telling me we qualified. They had only the information we gave them in 2008, and have since moved across the country).

My SSDI, if approved, would count against me financially.

The most money I would receive from SSI, if I did everything they demanded and was approved, was $618/month.

This is enforced poverty. It's also the onky way may of those Disabled would be able to receive the medical care that keeps them alive, like Medicaid. My seizure medication used to cost nearly $2k/month. My neurologist gave me free samples of it every month and helped me apply for free medication through the manufacturer's financial aid program (you should too if you can't afford your medication). I was receiving medical care through the hospital's financial aid program when I married and lost my parents' insurance coverage.

I refused to do as SSI demanded. My SSDI lawyer was, in fact, relieved when I told her I'm married. Why? Because marrying afterwards would have caused serious and life-threatening complications. She encourages everyone who applies for SSDI to marry if it's possible a ble for them to do so. Because of her, I was approved for other programs, things I didn't even know existed, but for two years, it was Hell-on-Earth. I couldn't work because it would count against me. At that time, rent was $650, but my husband was making federal minimum wage, worked full time, and his employer kept changing his schedule, which made it impossible to apply for a second job.

I know many who are on SSI and need it in order to remain alive. One of my friends nearly fell out if the program because a nosy neighbor saw her and her boyfriend cuddling in her couch watching a movie. They assumed he was secretly living with her. Said neighbor was frequently seen just outside my friend's windows, watching her. When she met my lawyer after getting the automatic SSDI rejection, she married, got into the programs I had been in, and filed a restraining order against her neighbor because my lawyer absolutely insisted on it. The bitch violated the terms three times and was put in prison for six months. She's now on SSDI, married, and much happier.

Marriage equality does not exist until the Disabled can marry without losing everything.

[sharoo]

Self-knowledge as a theme in STP messes me up so bad, bros.

This all starts with how little the Princess can tell you if you ask her about herself. How little you can say about yourself, more often than not. Most of the time Quiet doesn't even know what they look like!

The Narrator makes it a point to make the Princess' cluelessness, her lack of self-knowledge, into deception, but really, both the protagonists don't know themselves. How could they?

The concepts of bounds, of something that isn't you, the distinction of "self" and "other", "you" and "I", the concept of something being not like yourself... this is the first time this deity which is now two has ever experienced it.

The Shifting Mound and the Long Quiet did not exist until the Narrator tore a whole into parts.

Now, this deity in twain has to reorient. It has only begun existing, it's not yet known itself. A toddler has to develop a self-concept, and the concepts of others.

Now imagine, for the first time in your solitary existence, that there is something that you are not. Unknowable, foreign.

What are they like, you think? Are they a friend? Should I get to know them? Are they a foe? I do not know them, I cannot trust them... Or can I?

This brings to mind, of all things, Contrapoints' video on Twilight, where she speaks about the concepts of Union and Division in relation to love. And while she speaks of it in terms of eros, it can apply here just as easily, romantically and platonically.

Love is the union of two beings. We love because something outside of us allows us to be more than ourself. In others, many seek that which they lack. We seek out people so that we may develop through our similarities and contrasts with them, to change an be changed.

We seek out people because there can be no I without a You. To exist in a void is not a fulfilling experience.

We cannot discover ourself if he have nothing that allows us to compare ourself. The mirrors elude us throughout the game, always leading to the princess - she is the only way we may know ourselves, the mirrors tease as they disappear. And at the end of the route, only then, can you see yourself, now that you have a complete knowledge of yourself in a given scenario, with a given persona.

Was the princess someone you decided to trust? Or to betray? Was she a foe? A friend? A nightmare? A victim?

You both try to find out who you are through your relationship.

The princess assumes many faces and attitudes in response to you, you assume voices and attitudes in response to her. You're two batches of clay shaping each other at the same time. It's almost like knowing someone your entire life, seeing them go through different phases as they try to find out their identity in the world, their place. The 5 routes, whatever they be, are your "adolescence".

And growing means you will hurt each other, intentionally or not. There will be fights, disagreements, there will be heartache, and comfort and love.

And everything will pass.

Shifty, before she's complete, before she discovers her godhood, makes this point so clear.

How could she not be kind to you? You are the only thing in this place that is not her. What reason could she have to hate you? To make the only friend she could have into an enemy?

That's why, at the end of every route, all hurts are forgiven. All the heartache is acknowledged, understood, and then she moves on. So that you may continue being together, so that she may see what else you do.

Even godhood can become a phase. The Shifting Mound recognises what you both were, but it need not be you unless you accept it. Because self-knowledge is unending. You are always changing, and you can always change.

You can accept being a god, and that becomes you.

You can reject being a god, and that becomes you.

You are by that point an "adult". The figure trying to dictate who both of you are is gone, and you can decide for yourself.

I think this is partially why I love the Leave with Stranger ending the best of all the endings. You begin it by avoiding knowledge of yourself and of another. The self can only exist as far as it is not like the others.

And you meet the Stranger, this being who knows so little about herself, because she too has been deprived of another. The route is quick. It really cannot amount to much, because if you don't know yourself, it's so hard to build a relationship.

But at the end, they've matured. You gave each other time to become fuller beings. You met this person again and they seem so much happier with themself than they were in youth.

I love how they say "We're just a stranger.", and the voices point out how it needn't be sad that you don't know her, unless you make it out to be. You can get to know them, the real them, and they can do that with you.

The way the Stranger speaks if the position of a God only underlines how much the heart of the Shifting Mound can understand self-knowledge.

They speak of how they feel themself be pulled towards taking the position of godhood, of being everything, yet find it confining. Restricting.

"We want more. We want whatever might be on the other side of this door. Something new, that we'll experience together. With someone who exists outside of us. Someone who can see us in a way we can never see ourself."

Self-knowledge through relationships and reflection on how you impact other people.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Ed’s Initial Intentions regarding Stede

Thank you so much for your attention to the poll. The consensus is it’s complicated - and I sort of agree - although I’m swayed towards Fascination alone.

This is my interpretation…

Stede causes Ed to access hidden or denied parts of himself before they’ve even met. And it causes a change in Ed’s behaviour. Ed’s come across many rich or aristocratic folks to rob whom he would see killed without issue; but not someone who’s also a pirate, doing their own original thing, and who seems ambivalent towards Blackbeard’s existence. It’s dopamine to Ed’s novelty-starved brain. It’s not as if Ed carries out a usual raid on the Revenge intending to kill Stede, only to find himself unexpectedly charmed. Ed’s bewitched even before he meets Stede, which means Ed’s entire approach and thought-processes are altered.

Killing Stede and the crew isn’t necessarily off the table should the need arise, but I don’t think it’s actively on in any capacity. There’s no plan, and there’s no ‘uszh’ for once either. Because none of this is uszh. Ed’s engagement with the Revenge is not his normal MO. History’s most brilliant tactician is free-styling. Possibly free-falling.

At the end of 102, Izzy states, ‘Captain says follow that ship.’ And Fang answers ‘Oh really? Why?’ To which Izzy replies, ‘How should I know? The man’s half-insane.’ This conversation shows this isn’t usual strategy. Even Fang asks why - he thought they’d seen the last of those ‘fancyboys’. And Ivan’s sad he didn’t get the chance to murder them, which seems the usual way of things. Plus they’d already had the chance to take or plunder the ship when it ran aground, so this stalking manoeuvre is out of the ordinary. It feels like wasted time and energy.

By the start of episode three, Blackbeard’s ship is a few hundred yards out from the Revenge, and Izzy’s trying to manipulate Ed into usual strategy again by suggesting opening fire, or boarding and throwing the Revenge crew to the sharks. Instead, Ed wants to wait until they make landfall and invite them aboard his ship. Ed’s doing something very different again because he’s unwittingly engaging with an unfamiliar part of himself. And interestingly ‘Go suck eggs in Hell’ appears not to insult, but to somewhat seduce him further. Before meeting Stede, he’s already out of his depth emotionally, and acting out of character, literally.

Despite what Ed would do normally, I just cannot see him landing on the Revenge with the active intent of plundering the ship and / or killing Stede and the crew. His words and actions suggest he’s already through the looking-glass.

So, to The Plan. We have three interesting moments which lead up to its revelation: the clothes swap, ‘careful of your face’ and ‘show me the ways of an aristocrat’.

For me, the three strands, which have no previous connection (other than Ed and Stede playing together), come together in Ed’s mind somewhere between Ed leaving Stede on the lookout, and Ed speaking with Izzy below: a matter of seconds. It reminds me of Keyser Söze in The Usual Suspects, pulling together disparate ideas into a cohesive story spontaneously. It’s the mind of a quick-thinker. And it’s in-keeping with Ed’s ability of reacting in the moment to the moment when necessary.

I think Ed also feels forced to perform Blackbeard for Izzy because Izzy’s threatening to leave pushes on that white father-figure emotional bruise. At this stage, Ed doesn’t have enough emotional loyalty to Stede to not voice such a plan; whilst his identity is still too caught in Izzy’s web to let him go - ‘you’re needed here’. For me, the plan to kill Stede is brought about in the moment via an act of psychological coercive control.

But Ed’s also kicking the can down the road. It’s a sort of Faustian bargain. Why not promise Izzy both their souls if it means Ed and Stede can hang out a little longer? Yet on another level Ed’s possibly hoping the debt won’t be called in, such is the complexity of the push and pull here. He’s putting it on the tab, the never-never. He’ll out-manoeuvre it if he decides that’s what he wants. Of course there’s doublethink going on because Ed’s in the middle of an identity crisis.

Ed daren’t admit his real reason for wanting to stay on the Revenge. He can’t comprehend himself even how deep this goes. His look as he turns is one of exhaustion and confusion. Stede Bonnet has him rattled. What started as a trickle of unease and ennui before they’d even met is now a whirlpool of unidentifiable feelings around both Stede, and Ed’s own perception of self.

Ed’s free-falling in liminal space.

[randomwriteronline]

"Sweet little one, standing upright, to me you appear dressed in white. But your red nose, what wonders it does: shortens your life the longer it glows."

"A candle," Velika smiled.

"Correct." Mata Nui replied. Then, he offered another riddle: "Which part of the bird has never soared the skies but slithers instead upon the ground, and swims on the surface of the water without ever getting wet?"

"The shadow."

"Correct. Two parents have five daughters; each daughter has a brother, and each brother has five siblings. How many members compose this family?"

"Eight."

"Correct. A beast of long legs, of strength filled to the brim - yet no eyes adorn its head, its intelligence quite dim."

"Pinchers."

"Correct. Today is the third of seven days. In seven years, which of seven will today be?"

"The fourth."

"Correct. I am that which cannot be touched, but inhabits all living things; I am what kills them, burning quietly, and through their mouths the plume of my combustion shows in the cold."

"Oxygen."

"Correct. Through my long black neck breathes my red heart, hacking out smoke as warmth from me departs."

"A stove."

"Correct. She who fights the winds and waves from the bowels of the seas to maintain her treasure so far away, thin yet heavy, weak yet invincible: who is she?"

"The anchor."

"Correct. A ship rotted upon the shore: each plank that fell away was slowly replaced, until it was remade completely new. Yet from the rotten planks, preserved adeguately, a second ship was constructed in the image of the original. Which one then is the true ship?"

"Both and neither," Velika smiled. He tilted his head in his hand, amused. "You're really not good at this."

"An 'and' is not an answer." Mata Nui replied: "Please choose."

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"A rethorical question is not an answer. Please choose."

"The one from preserved wood."

"I see. A crow, dying of thirst, struggled to get water from a deep vase lodged in a pebbled shore. In its desperation, it began piling rocks upon one another; and so it saved itself. How?"

"By piling them in the vase, forcing the water upward."

