#Enough pain and even your logic based thoughts are trying to convince you that this-

[kingly-court]

Okay, this ramble was gonna stay in the tags - but it activated something in me. I’m running on very little sleep and typing on mobile, so this might not be as concise as I want it to be. Also a lot of this is just gonna be personal interpretation.

A lot of folks are saying in the tags and stuff that there’s at least a couple lines alluding to suicidal imagery [“Transmute the pain ‘to kinetic energy”] from Light, and [“-then I’ll cut you loose and spare this noose the dead weight”] from Storm and a Spring. And I! Definitely agree!

The kinetic energy line is probably more subtle then most would see at first, and the second almost sounds like it’s referencing Soul and Heart’s solidarity in much more intense seeming suicidality that is bound to destroy The Whole at some point. But if you look at it for a few more seconds, then both lines have a really harsh, sad feeling about them.

But I have More to say-

The more subdued, secretive sort of ideation Mind expresses is very real - and very dangerous. Whether it’s in statements like the above, or if it’s what I theorize is a minor fixation on the possible near death experience of the Juno Incident, I.E [“I know you seem so content in your little hole, dug for someone else’s remains”] from Be Born, [“But when he finally shot at me”] from Mucka Blucka, or [“See how his feet miss the ground, and he falls inside a hole he dug for me”] from TME.

Or otherwise its general case of extreme outward apathy and cynicism that hides a very real case of painful feelings, the most ready example being [“All the rage, despair, and shame”] from SaaS - and an additional case of existential questioning and feelings of lack of control, usually based around one’s purpose, I.E [“We have so much left to sing”] from SaaS again for purpose, and [“Questions we have pondered, time we’ve squandered” - “Please help decipher this life that we lead”] from Light in regards to feeling out of control of the situation.

Mind is not a part that runs fully on logic alone, that’s pretty easy to pick up, but its habit of acting like he is in fact 100% the only rational, logical being [“My logic is the absolute” “-we need to live life logically”] means that expressing ideation up front is incredibly difficult no doubt. And in my perception it all comes up through an air of repressed but mentioned emotions, and an aura of seemingly being/feeling trapped or hopeless in this situation. Not to mention that a dampened emotional response can be a sign of extreme detachment and distance, which is a huge mental health and suicidal red flag in of itself.

Mind is likely just as far down in this pit as the other two, being reflections of the same mentally ill collective - but the way it’s expressed is atypical and often not something you see on the typical list of things to watch out for. He’s the least likely for someone to be actively concerned about, but its basic and accepted baseline is probably Not Great. My mans is just as ready to keep fighting with its other split half and face Soul’s threats of death as Heart is, because it still takes them both a bit to chill the fuck out.

I could type out a whole alternate essay talking about how its likely Near Death Experience at the hands of Heart also shaped its opinions and the way it talks about life, death, and the frantic striving to fulfill one’s purpose and understand life. But this is already such a long fucking post so I’ll leave it there.

Correct me if I'm wrong but I just had a thought about HMS:

So both Heart and Soul have expressed multiple times that they want to commit suicide

IIRC Mind has never expressed this (out loud at least) and yet he's the one with the closest experience to death (being shot by Heart)

[azertyrobaz]

Vortex Chapter 7/12

Concussion, he immediately thought. Not the first time he had one of those, and it sometimes took a few minutes for his mind to clear. Nothing to worry about.

******

Din loses some of his memories. How will he decide to get them back? And should he get them back? Thankfully, he has friends to help him figure it out. Amnesia/Memory loss fic.

******

Chapters: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12

******

Read below or on ao3.

He didn’t know how long he’d stayed there, kneeling on the floor with Paz’s helmet held tightly in his hands. So tightly that they were starting to cramp and shake. He wasn’t even sure how long Grogu had been humming against his side, his soft voice so sweet yet so forlorn as he attempted to pull him back from this living nightmare.

���Din?”

In the end, it was Ahsoka who succeeded, and he wondered afterwards if Grogu had been the one calling her, somehow, or if she’d sensed that something was wrong on her own.

“He’s dead,” he said needlessly, his voice hoarse. “He’s dead and I killed him.”

“He gave you no choice,” the Togruta stated, kneeling next to him. Din watched her move closer from the corner of his eye, but didn’t turn around.

With a slow exhale, he finally put the helmet back in the crate, though he didn’t close it. Didn’t stop staring at it or feeling pain and regret coursing through him like a disease. The child grabbed two of his fingers but he didn’t let himself acknowledge the tender gesture.

“Tell me what happened,” he requested, and he saw her shake her head.

“You don’t want to remember.”

“I need to remember.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it now: he’s dead, they’re all dead,” she said, trying to make him see reason, when all he could see was failure and guilt.

“What about all that Imperial Beskar, where did I find it?” he pressed, his gaze shifting to the second crate. There again, Ahsoka hesitated, and Din grew irritated.

“If you won’t tell me, I’ll find someone else who will,” he vowed, and almost made to stand up, but she held out a hand.

“I’ll tell you what I can,” she hedged, and Din sighed – would that be enough?

“I’m listening.”

He saw her try to search his eyes but didn’t force him to turn towards her. Din knew that his resolve would crumble if he stared into their remarkably blue depths.

“They laid out a trap for you, but it wasn’t obvious at first,” she started resignedly. Din had to force himself not to interrupt in case she changed her mind, but he dearly wanted to know who she was referring to exactly. “You decided to go look for Beskar on your own but didn’t tell us where you went. If Bo-Katan hadn’t put a tracker on your ship, you’d be dead today.”

At this, he finally looked at her.

“She didn’t trust you then like she does now – relax, it’s gone.”

Still, Din told himself he’d do a sweep of the N-1 just in case. Keeping years old logs protected by flimsy passwords was one thing – he could only blame himself for that one – but having someone track his comings and goings didn’t sit well with him, even if it had saved his life.

“You went to Nevarro, convinced there was Beskar stashed there, in a destroyed Imperial base.”

Din frowned, but could see the logic behind that assumption – the Client had gotten it from somewhere nearby, and it would have survived the reactor’s explosion.

“But your tribe had the same idea, and waited for you there, knowing you needed it desperately for the troops here. It was just the two that remained, your leader and this one,” she described, angling her head towards the blue helmet.

“Only two of my tribe survived?” Din couldn’t stop himself from asking, his throat closing up. Had so few escaped Nevarro that first time? Were they all dead because of him? Ahsoka shrugged, but her eyes were full of compassion, and he forced himself to look away again.

“I know you met them once before you were reunited with Grogu.”

“When I got his chainmail,” he assumed, as it made the most sense, and she nodded.

“From what I understand, there might be other members of your tribe scattered in the galaxy, but they hadn’t made their way back to the two of them at this time.”

What she wasn’t saying was whether they ever would, or ever would want to. Especially if they lost their armor along the way. Could some of them be here on the base? Would they even admit it if that was the case? But this was a task for another day.

“And then what?” he pressed.

“When Bo and I showed up, you were gravely injured. Grogu had tried to heal you but he was growing just as weak. He was terrified and you were half-delirious. You’d killed the man but the woman with the golden helmet was still there, standing over you. Kryze fought with her, but she eventually had to let her go – you needed to be evacuated quickly or you would have died.”

“So the Armorer is still alive?” he marveled.

“Bo is certain she’s dead,” Ahsoka stated coldly. “You tried looking for her without success. As soon as you were healed enough – you refused further treatment and vanished again. When you returned, you had the Beskar with you. I’m the only one you told and you haven’t made up your mind what to do with it yet. That’s it, that’s all I know.”

She’d rushed through the end of her speech, her gaze fixed on the ingots, and Din knew he’d only gotten the condensed version out of her. She’d edited a lot of content from her story, which was quite a long tale already, with many elements to think about and digest, but he was missing something crucial.

“Why did you say earlier that Paz Vizsla left me no choice but to kill him?”

And this time she was the one who wouldn’t look into his eyes, and Grogu pressed against his side again as his scar started to hurt once more.

“Dada, no…” he tried, as if he’d already figured out what he was going to ask the Jedi.

“I need you to show me what happened, I know you can do it – it’s the only way.”

Ahsoka closed her eyes and clenched her hands into fists, determined not to lose her composure or show how much his request affected her. But Din knew exactly what he was asking, and that didn’t stop him. She was the only one who had the answer he needed.

“I have to remember this, just this. I can lose two years of my life but not this.”

It was like his words were causing her physical pain, and he felt terrible, but in a detached way – it wasn’t present him making that impossible request, but past him.

“You don’t realize what you’re asking me,” she exhaled. “You won’t just see it again but feel it too.”

“I can handle it,” he assured her, teeth set.

“Din, you were in agony – it’s a miracle you didn’t die of shock. You can’t ask me this, you can’t ask me to cause you pain, I won’t do it.”

“Ahsoka, please…” he implored, gripping one of her closed fists. “I know there’s something there,” he acknowledged, moving his hand between the two of them. “Even if I can’t remember it. Surely that’s enough to make you see why I need this. It’s part of who I am.”

He felt sick for making her go through this and manipulating her feelings – feelings he couldn’t remember if he reciprocated, even if he had a pretty good idea. The way he physically recoiled at the thought of being cruel to her told him so. And he was being unbelievably cruel right now.

“I’ll be experiencing everything with you,” she warned him, but he’d assumed so already. “Grogu might, too.” And that gave him pause – should he send the boy somewhere else perhaps? But here again, as soon as the thought entered his mind, the child grumbled and grabbed onto his side firmly. His huge dark eyes told him he wasn’t going anywhere, and the realization that he didn’t want to part from him, not even for this, almost crushed him.

“I’m sorry,” he told the both of them pre-emptively. “I just – ”

“I know,” Ahsoka whispered, and he wondered if there was any hope to build something with her again one day. Because he was certain it wasn’t the first time he was disappointing her. Or hurting her.

Resolved, she scooted closer and raised her hands towards his face.

“Have we ever done anything like this before?” he suddenly wanted to know, just as she was about to touch him. His bashful tone seemed to ignite a bit of her spunk back – had he asked that question knowingly? – and she gave him an ambiguous smile.

“Anything like this, no. But we’ve done some things.”

He chuckled half-heartedly and finally let her place her hands on either side of his face. Grogu emitted a small coo and he let himself stroke his back slowly. Before he had time to feel too self-conscious about their proximity and the intimacy of the gesture, he felt as if someone was trying to squeeze his brain through his eyeballs and he held his breath. He was just about to register pain when the feeling stopped, replaced by another – warm, and comforting. And then just as fast, he felt transported to some other place and had no choice but to follow.

************

“I knew you were going to show up.”

It seemed that Ahsoka had been able to access his memories right when he came across Paz in the ruins of the Imperial base on Nevarro. He would have preferred to see what happened even earlier than that, but the clarity of the scene staggered him: he was standing right there, under this distant planet’s dim sun, Grogu feeling very real in his arms.

“Have you come for the Beskar, too?” his past self asked.

“I’ve come for you.”

The attack was swift and unexpected. Din had been too focused on shielding Grogu to realize that the bigger man had lunged at him to reach for his neck – he hadn’t anticipated such a direct approach. One strong arm wrapped around his throat, immediately cutting off his air supply, while the other ripped the helmet off his head.

“You don’t deserve to wear that helmet, you’re no longer a Mandalorian!”

Din couldn’t decide what to do first: his first instinct was to push Paz away to be able to breathe, but he was still holding the child in his arms. He’d never expected an ambush and hadn’t felt the need to have both his hands free. So he pushed against the crumbing wall in front of him with a raised leg, and all three of them toppled backwards.

He managed a couple of breaths in the commotion, but soon Paz had both his arms wrapped around his neck again, while Din pushed Grogu away from him. Arms finally free, he elbowed the other man and tried to find soft spots not covered by armor to hurt him and force him to let go, but the lack of oxygen was starting to make his movements sluggish. He couldn’t overcome him with brute force, he was too strong.

“I’m gonna get what’s mine, Djarin, that blade belongs to my clan, it belongs to me!”

He needed to turn around, to grab a weapon – something. But his flamethrower was empty and he couldn’t access his blaster or the vibroblade in his boot. Panic was starting to set in but he dimly realized he wasn’t scared for himself, but for the kid. What would he do once he was dead? He forced himself not to trash around and waste precious energy, but his elbows and hands still wouldn’t connect with anything useful to have him stop. He bent his knees, and tried to turn around, but it just made Paz tighten his grip around him.

His head felt like it was going to explode and the dark spots dancing across his eyes were starting to form one big blur. He wanted to yell at Grogu to run, to hide. The words caught in his crushed throat and he only managed a furious, half-strangled scream.

“No!” he heard distinctly, the boy’s tiny voice much too close.

And just as the world was starting to dissolve around him, Paz suddenly let go. Too stunned at first, he was only able to gasp for air in short bursts, taking deep breaths impossible through his bruised windpipe. He started to get feelings back in his arms and legs and he turned around, alarmed by the sounds coming from the other man. Paz was clasping at his own neck, trying to dislodge an invisible enemy as he suffocated.

Grogu.

Once again, he hesitated between two reactions – let him die, as he definitely deserved it, or tell the boy to stop. In the end, the child decided for him: he lost his focus and ran towards him once Din had managed to stand up. He made sure Paz was not moving – dead or unconscious, who cared – and hugged his son as tight as he could, his small body shaking in terror.

“I’m okay,” he said, voice hoarse. “We have to go.”

He had no doubt Paz would get up again if he wasn’t dead, but he wouldn’t wait to find out – he wouldn’t fight him, he had to get Grogu to safety.

“You did good, you did good,” he tried to reassure him as they made their way out of the ruins, even if part of him already felt terrible for having put him through this. He shouldn’t have expected the place to be deserted – he’d been lulled into a false sense of safety on Nevarro with Greef Karga’s presence.

The child was moaning now, half unconscious in his arms as he’d exhausted himself using his powers. But it turned out he was still trying to warn him.

Din heard the whoosh of flames before he started registering heat or even pain. His first thought, stupidly, was annoyance at Paz for not playing fair: attacking him as he retreated? Aim for his back? This wasn’t proper. But soon he had other worries, because his flight suit was not meant to resist such a direct assault, and he regretted the absence of his Beskar jetpack even more bitterly.

When the pain came, it was everywhere – not simply his back – and all at once. Run. Grogu. Shelter: his mind provided through short flickers of consciousness as he was slowly losing all sense of direction. He never turned around and never thought about anything but moving forward. Paz was also injured – or so he hoped – and he wasn’t fast. Surely he could lose him in the ruins.