"Correct. Swells all around you, like a glove fitting; never shall it hold you, cold embrace fleeting."

"Fog."

"Correct. An unusual farmer plows through a barren snowy field, sowing black seeds in quick succession; what he reaps is just one fruit which feeds many over the years, and never wilts, but only lasts as long as it is not burnt or faded."

"The written word."

"Correct. It is one of the visages by which we can be recognized, odorless, colorless, impalpable - and yet it can reach us far away."

"The voice."

"Correct. It is what the rich lack and poor have plenty of, what the strong fear and the weak have power over, what the happy desire and the dead need."

"Nothing."

"Correct. What am I doing?"

"Stalling me."

Mata Nui smiled: "Correct."

Velika did not move.

"It's useless, you know," he said, grin frozen upon his fake Matoran face as it struggled to hide his true one: "You can't stop me from my goal with these little guessing games of yours."

"I was under the impression you quite enjoyed making riddles."

"I made you."

"You helped. It was admirable, indeed; but it was not your labor alone. You are not one for the practical sciences, after all."

"I made you. You are a soul, a thinking brain. I allowed you to be that."

"You, and others."

"Does the fine print matter?"

"Of course it does. You would wrongfully claim full ownership over the universe entrusted to me otherwise."

"I made them. They are sapient because I allowed them as much."

"And you wish to destroy them now, as they are past their use, and for them to comply and go quietly to you, without making a mess, as otherwise it would be quite the inconvenience."

"Of course."

"Fathers owe their children as much as their children owe them."

"They're not my children," Velika laughed loudly as if that was the most hilarious thing he'd ever heard: "They are a successfully completed experiment! Archived and finished! I can't leave the mess of my previous project all over my desk if I want to start a new one, don't you think?"

Mata Nui did not move.

"You are awfully cruel in your insatiable curiosity." he noted simply. "Indeed, you are Teridax's father."

"I told you I don't have children."

"But we were your successors, were we not? A lonely god on a mindnumbingly long journey, one scientist in a team with delusions of grandeur."

"You are things I made. Things I gave awareness to. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"Is this also your opinion of the universe within me?"

"Of course."

"Then you have no claim on us."

Velika raised his head from his palm and laughed. He laughed again, spitting out phonemes without a rhythm. He forced himself to laugh, because otherwise the confused wrath within him would have needed to explode in some other way.

"Pardon?"

"It brings a riddle to mind."

"I don't want a riddle. What did you just say?"

"Again, I was under the impression that you enjoyed posing riddles. At inopportune times most of all."

"Cut it. What did you say?"

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"I said I don't want a riddle!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Quit that! What did you say to me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"You insulted me, is that it? You insulted me?"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Shut up!"

"That is not an answer. Please choose."

"Fine! Fine, you broken piece of junk, fine. Repeat it, I didn't listen."

"A woman bore her daughter, and decided it was not her duty to care for her: she still observed her growth over the years for sake of a morbid fancy, never intervening nor gaining any affection for her. At last the daughter found great happiness and fortune; and so her mother came, and demanded a part of her riches as compensation for giving birth to her. Was she right in requesting as much?"

"No, she denied custody and has no say over her nor her belongings."

"Correct."

"So? What did you say?"

"I said the exact thing you repeated with your answer." Mata Nui replied. "You have shirked your responsability towards us, and you have no right to decide of our fate."

"You are things," Velika hissed: "Things are made!"

"We are people. People are made, too."

"People are born! They are thinking creatures!"

"Are we not, then?"

"No! You are things that I have given sapience to! You owe me life! Obedience! You owe me everything you are!"

"Are we then yours?"

"Yes!"

"By what virtue?"

"By virtue of creation!"

"By virtue of birth." Mata Nui repeated. "A virtue that we have agreed holds no water when a parent abandons their children."

Velika's eyes burned: "You are made," he insisted. "Not born."

"People are made, too. They are engineered by chance, put together by two others. The creation progress requires time and resources; afterwards, the new being needs to be programmed and taught what to do, what not to do, through trial and error."

"It's different. It's completely different. I gave you that intelligence. In people it's innate."

"From when? From the moment your cells are assembled? From the second you develop eyes? From the instant you are brought into the world, kicking and screaming? There is indeed an ability, innate, for understanding tasks and languages; but it all has to be instructed. Neither of us were born capable of speech, yet we could understand a language of our own, for that is how we were both built."

"Do not equate yourself to me. You are code, bits and pieces of electricity, the vague hint of a self."

"On that same electricity is based the neural system that is your 'I'."

"But I am your maker. I created you. Not the other way around."

"And so? You have denied custody of us. You refuse to recognize our personhood. Are you not our parent who abandons us, our creator who destroys us?"

"I have no children!"

"Then we do not owe you anything."

Velika raised his hand and grabbed the air, right where a neck should have been.

"I will kill you," he threatened: "I will annihilate you."

Mata Nui held his gaze without flinching: "That you can."

They remained still.

The room was empty.

"I had such knowledge to share... But it would have been too long to tell, I am afraid." he only lamented. "I have lived a long life, all in all - sometimes it has even been pleasant. A lousy god such as myself will not make much difference by now, alive or otherwise: my people have moved on from any whims that may have moved my requests once. Go on then, if it pleases you."

The hand twitched, but did not close.

It spasmed, clutching, hardening, but did not close.

Velika clenched his jaw, tightening his fist, but it did not close.

He tried, and tried, and tried, and tried, and tried; but it did not close.

"I will kill you," he hissed. But suddenly he wasn't sure he could.

Mata Nui waited.

Nothing happened.

His hand of thought - invisible, impalpable, barely real - grazed his creator's chin and lifted it slightly with his fingertips.

"What is it that the brilliant man standing before the machine he has made to do his bidding - to labor away endlessly in his stead, to travel where he would not, to learn what he could not, to sing and write and draw what he cannot - fears most of all?"

The Great Being did not answer.

Silence stretched over the small endless space the word should have been spoken into through his voice.

Mata Nui smiled.

"Leave." he ordered. "There is no place in this world for a god that treats its people like toys."

Velika lunged forward and grasped the Ignika in his hands.

By the time other beings arrived drawn in by the horrid noises, the body writhing and raving had lost its limbs, its bones, maybe even its skin. It clung to the golden artifact still somehow, trying desperately to claw at it, break it, unleash its wrath upon it as it continued to mutate the creature into something less and less able to function the longer it remained latched upon its surface by its own stubborn volition; it howled wordlessly, voice cawing through what was supposed to be its mouth in a garbled attempt at speaking, but there was no mind behind the gruesome wailing - just a violent, infinite, senseless anger.

It shrieked at them when they rushed to put it down, partly frightened to death by it, partly trying to spare it from the anguished existence it was bound to go on to live - screamed something, something that could have been 'obedience', or close enough.

Mata Nui did not stir from sleep.

[simp-ly-writes]

"Always, Sweetheart."

─────── · · A Black Ops 6 FanFic

Pairing: Russell Adler x Fem!Handler!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You were a handler of operators out in the field and Russell Adlers was your best and yet the biggest pain in your side with his constant flirting and desire to get under your skin. Yet as soon as someone else tries to annoy you or heaven forbid- flirt with you, it gets shutdown right away.

─ · · TAGS: men being dicks, female pronouns, no use of (y/n), protective!Russell, jealous!Russell, mutual pining, enemies (strong annoyance) to lovers, confessions, pet names, suggestive themes, hurt/comfort.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,477

─ · · A/N: I was going crazy looking at all the fan art. Don't think I will be coming fully back to COD like I was before, but I had to write something for this character. Hope you all enjoy!

─────── · ·

"Officer Adler!" you yell, bursting through the heavy oak doors and into the office space. Fellow agents, officers, and handlers all look towards you and then back at Adler frozen in time and space.

Adler takes a drag of his cigarette before waving his hand in a silent command for everyone to leave you both. Hands quickly pick up their belongings and feet scatter out before the doors enclose you both.

The man in question makes no further movement simply leaning against the corner of a desk, a smirk setting upon his features as his glasses slip down his face to watch as you near, hands gripping a manila folder.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he says in an even tone, observing the curves of your face that have fallen into a serious frown. "We have already gone over this before, agent. You cannot call me such, such-"

"Such what, honey?" He teases further, cigarette sitting between his lips as he leans closer and into your space. You take a half step back, pinching your brows together before letting out a breath. "The pet names, Adler. They have to stop, we are both professionals."

Adler hums out in contemplation, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the nearest ashtray. He nods his head in direction to the folder in your head. "No. Before this," you wave the folder around to further prove your point, "we are sorting this thing out. I need to hear you say you won't do it any longer. It causes way to many issues."

"Issues about what? If someone is bothering you, you'll let me know right?" Adlers face drops, hands forming into fists, his stare already demanding names.

"Yes of course! But it makes me appear less assertive in my role, Adler. I have other operators I have to account for since you left and I can't have the newer ones thinking they can disrespect me in any way!" you try and explain, a hand gripping your hair as you stress.

Adler stands, gently taking your elbow before his fingers trail up your arm and towards your hand and head where he eases your grip from your roots. Before he can go to fix your hair you shake his touch off with a huff. "This is what I mean, officer," you say, throwing the document on the now bare desk.

"Well then maybe you should drop your other agents, (last/name)," Russell counters, arms now crossed against his wide chest. A few buttons to his navy shirt undone as you do you best to not look at the skin showing underneath.

"See you would have been my only operator as you have demanded in the past but as soon as you left, you failed to see that I still need to put food on the table so what little choice did I have but to be given new recruits?" you retort, falling into the nearby swivel chair as you stare at the door.

Adler crouches down, blocking your view. His hand twitching to pick up your chin to see your eyes once more. "Hey, look sweeth-(last/name). I can't apologize for my reasons for leaving but I will apologize for leaving you with no other options."

You nod your head before meeting his eyes once more, "So no more petnames?"

"No promises," is all Adler can say before leaning over you to reach for the documents you threw earlier. You lean back into your chair, hands gripping the arms, "You know you could have just asked me to get those for you?"

"Yeah but I got them anyways." You roll your eyes, "Hey- none of that now," Adler shushes you before looking back down at the files. You watch as his large hands grip the corners of the page, careful not to bend them before flipping it to the other side, a series of photos close to falling out as he tips the folder towards you to stop them. "I'm not a child in need of reprimanding, save that for the field workers."

"Never said you were but seeing you leaning back in that chair while doing that plants some images in a man's head," Adler's familiar smirk haunts you once again in the daylight. "Fucking hell," you swear underneath your breath.

"So, why am I being shown these? I already completed this objective..." Adler closes the folder, placing it gently back on the desk.

"Yeah, thats the issue. You see, Adler, we needed more information on those guys. Not for you to shoot them and the information with them!" you yell, swearing that your voice rippled the coffee in a nearby cold cup.

"Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret off the books."

"And what secret would that be out of your many?" You lean forwards, playing with a ring on your finger. Adler stares at the movement before turning his back to you.

"I already knew all that information years ago, just had to make sure nobody else got to it."

─────── · ·

You thought that after that whole fiasco with your officer Adler, thing would have cleared up since then but it seemed that life had thought differently.

You were in a board meeting with your fellow operators, their handlers, and council members. One of your officers, Roger was sitting beside you, a notebook shared between the two of you as you both passed notes back and forth on the meeting that was dragging on into your lunch break.

"Well if they are planning biological warfare we have to meet metal with metal! If we are acting as moderates or even submissive what the hell room does that leave the enemy to operate in! They need to be neutralized long before those chemicals get out of the port, fuck the rest of them!" A board member yells from the top of the table as you lean back gaining a headache from it all.

Roger places a hand on your shoulder, his head tilting down to your ear, "You holding up alright?" he asks politely, turning his head for you to whisper your answer. "Yeah, just need this meeting to be over or at least to be paused. We are getting nowhere with all this shouting and violence."

The officer nods to your answer. "Yes, we have been circling over the same-"

"Oi! Do you to have something to share? Or are you both gonna keep whispering sweet little nothing into each others ears? Should I tell Adlers' that your cheatin' on em'?" Another handler chimes in, sending a toothy-white smile in your direction.

The other men around the table laugh as you lean on the table, threatening to stand. Roger makes no sudden movement in his chair, face set in a glare directed to the senior member at the unprofessional comment. Sighing you pick up your notes and crack your neck before reading your own radiant smile, eyes holding daggers picturing to stab through his eye-sockets.

"That will not be necessary, Paul," you spit out his name, "Nor is any of this discussion. We have all made no process since eleven! If we display strength with the military we risk our agents already operating within the operation and civilians. If we sit back and let it happen, we also risk a potential nuclear war. Our best option, which none of you men have brought forward and is embarrassing for our field is that we don't ship ourselves alongside the weapon, that way we can determine who has it, where it is meant to go, and where we want it to go."

You are nearly out of breath by the end of your speech as you stand and begin to walk towards the doors, Roger's hot on your tail as nods his head before all the members on behalf of you both, leaving the room in silence.

As soon as the door closes behind you both, you lean against it. "At times, I wish I had a dick like the rest of them but then I remember it's what makes them this way," you explain before picking yourself back up and continuing down the hall.

Rogers laughs, his eyes crinkling as he bumps your shoulder. You look up, casting him a smile as well. "You have a way of saying things, sweetheart. Would leave to see more of that mouth outside of work," Rogers says causing you to stand still in the hall as people walk around you both.

Turning to face your agent, your smile has turned into a glare once more. "Get back to work, Rogers. I expect a full report from last week still that I have yet to receive. Your co-worker has already sent theirs in with misinformation, I hope to not see the same things on yours. And please remember this, I. am. not. your sweetheart."

Turning back on your heels you continue further down the hall, Rogers left with your words before a whistle has you nearly breaking a heel by how much you want to throw it in his face. Russell. fucking. Adler. Standing there with that smirk yet again as he leans up against the break rooms entrance.

He holds out a hand, shaking it in a silent ask to carry your belongings. You shove them into his hand while using your other to press against his chest and to move him out of your way.

He does not budge, simply looking down at your lingering touch with a softening smile. "I am not in the mood, Adler. Please let me through," you use an overly sweet tone, you can feel him tense from underneath you.

"Hey, though I do love that tone when seeing you in a good mood. I do love viewing your rage. Lay it on, whats on your mind?" Adler asks, hand now resting atop your own.

"Move first and we'll sit and talk," you counter to his nod. Adler drops your touch, arm moving to welcome you into the empty space as everyone had already cleared back for work.

Coffee in hand, sandwich in the other, you took to your seat. "I'm so sick of men constantly stepping all over me when I worked just as hard- no. Fucking harder for this position and I still get treated like a little girl in their fathers suit and it does not help when after three hours of men shoving their dicks on the table a younger one then gets the audacity to be asking to see my mouth while calling me Sweetheart," you complain, downing the rest of your coffee before slamming the cup against the saucer.

Adler appears even more tense then you, his hands grips into fists allowing the veins across his forearms to appear most prominent. "Give me a name."

"Pardon?" you ask, embarrassed that you had became so easily distracted.

"Give. me. a. name, please," Alder asks once more, his eye staring deeply into your own. "Hey, whats wrong, sharing is a mutual affair," you reach across the table to grasp one of his hands, surprised when he pulls away. He's never done that before...

"Nobody gets to say that shit to you, not when I'm here. I'm sorry that you had to hear that, sweetheart." And for some reason you don't feel disgust except an overwhelming feeling of comfort as the word dances through your ears. You try and fake annoyance but Adler only takes that as further fuel against whatever man had wronged you so.

"Theres no need to apologize, Adler. I already told Rogers off-" you should not have said that, already regretting your words and Adlers chair screeches against the tiled floors, the door being slammed behind him as he storms off to find Rogers.

─────── · ·

The next time you are working with Rogers, he does not even look at you unless you command him to. He does well to hide his face to the best of his ability but it is hard not to notice the black eye or scarring underneath his chin. Tisking to yourself, you tell the agent his next meeting point in the south Mediterranean sea before setting off on your next mission, to find Adler.

It did not take long as he was already waiting in your office. First aid it open and displayed across the documents on your desk. He did not hiss or move as he poured the anti-bacterial fluid over his wounds, his teeth gripping a bandage in wait as he had yet to acknowledge your presence.

"Alder," you scolded like a tired mother before taking the wraps from his teeth and standing between his legs, gently wrapping his hand before pressing a kiss to your work that had both of you chuckling.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. Could have gotten you suspended-"

"You really think they would suspend me, honey?" you blush, shaking your head and taking a step away yet Adler catches your elbow, standing, chests touching as he leans down to get a better look of your face.

"All I'm saying is that you have to take better care of yourself, officer," you retort, eyes quickly casting to his lips before holding his gaze.

Alder smiles, hand now cupping your cheek as you allow yourself to lean into his touch. "Are you sayin' you care about me, (last/name)?" he teases, eyes already knowing the answer by the way in which they crinkle, mirroring your own.

"I care for all of my operatives, Russell Adler."

"But am I really just an operator to you, sweetheart?" his words now nearly a whisper upon your lips that part in wait.

"Well there's only one way to find out-" and his lips were on yours. His hand now holding the back of your head, nudging it upwards as you curved into his touch, hands gripping his shirt and around to his waist. Russell's other hand moved to grip your waist, thumb rubbing circles into your side as you felt his smile upon your lips.

Pulling away, lips puffy and eyes starry as you panted for air, Adler barely gave you anytime to breathe before he was kissing you again. Any papers on your desk were thrown to the floor before Russell was picking you up by the back of your thighs and placing you on the desk, legs spreading to keep you both close.

Standing back to full height, Adler looked at you sprawled out before him, hands morning their way up from the ankles that kept him locked into to place, up to your calves and towards your thighs and lower torso. Your breath gasped as his hands teased at the skin between your waist and shirt, skin tingling, his touch lingering with shared desire.

"Kiss me again," you pleaded.

"Always, Sweetheart."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: If this is recieved well may make another one... 🤷

[lie-lacdreams]

Thermodynamics and Turmoil (Curly x Reader pt. 1)

Hello! I'm putting out my very first piece ever and I'm so excited to feed the masses as much Mouthwashing content as they deserve :) This game has a lot of sensitive topics to it and as such I'll try my best to bring them up as appropriately as possible. The story is gonna start off slow and elaborative because I love all of the Tulpar crew so much (except for Jollof rice, Jimneva convention) and they all have such interesting personalities that I couldn't help but to explore their wants and aspirations. This story will feature an alternative ending to the game because I cannot stomach sad things they make me very sad </3

engineer! reader x curly TW: a bad word or two, I think word count ~ 1.9K

Curly was back in the medical bay for his routine psychological evaluation with Anya. With all of the questions answered and out of the way, the both of them were just chatting before he had to go back to the cockpit and finish up his duties for the afternoon.

“You’re all good to go, Captain. Seems like there isn’t much change from your answers like last time, as usual.” Anya let out a tired sigh. 

“That should be a good thing, given we’ve already been on this trip for almost two months now. We should all be used to the routine around here at this point. Has everybody else been adjusting alright?” Curly stood up from his chair, Anya following suit as they moved towards the door. 

“For the most part, everyone’s been well but I wish they would open up or take the assessment seriously. I mean, at least Daisuke has been making my job a little easier – he just talks and talks.” she mused. Curly gave a little chuckle in response, thinking about the last-minute intern that the Pony Express decided to add on board to their journey. He wasn’t exactly the most helpful – at least according to Swansea – but he brought an air of lightheartedness that they all needed in a cut-corners, shitty working environment like the Tulpar. “Oh, actually, have you seen (Y/N) lately?”

Curly thought for a moment. Along with Daisuke, (Y/N) was another late addition to the crew. The Tulpar has started showing its age and as such, there were increasingly consistent problems with the water pipes, life support, and fuel usage. However, instead of giving the crew a new ship, they handed the responsibility of keeping the ship up and running to the passengers. After their previous trip, Swansea went straight to the higher-ups and ripped them a new one, stating that “he couldn’t be expected to perform miracles”. When the crew was assigned this trip, they were all surprised that corporate had listened to Swansea’s complaints and granted them with another engineer. (Y/N) was self-sufficient, only really needing to work with Swansea to consult him on how best to move forward and with Daisuke when Swansea needed a break from his overzealousness. As a result, Curly saw and knew very little about her. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t. Why?”

“She’s due for her check-in as well but I haven’t seen her these past two days to tell her that. Go figure. We share a room yet recently she’s been waking up earlier and sleeping later than I have. When I went to ask Swansea and Daisuke if they’d seen her, they said that they haven’t seen her at all today.” 

“Huh. She’ll show up eventually. This ship only has so many places a person can be. If I see her, I’ll let her know to go straight to you. Thanks, Anya.” He patted her shoulder lightly before heading out, making his way back to the cockpit to fulfill his duties. 

In the evening, the crew convened at the table for dinner. Curly always looked forward to this time of day, where everyone had finished all of their tasks and could open up with light hearted banter. With only the six of them on the ship for over a year, all they had were each other, and he cherished all of his crew members. Anya and Swansea were chatting to the left of him about Swansea’s kids back on Earth. To his right, he saw Jimmy get increasingly agitated as Daisuke tried convincing him to swap dinners with him. That’s when he spotted the empty chair across from him and realized that (Y/N) was still missing. 

No one was concerned by her absence; it was a common occurrence, and he trusted Daisuke and Swansea to be in the loop about what she was up to and would report to him if anything happened. During the work day, everyone was so consumed with their jobs and couldn’t afford to worry about the whereabouts of the others, unless they needed to lend a hand. Curly wasn’t an exception to this. As the captain it was his responsibility to make sure his crew members were okay and that things were moving along nicely, and so far there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that indicated otherwise. With everyone finishing up their dinner, clean up began before people bid each other goodnight. 

In the middle of the night, he woke up parched. Debating whether or not to get a glass of water, he finally got out of bed and made his way to the lounge where the kitchen was. Leaving his room, he could hear a faint clacking noise grow slightly louder the closer he got to the lounge entrance. Opening the door to the lounge, he was finally met with the sixth crew member whom no one had seen all day. Sitting at the dining table, (Y/N) rested her feet on the seat of her chair and had her knees drawn up to her chest. All around her were books and loose papers scattered about. Her hair was messed up, likely a direct cause of the hand she kept on her head, fingernails digging into her scalp. Curly gently cleared his throat, trying to make her aware of his presence. Shooting a tired glance his way, her eyes widened a bit before immediately sitting up straight and tidying her hair. She looked guilty, like she was caught in the middle of doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing. 

“Finally, we get to see her. Where have you been, Miss Absentee?” He sent a small smile her way, walking over to her.

“C-Captain! What are you doing up? It’s quite late.” (Y/N) nervously fidgeted.

“Just up for a glass of water. What are you doing up so late is the real question.” He crossed his arms. 

“Just doing a bit of work. Can’t get enough of it.” She joked dryly. Curly frowned and pulled the chair next to her to take a seat. She sighed and leaned back, finally relaxing from tensing up after seeing Curly enter the room. (Y/N) didn’t know her captain well, and as such she always tried her best to save face and remain professional with him, but at this hour of the night, she was too tired to keep up with decorum. 