Din focused on putting one foot in front of the other, looking around for a good place to hide. But the other Mandalorian was possessed, he wouldn’t stop until he had what he thought he deserved.

“The Darksaber is mine, you can’t run away!” he yelled, telling Din that he was much too close for comfort. This time, he knew to expect the flames, but the burning sensation came much too quickly, his cape and layers no longer of any use to protect him.

He fell on the ground and only had time to curl around Grogu before he started screaming. The pain and heat were overwhelming and kept on coming. Wave after wave of crushing, pulsating agony. The Beskar armor would only keep him alive for so long.

Paz just wouldn’t stop.

Din fought to stay conscious, his face digging into the dirt and his mouth filling with blood as he’d grown too tired and sore to yell and had resorted to biting his tongue and cheeks. He was no longer aware of his body, he was only one ball of pain – and yet at the back of his mind he knew that Paz would only stop hurting him if he got what he wanted, and what he wanted was right there. So one of his arms lifted, almost without his own accord, and made to grab the Darksaber.

He wanted to give it to him, get it over with. His only wish was for Grogu to survive and escape. Nothing else mattered. As soon as the thought of his son entered his mind, he registered him moving against him. He was still alive – there was still hope for him.

The ancient weapon found itself in his hand, somehow. But instead of handing it to Paz, he switched it on. And with a power that seemed to come from outside his weakened, barely responsive body, he turned around and sliced at the air.

The blade, which had never felt so light or so right before, had connected with something.

He heard a thump.

The heat stopped.

The pain remained.

[zodiactalks]

INTERESTING FACTS ABOUT CAPRICORN ZODIAC SIGN

Responsible, disciplined, reserved. It's easy to assume Capricorns are one of the most boring and predictable signs in the Zodiac, but that's not always the case.

Capricorns are hard-asses, sure, but the following facts prove there's more to them that meets the eye.

#1. Capricorn loves being on their own.

While they're not necessarily hermits, Capricorns love being on their own, away from other people and their problems.

Sure, they enjoy hanging out with their friends and family, and won't shun a party or a reunion here and there, but they treasure their solitude and often need to get away from it all.

#2. Capricorn can't stand insecure people.

If you want to attract the attention of a Capricorn, you need to be assertive and confident, or else, they'll overlook you entirely.

It's not only that they find those traits attractive –who doesn’t? but instead that they don't like people depending on them. They want to spend time away from their partners from time to time, so they search for people confident enough in themselves and their relationship to understand this.

#3. They're a lot more fun than they appear.

On first impressions, Capricorn might seem like a reserved, aloof, even cold individual, but that's not always the case.

The truth is that Capricorns may be downright hilarious and the life of the party, but you need to get to know them before they show this side of theirs.

Capricorns know how to party, but they need to want to party with you first.

#4. They're incredibly loyal.

If there's something Capricorns treat seriously, it's romantic relationships.

Capricorns don't start relationships lightly. They'd rather be alone than being in a relationship where they're not happy, and they don't feel the need to be in a relationship just so that they're not on their own.

When a Capricorn does want to be in a relationship, though, they'll treat it quite seriously, committing themselves to their partner wholeheartedly.

#5. They're private individuals.

Most Capricorns don't like sharing their personal business with the rest of the world.

They're firm believers of 'to each their own' and excel at keeping people's at arm's length for long periods, never revealing what they like, what they think, or even what they do.

They're not purposefully mysterious either. Capricorns can be pretty open about their interests and preferences, but only when they've grown to trust you.

They take a while to open to new people. That's it.

#6. Capricorns bottle up everything.

Part of their reputation as cold and distant comes from the fact that Capricorns tend to bottle up their negative emotions.

They're so independent they'd rather face their own problems, so they tend not to share their feelings until they can't hide them anymore.

#7. When they want something, they get it.

Some people call them stubborn; others call them disciplined. Whatever you call them, the truth is that Capricorns can make anything happen.

They're patient, dedicated, consistent, and ambitious, so whenever something catches their fancy, they give it their all to succeed.

#8. They give excellent advice.

Capricorns have the ability to distance themselves from emotional matters long enough to come up with a logical and well-thought-out opinion.

All this means that Capricorns tend to give great advice, as they're able to look at issues from multiple perspectives before coming up with a solution.

#9. They have very high standards.

Capricorns can be pretty particular about the things they like and how they like them.

Everything must be just right, and if they're not, Capricorns aren't shy about pointing it out.

More often than not, though, Capricorns will take a proactive approach and change the things that bother them.

#10. They don't forgive easily.

It takes a long time for Capricorn to feel comfortable enough to trust someone, so they take betrayals very seriously.

Convincing them to forgive you can be challenging, if not downright impossible, and even if they do, you can bet they won't forget anytime soon.

If you betray a Capricorn's trust, you might salvage your relationship, but it'll never be what it was.

#11. They hate impunctuality.

Capricorns value efficiency and organization, which means they're usually very punctual, and they expect others to be as well.

They'll try their best to show up to meetings and reunions on time, and they hate it when they have to wait. After all, not only is it a lack of respect, but it can take up time from other planned activities, which is even worse.

#12. They're very sarcastic.

Contrary to popular belief, Capricorns do have a sense of humor; it just tends to be dry, if not downright dark, and definitely not for everyone.

Those who understand their sense of humor agree, though. Capricorns can be hilarious, and their casual, witty observations make hanging out with them a treat.

#13. They're very logical.

Capricorns are evidence-based people who find it hard to believe in things without evidence.

They tend to stick to facts and demonstrable things, which makes them hard to fool and even harder to lie to.

#14. They abhor gossip.

If there's something that Capricorns hate, it's gossip, particularly when it comes to Celebrity gossip.

For the most part, they don't care deeply about other people's personal life, especially if they don't know them, so whenever people start gossiping around them, they stop listening.

#15. They're an ambitious bunch.

They might dream big, they might dream small, but they all have the drive and determination to achieve their goals no matter what stands on their way.

One way or another, Capricorns make things happen, and they're perfectly capable of moving mountains to get shit done.

#16. They can be cruel when angry.

It takes a lot to anger a Capricorn, but when you manage to do it, they hold nothing back.

They tend not to be physically violent, but they can be vicious with their words, and some of the things they say can be more painful than any punch.

#17. They're very good at reading people.

Thanks to their analytical personalities, Capricorns excel at reading others, fixating on their habits, looks, and gestures to draw surprisingly accurate assessments about them.

To Capricorns, people can be open books, and we all know how much Capricorns like to read.

#18. They're pragmatic to a fault.

Capricorns are one of the most practical Zodiac signs out there, and this stretches to every aspect of their life.

When making a decision, no matter how big or small, they analyze all aspects of it to find the easiest, most effective way of achieving the desired result. Everything else tends to be ignored.

[duskwoodraven]

Okay! 👏👏 I’d say it’s time for the long after episode MWAF theory/pick apart everything! Of course this will be littered with lots of spoilers so don’t read if you haven’t finished ep 8 yet!

Now as a sort of disclaimer, I know that some people are preparing to throw the Richy is the MWAF theory out the window, which I do not blame them for by this point. The game has screamed over and over again that Richy is gone yet I can’t help but hold on to my theory to the bitter end.😅 I hope everyone has an open mind to what I have to say on the matter. Maybe there will be some points or reminders to help you find your own take on the topic as I explain my own thoughts in the process.

———

First of all, one of the things that has bothered me since the ending is that they still haven’t explained this very basic fact about the MWAF. How in the world did the MWAF know about the group’s investigations and MC’s involvement?

I touched upon this in my last couple theories where I pushed for Richy’s guiltiness by explaining that for the MWAF to know that Jessy would be out on a walk with us, or to know Richy wouldn’t be at Rogers Garage when he was marked, or even knowing we agreed to help this investigation at all, he would need access to the group chats. He would need to know basic information about the groups whereabouts and plan according to it. Not answering this basic fact would leave a gaping hole in the plot.

Micheal Hanson by what we know, left Duskwood more then a year ago, essentially a missing person in the eyes of Duskwood. The group apparently didn’t even know his name so none of them would have told him directly what they were up to. The only way he might be getting information about anything is from Phil, who was being told everything by Jessy herself. That might be plausible if you squint, but yet we know Jessy and Phil’s relationship was even worse in the beginning episodes, I highly doubt Jessy would tell Phil much about herself and the investigation and there is no saying if Phil would even think to move this information along to Michael if he was even in contact with the old bar owner at the time. Also we received a call from the MWAF the very first time we talked to Dan, waaaay in the beginning episodes, we didn’t even know who Phil was at that point, yet the MWAF knew who we were almost immediately.

Then I played with the idea that the MWAF was using an encryption like Alan was or using a spy mode like Jake is, to read everything secretly, but that idea was tossed out too. Michael was a bar owner not a hacker or police investigator, there is little reason to believe he’d know how to do something like that, nor would anyone in his life teach him how to do it either.

(Also as a bonus point for why the MWAF might be Richy, the MWAF didn’t seem to be aware that Jessy and Thomas were heading to the house at all, he still had his candles lit and “art” up so he couldn’t have prepared for their arrival and hide. He might have only noticed Thomas and Jessy where there when he saw the car. This took place after we removed Richy from the chat as well so...)

Secondly, the MWAF’s motivation, why would Michael wait 10 years to take revenge for his daughter and why is he mainly attacking the group over it? For benefit of the doubt, Michael is the few suspects who has a possible motive that makes some sort of sense, yet it’s such a drastic leap in logic for him to attack the group at all.

If Michael is the MWAF and he’s attacking people for revenge, then why would he take Hannah, who we know feels guilty over Jennifer’s death and seems to be working to find out the truth about the case, and kidnap her. She’s trying to bring justice to his daughter, so why would Jennifer’s own father try and interrupt that process? Even if Hannah somehow helped cause Jennifer’s death (reminder that Hannah would have been a child by this point) we know she wasn’t the true killer, it was a man who hit her with a car and took her body into the woods. If Michael really wanted further revenge, killing that man should have been on the top of his priorities, not Hannah.

The hostility he has towards the group is also strange, for a man who cares only for revenge, he seems oddly determined to wipe out everyone, that sounds more like a man who is afraid of being caught then a man who just wants to take down the people who hurt his daughter in the past. That doesn’t sound like the role of a grieving father to me.

And once again he has waited a long time to seek out this revenge anyway, this man was apparently a sheep herder of sorts according to Lily before he disappeared, why come back at all? A parent who lost their child will never lose the pain of that child’s absence, but you’d think the burning embers of revenge would simmer down after 10 years of time and reflection, what could have triggered him to come back? And why would he pick the most foolish spot to set up his base? He should know he was suspected in the past, setting up camp at his own house will easily connect him to the crime as Lilly had demonstrated by throwing out this theory at the end of the episode.

I think it’s more possible for someone else to use Michael Hanson’s house as a coverup to throw off suspicion of himself. Yet who knows? Maybe he is foolish enough to do that lol.

Thirdly, the inconsistency of the legend, the MWAF is not doing a good job at being consistent. He is not taking the people he marked at the first moon of the year and he is also killing them. The original book did not state the people who are taken will die, simply that they will disappear, yet the MWAF supposedly set out to kill Richy, but doesn’t kill Hannah.

And we now know Hannah is most likely alive at this moment because the MWAF stated so in the phone call he was going to kill her. I don’t think he’s lying because it would honestly benefit him more to kill Hannah and tell the group that he did to destroy the groups moral completely rather than keeping her alive.

With these inconsistencies, why should we trust the rules of the legend, they seem to be more like guidelines for the MWAF then actual facts.

Heck, when we talked to Darkness, he told us that the MWAF takes his victims to kill them, something not stated in the book at all.

From this, the book may very well be wrong and unreliable, perhaps the MWAF is following a different legend, a different version of the tale that Darkness might know about. Either way, it would be unwise to connect Micheal to the MWAF simply because of what the legend says until we know why these inconsistencies are taking place.

Basically what I am trying to say, the group is accepting Michael as guilty too fast for my taste, the only facts we have for Michael being the one who did it is that he’s 1. The father of Jennifer 2. The legend we first read was about a father taking revenge 3. We found the MWAF’s “art” inside Michaels old house. 4. Not many people know where Michael is.

That is enough evidence to have someone arrested and investigated, not to convict them of a crime.

———

So do I still think Richy is guilty? Well... somewhat.

I still firmly believe Richy has the most evidence pointed to him and would have the ability to execute the actions we have seen the MWAF take, he would have had access to group chats, his body is still missing like I figured it would be, and he has the knowledge of Duskwood’s history and landscape. He truly is a perfect fit in many ways in my own opinion except for how he fits into this legend and what his motivation could possibly be. Plus the fact that his hat was bloody when it was found, I don’t know if Richy would be capable of harming himself on purpose to make everything more convincing.

All and all, questions still need to be answered and I don’t want to be too hasty in declaring who the MWAF truly is until we can rip the mask off of his face and get him behind bars for good 😌

I’ll be interested to hear your takes on this below, and I’ll probably expand on this conversation when I think of more relevant points or to explain my idea more in-depth if anyone is confused over this post, thanks for reading til the end! 💛

[witchofthescions]

It wasn't hard to find the knights in question. They weren't a common sight around the Brume to begin with, and it was hard not to notice the dark-clad, lifeless body slung over their shoulder. The knight carrying the body unceremoniously dumped it on the landing, near the wall. Too lazy to bother carrying the poor soul down all the way to the bottom.

"That's more than far enough for charity. They'll take care of the rest." The knight turned and glanced over their shoulder, spotting Ernastral's approach. "...And mayhap sooner rather than later. Come on."

The two knights made their exit, not even paying Erna another moment's thought. Their callous disregard for the fallen man did bother her, but not enough to bother calling them out. What point would there be, anyway?

Chasing such thoughts away, she knelt down before the body. She took a moment to say a prayer for the departed. Looking over the body, the first thing she noticed was the armor. Clad head to toe in all-concealing armor, she couldn't quite tell if this was once a young man or a young woman. Judging by the height, at least, they definitely weren't a Roegadyn like her, or a Lalafell. No horns, no pointed or catlike ears. So odds were this was once a Hyur.

Her gaze fell to the ground near the body, where a crystal lay. Much to Erna's surprise, she realized she recognized it: it was the same sort of soul crystal as the one Gohnoh'a had. It was a jagged, deep red color, emblazoned with a stylized symbol based on the greatsword he carried.