He leaned on the table, facing her. “I know we may not be as close as you are with Swansea and Daisuke, or even Anya, but as your captain I care about how you’re doing and I want you to open up to me.” Her expression became hesitant as she shifted in her seat. “We’re all busy and even though it’s common for you to go missing during meal times, seeing you like this now is making me worried about how you’re doing.”

(Y/N) kept quiet for a second, looking like she was mulling something over before picking up the object right in front of her.  “Do you know what this is?” 

“An abacus. Interesting that you have one.” he said. 

“Yeah.” she sighed. She moved her gaze from Curly to the plastic Polle statue in the corner of the room. “Before I got on the Tulpar, they had given me all of the supplies I needed to fulfill my duties and do what they asked of me. I had met Swansea only briefly before so he could give me manuals and maps of the ship’s layout. I got the uniform, the steel-toed boots, notebooks, writing utensils, and a solar-powered calculator.” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d think that would be enough to prepare me to be here, but no . If only there was a way to have a bit of sunlight in outer space in a ship with no windows. They gave me something so crucial but useless out here. I had brought the abacus on board with me for sentimental reasons, but ironically enough it’s the only thing here that allows me to do my job.” She glanced back at him. “I’m not sure if you were aware, but Pony Express lied and said this was an internship for graduate students. Little did I know I’d be thrown into something I wasn’t going to have much guidance in. I needed a break from my PhD and even though the pay wasn’t that great, I was desperate for some sort of escape from academia.  I thought going to space would give me that, but every day I wake up is a constant reminder that I’m so underqualified. Swansea is an expert with the mechanical side of the ship and he’s helped me a great deal, but the fluid mechanics and thermodynamics of it all are things he knows nothing about. So I’m here, trying my best to play catch-up and praying that I figure out a solution so that this ship has enough fuel, enough air to last us an entire year, and that the Tulpar doesn’t pop like a pressurized soda bottle while we’re out here.” 

“(Y/N)...” Curly’s voice died at her name, shocked at this revelation and disappointed he somehow didn’t know about her struggle sooner. “I had no idea what you were going through. You always seemed to have a grasp on your tasks and Swansea always praised the work you did, so I just assumed you weren’t having a hard time adjusting. Have you told any of this to Anya during your evaluations?”

“No… I really wanted to believe that I could do it and stick it out, and so far, thank God, I’ve just barely made it every time. I really wanted you and the rest of the crew to believe I was capable and worthy of being here.” He cautiously put a hand on her shoulder, testing the waters on how he should comfort her. 

“You are worthy of being here. The fact that we’ve been having such a smooth trip with no complications so far makes that obvious. I really appreciate you opening up to me now. I want to do everything I can to make sure you aren’t stressed about your work. You need to get rest and eat like the rest of us. Sure, none of us are a chemical engineering smarty pants like you, but you can always ask for help, even if it’s just for something like bringing you food or running errands around the ship.” He smiled at her, and she weakly reciprocated the gesture.

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Thank you, Curly.” Too tired to remember formalities, (Y/N) let out a big yawn, much to his amusement. 

“So are you gonna go to bed?” He asked. She threw her head back and groaned in defeat, murmuring a “yes”. “Good! I hope I get to see more of you around now that you’ll be asking for help, yes?”

“Yes, of course, Captain. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The both of them stood up, (Y/N) to head to her quarters and Curly to finally get his glass of water. Before completely leaving, she paused and turned back. “Oh, and Captain?” 

“Hmm?” He raised his head up to look at her again.

“I know you have a lot of responsibility on your shoulders looking after all of us. Please, rely on me too.” She smiled gently.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).” He called after her as she slipped through the door. He felt content that he was making good progress to gaining the trust of the crew member he knew the least. It always made him feel good to be the reliable captain he hoped everyone viewed him as. Having that conversation with (Y/N) made him a little more relaxed now that she had opened up to him for the first time.

[thyglere]

A very long analysis on Caitlyn if you care to read:

Act 1 of season 2 of arcane just dropped on our collective brains like one of Jinx's bombs and just about everyone is losing their minds over it.

I've seen it happen especially over Caitlyn's actions which is... understandable.

What miffed me, however, is how the discourse has strayed to absolutes: Caitlyn is either absolute and irredeemably evil or completely justified in her actions.

Neither is true, of course, arcane is not interested in that sort of thing.

Caitlyn begins the act on the worst low of her life, her mother is dead over an attack that happened some feet away from her, its perpetrator on the other side of her gun some moments before it. Her father appears almost catatonic, incapable to see anything in front of him, he doesn’t offer Caitlyn true comfort, just more responsibility.

Caitlyn has never dealt with loss her whole life, she had the privilege of living in a rich estate, with a whole family and no need ever unmet. Now she is offered empty platitudes that do not quench her growing guilt and rage. We can see Jinx dominating her head, and what begins with the belief that Jinx, and only Jinx, is a monster quickly changes after the attack on the memorial.

Before it was easy to hate only one, Caitlyn knew her name and knew her face, but now she doesn't- too many people, too many faces, and she will probably never know any of her names, just a indeterminate mob of people that act like monsters and even look like monsters. They are easy to dehumanize and, in Caitlyn's head, the actions of the few are turning into the image of the all.

In episode 2 and 3 Caitlyn and her strike force steamroll over Zaun, weaponizing the Grey and extorting information with force- Caitlyn wants Jinx and she will get Jinx as fast as she can physically get. We can empathize with her loss, with her grief and rage, with her guilt and the trauma that came with seeing Jinx do what she did.

But if you want to argue empathy then it has to work both ways. The people of Zaun are not complicit in any of it, and I've seen people arguing that "the people they went after are criminals anyway!", "they are using the Grey tactically!", and "It is justified!". No, no, and no, the deployment of a chemical weapon and overwhelming police brutally are never justifiable, the leveraging of chemical weapons against human beings is a literal war crime, and while the montage is aesthetically breathtaking, the way Caitlyn's face is rendered against the backdrop of Jinx's wanted posters is very indicative of the nature of what she is doing.

Because what she is doing is not just going after Jinx, she is tormenting and terrifying the people of Zaun. Imagine that you worked at a clinic or healing center and suddenly people started flooding in because of chemical warfare near of your neighborhood; imagine if you heard that cops have started to gass people were you live; imagine that the air you breath was becoming contaminated, because chemical weapons cannot be tactically deployed, they spread and in the underground they will stay there.

When we read news about police brutality, when we see body footage of the use of excessive force and twitchy trigger fingers, our reaction is not sympathy for the traumatized or "stressed" cop- it's the understanding that this person should not hold the power they have, they shouldn't have a gun or a way to indiscriminately beat or arrest people.

We didn't emphasize with the actions of the enforcers in act 1 of season 1, they weren’t justifiable, and its mirror image also isn't.

This culminates in what happens in the fight with Jinx, and the behavior that Caitlyn displays. Caitlyn can rationalize her actions to herself, that she "had the shot" and that she "wouldn’t miss", neither are true. Caitlyn is a great shot, but she is not a "perfect" shot, no one is. Earlier in the fight she blew Jinx's finger off, and, if anything, that proves it all the more- it didn’t incapacitate Jinx, didn't stop her (that was Vi), and the place were Caitlyn wants to desperately put a bullet in is Jinx's skull. She can't guarantee that she wouldn't miss with all the flailing about that Jinx and Isha were doing, that is simply an impossibility. This refusal to see the harm she can do, that she is doing, either to poor Vi or the people that she thoroughly vilifying in her pursuit of revenge is truly what sets Caitlyn as a new antagonistic force.

Now Caitlyn has all the power in her hands and the devil on her shoulder, the next arc will probably be her descent until it all comes crashing around her. Because Caitlyn will be redeemed, I'm absolutely confident about that. There will come a moment of revelation that she will think: "What am I doing? What have I done?"

Perhaps then we will see the reforming agent that Caitlyn wanted to be inside the enforcers, someone that wanted to truly and genuinely help people, to see the humanity in everyone, not as an idealist, but as a more well-rounded person that understands the circumstances of life and what strife all go though. Not as someone that sees us-versus-them, not as someone that sees good versus evil, not as a cop that bashes through people's lives with government endorsed brutality, not as a cop that doesn't see the fault in her twitchy trigger finger and has no problem leveraging a chemical weapon against civilians.

Because, right now, Caitlyn is just acting like a cop, and all cops are bastards.

[krisluxxee]

VENUS OPPOSITE MARS SYNASTRY | ASTRO SYNASTRY SERIES

Girls come from Venus and boys come from mars, complete opposites but attracted towards each other nonetheless, right? The thing is, mars and Venus respectively, create a superficial and short-term connection which resembles most relationships these days.

This synastry doesn’t have a love at first sight vibe. It’s more of a lust at first sight. Everything with this synastry especially in the beginning is contingent on appearances and the tension of what sex with the other will be like. I will acknowledge that plenty of relationships that started off sexual and based on appearance has lead into a long-term commitment however, we aren’t there yet and sharing this synastry aspect with another will not reveal long term, just short term. The here and now.

The Venus person does everything within their power to be attractive to the mars person and the mars person does everything within their power to conquer the Venus person. This is a runner/ chaser synastry. This is “two can play that game” synastry. This is “ playing hard to get” synastry and in most cases, once the other has gotten what was given- it’s over. You need to understand that Mars and Venus are both superficial and operate on a surface level. There’s no depth and if you share this synastry with someone, and if you are honest with yourselves, you know this is true. This depth i speak of is saved for long term commitments, where your partner is able to see you without your makeup, without money or when you're smelling funny.

Depth in a relationship is a turn off and the main reason those with this synastry run away from the other or end things because it implies seriousness. The energy this synastry exudes is unable to appreciate the other without the extra, the glitz, the glamor, fun and sex- no strings attached. Imagine being at the gym. The Venus person, if she’s the woman, will show up with hair and makeup done with tight fitting or minimal clothing to be viewed as attractive. The Mars person, if he’s the man, will show up similarly but he will add emphasis on lifting heavy weights- mainly arms or chest or some exercise where his junk imprint is seen. Do not get me wrong, the Mars and Venus person are both trying to be attractive, but the Venus person will be more obvious and suggestive. My point is, both parties are showing up to the gym, where the expectation is to grind, sweat, focus and be ugly- but instead they show up the complete opposite because they are there to attract and turn someone or everyone on. They are both striving to be sex symbols.

They both want to be desired in a sexual manner. Before moving on to my next point, if Venus is the woman, she will absolutely be squatting, bending over and just being suggestive with her movements while acting oblivious. Same concept if the roles are reversed with Venus being the man and mars being the woman. Regardless, the Venus person will always be the overt one trying to appear sexy because this makes them feel important especially if they accomplish attracting the mars person. In most cases everyone will want the Mars person more than Venus person. So for Venus to capture the Mars person it’ll be an accomplishment.

I’m sure you expected me to say that everyone wants the Venus person, but no. Let’s say Venus is the woman. How many times have you seen attractive women who all want, compete and hate the next women over a man ie. The Mars person. Now, how many times have you seen a man ie. Mars, fighting another man over a women ie. Venus ?

Only in long term relationships but as I’ve already established, this synastry aspect is not about a long-term relationship- you, see? Generally speaking, a man is never going to fight another man over a women that they aren’t serious about. In worse but common cases, you will find the man more than willing to share the woman. The same cannot be said for women. Women do not want to share a man and this is when fighting, jealousy and drama come into play. Emphasis on the word play! Venus opposite Mars is all about games. If at any point you became confused while reading or listening to this, you can expect this dynamic to bring about confusion as well, which is part of the game of attraction and superficial “love”.

It makes things exciting. This is the synastry for those in situationships or those acting like a couple but not actually being in one officially. If at any point one person begins to want or demand more, you will witness a breakup or another person being added into the mix to cause drama. This drama is strategically inserted with intent to deviate from a commitment and usually the Mars person is the creator of such a strategy. The Venus person will always try to make the Mars person jealous and the Mars person will respond by actually making the Venus person jealous by following through and getting someone else that Venus person will inevitably compete with. The Mars person will play to win, always remember that. The mars person will take away the Venus person’s power with a quickness. An example of this would be the Venus person thinking they’re the prize, they look good and assume the Mars person cannot do better. The Venus person may even resort to withdrawing sex as a strategy in her game. The Mars person in turn, will then go out and find multiple others to have sex with and who usually look better than the Venus person.

The Mars person game is about dominating and conquering even if that means doing so in alternative ways. Mars doesn’t have to sex with the Venus person to hurt or make the Venus person jealous. The Mars person is ruthless in this game and Venus does not stand a chance though it may appear so in the beginning. The Mars person considers themselves the winner of this game, the moment the Venus person gives Mars attention. So, if you are the Venus person reading or listening to this claiming you haven’t had sex with Mars yet , while assuming you still hold power, I am sorry to say you are wrong. It’s like a cat and mouse game with Venus being the mouse. And like mice, just because they’re fast and elusive, the cat always wins in the end. This is not a synastry aspect to frown upon because opposites make a whole therefore, these individuals like this game, this dynamic. They are different but alike all the same. Again, women love men and men love women no matter how different they are. They are still attracted to each other and go through all the motions of being with someone that is their opposite. What works for me may not work for another therefore, I am not saying this is a bad or negative synastry to share with someone. It works for them until it doesn’t.

When we observe relationships that start off like this, usually someone wants things to evolve into something more serious and that’s when the opposition arises and can no longer be ignored, laughed, or fucked away.( like before) Like I said, oppositions make a whole so at some point one person in this synastry will crave to become whole and the other person will begin to resist and start a war zone- and usually this is the Mars person. The Mars person will view this demand or request of becoming serious as a threat and will activate that inherited war and combative spirit to oppose the incoming threat of a commitment and ultimately, depth with another person. It is at this point when the Venus person will start dating others in hopes to make the Mars person jealous. Or the Venus person will give silent treatment, withdraw sexual activities, cry to friends and family members, post meme’s, try to appear unbothered. The Venus person will try to become more attractive, change hair colors or turn to watching tarot to see if the Mars person is suffering without them.

As forementioned, the Mars person will start dating other people with intent of recreating this Venus opposite Mars synastry. Mars will have sex with others and secretly compare the others to the Venus person. It is during this time that the Mars person surrenders or keeps fighting so hard that this situationship is over for good. This is the time when the decision if whether to make things serious or not.

Like I mentioned before- this isn’t the synastry of long term though it can become that. Mars is the one who has control over whether it becomes serious or not. Have you ever heard of a noncommittal player becoming faithful and settling down? Yeah, they more than likely share this synastry with someone who at first they played games with and then eventually got serious with.

If you tell me that you have this synastry with someone but you do not like playing games or engaging in casual sex and relationships- I would call you a liar and challenge you to dig deeper within yourself. You are what you attract even opposites. Having this synastry with someone may even awaken you to something you weren’t aware of or in denial of about yourself- not to get all spiritual.

In conclusion, if you share this synastry with someone- this is about game playing, power, sex, appearances and jealousy. This can also reveal how your relationship will start with this person and may God be with you if you are the Venus person.

Sidenote: The mars person will not care how good your sex or appearances are enough to be controlled by it.

[frodopotter7]

The memories of Edwin Payne

(Or an interactive fanfiction)

Note: I had the headcanon that Edwin‘s notebook contains all his personal writing including the writings from his life as an Edwardian boy. So I wrote those entries in his notebook. Now this book is obviously all of Edwin‘s personal thoughts and I thought it would be fun to do a collaboration. So if you are a writer yourself or creative in any other way, feel free to use this entries as a starting point for another fanfiction. For example Charles finding the notebook and reading it or Crystal reading it or anything else. The only rule that I set is that you clearly mark my text and tag me, because first of all it was a lot of effort to write it and secondly I want to see what cool things you came up with. And if you don’t want to creatively interact with this fanfiction, then you can obviously just enjoy it by reading it.

Summary: Edwin Payne‘s most treasured item is his notebook, because it contains so much private information that no one else knows about him. Not even Charles. Including the struggles of a posh, gay, autistic Edwardian boy and his times before hell, in hell and shortly after hell.

Triggers: bullying, implied suicide, dolls

Shipping: Payneland, but you could also include other shipping in your part

The song that I thought of while writing:

One of Edwin’s most treasured objects was definitely his notebook. He had it all the time and he used it for every case they had. It meant a lot to him, since it was with him when he died. It was with him in hell and it was with him in his detective career. The reason why he never gave it to anyone, not even Charles, was that it had been with him even as a child. Well, back then he had several notebooks, but as he died every personal writing of his got transferred into it. The notebook always had enough pages and was still not getting thicker and his pen was always full of ink. And still even though it contained so many different notes, Edwin navigated through it without any problems. It was his own writing after all. His family sigil was carved into the black front cover and the word ‘Payne’ was written underneath it.

If anyone would open it and tried to start from the beginning, he would be greeted with Edwin’s signature under the printed words. ‘Family member:’ After that the handwriting would be harder to read. Scribbly, crossed out spelling mistakes and spilled ink from a little boy, who was writing for the first time. If you manage to identify the words it would read:

1905

Greetings,

my name is Edwin Payne. I am the only child of the family Payne. My father says, that mother wanted more children, but just failed every other time. You probably have heard about my family’s name. The family with the best lawyers of England. When I’m grown up, I will be a lawyer too. Lawyers are like detectives says my father. I like that. I like detectives.

My nanny told me to interact more with others. Why would I need to talk if there is no one to talk to anyways? My parents are often absent and my nanny is just not understanding me. My father says that I am too slow for my age. My motion skills too clumsy. My spoken words only contain information from detective books and I cannot properly respond to people yet. I know a lot of novels by heart though. Others just don’t seem to like talking about crimes as much as I do. Father sometimes lets me have a look in his older cases. They are interesting.

We visited a doctor again today, because of my slow development. We visit him quite often. Actually since I can remember. I don’t feel sick. He says there is nothing wrong with me. Still I know that something is wrong. I overreacted at loud noises. A lot of things stress me out.

1906

I haven’t writing about Cordelia Primrose Surname-von-Hovercraft. She is annoying, loud and a restless soul. She runs around the house and breaks rules just to get the attention. She is a bit younger than me, but that doesn’t justify her actions. I don’t like her. Although sometimes she be helpful. Like the time she stole the biscuit jar and gave me one of the special biscuits. They had to expel one of her nannies for this. But Cordelia had plenty nannies anyways. No one stays long with her. I had my nanny since I was born. I don’t like changes. Cordelia sometimes scares me with ghost stories. She says she would see them and that my fortune says that I will die a painful and early death. I don’t believe in this unscientific nonsense.

I take piano lessons now. It’s is fun. My mother seems to enjoy it. It is somehow the only way to get her attention for me.

Additionally to my regular private lessons I go to school now. Simon obviously needs to be in my class as well. I don’t like him. He bores me and he is too clingy. And sometimes he says mean things to me.

I had an outburst in class. Everything was just so loud and I was frustrated. The teacher hit my finger with the ruler and send me in the naughty corner. I don’t see why I get punished, when the other boys are clearly the distraction. Overall I am a good student. So it will probably not affect my grades.

My favorite subject is Latin and literature. I love books and translating old languages. It is like solving a code or a riddle. I don’t like maths, since it is all just numbers and no words.

1907

I had another outburst in class after Simon tried to touch me. He kept tapping my arm and I don’t like that. The teacher called a nurse, but I was too overwhelmed to respond to any of her questions to my health. I wanted to go home and I told her that again and again, but she didn’t understand. They called a priest. He said something in Latin. I think, it must have been biblical words. I tried to focus on translating them, but there was so much panic around me that I barely focused on anything. But I managed to calm myself after what felt like hours due to exhaustion.

My parents had a talk with the priest. He says that I am possessed by a demon. So now he straps me to a table and mumbled something in Latin again and again once a month or whatever I have an outburst. The robes around my wrist hurt. I am afraid. It is scary to know that there is something inside of me.

1908

I hate being possessed. Although I start to doubt that I have been in the first place. I did some research in the library and the real demonology books aren’t describing my symptoms. Even Cordelia, who usually always tells spooky stories, agrees with me. She said, if I was possessed she would have been the first one to know. She is a mystery to me.

1909

Today I saw a nice looking man across the street. I told my nanny that he looks like a basket full of oranges. My father uses that term a lot when he talks about young women, so I thought it is just a term to use if you think someone looks nice. She gasped and hit me lightly with the newspaper. It didn’t hurt but I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. She told me that a man cannot say that to another man. I guess the saying is reserved for women then.

1910

I started to mask my uncomfortable feelings in public. It is difficult, but it helps. My parents and the priest both think that I am healed.

1911

I got called a Mary Ann for the first time. I asked my nanny and she started to mumble to herself how she must have failed. I told her that she did a really great job, since I would consider myself very well behaved and educated. She ignored me and told me to not tell my parents. How should I tell them if they are never there in the first place?

I did some research again, which mainly was asking Simon. I know, getting down on his level is a hard sacrifice. He told me that a Mary Ann is a boy who behaves like a girl and isn’t manly enough so they love other men. I thought about that for a long time. What is it about me that makes me a Mary Ann?

The writing in the book started to get better and appeared way more elegant. You could find little drawings here and there. Edwin was quite a good and realistic artist. Drawings of flowers, buildings, his nanny, his mother or Sherlock Holmes.

1912

Mother is constantly coughing loudly. It is irritating. Not even cocaine will help. They don’t let me in her room. They fear I would catch it too. Not that I was ever close to her before.

Mother is in a special hospital now. She took the train far away in a hospital in the mountains. No one ever returns from there. I know it. Everyone does. I will not see her again.

Mother died of tuberculosis. I miss her, I guess. I don’t know what I miss. It is a change. I hate changes.

1913

Father is sending me to a boarding school for boys. He says it’s for my education. I know, he just wants to get ride of me.

I hate the new school. Simon is here and people are still calling me a Mary Ann. Simon started to join them. I guess he sees it as a new opportunity to mock me.

I take fencing lessons now. It is nice, since it is not required any sort of touch with other boys. Nothing that I can be blamed for.

1914

I found a hideout in the school attic. It is a great place to read in peace.

The world has started a war. It worries me. They tell us that we are save in the school. But in the end all you can do is pray.

I came back home on Christmas. My nanny was gone. Father said they would be no need for her any longer, since I am in school now anyway. He looked like he knew something, but wasn’t going to tell me.

1915

The next page had some blood drops on its pages.

I want to go home. I want to be back in my room with my detective books. I want to be healed from this darkness inside of me. My nose is bleeding from another attack by the other boys. They started to get more violent now. Simon isn’t joining them, but he watches.

I came home on Christmas, but it wasn’t my home anymore. Just a house. My father didn’t speak a word. I asked him, if it was about the war and he looked up towards me. I could feel his cold gaze from across the table. He took out a letter and slammed it on the table. It was from my headteacher. I was confused. I am class best and the best behaved student in class? The only reason why I get to stand in the naughty corner is if I got caught reading in my comics or books. In my defense I am usually already finished with the exercises if I read in class. What could possibly be a problem with me? The letter was about the other boys calling me Mary Ann. And that they didn’t wanted a boy like that in their school. That I should stop whatever was wrong with me. My father told me in his absent voice, that he was not having a son like that either. He had exchanged letters with the headmaster for quite some time now and I didn’t seem to get better. I asked him that I had no idea. He interrupted me as always. Told me that the only way to make me a man would be to send me to war. I started to cry and he continued holding a speech about heroism and that his generation had understood this so much better than mine. I am too young for war, he knows that too. He told me that the only thing rescuing my life is my good grades. He sees potential in me as a lawyer. He has talked to the Surnames-von-Hovercrafts they agreed that I should marry their daughter as soon as possible. I mean I knew that I would be married to Cordelia one day, but not already when I turn 16. That’s only some months away.