Sense and logic dictated that she should leave this alone. Curiosity, however, dictated that she should take a closer look. The moment her hand touched the stone it reacted. Dark mists raced up her arm and enveloped her. A familiar pain shot through her skull; like an Echo vision, except when her vision faded, no images came to her mind's eye. Only a voice echoed across the void.

...Is this it? Is this all that awaits? Enough of this... Open your eyes. Look. Do you see now? Do you see?

Ernastral... Ernastral!

When Ernastral came to, she found the corpse standing up and staring down at her, looking about as lively as any other living being.

"I've been waiting for you to open your eyes," the corpse remarked in a voice she couldn't quite place. "You all right? You were moaning in your sleep and sweating buckets besides."

Erna blinked, the last of the headache slowly fading away. It was... surreal, to say the least, seeing what was once a corpse suddenly up and about and talking, of all things.

"Name's Fray, by the way," Fray said in a nonchalant tone. "And no, I'm not a heretic. Try convincing a Temple Knight drunk on authority of that, eh? Shame the pompous arse got the better of me. But how about you? You touched it, yes? That couldn't have felt good."

"...I heard a voice, I think," Erna said, still unsure what to make of anything going on. "Sounded more than a little bothered about... somethin'."

"A voice, eh? And a rather distressed one besides..."

Before Fray could continue that thought, another voice rang out across the Brume. "Please, someone─anyone!"

Erna leapt to her feet, taking a step towards the origin of the voice, only for Fray to block her way with a large sword.

"Not so fast. We need to talk about what's happening to you─what's growing within you, before you get carried away." Erna frowned slightly, but declined to interrupt. "There's a darkness within us all─nothing dangerous, mind. In fact, it's quite healthy. But the crystal changes you─gives you the power to channel it. Do it without proper training, however, and... well..."

Fray's golden eyes flashed red. "It might hurt."

"So go ahead─ask me to teach you. Ask me to instruct you in the ways of the dark knights, and I will."

Erna's gaze drifted towards the direction of the screaming voice. "I know you're still worried about that screaming woman, so I'll keep this brief. We dark knights don't care one whit for prestige or pedigree. We are free to follow our hearts─to defend the weak and punish the guilty as we see fit. The law of the land? The authority of a name? These are tools cowards use to escape harm. We have no need of shields, figurative or literal."

Fray turned the blade around, holding it out to Ernastral pommel first. "Here─my blade is your blade, my soul crystal your crystal. Go on, take them. You'll need them soon enough."

[the-bau-quinjet]

And I confess, babe

Part 6 of In Breakable Heaven!

Summary: Feelings are confessed... sort of.

Warnings: none 

Word count: ~2400

“There’s something I haven’t been completely honest about.” You blurted out taking a break from cleaning. It had been a few months since Halloween, and you and Spencer have hung out whenever possible, but never calling anything a date. You had both gotten pretty busy with the holidays, but still made time. He is basically your best friend, but you want more than that. You just aren’t sure he feels the same way. 

Spencer turned from where he was reading on the couch immediately mirroring the nervous expression he could see on your face. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything. That’s what friends are for.” Ugh, friends. This is so confusing. As he walked up to you, you thought you noticed a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but you brush it off. You need to focus.

You have never told any of your friends about this. It’s almost like you were living two lives and all the sudden you wanted them to merge. Well, really you just wanted an excuse to sing love songs to the man standing in front of you without completely freaking him out. “You know how much I love Taylor Swift, right?” You could see the confusion growing on his face 

“Um, yeah. That’s not exactly a secret…” he chuckles as he searches for the truth in your eyes. 

“Well, um... I kind of... well… it’s not really a big deal, but I… you see…”

 “Y/N, just tell me. I promise not to freak out.” He interrupted, the confusion evident on his face.

“Okay, just… I’m inaTaylorSwiftcoverband…” You blurt, the words rushing from your mouth. You cover your face with your hands. Of course, boy genius understood the mess of a sentence you just said, realization slowly dawning on him.

 “Y/N, why were you so nervous to tell me?” He sounded shocked. “You know I would support you no matter what. When’s your next show? I would love to go see you perform.” The sincerity in his voice made tears well up in your eyes. 

You rushed to hug him as you said “I don’t know why I was so nervous. I guess people can be really harsh when you are a Taylor Swift fan. Nobody takes you seriously, ya know? I started the band because her music made me better at conveying my emotions. It was actually a kind of therapy for me at first, but then I fell in love with performing. I actually wanted to tell you so I could invite you, and the rest of the team, to my next show. It’s Saturday night.”

 He ran his hands up and down your back before pulling away to look you in the eyes. “I will be there.” He said, matter-of-factly. 

“Yay!” You were practically jumping with joy that the conversation went well. It felt kind of stupid to be so worried over other people’s perception of your music interests, but you’ve always been self-conscious of being the “weird” girl. It made even the smallest decision so hard for you. “I want you to invite the rest of the team, but keep it a surprise. I haven’t told Penelope, and I’ve known her 2 years longer than you.” He laughed as you realized how comfortable you must have felt with Spencer to be inviting him and his friends to see you perform. Usually the only way you made it through was knowing there was nobody in the audience that would recognize you enough to make fun of you. But, it was time for a change. You have always been proud of your accomplishments, and the people you called your friends should be a part of that.

 “You should know there’s always a theme to the show. I like to tell a story with her songs, pulling from all the albums helps make it more cohesive.” You wanted him to be a little bit prepared for what you had planned. 

“What’s the story for this show?” Spencer asked, curiosity brewing in his mind. 

“Well Doc, I’m afraid that’s a secret. You’ll have to wait and see.” Spencer kept pestering you to find out the theme, but you refused to tell him. Finally, he returned to reading as you cleaned the rest of your apartment.

--

 Saturday came much faster than you were expecting. The nerves you felt kept growing as you tried to finalize the set list you would be performing in just a few hours. The stories you usually tell don’t normally rely so heavily on your own life experiences. But, that’s why you fell in love with Taylor’s music in the first place. The songs are so relatable. It’s incredible how well she can convey emotions and stories with her lyrics. Plus, this is your chance to tell Spencer how you feel without having too much pressure. If he doesn’t say anything about the obvious theme, you could just pretend you made up the story for the audience. It would be fine. No pressure at all.

 The hours until your show drifted away as you got ready and arrived at the venue. You were actually playing in an auditorium instead of a bar for the first time in a few months. The night had been heavily marketed for couples since Valentine’s day is next week, but you knew your friends would all be there to support you. Going over the set list with the band, they knew exactly what mood you were going for. It was clear there were three sections to the night: 1) the break up, drawing heavily on your experience with Drew, 2) moving on from the failed relationship as you form a new crush, possibly on an incredibly hot doctor, and 3) where you wanted this new relationship to go. That storyline is what made the marketing so good. Couples could come and just be in love, relating the music to their own lives. Plus, people were itching for something to do since no real artists were touring in DC right now.

 You glance out at the audience as the lights flicker, indicating only a few minutes until show time. You find Spencer and the rest of the crew, barring Hotch and Rossi, easily as you put them in the front row. You wanted to be able to see their faces, or completely look over their heads. It all depends on the expression of the one and only Spencer Reid.

 “Hello, and welcome to the show!” You try to hide the nerves. You’ve done this plenty of times, but knowing who is in the audience is taking a toll. “In case you didn’t know, with every show I do, I try to tell a story. Usually, it is based on a movie or a book, but today I am trying something a little bit new. No book, no movie, just a story. It’s got three parts to it. Part one sucks.” You laugh along with the audience. “It’s about a breakup and learning to move on. So let’s get started!”

 You immediately jump into the first song Babe. Technically it features Taylor Swift, but she wrote it so it counts. Plus, it is the perfect song to describe your feelings to finding Drew cheating on you, and she did write it.

 This is the last time I’ll ever call you Babe.

 “Now, I know how hard it can be to get over someone who you’ve been with a long time. Especially when combined with the pain of them cheating on you. This next song describes that mentality of recognizing that someone won’t change because you want them to. Sometimes, the best thing to do is cry and scream and move on.” The instrumental to You’re Not Sorry begins to play as you calm you’re nerves.

 This is the last straw. Don’t wanna hurt anymore. And you can tell me that you’re sorry, but I don’t believe you baby like I did before. You’re not sorry. No, no, no no.

 “I know, I know. No more sad songs! After you break up with someone, it can be pretty hard to not miss what you had. But eventually, you’ll get to a point where when they call you in the middle of the night, all you have to say is We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. Like ever.”

 You make it through the next song without a hitch. The crowd is clearly enjoying the show, which is actually helping with your nerves. You’ve glanced at your friends a few times, but nothing that lingers. You’re not quite mentally prepared to look at Spencer yet.

 “With every breakup, there is some amount of time afterward where you can’t help but think about them. No matter how badly it ended, there is at least a day. It could slowly fade out or it could just disappear one day, like magic. Either way, this song is how I personally feel once that window of time ends.”

 I forgot that you existed. It isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it‘s just indifference.

 This song really helped turn the mood around. Everybody is dancing and singing, clearly enjoying themselves. As the song ends, your nerves return a bit. This is the scary part.

 “And with that, we move on to part 2! As the saying goes, the best way to get over him is to get under someone else. Well, that’s not exactly where this is going, but it follows the same general logic.” The instrumental to Enchanted has already started as you finish the intro “Meeting someone who helps take your mind off the bad by making new memories.”

 All I can say is I was enchanted to meet you. This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go. I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home.

 This is the first song you are singing directly to Spencer, even if you can’t even look at him. You glance at every other member of the BAU, but you just can’t bring yourself to admit it to him. Not yet.

 Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t have somebody waiting on you.

 You can feel the sting in your throat that comes from thinking of Spencer being with someone else, finally making you look at him. He seems happy. He’s not dancing as much as everyone else, but he is swaying. You count it as a win.

 “Now, I’m not saying the only way to get over a breakup is a new relationship. Sometimes, you just need a friend.” You clear your throat to go right into the next song.

 Wanna hang out? Yeah, sounds like fun. Video games, you pass me a note. Sleeping in tents. It’s nice to have a friend.

 This is where it’s supposed to be obvious who you are singing to. None of your newly formed friends really know the extent of your relationship with Spencer. But, you’ve convinced him to try a lot of new things. It started small, with hiking, but eventually you got him to agree to a short camping trip over a long weekend. It was freezing since it was November, but you just cuddled together around the fire. That is what makes this so nerve wracking. You are terrified of messing up your friendship.

 “Friends are the best resource post breakup. They always know how to put a smile on my face, no matter what I’m upset about. You could go so far as to say I’m Only Me When I’m With You.” You laugh at the corny joke, knowing that’s the next song you’re singing. “To be completely honest, this is kind of a story of the past few months of my life. I had a pretty bad breakup, but I met some new friends who really helped me through it. It’s nice to be completely honest about yourself with someone else.”

 I don’t try to hide my tears, my secrets, or my deepest fears. And through it all, nobody gets me like you do.

 “Now, we move onto the third and final part of the show. We’ve covered the past and the present, so all that’s left is the future! The future is unknown, which is kinda of scary when you think about it. So, it can really help to have someone who makes you feel Fearless.” So many lyrics make you want to stare at Spencer.

 I wanna ask you dance right there, in the middle of the parking lot.

-

Run your hands through your hair, absentmindedly making me want you.

-

And I don’t know why, but with you I’d dance in a storm in my best dress, fearless.

-

You’ve decided against looking at Spencer and the rest of the profilers. If you make eye contact you know they would 100% be able to see right through you. Just two more songs to get through. You don’t even pause to talk before the next song is playing.

 Cause all I know is you said, “Hello” and your eyes look like coming home.

 You’ve spent so long thinking about Spencer and his perfect freaking eyes that you subconsciously glance at him right then. The second you realize, you look away again, missing the look of complete adoration on his face.

 And meet me there tonight and let me know that it’s not all in my mind.

 “Alrighty folks, I’ve got one more song for you. You probably could’ve guessed it by now, part 3 is about a future relationship, one I’m not currently in. But that’s the thing about the future, you never really know what it holds.” This is where shit goes a little bit sideways. You didn’t plan on changing the lyrics. Most of the profilers seem to miss it, not recognizing that you switched one very crucial word in the song. The one profiler that notices the mistake has spent the last four months listening to every Taylor Swift song ever written because he’s spent so much time with you, and you are always listening to something.

 Dark jeans and your converse, look at you. Oh damn, never seen that color blue.

 Oh damn is right. You somehow manage to make it through the rest of the song, but now Spencer knows you were singing to him. You can’t decide if you’re glad it’s out there or if you are going to puke the second you run off stage.

 “Delicate is about the beginnings of a romance. It’s that point where you are scared any sudden movements will shatter everything you’ve built so far.” You take one final deep breathe. “It’s about admitting your feelings because you can’t move forward without taking the next step. That’s what the future is all about. Thank you all for coming, goodnight!” And with that, you left.

 tag list:

@mac99martin​ @goldeng1rl8​ @eevee0722 @l0ve-0f-my-life @haylaansmi @dinonuggets15 @laurakirsten0502 @green-intervention @burnin-passion @takeyourleap-of-faith @secretpickleprofessordean @awkwardnesshabitat @loveheathens @fan-girl-97

[roselightfairy]

F and H!

Ooh, thank you!

I'm going to start with H, because F will get long, so I want to put the dialogue beneath a cut...

H: How would you describe your style?

Okay, this is going to be a weirdly specific reference, but is anyone familiar with the "functions" from the Myers-Briggs personality test? The MBTI is one of my favorite pseudoscience indulgences, and I like breaking the types down not just to the individual words but to the "functions" within them - and to use a function descriptor, I would say my writing style is "extroverted intuition," according to the MBTI. To the best of my understanding, extroverted intuition is sort of a way of thinking that involves following emotional thought patterns, understanding the flow of feeling and information based on a sort of intuitive logic. I would say my writing is very much like this: it's really concentrated on emotional flow/journey, exploring the impacts of different experiences and thoughts and kind of tracing them through conversations and following them to their natural conclusions. It's not necessarily the logic of a laid-out map, but everything that I write tends to make sense (sometimes a little too much sense) and be pretty explicitly emotional in this way. It's a bit of a flaw, sometimes, I think, because I don't let things be messy enough - but it does lead to fun emotional conversations. I think that even comes across in some of the dialogue snippets I'll post below for the next question.