As the train brought me back to the boarding school and as I saw my father standing in the doorway of the house with his usual expressionless face, I knew that this was the last time I would see him and that he wished to rather have no son than me. I just knew it.

1916

Simon stole my hat. I wouldn’t mention this minor form of his bullying, if it hadn’t been a special hat. My mother and I bought it, when her disease hadn’t been noticeable. It was too large back then, but it suits me now. Or rather suited. I don’t think I will see it again as Simon comes up with the best ways to either destroy or hide it. I cried about it. Childhood is over, but honestly I don’t think it ever started in the first place at least not for me.

The numbness is spreading inside my body. I think about the military and the forced marriage daily. I am too young for this. I cannot even properly cope in a classroom. How am I supposed to cope in the war? My hands are to soft. My brain is too precious. Please, spear me. They won’t. It is just a question of time.

I went to the lake today. It is spring and still fairly cold, but I went inside non the less. It was cold. Ice cold. I went under water and yelled out some poetic nonsense. I thought about staying under water. Turning into Ophelia. But I reminded myself, that this is something a coward would do. A Mary Ann. I would proof everyone’s suspicions as correct. Scared to live. Scared to die. I got out of the water. My gaze landed on my clothes and the letter. My father had written me that the marriage would be held in some days, since I am 16 now. I ripped the paper in half and tossed it into the ocean. Letting the water destroy the writing on the paper. Of course this would make nothing undone. I would still need to marry. I would still need to go into the military. I would still need to die. I am frightened. The other boys seem unbothered. They laugh and play like the world isn’t ending around us. Well, their world is probably not ending anyways. They will live. Their parents are rich after all. They have the privilege. I would have had this privilege as well, but they took it from me by putting this name on me. I took it from myself with my impure thoughts.

Cordelia sent me a telegram that just read that I would need to be careful as death was approaching me in the worst way. I hate her for that. As if I wouldn’t know that. As if I wouldn’t know that I needed to go into the army soon. Not a single word about our forced wedding. I thought we had always agreed to both be against it. But then again she isn’t even trying to love me. Not that I would try. Not anymore. I tried when I was younger, because I was told to. But Cordelia has just no idea how to react appropriately to a gentleman. Her behavior makes it hard to believe that she is from such a high rank.

I saw Simon with a weird book today. He told me it is from his brother and that it is about demons. I told him that this was total nonsense and that he should get a grip on reality. He didn’t spoke to me again after that. Weird for someone who is as annoying as him. I am going to put my notebook in the pocket of my sleeping clothes tonight just to make sure Simon cannot steal it. I have a bad feeling in my stomach. My heart is aching for absolutely no reasons. I am afraid as I try to sleep tonight and the worst thing is that it is irrational. I am going to die alone, this is all my head produces right now.

?

Now every page was covered with blood at the side of the pages and sometimes even on the writing itself. There were no drawings to be found anymore. Just drawings for the escape plan and hierarchy of hell.

I don’t know if my dates are correct. I don’t know how time works in here. I don’t even know how long I am able to write without this thing waking up. This thing with the many doll heads. This spider like creature that kills me every time I move or make a sound. I sometimes wonder what happened to the other boys.

I try to change my perspective. It is hard when you are in so much pain. My brain learned to be sharper now. I can think and act quicker. I need to see this as one of my old detective games or as the times that I had to run away from my bullies. Everything is achievable with logic. Although I would say after being in hell for such a long time that might be a delusional optimism.

1988

I think I made it out fairly well. I am still uncontrollably shaky when I hear any noises. I fear that this demon might comeback to get me. I am back in the old school attic where they strapped me down on the table and sacrificed me. I learned a lot from hell and from the books in the attic. Like the basic ghost rules or that my death and the death of my bullies were labeled an act of god. I compared hell to the war a lot. After all I would say that hell was definitely the worse death. Much longer torture than war would have been. In the war you die just one death after all. But maybe a Mary Ann like me would have ended up there anyway.

I finally was brave enough to get out of the attic. I figured out that the year is 1988 from a newspaper that one of the teachers was reading. 72 years of torture. I wonder how often I was torn apart in this time. But I shouldn’t think about that. That reminds me of the pain and of the times when I tried to count my own corpses. The school hasn’t changed a lot. The teachers are less violent, but still rather strict. They have more lower class people here now. I can see it by the ways they behave and by the clothes they wear. That is especially confusing for me. So rude, so explicit, so freely. It is not a boarding school anymore. Luckily that gives me the freedom to have my peace after dark.

I started to watch a specific boy. I am not a stalker. At least I wouldn’t use this therm for a ghost. He is just interesting for my scientific research about this time. The boy has a darker skin. Some children in this school have this skin and get picked on, but somehow he isn’t the one who gets pick on. He wears very interesting clothes. Especially the golden earring. Something I would just see a woman wear, but it fits him so much better than it could ever fit a woman. His clothing is mostly black, though I would say that the red shirt he once worn fits him best. His lips have always a smile on them and he cracks loud jokes. But I see the sadness in his eyes. I recognize my own sadness in his eyes. His name is Charles Rowland. I heard the teacher yell it at him. A little trouble maker in class. He seems to never be able to focus. Maybe he is also possessed like I was when I was a young boy. But after experiencing hell, I doubt that the priest back then had any idea what a demon was really like.

The following page is filled with a very realistic drawing of Charles, who is smiling so iconically and his eyes seem to be filled with emptiness and some smaller doodles of Charles playing Cricket or talking to others.

Charles Rowland. His name repeats itself in my brain. I am not obsessive. He is just the best way of distraction I can find in this school. Distraction from the fear of hell. The fear of death coming back for me. Analysis and observation keep me away from those horrible thoughts. I have less panicle outbursts since I started my observation of this boy. Although when I am alone at night in the school attic I often start to cry in silence and my breathing races again.

Charlie. That is what his friends call him. It doesn’t suit him. Charles is his name. Not Charlie. I don’t like his friends. They are rude. They remind me of the boys in my old life. I wonder why I like Charles then. Maybe because he points out obvious misbehavior of the group even if they mock him.

The most interesting time is when Charles thinks that he is alone. That is mostly in the dressing room, when he gets ready for Cricket. As a short notion he is a fabulous cricket player, but he always waits till the other boys have changed and are out of the room. He pretends to struggle with his shoes or shorts. Even if that sometimes means that it is getting really dark outside. His smiles fades completely then. I saw the scars on his body. I feel bad for even looking at him in that state. Seeing a boy my age without a shirt is clearly inappropriate and it triggers the Mary Ann inside of me, but sometimes my detective senses is taking over too much. Especially after I saw all the scars and bruises. You don’t need to be that clever to understand that his family probably his father beats him. Although beating may be a too mild verb for those scars. I appreciate the absence of my father when I see him. My father and teachers used to beat me as well. With a ruler or the flat hand though not as much as my classmates. And after being through hell, that all seems like nothing in comparison. But even in my time no father would have mistreated their sons like that. I speak from a higher class, maybe it had been different in the lower class, but they were happy if their sons made it through childhood without a disease or scars so they could work properly. Although maybe they did this with the child workers. Is Charles secretly a child worker? Is there still child labour? Why would someone bruise their son like that if their son could provide a great income for the family? Or how many things was Charles doing something seriously wrong?

1989

His friends talked about me last night. They had cricket practice until the sun had settled and on the way back home I heard them talking about a school ghost. The janitor must have heard my weeping last night. My hysteria yesterday was indeed a lot. Too much to handle for myself. I think I was shaking till dawn. This vivid fear must have crossed over into the living world. They told Charles, that this had scared the janitor and he quitted. Then they told him of Mary Ann who was sacrificed 1916 and killed all the boys that night. Charles questioned this logically, since it was an all boys school, so there probably was never a girl. I certainly appreciate his thinking, but this just triggered a lot in me. Being called a Mary Ann even after all this years. Being remembered only as a Mary Ann. Being blamed as the murderer. Those boys clearly had no idea of what the term Mary Ann actually meant, but it just triggered me so badly that I started to panic again. My panic must have bursted through the worlds again, because the boys suddenly turned white and ran home. Charles stayed a little longer. Looking in my direction. I know he couldn’t see me, but maybe he could sense my panic more than the other boys could. Again we are much a like if you observe closely. After this strange second of him just starting into nothing and me starting back, he ran away as well.

I need to leave this place. But I am too scared. Too scared of the outside world. Too scared of the changes.

I wanted to leave today, be brave enough. But I heard Charles ‘friends’ talking bad about him behind his back. How weird he behaved. They had no idea about his scars. Then again if I would be his friend, which is rather unlikely, I wouldn’t confront him. I know how horrible I panic if someone says the word Mary Ann, I imagine that it is a similar situation for him with his scars. I stayed. I don’t know why. Again irrational fears.

I wish I would have left. I saw Charles defending a boy who got bullied by his so called friends. I felt tears in my eyes, because this was the kind of protection I had wished for when I was alive. I definitely feel too many emotions at the moment or maybe it just feels like more emotions because I was mostly numb in hell. The younger boy could escape with only a few bruises, but his friends still were in this blood lust. In this moment of still wanting the fun even though there was nothing funny about the action in the first place. I have seen those faces before. The faces of murders who only realize their actions when it is too late. They stoned him in the cold water. The water of the lake in which I once thought about killing myself a long time ago. I wanted to help. I wanted to stop them, but I had no idea what I could do. I am too new in this ghostly body. I tried desperately, but I ended up only pausing them by holding them back for a short time. It gave Charles time to ran away to the school building. He hid in the attic. I wanted to help him. The least I could do was by giving him a light. He was in a state where a floating light probably was his least problem. It turned out that he could see me and that was the moment I knew it was too late for him anyway. It was a strange sensation to properly speak again. I had never spoken in hell and in my ghost form I had only weeped. Hearing my own voice was odd. I was shortly surprised that I still knew how to use my voice. Reading to him from one of my old comics in the attic calmed him and gave me the opportunity to adapt a bit to talking for a longer period of time. He stayed with me, which honestly stresses me out a lot. I am not made to be a friend. I have been isolated for too long to be a good friend. I have been in hell for so long that I am probably a horrible person myself. I haven’t talked in so long. I am just adapting to just have conversations, how should I teach him to be a ghost, if I haven’t figured it out myself? Even if that all would not be the case and even if we would not be from different times, still I never have been good with other people. I never had friends. The only person a bit close to me was Cordelia and she was always more a sister for me. And still he chooses a stranger his own afterlife. From my observations I would blame his intentional behavior. He sees something and does something without thinking long. Although this decision might be too big for only this explanation.

I really can’t understand why Charles is choosing me over his afterlife. I just read to him once and gave him a lantern. He barely knows me and now he follows me everywhere. I showed him some ghost tricks and somehow I can really impress him by everything I say or do. But he made me smile for the first time in my life. So I am impressed by him as well. Whenever I read in this book, I just tell him that I like to keep record of things. That I would plan were we can go next as we no longer can stay in the school and waking around without plan is never good for too long. It is partly a lie I really am making a plan. But I do this in my head rather than writing it down, but it is an excuse for not letting him see my private writing. I tell him that it is rather boring planning and he believes me. I feel bad for lying to him, but if he would know about my past he surely would leave me and I would be all alone again.