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I'm going to cheat here and do two snippets, for two different kinds of scenes. First, and oldest, this angsty bit from To the Sea, which might be one of my favorites of my own stories:

“She was not wrong,” Gimli said.  “Her words hurt because of their truth, not because of their insult.”

“No!” said Legolas again, and for all the pain, it did Gimli’s heart good to see the angry light in his eyes.  “No, she was wrong, and her words were not true!  You did not cause this!  You did not stir the sea-longing in my heart; you have never asked me to stay when I wanted to go.  You are only at fault for making me love you more than I have ever loved another!  You are only at fault for being someone I never want to leave!”

“But one of us must.”  It was the same argument they had had before, but it had never seemed so real as it did now, with Legolas lying frail and half-mad in this bed, with the gray growing in thick at Gimli’s temples and lower lip.  It was Legolas who had found the first strands, some years before; Gimli reached up to finger them now.  “We must be parted.  My death is inevitable, but I would not take you along with me!”

“And you think that I could leave you before it happens?” hissed Legolas.  “You think that I could willingly give up even a moment of your life, even a single step on our road together?  No.  Never.  You will not change my mind on this, Gimli.”  And at last the anger in his voice gave way; it broke into a whisper.  “Please stop trying.”

I just really love writing heartfelt, angsty conversations like this, and I'm so proud of how the conversation builds up to that last sentence. I feel good about it!

And then, because I can't resist, a bit of saucy conversation from Satisfaction:

“Well?” said Éomer, his blood thrumming. “What would you have from me, Gimli Glóin’s son?”

“Satisfaction, of course,” said Gimli. “But that will have to wait until I can demand it of you properly.” Was it the darkness playing tricks on Éomer’s vision, or did he lick his lips?

“Oh?” said Éomer. “You seem so assured of your ability to do so.” As though magnetized, he could feel his own stance shifting to match Gimli’s own, his shoulders drawing back, chin tilting up. He had used his height to intimidate many a man before, but Gimli was not cowed by it. “I have heard many promises from you, but have seen little to convince me that you are equal to fulfilling them.”

“You doubt the surety of my axe?” Gimli’s hand came to rest on his hip, and Éomer’s eyes were drawn towards the motion. There, sure enough, his axe hung, sharp-edged and gleaming even in the low light. And beyond that – well. His armor would conceal any telling evidence even if it were not too dark to see, but Éomer looked anyway, letting his eyes trail slowly up Gimli’s front until their gazes met again.

“How can I not, when I have yet to see it wielded?”

WOW I've never had so much fun writing antagonistic flirting, and I feel like it came off pretty well, all things considered!

Thank you for asking and letting me navel gaze a bit; I hope you enjoyed!

[recurring-polynya]

Your thoughts and headcannons on Nemuri Hachigou because I don't think she gets talked about enough, when in reality she's pretty interesting, she's essentially, a blank slate, Mayuri's second chance that I don't think he feels like he deserves. She's Nemu but she isn't and I think people(especially Mayuri) forget that a lot, that's a fascinating position to be in.

Puttin’ this under a cut because I’m gonna say some unkind things about Mayuri and I do not want to cause any distress to the many lovely people on this website who delight in his horrible antics.

This is not so much a headcanon so much as a thing I came up with for fanfiction purposes, but it’s all I got.

Right. So, like I said, I despise Mayuri. I just hate him. I understand that he appeals to some people, but I strongly dislike the dude and go to exorbitant lengths to avoid him ever appearing in my fanfic.

Additionally, I do not vibe with Nemu 7. She registers as not-a-person for me, she’s basically an extension of Mayuri himself. Don’t get me wrong, I find Mayuri’s treatment of her to be vile and I wish someone would take her away from him, but she comes off as very robotic to me. She is conscious, but she is not an independent being, if that makes sense. She is not a real girl. It’s funny that Mayuri keeps talking about how advanced she is, because clearly he means only her cognitive and fighting abilities. In terms of recreating a person, she’s incredibly primitive compared to the other mod souls we see. Take Kon, for example, who has a fairly limited powerset, but is never presented as less of a soul than any of the other characters. An even more interesting example is Ururu and Jinta. Ururu is described as being older than Jinta, and she is clearly “less human” than him-- she has less affect, she shifts into a distinct “attack” mode, etc, which implies that Jinta represents advances in mod soul technology. It’s notable that Urahara and Tessai and even Renji, in the canon scene where he protects the Shouten kids, never treats them as anything less than people. The contrast with the way Mayuri treats Nemu is stark. He likes that her feelings and personality are limited, he sees this as a feature.

I was completely unmoved by the entire chapter where Nemu died. Her sacrifice did not come across to me as anything indicating growth or humanity-- in every battle she's ever been in, she nearly dies because Kurotsuchi tells her to. She simply prioritizes Mayuri over herself. She always has. It’s simply the logical extension of her programming. A lot of people say they would have preferred Nemu to live and Mayuri to die and for sure I would have *preferred* that, but I have never seen Nemu as enough of a character to be worth rooting for. Like, at least Uryuu would have gotten some satisfaction form killing his clown ass, and that might have convinced me for at least half a second that he actually was on the side of the Quincy.

Caveat: if some talented fanficcer wants to write a short novel on Nemu discovering her humanity etc etc, I’m all for it, I’m just saying that canon hasn’t given us anything to suggest she would do more than just shut down without Mayuri to tell her what to do.

Onto Nemuri 8. I can’t believe they let Mayuri have another one. It makes my blood boil. The dude is an on-screen abuser and Kubo had the gall to try to make me feel sorry feel him (I did not) and then gave him another one.

So, I took her away from him.

I mentioned earlier that I go to great lengths to keep Mayuri the hell out of my fanfic, and usually the way I do that is to have my characters go through Akon whenever they have to deal with Squad 12. I think I started doing this because Akon is sort of weirdly familiar with Renji and Rukia in the TYBW, but I have projected all over him and he’s mine now. The way I assume Squad 12 functions, based on my career in scientific programming, is that Mayuri is like a primary investigator-- he's the Big Ideas guy and he spends a lot of time doing wholly self-directed research. He’s the face of Squad 12, so he has to go talk to the Captain-Commander and beg for money and defend blowing things up, but when it comes to science stuff, he does what he wants. Nemu is the lieutenant, and I think she handles most of the usual lieutenanting-- paperwork, meetings, etc., but I think Mayuri takes up a lot of her time by using her as a personal lab assistant on his wacky projects. There's nothing wrong with this, but I think in a lot of squads, the lieutenant is responsible for the day-to-day running of the squad and spends a lot of time dealing with their subordinates and other lieutenants. Nemu, instead, focuses on her captain. Now, the rest of the Gotei counts on Squad 12 for a lot actually-- gigai, Hollow tracking, Dangai monitoring, etc. etc. From the point of view of most science people, this stuff is mundane-- it’s all application, not development, and all the difficulty is in the twitchy little details. It’s frustrating and it’s unrewarding and you never get credit for it, and it is vitally important. There is a certain kind of science professional that makes a career out of this. They usually have master's degrees instead of PhDs, and they are usually tragically underpaid and underappreciated for what they do. In the real world, without these people, you wouldn’t have mass vaccination sites or weather data on your phone or cute li’l robots landing on other planets. In Bleach, these are the people keeping soul reapers alive in the field. And in my mind, this is Akon’s department.

So here’s the headcanon:

After Nemu’s death, Mayuri has so much sad clown pain about it that he wants another robot child poste-haste, but can’t bring himself to do the actual work, so he shoves it off onto Akon, with a list of the design specs he wants. The last one was pretty good, Akon can handle a few minor upgrades, it doesn’t need his personal hand in it. Thinking about going through all that work again just pisses him off, honestly. What a waste!

And Akon's like, yeah, cool, fine. It was heavily implied that he did a lot of the work on Nemu 7, it's just a matter of digging out his old notes and cleaning out some vats.

Except that, right around the same time, Rukia and Renji decide to have a baby.

Babies are super rare in the Gotei, and it’s not like those stuffy nobles are gonna let Akon look at their precious offspring. But Rukia is a rank weirdo, and Akon is their pal, so she’s always like “I hear they have these things in the Living World where you can pee on a stick and tell if you’re pregnant, can you make me one?” and Akon’s brain goes, “Wow, what even is the first detectable sign of a newly formed soul, this is very interesting.” So, at the same time he’s trying to grow a new and improved Nemu, he’s got access to the developing fetus of two captain-class shinigami. So when he has to pick between eight good candidate embryos to move to the next vat, he picks… not the one with the strongest reiatsu signature, like they did last time, but the one whose reiatsu looks the most like a real baby.

Akon reminds me of a lot of programmers I know, so I always sort of headcanon him as particularly interested in whatever passes for programming in Squad 12, and I think he takes special interest in revamping Nemu’s artificial intelligence system, which is primarily based on taking in information about the world and building up a realistic personality based on people she observes. In particular, it gives extra weight to “people who resemble her”. Nemu 7 was raised by Squad 12, so she came up very Squad 12, just like Mayuri wanted. Unfortunately, toddler Hachigou Nemuri’s algorithm unexpectedly decides that she has much more in common with toddler Abarai Ichika than any of the adult soul reapers around her.

Nemuri 8 is a very successful sample in terms of power and intelligence but she’s also very boisterous, and the rest of Squad 12 is like “Akon do something” so Akon takes drastic measures: he asks Renji for parenting advice. Distressingly, Renji is full of useful ideas like “tire her out” and “only fight the important battles” and “we’re signed up for baby yoga, you wanna start comin’ to baby yoga? Your back is gonna thank you.”

Akon didn't mean to let them hang out so much, but Ichika is a very useful data point and also if he takes Nemuri over to the Abarai house, the girls will entertain themselves (i.e. chew on each other) long enough for him to have a beer with Renji and Rukia and honestly my man really needs that beer.

I don’t think Akon thinks of himself as Nemu’s dad past the first time when she calls him ‘Daddy’ and he corrects her (she only did it because that’s what Ichika calls Renji, very predictable quirk of her programming). She’s just a work project. She’s not even his project, she’s Mayuri’s project, he’s just handling the little details. Fathering just happens to be an adjacent field of study that he’s found to contain a number of very useful best practices.

I would prefer not to get into the detail of the physical abuse that Mayuri uses against Nemu 7, but I would like to think that Akon finds ways to protect Nemuri 8 from the same, or barring that, maybe this is what finally drives Akon to murder Kurotsuchi and become Squad 12 captain himself.

Other Nemuri Headcanons:

Her favorite book is Rejection of the Twin Fishes!, Captain Ukitake’s posthumously published children’s book.

She prefers to be called “Nemuri” over “Nemu.”

Nemuri’s second favorite person in Squad 12 after Akon is Rin, because he always has candy. Rin actually likes having someone to share his hobby with and helps her make a World of the Living Snack Bucket List. When other shinigami come in for gigai, Nemuri constantly tries to con them into bringing something back for her.

Rukia teaches her to cuss, but tells her never to do it around Akon. Nemuri never actually cusses around anyone, but really enjoys having Forbidden Knowledge.

Speaking of Forbidden, she is mildly obsessed with Urahara, even though she’s never met him. She’s constantly on the lookout for thumbprints of his work in modern Squad 12 technology.

The one thing she does have in common with Mayuri is an absolutely batshit personal aesthetic. She starts painting her face as a tween and is somewhat inconveniently both into piercings and inflatable outfits.

The true proof that she has surpassed her predecessor, at least in terms of humanity, is that she is able to learn the name of her zanpakutou.

Oh, if you want to read any of my fanfics with Nemuri, here's one where she and Ichika play football and here's one where she tries to con Byakuya into buying her shaved ice. I really like writing Nemuri hanging out with Byakuya because I think an adult man who navigates social settings via rigid system of etiquette and class hierarchy and a small child with a pile of Markov chains for a brain would be natural friends.

[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - chapter 3

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 3 - The Return

Words: 4k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: medical descriptions and procedures, some sexual themes - mainly in the form of OC being thirsty AF

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

On the way back from the East village, filled with the Gossams, humans and other alien species who had similarly escaped to a simpler life, I couldn’t help but curse at myself for giving in so easily to the pleas of a good-looking stranger.

Aiding someone merely for their physical appearance? How horribly unprofessional.

The voice in the back of my mind was loud. And curiously judgemental.

It had been over a full day cycle since I’d departed the clinic, making Poe vow to remain within the confines of his bed until I had returned. I’d left him with enough food for two days of my travelling, hygiene supplies, a drip running slowly for some pain relief and range of tools for him to attempt getting BB-8 up and running, hoping he wouldn’t have any reason to struggle getting out of bed.

The thought of his still fragile femur bone breaking and splitting the artery I’d spent all my energy on mending was beyond frightening. I worried about him every minute I was awake, imagining any number of complications that would leave me a corpse to find when I arrived back.

Bleeding, clots, stroke, infection, sepsis.

It wasn’t easy to slip those thoughts from my mind in the lone starkness of the Raxus countryside. There wasn’t really anything to look at except grass and sky, nothing to distract me from the worst case scenarios.

I’d convinced some of my old patients to join my cause, promising them better medicine and equipment if I was only able to have a comm-tower to order everything I needed. It didn’t seem like lying. The comm-tower really was my only link to the rest of the galaxy, and I would have needed it fixed anyway. Only now, time seemed to be more of the essence.

After spending the night amongst the locals I had grown to be familiar with over the last few years, I’d begun the trek back with the knowledge at least one problem had been solved. Some promised spare parts, others were going to follow my path within the next day cycle to get my comm-link back online. I hadn’t divulged all the story, at least not the part about this repair job apparently being a determining factor in the fate of the galaxy.

I hadn’t pressed Poe about what that meant exactly. I was used to the Resistance and their soldiers having somewhat of a flair for the dramatic when it came to war, after healing many of their battle wounds in years past. I knew how fervently they believed in their cause - that they were the only thing standing between galaxy wide harmony and First Order dictatorship.

I understood their hope of peace in our lifetime, but I’d lost mine a long time ago. Good, bad, they were just two sides of a coin that would flip for eternity, desperately chasing power for their own reasons.

In truth, I didn’t particularly care. I just hoped to live my life somewhat free from the burden of picking a side.