We mirror traveled together to London. Charles felt a bit sick after it. He seems to still need to adapt to his ghost body. I was a bit overwhelmed with his sudden mood shift. I have been too selfish all my life and in my death so much that I don’t know how to help. He didn’t notice or he just didn’t say anything. But we had to mirror travel, it was too dangerous in the school after Charles died. Besides Charles is a talented and athletic boy, he will get the grip of it. In addition death could have caught me in the attic. I didn’t tell him why I am on the run. Not yet. I fear that once I tell him that I was in hell, he will think I am evil. Maybe that is true. Maybe I am just doomed. I feel like it was my fault that he died. I watched him so long with this incorrect feelings of mine. Maybe this cursed him like in a Greek tragedy. For now I just want to make sure that Charles is not alone. I had been alone for too long to know how dreadful it can get and he is much more social than I am.

We visited his family in London. A real rural area. His mother was crying over the loss of her son. His father just seemed to see it as a natural thing to happen to those who aren’t careful enough. I made a mental note to haunt this man every year to Charles’ death day without telling Charles. The school, once again, swept the problem under the carpet and made it appear like an accident. How can someone possibly stone himself while being in the water and then run in an attic? No clever detective would see that as the solution. I said that out loud and it turned out that Charles and I both share a passion for detective stories. That was something to make him smile. But he started to cry again as he saw how desperate his mother and sister were. He hugged me, which was a lot. I never have been hugged before and at first it felt like this demon from hell was gripping around me again. I froze in place and pushed him away in a reflex. Charles stopped. I didn’t tell him about the hell part, but I told him that I am not used to hugs and touches in general. He took it in surprisingly well, but for his own sake I added that I might could get used to it. I hope that I am able to get used to it. Charles sees it as something that he can teach me.

It was just a matter of time till my hell trauma wouldn’t be able to keep hidden anymore. We were in an abandoned apartment, since we both are not staying out the whole night. We don’t have to sleep but it is just too awkward. He usually talks through the whole night and I like his voice even with his weird way of talking. He likes me reading to him. He even carries all my books for me. But as we explored the abandoned house, I discovered an old doll. I overreacted I know. But there was just so much panic inside of me all of the sudden. My fight or flight mood was activated again. I don’t know what Charles did. I don’t know how he managed to stop me from repeating the word ‘Please spare me. I don’t belong in hell.’ I vaguely remember his hands securely holding my head and his shining dark eyes and his calm voice, but I don’t remember his words. He was confused by my sudden changed behavior, but he tried to not show that whole calming me. Once he had calmed me, I obviously had to tell him the truth. I gave him the opportunity to leave me again, but he stayed and he understood, said that this is probably the worst thing someone could have been through. We didn’t speak the rest of the night, but we continued the next day as if nothing had happened.

It is harder to continue my writing as Charles could find out and I don’t want him to know about this. He is so lively. He is jumping and sprinting around, while telling me things and just appears from behind. I cannot risk that. We have a detective agency now. We don’t want that others have their deaths so badly twisted as ours. Another reason was that he had introduced me to a game called Clue, which is basically a detective game, and then we both came up with the idea of starting our own detective agency. He is the brawn and I am the brain. It fits perfectly. We even managed to get a abandoned flat in London. I probably have no time to continue this memoirs, but I will make sure to use my notebook as a case lock book from now own.

I will never tell him about the real meaning of the word Mary Ann. I will never tell him that I had been in the school for a whole year and not just shortly before his death. I will never tell him that I have watched and observed him. I appreciate him now too much. I don’t ever want to lose him.

After that only a whole lot of cases and notes and questions on them followed.

[bokettochild]

Your Uncle and Legend fic ending reminds me so much of that one fic you wrote about legend meeting his family again when they thought that he was dead, except the roles are flipped!! Words cannot describe how much I love the way you wrote and characterized them all!! If you ever decide to write more or continue it (no pressure!!) I would love to read it!!

Yeeeah...so... I miiiiiight have a very distinctive brand of fic I crave sometimes? (I have written so many of these in my head you have no idea)

But yes! I love exploring the various family dynamics of the Links who we never meet the family of, or who we rarely get to see the family for! Legend, Warriors and Sky of course being my primary targets because not only do we know next to nothing about their families, it's also plausible for me as a writer to have the boys meet said families without too much convoluted nonsense having to happen.

Unlike Wars and Sky though, I don't have to start from scratch to write Legend's family, since Loretta and Banzetta have at least some details given in the manga, Uncle Aflon, Grandpa and Grandma all actually appear, and some general details are given about their family line via prophecy and old stories.

So yes, I love exploring their families and Legend, of course, being my favorite, gets to be targeted in all of that!

I almost didn't write this fic though, since it is pretty similar to Hero's Wake (the story you referenced), but all the Uncle Aflon talk around here may have convinced me.

There is more to the story too! What I posted is actually what would be the second part of a three part bit, the first detailing the heroes' side of things, and the third kind of being the fallout. The thing that makes it different than Hero's Wake though is that rather than focusing on Legend's need to protect his family, it sort of more touches on how their loss affected him as a person and impacted his ability to make connections with others (AKA his abandonment issues, because I feel like hurting him).

I still have to write the other two parts before I can post it all to Ao3, but I got impatient and REALLY wanted to share what I had, so I kinda got ahead of myself LOL

There will be more though!

....eventually T-T

[skiitter]

For @katsitsiyo!

Prompt: Felassan's ghost coming back to haunt Solas while he's sad and pines for Inky.

Regret was a many layered thing, made all the more complex by the seemingly endless stream of his life. Solas wore his collection of contrition like ill-fitting armor; suited for the task, but never good enough to want for. Were it not for the momentous guilt at the part he played in every major tragedy of the past several thousand years, perhaps he'd be bold enough to shrug the weight from his archaic shoulders. As it stood, though, as immovable and implacable as he in the prison of his own design, Solas was a man haunted by the past. And sometimes, when he least desired it, those hauntings took shape and form enough to rub sea salt into the caverns of his wounds.

He stared out across the abyss, to the cliff's edge where Rook always stood. Not for the first time, certainly not for the last, he wished for her to appear, if only to better discern between the mundanity of his imprisonment. All those years alone had apparently dulled his capacity for loneliness.

"It's not Rook that you want to see, Solas." Felassan leaned casually against some ruined epitaph of a forgotten Evanuris.

"Nor is it you, Felassan." Of all the ghosts, Felassan was the most persistent, the most corporeal, such as it was possible in that betwixt place. Were he less prideful, perhaps Solas could appreciate the company his former friend inspired. Such as was his denser nature, however, he could be no less prideful, no matter the want.

"How long you lay at Mythal's side, ever the loyal lapdog," he replied. "And yet, it is a mortal elf that pushes you to break."

"Mythal--"

"Broke you as well, of course," Felassan faded into view just beside him. "But it was for her own selfish desires. This elf, this Lavellan, she breaks you in such a new and beautiful way."

Solas sighed, and closed his eyes.

"How long have you been at this, old friend?" he asked. "How long have you marshaled this crusade of revenge, of guilt, for actions forced from you out of love and devotion?" Felassan's voice was so casual for the venom within his words.

"You were not there, you do not know what it was like, the desperation we felt," Solas insisted. "We had no other choice. Mythal had--"

"Mythal took a spirit of wisdom and forced him to see the value in war. It is not her name that echoes through that wound you call a heart, Solas. You cannot lie to me, not here, not anymore."

"What would you have me say, Felassan? That I am flawed, that I have made mistakes, that it was foolish and cruel of me to take what I would never, ever be able to return?" Solas spat, just as poisonous, just as cold. "Ellana--Inquisitor Lavellan is another regret, same as all the rest."

Felassan's laugh echoed through the void, mocking him. "You cannot lie to yourself either, Fen'Harel. Were that the case, you'd have ripped the veil from this world without hesitation. You'd have slain those wicked siblings of yours and set loose upon the world all that is the powerful and the divine." He stepped out over the edge, and Solas opened his eyes. "You'd have granted her final request, that moment there, in the Crossroads. You are loyal to Mythal, Solas, because you are a wolf scratching at it's master's door begging to be fed."

Solas flinched, knowing the words even as they came.

"But you are in love with Ellana because you are a man on his knees, begging to be seen."

[himbos-hotline]

Baby au outline: AKA I have shrunken your favourite wresters! send me asks please

under the cut cuz its BIG

Madelyn "Maddie" Orton

AGE: 5

Adopted by triple H/shawn micheals after Her, Randy and Seth's biological parents die in a car accident

autistic and dyslexic

If she has to have her hair up, she will have it in different colour ribbons

None of her clothes fit her- either cuz theyre a size too big or Randy's handmedowns

Finn Balor:

AGE: 6

Biological child of Leona and Finntan Balor

A child of chaos- its a fight to keep his clothes on most days

constantly covered in bruises from his midadventures

isnt allowed near plastic food or things that smell like food

likes to be labelled as irish

has once stuck lego up his nose

Samuel "Sami" Zayn:

AGE: 5

Edge and Christians child

Offical Generico translater

Doesnt sleep enough for a child

Pokes people when he introduces them to Generico

Believes the young bucks are a collective and cannot tell them apart

Likes apple slices

always has his hands in his mouth

Generico:

AGE: 4

Looked after by Excalibur

Speaks in small vague spanish phrases- only Sami and Danhansen can understad it other babblings

believes that Maddie and moxs coats are magic due to them hiding their hands

sleeps up on top of tables

the quiet kid- nobody sees or hears him enter or leave a room, maddie makes jokes that he flies

never seen without his lucha mask

Likes to sleep in the art room

Kevin Owens:

AGE: 7

parented by Chris Jericho [this was funny to me and sibling]

doesnt really like to share anything he has

That kinda bully who would push you in the mud but then when nobodys looking help you up

Also responds to bear

likes to stand on the slide and scream at people

Malakai Black:

AGE: 6

parents are AJ lee [we needed someone, there no thought behind this]

Speaks very clearly for a child- knows a lot about many things

A bit of a creepy cursed child

Likes to paint and sleeps in the art room under tables

wild child whose missing a tooth

is somehow a calm child around the others, gets upset when things go really wrong

Aleksandra "Aleks" Page

Age: 5

Parents are Micheal and Orla Page

Does not like naps because she has constant energy. The child will not chill tf out and we love her. 

Does bendy shit, gymnastics kid. 

Becomes convinced that she and Adam Page are related because they have the same last name.

Polish-British

tries to drink her weight in juice boxes

Likes outside time and nothing will stop her

Balor:

AGE: 7 1/2

Parented by Brody King

nobody actually knows where he came from

has little devil horn hair that will never flattern down ever

always warm but always wears his little leather jacket

Says concerning things for children

Randall "Randy" Keith Orton:

AGE: 10

adopted by Shawn/Triple H

Hangs out with the "big kids"

Eats bugs and tries to get Maddie to do the same- thinks it makes him look cool

over protective big brother

has anger issues

likes to jump off things

Seth Rollins:

AGE: 4

The youngest orton child

has asthma

doesnt eat bugs but does jump off tall things

Him and Mox were in the same care home-

seth always asks if him and mox are still friends

literally the pickest child

shawn dresses him

has unlimited power, the LOUDEST CHILD EVER!

bites his nails

keeps asking his dads for a dog

Jonathon "Jon" Moxley:

AGE: 5

Fostered and later adopted by William Regal

Allergic to cats but pretends that he isnt

always covered in bandaids

isnt excited about joining a new nursery school

Regal teaches him originami

Calls regal dad

gets nosebleeds and is way to calm about it and thus has a change of clothes with him always

plays in the mud

has ADHD

wears his shirts inside out and mismatched socks

rides his bike fast with stabalizers

totallyg gets braces when hes older

never feels cold

likes frogs

Rhea Ripley:

AGE: 8

daughter of lita

is tall for her age

likes hanging out with the big kids

has her ears peirced

spooky child and likes to talk to malakai

Darby Allin:

AGE: 4

son of sting

paints his face with the poster paints

learns to skateboard

is artsy and crafty

breaks his arm by the first chapter leaping off things

Adam Page:

AGE: 4 [nearly 5]

lives with his "auntie" beth pheonix" on a farm

little farm guy

carries around his horsie plushie

has resting sad face

quiet and anxious and shy

compares kenny to a lamb at least once

wears patterened clothes

Maxwell Jacob Freidman:

AGE: 4

has an asshole personality that streches way past his height

the not nice bully

has hayfever and hates it

likes singing and choir

refuses to play with the other kids

wears his scarf all the time and refuses to take it off

has ADHD

Matthew "Matt" Jackson and Nicholas "Nick" Jackson:

AGES: 7 and 5

sold as set do not seperate- do everything together

Matt needs special food due to glucose and lactose intolerent

Matt wears braces

theyre both autistic

Matt gets the zoomies

Nick likes birds

Matt doesnt mind being called matthew, Nick hates being called nicholas

Nick is a haunted child

Matt likes shoes, nick loves birds

Nick falls over a lot

Kenneth "Kenny" Omega:

AGE: 7

A little older than Matthew

Don Callis kid

abused by don and shows reactions related to that [cries if he thinks hes in trouble, flinches if someone moves too quickly, has issues with wetting himself and bed wetting]

has a tiny ponytail

friends with the baby bucks

little and blond and curly

has a bunny rabbit that he loves more then anything

jealous that the older kids have a gaming system

Edward ‘Eddie’ Kingston:

Age: 9

Parent: Mick Foley

Is friends with Bear because they’re both tiny and filled with rage

Tiny new york accent

Friends with Mox. 

Raccoon blanket.

The kid that wants to see injuries and gross stuff because it’s cool !

Always wears a backwards hat

Plays baseball

Wheeler Yuta:

Age: 2

Parented by William Regal, baby brother of Jon moxley

He is the baby of the entire group. 

Is really left at the daycare because his dad needs to work.

Does Not speak, like at all.

Communicates through noises

Can Laugh and giggle and make sounds like screaming and crying

Maddie teaches him sign language 

Toddlers around and finds the world very very cool

Shares a blanket with his foster brother Mox 

Has his own little blanket to cuddle with.

Daniel "Danhausen" Hausen:

AGE: 6

son of excalibur

plays dolls with mlp with hangman

also friends with little darby

always calls kids by their full names ir makes up their own not quite right names

understands what generico is saying all the time

keeps his baby teeth as well as other kids teeth on him

has once eaten an entire stick

Likes magic

Hook:

AGE: 3

Son of Taz

chip addiction

doesnt know what to do with danhausens avances of friendship

just really fucking loves dinos man!

Karl Anderson and Luke Gallows:

AGES: Luke 8 | Karl 7

two half of a whole idiot

Karl has esxma

Charles "Chuck" Taylor:

AGE: 9

Raised by tony schiavone

yes he knows the shoes share his name, he KNOWS!

breaks his ankle at the bucks birthday party

also tall for his age and hates it

looses his name- comes in every week with a new one

Trenton "Trent" Baretta:

AGE: 8

Sues son

gets convinced once that he also looses his name

mamas boy

chucks next door neighbour

the dunce of the group

Orange Julias "Orange" Cassidy:

AGE: 4

Also raised by excalibur

the chillest toddler ever

wears sunglasses all the time

Adam Cole toddler! Adam cole tot [maybe an evolution of the character]

AGE: 5

Raised by RJ city and Claudio castiagnoli

Pagent queen

IS NOT A BABY

likes the swings

always cold

Jungle boy:

AGE: 3

raised by edge and christian

ALSO really loves dinos- carries around a "wrestling dinosaur" called luchasauras that he SWEARS is alive

likes classical music

climbs trees and just falls out of them and never takes fall damage

Julia Hart:

AGE: 2

Raised by brody king

also a haunted child

does cheerleading

likes wearing her big hat

[scorpiusmalfoylovesoscarwilde]

I've said it before, I'll say it again, and I'm sure it won't be the last time. I AM SICK AND BLOODY TIRED OF THESE MFS, HALF OF WHO DONT EVEN CARE ABOUT CURSED CHILD, BITCHING AND MOANING ABOUT AN ANGSTY TEEN DARING TO BE AN ANGSTY TEEN, I WILL FIGHT THE LOT OF YOU

(this is gonna be a bit long and probably incoherent so sit down and fucking listen to me 🔫 stick with me because I'm not just complaining about albus haters)

eVERYBODY wants cOoMmpllEeXx relatable HUMAN characters - and then SHIT themselves when the flaws a CHILD has isn't just 🥺 uwu im socially awkward and traumatised 🥺. that's why scorpius doesn't get this fuckass treatment, because his terrible human flaw is that he's a bit shit at conversation and gets sad about his dead mum (generalised understatement, but this post isnt about him. dont come for me i love him 🫶🏻)

god forbid albus, who feels unloved and unwanted (with valid evidence for a teenager), albus who feels completely out of place and outcast from his entire famously-close-knit family, ablus who is well known by the world by default via Harry and hates the attention and high expectations, albus who then gets targeted and bullied by his peers because he's not as perfect and brilliant as his father, albus who is then isolated from his one friend because Harry is making irrational ptsd fueled decisions, albus who tells Harry completely sincerely that he knows he's unlikeable but he'll try and change himself and be more like his siblings because he genuinely believes that's what Harry and everyone else whos had the misfortune of meeting him wants, albus who spends the entire play trying to prove himself and fix things via idiotic childish decisions BECAUSE HES A WHOLE UNSTABLE CHILD

god forbid that CHILD doesn't react like a patient, supported, well adjusted, level headed adult. god forbid he reacts outwardly. god forbid he reacts at all, my bad. clearly he should just sniffle a bit as if he doesn't feel suffocated and helpless by everything in his life, because obviously hes just a spoiled brat who doesn't know what real suffering is. god forbid he complains or feels anything negatively, or doesn't quite grasp that other people are struggling too because he is too busy trying so hard to deal with himself and his declining mental health the best he can with basically no support or understanding. god forbid he isn't completely perfect.

you all sound like some fucking boomer telling teenagers they don't know what real struggling is, they aren't mentally ill, they dont have any problems because they have a roof over their head, they should all go to war kids are too soft these days 😫😖😱 fUCKING‼️SHUT UP‼️

he does things wrong but he knows he does and he does everything he can to fix it! and he is fourteen!!! do none of you remember what being fourteen is like 😭😭 I swear half of you have got to be basically fourteen yourselves cmon man

cause I'm seeing this fucking pattern a lot recently. not just for albus, not just in this fandom, everywhere. ‼️ no one can fucking handle flawed characters anymore ‼️ the only thing any character is allowed to have wrong with them is trauma apparently, otherwise they have to be perfect, and I'm getting sick of it. characters and stories are meant to reflect real life, they're meant to help shape our world view, why are you expecting everyone to be fucking perfect??? what happened to nuance? what happened to understanding character development? you are all acting like characters and people are so black and white. either they're perfect or they're insufferable and evil. I won't lie, the most common victims i've noticed of this are women. but the flawed women are typically demonised, whereas the men are typically turned into uwu baby boys who actually aren't capable of doing anything wrong and then fanon goes nuts making them into ittle wittle victims. and I'm so fucking sick of all of it, I hate this. (obviously this is not a strict rule. Albus Potter, and also Albus Dumbledore now I mention it, are demonised beyond belief)

BRING BACK FLAWS AND BRING BACK NOT COMPLETELY WRITING OFF A CHARACTER BECAUSE THEY DARE TO BE HUMAN

I AM FED UP, ALBUS POTTER GET BEHIND ME

[dustteller]

Reading He Who Drowned the World and honestly Baoxiang has no right to be as bitchy as he is about Ouyang squandering Esen's love or whatever. Baoxiang is genuinely convinced that Esen loathes him. No you dumb bitch, your brother loves you and the reason he's giving you a hard time is because he wants you to be safe and happy and healthy. Yeah, he sucks at expressing it, and his efforts are misguided (bc the toxic masculinity gender rolesis fucking up Esen as much as it's fucking up everyone else), but Esen very much does love Baoxiang deeply. Every time Baoxiang remembers a time when Esen "enjoyed his fear" or whatever, I can only think of these parts of Esen's POV from the first book:

Esen's first instinct is to defend his brother. The only reason he doesn't is bc Baoxiang leaves before he can. And Baoxiang glares at him bc he assumes that Esen agrees with Altan and won't defend him, but no, Esen WANTED to defend him and it's Baoxiang that took away his oportunity to do so.

And a bit later, we have this interaction. Baoxiang assumes (again) that Esen would hate him if he was gay, and immediately goes on the defensive. Meanwhile, Esen literally does not care about this except for how it would affect his brother's reputation. He's just WORRIED. He doesn't care if Baoxiang is gay or whatever, but he's deeply aware that if he IS it would put him in more danger. Because, again, he cares about his brother, and he hates seeing what he assumes is Baoxiang making his own life harder.

And it's heartbreaking bc Baoxiang will probably never realize how much Esen adores him. He's so jealous of Ouyang for having his brother's heart without realizing that Esen sees him as his beloved baby brother and is desperately trying to protect him from a world that he KNOWS is cruel to him. Baoxiang will never know that his greatest supporter and the only person that loved him unconditionally was Esen. And maybe it would be WORSE if he realized how dear he was to Esen, because the realization that all thise things that caused him pain were borne out of a deep, unconditional LOVE and not the disdain he's convinced himself Esen felt for him might break him. Baoxiang has deluded himself into simplifying Esen's feelings for him into those of hate and disdain because its so much harder to accept that the person you love the most has destroyed you out of love. Baoxiang is doing the exact same thing Ouyang does in convincing himself that he's unlovable and relishing in the world's response as a form of self-harm. And Esen, who is genuinely trying (and floundering horribly) is a great tool for Baoxiang to use to tear himself apart.

And, on the other hand, Esen will never realize how much damage his attempts to help Baoxiang caused. He loves him so much, bc that's his baby brother! It's his job to protect him! But Esen has been raised as the golden poster child of a Mongol Warrior Man, a perfect pinacle of masculinity, and is thus doomed to only being able to express his love and acceptance for Baoxiang through a tough love, lets sand down all the edges to remove friction approach. For him, pushing Baoxiang into a box IS an act of love. It's the act of saying I love and accept you, and so I will help you succeed in all the things you're bad at so that everyone will love you too. Except by doing this, he doesn't realize how awful he's being and how he's asking someone that CANT ever fit the mold to break himself in the attempt. He's a perfect Mongol Warrior Man after all, and as such he has never been given the tools to express his affection in a healthy way. He will never truly understand how much he's an asshole, not because he is lacking in love (as Baoxiang assumes) or because he is incapable of sympathizing (as ouyang thinks), but because understanding is not something allowed of him and his role in society. At the end of the day, Esen is as much a slave to his role as all the other characters are, and now he's dead he will never be able to break free of the assumptions people have made of him. He went to his grave having destroyed the people he loved most, and now he will never have the chance to prove their assumptions wrong as be better.

[calciferstims]

tiktokers be like “I am going to create the most beautiful, relaxing, aesthetically pleasing video ever, with gorgeous lighting, and deeply satisfying content”. …….. “and then I’m going to cut the video fifty thousand times in thirty seconds-”

[anchorandrope]

.