*

Before unlocking the clinic door, my feet aching from hiking for 6 straight hours, I drew in a long breath with a silent prayer I wouldn’t be walking in to find a dead body. With a fluid motion I turned the handle and pushed the door open, my head popping in first around the entryway to where Poe’s hospital bed stood. He immediately heard the latch clicking and shot his head up to meet with my eyes.

“You’re back,” he smiled, as I noted how much colour had returned to his face during my absence.

He looked so much better.

For the first time, I found myself studying his face, my stare tracing from his strong angular jawline to his high cheekbones, the prominence of his nose, the whiskey colour of his large cheerful eyes, his tousled deep brown hair. Then I took in his wide grin, shapely pink lips curled upwards to show perfectly set white teeth.

Stars, he’s so handsome.

In the muddle of memories I’d conceived from the night of his crash I’d not recognised, at least not during the time I was struggling to keep him alive, how attractive he was. And now with his health a far better picture than the last time I’d seen him, it was all I could notice. My heart quivered through a beat as he beamed at me, soon realising his smile was more a reflection of the prospective good news I brought with my return, making it settle back into a normal rhythm.

“Hi,” I breathed, walking closer and setting my pack down at the foot of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he answered, “The smaller burns are almost gone, and my chest wound is closed, look!” He pulled up the grey hospital shirt I’d managed to change him into before I had to leave. This time when I saw the nakedness of his chest and abdomen I couldn’t help but stare at his softly defined muscles, all tensing during his movement. He was right, the hole below his rib now sealed, a newly-formed, pink scar in its place. The chest tube was still secured above it, now redundant.

“Gotta love bacta,” I hummed. “I can take that drain out now if you like.”

He looked at me incredulously. “You’ve just done a 30 hour round trip for me, not even sat down, and you want to dive head first into more treatment?”

“I... uh... I mean... I just wanted to help you feel better,” I stammered.

Poe shook his head, smirking. “It’s okay, I appreciate it. Really, I do. But I’m alright, the tube can wait. How about you rest for a second and tell me how the mission- I mean, trip, went?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Two days ago you were begging me to get going so I couldn’t waste any time, now you’re telling me I can take a load off?”

"Uh, yeah… Sorry about that,” he grimaced. “Having some time to think while you were gone... It made me realise everything you’d done and were doing for me - a stranger you had no reason to help." Poe took a long exhale before speaking again, his tone serious. "I was in a lot of pain, just woken up in a strange place. It’s still imperative to get a message back to the Resistance as soon as possible but... that’s not your burden to bear. I can't thank you enough for your help, but I'll try not to ask too much more of you.”

It seemed not only had his physical health improved, but logical thought and patience had returned.

I took my cue to sit on one of the opposite hospital beds, letting my feet dangle over the edge to kick my shoes off, feet pulsing with gratitude at their release. “There’s some villagers coming tomorrow,” I started. “They will hopefully have a new comm-tower up and running within the next couple of days. I told them about your droid too. There’s some spare parts in that bag.” I pointed my hand out to the satchel at Poe’s feet, glancing at the L shaped table beside his bed I’d set up. BB-8 was sitting on top of it, head and body still separated and now unbolted at separate points, wires haphazardly sticking out in different directions. Falling back into the mattress, I let out an exhausted sigh, relishing the feel of the squeaky mattress under my body.

“I really owe you. The Resistance owes you,” Poe praised after a few moments of silence, as I heard him begin to rummage through the satchel. I held back a frown, even when I knew he wouldn’t be able to catch sight of my face.

I didn’t do any of this for the Resistance.

It occurred to me then I wasn’t really sure why I’d done it at all. I had always been a sucker for those in poor predicaments, hence why I became a doctor in the first place. But the trek had nothing to do with treatment or medicine. It was purely at the behest of this pilot, who’s charming appearance in the dimmed orange light of the evening made my skin feel hot.

“So, how did a girl like you find herself in the middle of nowhere on the Outer Rim?” Poe questioned, fiddling with some of the parts.

I sat back up. “I’m not a girl. I’m 28. That’s a little too old to be called girl anymore.”

Poe chuckled, the sound of his laugh both warming and positively thrilling. “I apologise. How did a woman like you end up here?”

“I used to work on Coruscant, that’s where I started my medical training,” I explained, remembering the glittering planet I’d spent much of my young life on. “Then moved into the war relief efforts on medical frigates scattered throughout the galaxy. Treating wounded soldiers day in day out took its toll, having people constantly injured and almost dying for a war they didn’t start.” I glanced to Poe's expression, seeing a glow of understanding behind his eyes before I continued. “Plus, there were more than a few times I felt a little redundant. The medical droids they have kind of... made my treatment obsolete. I wanted to practice medicine in a place where adequate health care was rare or non-existent. I wanted to help those who were most desperate, who otherwise couldn’t afford it, those who would actually value the care of a live human doctor. So I picked a planet at random, and settled here."

The random part was an utter lie. No one had cared about Raxus since the Clone Wars, and the First Order wouldn’t make it their priority to conquer Outer Rim worlds for a while yet. It was a quiet, calm planet with countless refugees fleeing here to make peaceful new lives. They wouldn’t be concerned about old, rusty equipment, lower quality bacta or no medical droids. They would simply be happy at having a doctor within a day’s trek.

And no one would think of looking here for a Force user.

Poe studied me in quiet thought for a moment, taking in what I’d divulged. “Well, they're damn lucky, with how nicely you patched me up. You’d run circles around some of the doctors and medical droids at the Resistance base.” He grinned at me again, earnestly, another attempt to thank me for my work. I felt the pit of my stomach tense, and it wouldn’t retreat, the thought of his smile lingering in my mind even after he’d gone back to his tinkering.

It had to be because I’d been in isolation for so long, why I was reacting so strongly to the innocent smiles and compliments of a man I barely knew. I definitely wasn’t used to conversing with men so close in age to my own. Most of the local humans were older, married with children, and I rarely made conversation around any other topic than their illnesses.

“What... uh... Why were you flying over Raxus?” I asked awkwardly.

His eyebrows creased together as he looked back at me. “Raxus wasn’t my destination, but I... can’t tell you any more than that.”

“Oh…”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he urged. “It’s just, you know, highly confidential.” He seemed apologetic, like he owed me more of an explanation.

I nodded, agreeing the less I knew about the Resistance and their missions the better. “Well, you’ll be able to get back to it in a couple of days,” I insisted, breaking the awkward silence that had lingered. “Some time and a little bit more bacta and you’ll be like new again.”

“Actually, speaking of that,” he started, an uneasy expression now settling in his features. “I was wondering when you were thinking of letting me get out of this bed.”

“Depends on the reason Poe. I’d recommend starting your formal rehab tomorrow at the absolute earliest, otherwise we can get you up and walking if you need to do something… uh… specific.” There was no hiding the waver in my voice.

He laughed, louder than he had before, the sound making it difficult for me not to blush. “Aren’t you a doctor? Why are you embarrassed for me to use the bathroom?”

“Hey!” I frowned. “I was trying to save you from being embarrassed.”

He shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m alright on that front for now. I was actually hoping to use your refresher. It’s been a few days…”

“Oh of course!” I’d cleaned him up as much as I could before I’d left, getting rid of his obliterated flight suit and helping change into the bland hospital outfit I reserved for overnighters, but even to myself the idea of a shower was enticing.

A thought flashed into my mind of steaming water hitting Poe’s sun darkened skin, trickling down his toned body as he lathered himself in soap suds.

Woah.

Okay.

That was new.

It had been such a long time since I’d felt the fire of blood rushing to the lower portion of my abdomen, insides clenching at the heat so suddenly ignited.

Poe was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to continue. I internally shook away the incriminating thoughts before they could be conveyed on my face. “How about I get that chest tube out first? Then I can help you to the ‘fresher?”

He breathed out in relief. “That would be fantastic.”

I stepped lightly off the hospital bed, walking shoe-less over to my medical trolley to drag it back to Poe’s side. And immediately, without me asking, he sat up and began a haphazard attempt to pull off his shirt, left arm bandaged and stiff, right arm enveloped in the cast I’d made and evidently still painful to move.

In a wordless reply, I helped him pull the fabric over his head, confronted with the image of a half-naked, strikingly handsome man in front of me.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t recognised any of his raw allure when he’d been almost stripped completely bare by my own hands on the night of his crash. It seemed bizarre I wouldn’t have noted the strong, broadness of his shoulders, his armoured chest littered deliciously with dark hair, carved abdominal muscles tensed in waiting.

I swallowed hard, hoping Poe wouldn’t register my shaking hands as I prepared the tube removal kit. Snipping the sutures around the plastic, unsteady gloved fingers pulled out the tube as smoothly as I could manage, Poe flinching slightly at the sensation. He continued to look away as I injected some bacta gel into the wound, sealing it closed with a few new sutures and placing a waterproof dressing over the site.

“All done,” I settled. “Like nothing happened at all.”

Poe looked back to me and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was obvious he remained troubled by the memories of his crash, and understandably so. I’d seen the same look in many other military personnel, the attempt to put on a brave face when images of fire, blood and terror pierced their thoughts. I desperately wanted to take his mind to a brighter place. “So, ready to try walking?”

“Absolutely! Lead the way doc.”

Ugh. Eventually I would have to correct him on that.

I stepped back from the side of the bed, arms stretched in readiness for when he inevitably stumbled. “Please take it slowly. Your muscles aren’t going to be pleased with what you’re doing after over two days of bed rest.”

“Sure thing,” Poe scoffed.

Typical male.

Initially he seemed to take my direction, moving his legs slowly from under the blanket, pain now registering on his features. He swivelled himself sluggishly to let his legs fall over the side of the mattress, breathing slightly heavier to push through the discomfort.

He was leaning more on his left side, right arm hovering over his thigh. Tentatively, he slipped his left foot onto the floor and shifted his weight onto it, pushing his hand into the mattress to help himself up.

Soon he was standing in front of me for the first time since we’d met, and even amongst all the burns, bruises, dressings and bandages, he looked impossibly strong, toned muscles wrapping his form.

He noticed the timid smile form on my lips.

“Hey don’t start laughing at me. I don’t think I could handle my ego being bruised along with the rest of me.”

“Oh... I wasn’t-,” I stumbled, quietly relieved he’d misread the reason behind my smirk.

He held his hand up in protest, grinning. “I was kidding. You’re welcome to laugh at the adult sized toddler learning to walk again.”  

It was difficult not to snicker at his words. “Come on,” I encouraged. “Just think of how nice that hot water will feel.”

He sighed in agreement and moved, taking a hesitant step onto the previously fractured leg. I swiftly froze with anxiety, even when the logical side of my brain told me both the break and the artery would have stabilised exponentially by now. But the emotional side, the part that remembered the rush of blood that had exploded from the wound site, nagged incessantly at me, insisting that this was a very bad idea.

My eyes were glued to Poe’s figure as he shifted his weight deliberately, muscles tensing at the trigger of pain he was likely feeling, before he made a delicate hop to move back onto his left leg.

Even that one haggard step appeared to take a lot out of him, but he seemed determined, eyebrows already wrinkled in concentration.  He continued the process a few times over, my arms still poised in waiting for the foreseeable stumble as I walked backwards. I couldn’t help but hold my breath as he limped, following me out of the clinic room into the hallway that lead to my office, the ‘fresher, and my living quarters all the way at the end.

His steps became faster, more confident, when all of a sudden, his balance wavered.

Reacting quickly, I stepped forward to catch him, arms circling under his own and around his torso, hands now gripping the muscles on his back as he crashed into me. I would have stayed there for a moment, my fingertips registering the warmth radiating off his skin, until I became fully aware where his face had fallen into.

I felt Poe’s heated exhale through the cotton of my white shirt after his face had collided into my chest, directly between my breasts. The twinge in my lower abdomen occurred again, breath hitching in my throat.

He scrambled to push himself back into a standing position, my arms releasing from around him, his hands clamping around my biceps as he fought to reclaim his steadiness again.

“I am so sorry!” he blurted, his face dangerously close to mine, only a small touch of redness visible under his caramel skinned cheeks. I knew my blushing would be much more pronounced.

“It’s okay,” I breathed. “I was waiting for that to happen.”

His eyes widened.

“Not that!” I yelped. “I meant you falling! I was waiting for you to fall!”

Poe’s face illuminated into a beaming grin. “Sure you did.”

I frowned in protest, but couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping. I shifted to face the same way as him, an arm curling around his torso, angling my body under his own. “How about I help you the rest of the way?”

His hand gripped onto my shoulder, the hardened squeeze making the tensing inside me ripple even faster.

Focus Alex.

Poe let me support him as he limped down the hallway, and I desperately tried to distance myself from the thoughts that swirled in my mind at being connected so closely.

Eventually we made it into the ‘fresher, a white and grey tiled room with the large, frameless shower enclosure taking up most of the space, the only privacy a plastic curtain that could be pulled across the entire spans of the room. I’d designed it with the idea there would be enough space to assist overnighter patient’s in washing themselves, since I didn’t have a nurse to do it for me. Yet, it still gave me the ability to provide some discretion by stepping out past the other side of the curtain, ready to swoop in if I was needed.

And that’s what I’d planned for Poe, knowing he was hardly the type of patient that was going to let me do anything for him if he could help it. Guiding him to the backless shower chair, I released him to his own devices and quickly pulled the curtain across. It was more for my own concealment at this point, needing to take a moment to settle myself down, the memory of his hold still lingering on my skin.

“I’ll be right here if you need any help okay? Everything you need will be on the shelf under the shower start button.”

“Thanks Alex,” he answered, his voice huffing out as I could hear he’d already started to shimmy down his pants.

Stop imagining it Alex. Stop thinking about him naked, a metre away, behind that thin curtain.

The sound of water rushing into the tile floor pulled me back into some impression of reality. I busied myself with organising my own hygienic supplies in the mirrored cupboard, desperately trying to think of anything other than the man hidden from my view, steam swirling around his figure, water dribbling down his bare skin. From behind the screen I heard a pleasant moan leave him, obviously enjoying the hot water battering into his aching muscles for the first time in days.

And with that sound I felt a twinge between my legs, heat swelling and rippling outwards through my body.

Stars, that was... hot.

It felt so unprofessional, to be tantalized by the thought of a man, a patient, in the middle of such a basic act of human hygiene. But I couldn’t deny he was more attractive than any patient I’d ever had in my life, and the thought of ripping open the curtain so I could join him was suddenly the most tempting thing in the galaxy.

I locked my hands onto the basin that stood in front of me, trying not to be overwhelmed by the sound of Poe lathering soap between his hands, then sliding over an unseen portion of his body.

It was then I started to pace, hoping the repetitive movement would stop me ruminating over the indecent notions my mind was conjuring. Minutes ticked by too slowly as I waited for him to finish his routine, begging for the irresistible pull of craving to be released from me.

“Hey Alex?” Poe suddenly called.

“What's wrong?” I squeaked, cursing at myself for sounding so startled.

“I actually need some help.”

Oh maker, why do you do this to me?

I swallowed hard. “Y-yeah. Sure. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he began, voice sounding a little forced. “It’s just... with my left arm still bandaged, and my right arm still in the cast, I can’t wash my hair. I know it’s a little strange, but could you help me out?”

My heart ricocheted inside my rib cage, frolicking at the thought of seeing him soaked in water, fingers raking through his dampened hair.

Come on Alex, try to keep at least one shred of professionalism.

“Sure,” I agreed, a more competent tone saturating my voice as I withheld my internal fluttering. “Make yourself… uh… decent, and I’ll open the curtain.”

I heard Poe’s movement as he reached for one of the towels hanging on the rail nearby and wrapped it around his lower body. The flowing water soon came to a stop, the sudden silence making me feel uneasy.

“Ready.”

I placed myself in front of the curtain between us, his stature only barely visible through the clouded screen. My jaw was locked as I took a deep breath through my nose, meditating in thought, frantically clawing at a sense of calm.

Then I reached towards the plastic, clenched my hand around it, and pulled.

~

Next Chapter

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[sneezefiction]

falling for you

Tsukishima Kei x reader - Scenario

a/n: ok so, trying to portray fluff with Tsukki was a challenge characteristically, but i’ll be damned if i don’t try. lemme know who i should try next~ i’m open for requests :)

warnings: slight cursing, mentions blood/wounds (nothing angsty)

wc: 1680

---

Tsukishima never intended to get to know you.

He had actually been avoiding you for quite some time.

You see, you got under his skin in the most irritating ways.

It wasn’t like how he loathed Hinata or Kageyama. Or his annoyance with incredibly slow grocery clerks. It wasn’t even similar to the exhaustive irritations he experienced toward the end of a full volleyball match.

Yes, these things are problematic, but Tsukishima can handle almost any obstacle.

You see, his cold, calculated presence soaks in every detail of life for the purpose of learning how to dismantle an issue. He resassesses, maneuver, and overcomes. There’s a reason the boy is so good at blocking. 

However of all the problems he could have... this one is the worst.

Previously, he had everything he possibly could, under his control.

But when you came along? Oh, he had absolutely no experience with handling this level of meddling.

Because it isn’t even your fault.

You just somehow manage to interrupt all of his patterns and sneak your way into a majority of his thoughts. 

Every. Single. Day.

So it isn’t a surprise that Tsukki, a master of mental strength and strategy, would be enraged by his inability to pin down his feelings for you.

For example, last week, you accidentally bumped into his arm, stumbling a bit. Tsukki grabbed your arm before you could hit the floor, but as his hand meets your skin he feels as though he’s taken a fall of his own.

His heart fluttered.

And when you immediately turned to him, apologizing and thanking him sweetly and sincerely, his whole mind went numb.

You make him feel confused. Uncertain. And… real.

But that doesn’t mean he likes those feelings. No, he doesn’t, Tsukishima tries to convince himself.

So why is it you that he pictures your figure whenever he closes his eyes? Or that your laugh echos through his head after someone tells you a cheesy joke from across the classroom? Or how whenever you call his name, he can’t help but temper his irate disposition?

You’ve got him spinning in circles and it’s driving him wild.

Because Tsukishima doesn’t want to need anyone. Not a friend. Not A lover. And he definitely isn’t in the market for another disappointment.

However, as much as he tries to avoid you, your touch, your smile, he can’t seem to stop running into you. He can’t bury his feelings for you, as much as he wishes he could.

Even though he’s tried to find reasons to hate, laugh at, or ridicule you, he simply can’t. Because the reason you are so bothersome and so obnoxious has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with his inability to cope with how relentlessly wonderful you are in his eyes.

---

Your walk home conveniently crosses with Tsukki’s own path and every so often he’s out of volleyball practice just in time to run into you. An increasing occurrence over the past couple of months.

Tsukishima may not realize or want to admit it, but he treasures the rare moments where he’ll walk in sync with you. His stride subconsciously copies yours, slowing him down significantly, and somehow it’s okay.

You, harboring your own feelings toward the blonde, always try to make small talk or ramble about your day, doing your best to find some type of common ground with the tall boy next to you. 

He finds himself responding to you again.

He’s tried for so long to not get involved, but over the past few days, he can’t help but let his thoughts flow. You make him uncomfortably comfortable, if that’s at all possible.

His snarky comments are (currently) nonexistent. His abrasive nature, moderated.

I mean, of course he’s dripping with sarcasm, but Tsukki wouldn’t change that part of himself for anyone.

Today something seemed to have clicked between you two, likely due to Tsukishima briefly relinquishing his stubbornness and fear of connection. It’s infrequent, but with your consistency, he’s finding himself far more capable of seeing outside of his past.

As the conversation picks up speed, so do your feet. The pebbled path you walk doesn’t help you keep your footing, so you find yourself unsteady and sliding every once in a while. 

Suddenly, your feet are out from under you, and similarly to the week before, you plummet to the earth. 

You’re not quite as fortunate this time, because as quickly as Tsukki swoops down to catch you, your hands and knees are already covered in dirt, sand, and bits of rock. Scraped and bleeding, you do your best to calm yourself down and assess the situation… so you turn to Tsukki.

Poor boy looks so awkward, unsure of what to say, but still attempting to keep his cool demeanor.

“Are you okay?” He asks, crouching down to meet your eyes. As masked as it is, you see a flicker of concern in his expression.

He takes your hand in his, trying not to let his feelings intervene with your pain, and studies the tears in your skin.

“I- I’m okay,” You stammer, partially from the pain, but mostly from his gentle touch.

“Okay… let me see if I have anything that’ll help.” Turning toward his bag.

It aches and the grimace on your face shows just how nasty the gash on your knee really is. 

He gently lets your hand down, taking out tissues from his backpack and uses one to wipe off your knee while you use another to apply pressure to your hands. 

The air is very still, almost as though it chose to pause for this moment. 

“Hm, the weather actually is nicer down here for you short kids. I’m envious.” Tsukki jokes, breaking the tense silence.

“Haha, very funny. Maybe if you ever fall down, I’ll actually be able to catch you, since I’m already down here.” You retort playfully.

“Okay captain sassy, whatever you say.” He shoots back, “Now how ‘bout we see if you can actually stand up.”

He offers you his hand once again, the feeling making your heart race and his face go blank.

You attempt to straighten out your legs entirely, moving a foot forward, but find yourself in extreme discomfort.

Tsukki notices and without skipping a beat, suggests,

“Well, I can… y’know, carry you?” He turns his head, the lightest dusting of pink touching his cheeks.

You, still using his hand for support, look down, your face becoming red.

“I think that may be the, uhm, best option. It hurts a lot.” 

He silently stoops down, placing his arms under your knees and behind your back, making sure to not agitate the wound any further.

The walk continues in a nervous, but intimately close manner. Neither of your eyes knowing what to focus on.

So you decide to fixate on him for a moment, 

“I’m sorry about all this… I should’ve watched my step.” You express, “But… I’ve really enjoyed our walk together.” You crack a warm smile.

Tsukki returns your gaze, pulse jumping slightly, his honey-brown hued irises capturing your soft (e/c) eyes,

“Yeah, dumbass. You should’ve at least remembered how big of a clutz you are.” He smirks.

“But I guess this was nice… not so much the falling part…” He takes a moment to consider his next few words, breathing a little deeper.

“But these walks, speaking with you…” He averts his gaze,

“Just you, actually, y/n.” If your blush wasn’t already apparent, it was clear now.

He’s approaching your house as he finishes his sentence, but it feels as you’re both walking through time and space. A small galaxy opening up just for the two of you.

Reality stops in moments like these, Tsukki notes.

And it doesn’t feel… bad.

It feels right. Nice, even.

Before making it up to your front door, you reach your soft hand toward Tsukishima’s forcibly stoic face.

While outwardly, he’s kept his composure, his insides are producing so many SOS signals, it’s not even funny.

You lean forward, hand resting on his jaw, and place a short kiss to his cheek.

Leaning back, you catch a look of adoration in his eyes. Something he has no idea he’s physically showing right now.

He takes this chance to capture your soft lips in a kiss.

He hasn’t really done this before, but Tsukki gets how a kiss should work.

What didn’t cross his methodical, logic-based brain was just how good it would feel. Like a cloud, back-lit by golden sunlight, or a perfect chord progression to the most touching ballad.

It’s imperfect, but it’s electric.

Your lips melded with his so well, every second melting away his icier emotions. It began to introduce him to a new reason for life and a new meaning to love.

He eventually sets you down in front of your door.

But he has your hand lightly held in his, careful not to disturb the scrapes.

A huge grin spreads through your face, eyes lit up.

And he now knows why he can’t stop thinking about you. You really are a necessary part of his life. Worthy of breaking routines. Special enough to stop his flow and grumpily facetime you. Important enough to reshape himself to account for your existence.

With this final realization, Tsukki goes to his next line of action.

“So, are you free Friday?” He inquires.

“Actually, yeah! Can we go see that new dinosaur movie? I’m kind of obsessed with it.”

“Well, damn. This is gonna be even better than I expected.” He smirks, leaving you confused, but smiling at his response.

No, he wasn’t going to tell you about his discoveries from that day.

At least not in great detail.

But, thanks to this… to you, Tsukishima is learning to open himself up again. To take chances on himself and others. A process that is never too early to begin.

All it took was helping you back onto your feet to get you into his arms.

Something that both literally and relationally makes a whole lot of sense for some reason, Tsukki concludes.

[stillunpainted]

Postmortem

cw for implied suicide.  1.8k fic under the cut baby.  Pretty much Neku dealing with the aftermath of the game and then having a conversation with Joshua.

    Neku couldn’t take sudden noises anymore.  It’d always been somewhat of a bother, and his music had helped him block out the little surprises that’d make him jump, the startle like a lightning bolt, but now it was agonizing.  It was as if at any time, he could be seized by the hand of death, freezing his blood like a blizzard.  Though he’d made a promise to himself to wear his headphones less, especially in public, it wasn’t easy.

    Shibuya was vibrant and busy, but it was also overwhelming.  There were times where after simply going to Mr. H’s cafe with Shiki or Beat and Rhyme would result in him having to go lay in bed for hours afterward, staring at the ceiling until he was able to think again.  His parents were worried.  They’d noticed that he was going out more, and generally seemed to be happier than before, but the exhaustion, the anxiety, those weren’t things he could hide.  He enjoyed spending time with his friends, but he wasn’t used to them.  He felt out of place, worried that he’d somehow mess up and they wouldn’t want to be with him anymore.

    He’d picked up an old acoustic guitar, and spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out how to tune it.  That was all he could bring himself to do for the day.  He checked his messages, and it was much of the same.  Shiki had sent an update on her most recent project with Eri, and was still trying to convince him to try it on.  He wasn’t adamantly against the idea, he just wasn’t sure if it was his thing.  He’d had to expand his fashion sense during the Game, and he wasn’t sure where to go with that now.  Was it something he wanted to pursue on his own, or did he want to be influenced by the people around him?

    Though Neku had avoided Udagawa like the plague, he still could see CAT’s art when he closed his eyes, peering over him as he stared up at the painted walls.  He wanted to see it again, as his mind could only replicate everything with a certain degree of accuracy, but the thought of going back made him feel sick, sick enough to rush to the bathroom and wait for it all to come up, but nothing was there.

    The Composer often lingered in his mind, interrupting his normal thought processes.  In this moment Neku was staring at the ceiling again, tapping his fingers to the beat of a song, when he suddenly remembered Joshua off-handedly mentioning that he liked it.  Neku took his headphones off.  He still hadn’t forgiven Joshua yet.  There was so much pain, so intense that even though those bullets left no scars now, he could still feel them.  He sat up, deciding that today he would face it.  He wasn’t sure why, but felt if he didn’t go to Udagawa now, these thoughts would never stop, haunting him like old ghosts over and over.

    On his way through Shibuya, he kept his headphones on around his neck, ready to put them on if necessary.  He walked past stores he’d come to know well, absentmindedly trying to spot the faces of the shopkeepers he’d spoken with over and over.  There were so many people.  Even though he couldn’t hear their thoughts anymore, it floored him how they all were living their own lives, their own narratives that he would never be privy to.  Their secret gardens.

    It was a conversation he thought back to at times.  He’d wondered if not being able to cross into someone’s garden was even a bad thing.  Was trying to understand someone enough, even if it wasn’t actually possible?  He felt he knew Shiki and Beat pretty well, and Rhyme and Eri to an extent.  His memories of Joshua though… Joshua at times felt completely alien yet familiar, almost like a trick mirror.

    Neku arrived at Udagawa, and saw that the art had changed significantly in his absence.  CAT’s work was still there, some of it new itself, but there were other artists who had added to the wall.  Nothing unusual, but the change made Neku’s chest feel heavy.  He was used to seeing everything shift gradually, not only see the end result.

    It was still beautiful, he decided, just different.  Still the same wall, marked by the same kinds of people.  He wondered if one day he would get some spray paint himself, though he had no idea what he could create.  It wasn’t a part of himself that he’d explored in a long time, not since… 

    Even now, he felt the empty space within his heart.  He still had the last message his friend had sent him on his phone. “See you there,” it’d read.  An interaction that had never been complete, a day that never happened.

    “Well, you’ve brought yourself back here, haven’t you?” A recognizably smug voice rose above the background noise of everyone else passing through.

    “Look at what the cat dragged outta the sewers,” Neku retorted dryly.  Joshua crossed his arms, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile on his face.  Neku was tense, but this relaxed him somewhat.  He figured Joshua hadn’t merely returned after what, months, simply to antagonize him.  Though he didn’t rule it out of the realm of possibility, “what brings you out here, anyway?” Joshua put a hand on his chin.

    “I was intrigued as to why you returned here.  It seems like a morbid place to go by yourself.  I thought that maybe you’d need supervision,” Joshua said.  Neku pulled at his hair, trying not to visibly give Joshua the satisfaction of annoying him.  Though he supposed that Joshua could read his mind, which agitated him further.

    “I don’t need- whatever, it’s just that I kept thinking about everything that happened.  I dunno if closure is exactly what I’m looking for, but it’s something like that, I think,” Neku shuffled his feet.  He was never especially good at reading people, but Joshua was always a special kind of enigma.

    “There’s nothing I can add to that.  You already know why I did what I did,” Joshua said, “neither of us can take that back.”

    “You can’t take that back.  All I did was survive,” Neku said.  He didn’t expect an apology, nor was he surprised by Joshua’s nonchalant attitude towards it all, but it still stung a little.

    “Oh come on Neku, we’ve both made mistakes,” Joshua said, wrapping a hand around his neck.  A flash of guilt washed over Neku, but he let it pass.  He’d talked about it a lot with Shiki after the game, though it was still something he’d never fully forgive himself over.  He’d found that he had a pattern of hurting people.  He’d finally stopped at his duel with Joshua, but still.  He wondered if that old self was buried within, ready to rise at any time.  I killed him- “Neku?  Locked up in that head of yours again?”

    “What would’ve happened if I’d shot you?” Joshua didn’t even flinch at the question.  But he wavered a little.

    “I would’ve been erased.  I would’ve lost that game, yknow.  That’s how the rules are,” he says.

    “I know, but-”

    “The UG would’ve been destroyed, but I can’t say I’d know what would happen after that,” Joshua says, “I can’t give you a real answer, even if I wanted to please you that way.”

    “So even you don’t know,” Neku said.

    “Yes Neku, you’re a fantastic listener,” Joshua replied.  His normal grin is back, though something about it seems off.

    “So why would you do that?  If you’d actually gone through with destroying Shibuya or whatever, it wouldn’t have mattered at all if I’d pulled the trigger or not.  Not much of a crossroad, really,” Neku put his hands on his headphones, contemplating putting them on.

    “It was all a game.  My bet with Megumi.  You were my proxy,” Joshua said, crossing his arms again.

    “What were you even trying to prove with me?  That I’m terrible and representative of Shibuya’s evils, or something?  I was just trying to live and help Beat get Rhyme back at that point.”

    “That’s spot on.”

    “Then did your proof involve me shooting you at the end?”

    “Yes.”

    “Then your plan would’ve killed you no matter what,” Neku said.

    “What do you mean?”

    “No UG means no Composer, right?”

    “Correct indeed.”

    “So you were planning on dying.” A silence settled over the two of them.

    “Well, I didn’t,” Joshua says.  Neku thought of how he initially saw the game as a dream that he dreaded the end of.  There was nothing he had to worry about other than missions, nobody to talk to but Shiki, nobody to nag him.  It was the closest he’d ever been to whatever his own ‘world view’ had been.

    “I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” Neku paused, wondering if it was even worth saying.  Joshua had killed him twice over, but still, “I’m glad you didn’t die.” Joshua narrowed his eyes.  The Composer wasn’t alive per se, but even he knew that wasn’t exactly what Neku had meant.

    “And that’s that,” Joshua said, turning away.

    “Don’t think I’m going to take that as an excuse.  You didn’t have to turn it into some big game with my life,” Neku said.

    “Well aren’t I alive because I did, based on your logic?” At this point, Neku wanted to tear out his hair.  Joshua was the same as always, so he didn’t know why he was expecting anything different.  But surely something had changed within the Composer, as he had preserved Shibuya and brought everyone back to life.

    “Dammit, do you even realize what all of that was like?  You killed me twice, and- and…” Neku trails off, shuddering.  Joshua’s hands ball up into fists and he stares at the ground for a moment, frowning.  He almost seems small, completely losing the aura of being something beyond the fifteen year old standing in the streets of Udagawa, the mural hanging over his head.  He straightens his posture and he’s the Composer again.

    “I do realize.  I’m not incapable of understanding pain,” Joshua says, “hmmm.  Maybe that worsens my case.” He turns to face Neku once again, who wants to back away, but doesn’t.

    “I guess it’s hard to keep going.  I’m not on my own anymore, at least.  Shibuya’s felt bigger than it ever has for me, and that’s exciting on one hand, but overwhelming.  There’s so many places I could go, but I also feel like something terrible is always on the horizon again,” Neku says.  He doesn’t know why he’s telling this to Joshua of all people.

    “Could I be the cause of that terrible something?  Is that what you fear?”

    “No.  I still don’t… I don’t know if I’ll ever fully forgive you really, but I trust that you won’t use me again.  I’d be lying if I said being around you doesn’t make me nervous, but I still trust you.  We were partners, right?” Neku says.  Joshua tilts his head.

    “Right, we were.”

[listentothelittlebird]

TW: dissociative episode

This was a whole scrapped oneshot, mostly because I couldn’t fit it in properly... I misread something on a wikipedia page and somehow ended up with “Jason revisited Ethiopia sometime during the Red Hood and the Outlaws, and had major PTSD”. I’m fairly sure I was sleep deprived at the time... (I’m honestly happy with how this one turned out, but it was just out-of-place with the rest of the other oneshots)

This is a “deleted scene” from my series on ao3, Code Bat! 

It was a quiet, peaceful night, until the comms crackled to life.

“N,” Oracle called, “RH entered Gotham an hour ago. The new Super he befriended brought him in, but he hasn’t moved from his location since. Can you go check on him?”

Nightwing frowned. Jason was in town? 

He was happy to have a chance to see his Little Wing, of course, but this was an unplanned visit. Usually he would at least radio in ahead, and dramatically announce his return by searching for them during patrol time.

Something was wrong.

“R and I are still dealing with the drug ring,” Batman grunted, “We’ll be with you as soon as we can.”

It seemed even the Bat himself was getting worried.

“I’m turning in for the night. BG’s headed towards RH right now. Let me know how he is, alright?” Spoiler paused, before adding, “I can pull an extra patrol or two, if he needs you guys for company. I’m not an official fam’ member, but I’m more than ready to help.”

Nightwing would have hugged Spoiler if she was standing next to him.

Batgirl was already at the rooftop when Nightwing arrived. She was crouched directly in front of Jason - in his Red Hood outfit, skull-like helmet still on his head - and staring. Nightwing had learnt to read Cass’ body language, and right now she was practically screaming concern. She straightened when Nightwing touched down.

“Unresponsive,” she signed, “Alive, but not there. Like the victims we saw last week.”

Nightwing sighed, a rush of air escaping his chest. It was relief mixed in with new pain, because something had happened to his brother for him to shut down. Something had triggered this.

“RH is dissociating,” Nightwing reported to the comms, “BG says he’s unresponsive. B, once you and R are done, get the Batmobile here.”

“We’re on our way,” came Robin’s tight response, crisp and serious but betraying the slightest of quivers.

In the meantime, Nightwing busied himself with removing Jason’s helmet. His face was blank, devoid of his usual snarky grin or unimpressed eye-roll. His chest was rising and falling in slow, mechanical breaths.

“We’ll take care of you, Little Wing,” Nightwing laid a hand gently on his brother’s shoulder, smiling warmly, “Take all the time you need, okay? We’ll be here.”

There was not so much as a twitch to acknowledge his words. Dick’s gut clenched tighter, even having expected the lack of response.

Batgirl had drifted away, standing several steps back. At Nightwing’s questioning glance, she murmured haltingly, “Scary.” She raised her hands to elaborate.

“No body messages. Nothing. Cannot tell what he is thinking, or if he is thinking. I’m scared for him. With other victims, it’s bad. With family...” the next motion was not proper sign language - she made a heart with her hands, then split it. 

It hurt to see family like this.

Nightwing gave a sad, quiet smile in response, and the way he turned back to eye Jason was enough to convey his agreement.

-

Jason came back to himself slowly.

He was never truly gone, not quite. Not for a while, he thinks. 

He’s… not sure about much. Just that he had been able to tell Artemis and Bizarro that he was going to pull a few strings in Gotham to get them a permanent base. 

He remembered fumbling out an address for a safe house that he had, which would be able to last his two teammates for more than a week. He remembered Biz dropping him off in Gotham. He remembered sitting down on the filthy rooftop.

He thinks Batgirl came, then Nightwing. He thinks they helped him into the Batmobile, and he thinks he saw Batman and Robin. 

He… can’t quite recall what happened next. It was like his memories were grinded to a pulp and then drained of substance, leaving behind the crusts of barely-coherent scenes. Flashes of what had happened.

He was in the Batcave, then he was being walked up the stairs to the Manor, one large arm wrapped around his shoulders, one large hand gripping firmly onto his elbow. 

There was the rustling of old paperbacks, distant and distorted, like hearing through water. 

There was Bruce, blue eyes focused on him, gazing at him and murmuring something soft.

“...here for you. You’re safe, Jaylad.”

He felt a sliver of pressure on his face.

Jason blinked. His hand rose to the spot, to where the mildest of pressures were, a calloused hand cupped against his cheek. He blinked two, three times, Bruce’s face morphing into the most genuine of smiles, even as the smell of the library and faint tightness of hunger greeted him.

“B?” Jason croaked, his voice hoarse from something more than dryness. Bruce was still quick to supply him a cup of water. The hand had yet to leave his cheek. Jason, still thrown off and trying to piece together his scattered mind, leaned into the hand even as he downed the glass.

There was a reason his throat felt scratchy. He had been screaming. Screaming at…

By the time Bruce had plucked his empty glass from his hand and set it down, Jason had jolted violently, as the realisation of how he got here, on exactly why he had returned back to Gotham, hit him like a train.

Ethiopia. The rebuilt warehouse. The living nightmare of his latest Outlaws mission.

“B?” Jason’s voice was desperate now. Logically, he knew Bruce was right there. Trying to convince his tortured mind though, as it finally came to terms with what had happened, was not as simple. 

“Dad? Dad…” Jason’s hands reached blindly for Bruce’s arms, scrambling to tighten clenched fists into the fabric of the man’s sweater. Bruce pulled Jason into his chest.

While Jason tried and failed to quell his breakdown, Bruce had maneuvered himself back onto the couch, Jason sat half in his lap and half on the couch. Jason’s arms, tight around his father’s shoulders, loosened as he let out a shaky gasp.

“We - we had a mission,” Jason rambled before he could stop himself, “Artemis was looking for something, and we were helping her look, and-“

“Jay,” Bruce cut in gently, “Don’t force yourself. Please, son.”

Jason, his forehead pressed to Bruce’s shoulder, shook his head even as he barreled on. He had to get this out before his walls went up again, before it became too blissfully peaceful to even broach the subject.

“I- fuck. We went to Ethiopia,” Jason gave a hollow laugh, even as Bruce sucked in a sharp breath of air, “It was fucking hell, B. Pretty sure they were just doing the generic torture shit on me, but they didn’t even need to do anything, really. The location was enough to…to-“ Jason’s voice cracked. There was something wet leaking out of his eyes.

“It looked exactly the same, B. I checked after - it was the same place. It was-“ Jason’s voice gave out for real, then. 

Bruce pulled him tighter, holding his son close as he cried himself dry. Bruce was just glad that Jason had been able to come back to Gotham, that his son was here for him to comfort - was willing to accept that comfort from him still, even after everything that had happened.

“You’re here,” Bruce hushes, when Jason’s sobs had died down to sniffles. He gave the boy - he would forever be a boy in his eyes - a squeeze around his broad shoulders. “You’re here.”

Jason sniffed again, and squeezed back, tight and desperate.

Later, Alfred would enter, guided by his butler senses to bring a meal for Jason. Later, his siblings would check in on him, and Dick would pile everyone into the living room with a movie marathon and a sleepover. Later, Jason would figure out a permanent base of operations for the Outlaws.

For now, it was just a father holding his son, both undeniably grateful to be alive.

-

Jason led Biz and Artemis to an underground bunker at the outskirts of Metropolis. They were right under Superman’s nose, which was both exhilarating and concerning.

He did not fancy meeting any one of Bruce’s colleagues. 

On the other hand, if Superman did stumble upon them someday soon, Bizarro would finally get to meet someone like him. Well, someone who might see him as family, at least. Jason had heard from Tim that Superman was a big-hearted family man that had taken in Kon-El the moment he had trusted the clone.

He hoped Superman would take Bizarro in. The big guy deserved someone else besides him and Artemis.

Speaking of…

“Say, since we’re gonna be working with each other a lot more from now on, can I get insurance that you won’t take a swing at Wonder Woman while I’m in the collateral damage zone?” 

Artemis glared at him, but Jason had weathered Bat-glares, and this was nothing compared to the man. His helmet was off, so she could see his smirk, his red domino stretching as he raised an eyebrow. 

“I’d have thought you’d be on better terms with the lady. I mean, she’d gladly offer you any support you need,” Jason pointed out.

Artemis huffed, “Themyscira should have done more to aid my tribe. They still have yet to do more to aid my tribe. As Diana is a representative of her people, my grudge is against her tribe, and not her personally. Truthfully, Diana saved my life, and I am grateful for that.”

Jason hummed contemplatively. “Well, you should be a bridge between the two tribes,” Jason thought aloud, “Just saying, you basically became your tribe’s champion by getting back the Bow of Ra. If anyone could get them more aid, it’d be you.”

He could tell that the Amazonian needed time to think on his words, so instead of continuing. Jason splayed his arms, “Besides, sweet-talking gets you places!” 

It was implied that such was how he had gotten their base, but the circumstances were probably far from what Artemis assumed. All Jason had needed to do was talk over conversations during dinner and Bruce was showing him possible locations even before patrol rotations had begun.

Artemis latched onto the new topic, regarding their new base with a satisfied tilt to her head, “What were those connections that you managed to find? Gotham is one place in Man’s World that I have yet to understand.”

“Eh, you learn to deal with the city’s fuckery. Like I said, I just had some old strings that I could pull to get us here,” Jason shrugged, and paused for a moment. Everything had been moving a mile and minute, from when Jason had first met Artemis to when they and Bizarro became a team.

He had neglected to tell them his name. Not that Bizarro needed his name, since he even called Artemis Red Her, but Artemis herself had always referred to Jason as Red Hood or Red.

“Jay.” 

At Artemis’ questioning glance, Jason huffed, “It’s my name, I guess. Close enough.”

It was the name the Titans, Roy and Kori, knew him by. Artemis and Bizarro were shaping up to be his second round of Outlaws, and he wanted them to have his trust, too.

There was a weighty glint in Artemis’ eyes. “It is an honour to work with you, Jay,” she stated solemnly.

Jason cracked a grin, “Aw, c’mon, don’t go all mushy on me. Let’s go get Biz before he ransacks the whole pantry.”

He turned to head in Bizarro’s direction, his loud rummaging making Jason glad he had chosen to put them significantly low underground. Artemis trailed behind with a warm smile.

[lilacandladybugs]

hey since youre talking about christianity, i was wondering if you could answer a question ive been curious about. if god cares about people and if jesus died for our sins, then why does hell exist? and if god cares about us then why did he let so much bad stuff happened in his name, and even cause it, like with the noah’s arch story?

sorry if any of this is wrong ive never read the bible, but ive had bad experiences with christianity in the past and the way you talk about it seems much nicer than the way i know it

I don’t think I can answer this question in a way that doesn’t come across as pretentious or like I’m asking for an argument or just being straight up unsatisfying. But I just am going to try anyway because i'm hoping that maybe this will be comforting or helpful to someone. I’m sorry if this is offensive I am really trying my best, please take this all in the best possible way and be gracious with me 

The thing about this ask is that it’s actually a bunch of different questions, and since each of them individually is really hard to answer so I’m going to narrow it down to just one ( im sorry ;-; ) . The one I’ve thought about the most is “Why does God let bad things happen if he loves us?”

When this question first really occurred to me, I was already a believer. So I was already pretty convinced that God exists logically, from the perspective of history, philosophy, science, and my personal experience. I believed in the /existence/ of the God who is represented in the scriptures. (I doubt anyone wants it but I can give you a list of resources if you want to look into any of that.) The struggle for me was whether or not all that evidence held true in the face of this moral dilemma; the problem of evil in the presence of a loving God.

But I just couldn’t turn my back on the concept of a moral grounding in God. I had a philosophy professor tell me that people are mortal and so we shouldn’t grieve them like they’re immortal, that grief is a choice, and that trauma is a choice. I respected her so much, but I just couldn’t accept that. There’s nothing more unsettling to me than suggesting that cruelty and death and suffering are only wrong because you think they are, and not because they’re violating sacred ancient laws. My friends dying, people hurting me, that isn’t just in my head. It’s /real/. They’re really dead, and it really matters. People really did something wrong when they hurt me, and it isn’t my fault for being hurt. It’s their fault for being cruel. And their cruelty is objectively morally wrong.

I realized that if I became an atheist I would have to accept the fact that there isn’t /objectively/ any difference between right and wrong. There isn’t any theoretical “right way” that the world should be. But to me, there is a right way it should be. There is a right way and it was lost because of sin.

It was I guess comforting that Christianity provided the premises I needed to ask a question like this. Evil exists. And love exists. So how can God exist? What a comforting question, in a way. To get to grieve, to be angry, to wonder what’s going on, to want things to be different. It was validating i guess

Don’t get me wrong i was FURIOUS i was so angry. I was so angry and so conflicted I kind of thought I might just like rip apart at my seams but I just felt caught between a rock and a hard place to be either abandoned by God or to not even be able to think about my experiences in a way that felt coherent.

He showed up though. I remember swearing at him, and laying up at night thinking he wasn’t there, I told him I wouldn’t have to have trauma if he would’ve stepped in, that my friends wouldn’t be dead, that he let it happen to me, that he just /witnessed/ it. And man idk he just showed up. He showed up every time. I almost walked away like five times that summer. And every time he sent someone, there was always someone that showed up and talked to me like out of nowhere. Or music, or scripture, or something someone said in passing. 

The night that it was really bad was when I realized that the only person who could save me was God and I cried out to him, and I just idk I’ve never been so desperate. I went to church the next day against my will and the sermon felt like it was written for me specifically. I cried through the whole thing.

If God is goodness, then how can I say he isn’t with me and around me constantly? In the sunrise and sunset, in the stars, in flowers, and in kind words. In sermons. In friends and family. In all the coincidences that stopped me from becoming an atheist, all of the answered prayers and the impossibilities. That’s why my side blog is called @in-the-whisper. Because I felt him there, even though it hurt, he was with me in the quiet and in the silence, in his whisper in a thousand different ways.

I was posed this question by someone who was there for me in one of those moments where I almost walked away from God, “Is sufficiency abundant?” I guess I thought it was. Where was God? In the peace that surpasses understanding. In the knowledge that everything is finished, that he died for us, that he didn’t abandon us. That whatever terrible things happen, he was willing to take all of the consequences for that onto himself in the person of Jesus. That one day he will set things right, even though it isn’t right right now. 

It comes down to the Gospel (good news, core story of the Christian faith); humanity actively chose to walk away from God in an act of rebellion. We had free will because God created us tenderly to be in a loving relationship with him, and loving relationships must be based on free will and they must be two way. So he let us walk away from him, and away from the sustainer of life our bodies break, our world crumbles, and we die. In order to bridge that gap, he chose to die in our place, so that we could re enter that free will relationship with him if we so choose. He died on the cross, descended into hell, and then in three days he rose from the grave, defeating death. And one day he will return on a white horse to rescue us and to take the world back as his own. If I believed that to be true, then I believed in the greatest intervention in human history that has ever occurred. The God of the Bible isn’t a distant God, "God showed how much he loved us by sending his one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through him." 1 John 4:9 He did the unthinkable for us.

Living in light of the gospel helped me to understand the way that God is present in my life, my present, past, and in my future. It gave me peace. When Horatio G. Spafford’s two daughters and wife died in a shipwreck, he wrote this,

“When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well with my soul." 

“Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control: that Christ has regarded my helpless estate and has shed His own blood for my soul.

“My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought. My sin, not in part, but the whole, is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

“And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight The clouds be rolled back as a scroll The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend Even so, it is well with my soul!

“It is well with my soul, it is well, it is well with my soul.”

I don’t have an answer for your question. What I know is that I am willing to rest in the knowledge of my personal experiences and my research that God exists, that he is loving, and that he is powerful, just, and wise. Even the winds and the seas obey him, the mountains are like pebbles to him, thunder rolls at the sound of his voice. He had thought before time began, he gave all knowledge and all wisdom to us. 

Why do bad things happen also brings up the question, why do good things happen? Who do we have to thank when we get up in the morning and can see or hear or move or are alive in general? Why are we so blessed as to have two days and not just one? Where do mornings and complexity and beauty and wonder come from? They come from him. Not because we need it, but because he wants to give it to us. Enjoyment, existence, love, laughter, thought, beauty, heartbreak. The world is just as beautiful as it is terrible, and why should it be beautiful? Because he wants it to be that way.

God is so patient. He is so patient and kind and powerful, and he wants to hear your questions. Some of them, like this one, are in my opinion something that you have to talk to him about directly. He gives us thought and logic and reason and wisdom, and he asks for us to engage him. He will answer.

If any believers are reading this, I want you to know that it is enough to cry out to him in pain. It is enough to want to want to believe in him. He would so much rather hear from you in your anger than never hear from you at all. Seek him out, he will find you. He will chase after you.

I bet that he would chase after me, bet my life on it. I might not know the answer, but I am confident enough in what I do know that I’m willing to bet my existence that God will come true on his promises, that he will deliver me, that everything will be okay, that he is bigger than my trauma, and that he will hold me.

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,     neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. 9 “As the heavens are higher than the earth,     so are my ways higher than your ways     and my thoughts than your thoughts. 10 As the rain and the snow     come down from heaven, and do not return to it     without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish,     so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, 11 so is my word that goes out from my mouth:     It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire     and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. 12 You will go out in joy     and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills     will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field     will clap their hands. 13 Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,     and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the Lord’s renown,     for an everlasting sign,     that will endure forever.” Isaiah 55:8-13

And I’m holding him to that promise.

[arshipweek]

AR Ship Week - Fanwork Recs

Banner credit

This is the fourth and last weekly post in the lead up to Alex Rider Ship Week. Only 1 week to go!

This week we’ve got a selection of shippy fanwork recs submitted by members of the AR fandom. Enjoy and hope to see you next week!

**Please note that I haven’t listed all the details for the fics so take care to read the tags on AO3 before diving in!

Yassen/Alex

Our Endless Numbered Days by Galimau Just your run of the mill heartwarming look at the quiet beats of Alex and Yassen's relationship...after the apocalypse.  Soft and sweet this fic focuses on the very still and quiet moments of two men at the end times trying to hold onto the things that bring them joy. It's an intimate view of what Alex and Yassen's life could be like of all their cares were quite literally wiped away - excellent  world building and writing make this a must read.

Yalex art by Ireliss Alex and Yassen in a lake! Everything about this picture is perfect - the light, the colours, the feeling of stillness... Probably the most beautiful picture of Alex and Yassen I've ever seen.

Sun Poisoning by fElBiTeR Angsty, beautiful, slowburn soulmate fic with a twist on the usual tropes and gorgeous imagery

Twisting, Turning, Tumbling by ShiruyTheSecond A glacially slow burn, road trip au, and sick fic all mashed into one fic, in non-chronological order based on 100 themes. I'd say this was one of the gateway fics into Yalex for me; there's nothing like reading a longfic you thought was gen and wishing it were slash, only for the realization to hit you in the face like a brick 50 something chapters later. Alex is on the run for a variety of reasons after a mission for MI6 goes spectacularly wrong, so he surprisingly finds himself leaning on Yassen for help, experincing whumpage along the way. Absolutely delicious.

Specific Performance by BurntWhisper Alex is a good spy, good enough that SCORPIA has tasked Yassen with killing him. Yassen can't do that but he can give Alex a very...enthusiastic going away present even Alex hasn't been a very good boy. It's a fun look at Alex and Yassen's first fling with callbacks to the original gen fic. That hits every perfect note and hits a few other things too.

Interlude by Suzie_Shooter Incredibly soft and fluffly Yalex that ends with an unexpected top!Alex and bath sex. Will absolutely warm your heart the way it does mine every time I read this fic.

Medicine by Suzie_Shooter The other fic in response to the prompt of "Alex is given a serum that makes him feel good when he tells the truth" except this one is praise kink while the other is humiliation kink! Specifically focused on a smoking hot blowjob and Alex's reluctance turned enthusiam, plus, there's a second chapter, just in case one dose of the antidote isn't enough.

One Year by BurntWhisper The slowest of slow burns featuring Alex and Yassen on the run from MI6, SCORPIA and their own feelings. Covering 3 months of their life on the run this fic features action as well as the slow, quiet moments where the budding relationship can truly shine through and behind it all the intelligence world continues to grind on threatening to take their happiness with it. It's a beautiful fic with strong, detailed writing and the emotional weight that it deserves.

Midnight Smoke by Hijja If you're in the mood for darker fics with plenty of Yassen hurting Alex complete with violence and heavy dubcon, Hijja has you covered. This particular fic features a mission-type premise with Alex being sent to investigate a spate of teen abductions only to be captured. Yassen is there, and he has his own goals...

Hello Alex by anonymous Fanart: a reunion hug between Yassen and Alex.

Face The Truth by capeofstorm Alex is given a serum that makes him feel good when he tells the truth. Yassen is absolutely a man to take advantage. Recced by Suzie_Shooter

Lights Out by Suzie_Shooter Yassen and Alex left tradecraft behind for a new life in the Greek islands. Ten years on, their relationship is still going strong and they've become island locals, the proprietors of a sailing club and a windsurfing business. Their idyllic life is disrupted by a new threat that wants them dead. I just love the premise of Yalex riding off into the sunset and not looking back. This fic not only has suspense, action, hot sex, and the intimacy borne of ten years...but once you're done, there are two excellent sequels and a prequel to lap up!

Villa in the Sun by BoldAsBrass A multi-chapter story within a story as Yassen and Alex keep in touch over the phone through a tale of a Russian bodyguard's encounters with a young English man. This is so cleverly done and beautifully written; I could re-read it and re-read it (in fact, that's exactly what I've done).

Sting in the Tail by Suzie_Shooter With the world hanging in the balance, MI6 presses an imprisoned Yassen into service. They use Alex to convince him, but also a nasty "sting in the tail" incentive to guarantee results. A thrilling Yalex mission!fic where Yassen and Alex forge their trust in each other by facing mortal danger and saving the world together. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time, eating up the slow burn and wondering how on earth they were going to succeed with all the obstacles Scorpia and MI6 threw in their way.

Rarely Pure And Never Simple by fElBiTeR Non-con > dub-con > fuck-yes-con speedrun. Recced by Suzie_Shooter

Just Say I Do by Nanimok I'm possibly biased because this was written for me, but 'woke up married' is a great trope and this is both snarky and adorable. Recced by Suzie_Shooter

Open Invitation by Suzie_Shooter After Ian's death in TV 'verse, fifteen-year-old Alex is living alone in a depressive, self-destructive spiral. He realizes someone is watching him at home...and decides to give them something more compelling to watch. I am squicked out by creepers, but the characterizations tackle the thorny elements head-on: Yassen's mixed feelings and understated pursuit tactics are 100% believable, as is Alex's volatility; he's alternately confused, provocative, and defiant. Exhibit A:“Does that make you a victim, or a slut?” The question came casually, but it had the unexpected sting of a slap. Alex blinked. “What, I can’t be both?” he countered after a second. Plot ensues, because how can a relationship possibly form from such a premise? Mind the tags (you might trip into your next kink because the sex is mind-blowingly hot).

Flirting with Danger by BoldAsBrass Basically THE gateway fic into Yalex for me - short and sweet, snappy narration and dialogue, a sleekly dangerous Yassen and Alex who might be a skilled, pragmatic adult but quickly realises he's in over his head. Sprinkle in a bit of dubcon and scorching hot writing and you get this perfect fic.

Burning a Dead Man's Fingertips by GreenQueenofClubs Multichapter slow burn, MI6!Yassen AU - an excellent premise done extremely well and feels fresh and new, balancing mission-style fic with character development! The dynamic between Yassen and Alex is somewhat different here compared to most Yalex fics as they don't meet until Alex is an adult; a really intriguing glimpse into what could have been...

A Little Pat Down by Nanimok Airport security can be frustrating at the best of times but couple it with being edged like none other by an assassin turned security guard and it can really be a pain in the ass. A filthy but extremely well written premise. Crack taken seriously is this author's strong suit so not a single one of their works will steer you wrong.

Yalex Ballet AU by anonymous Yalex ballet AU with absolutely gorgeous imagery and slow burn. Fluid prose and in the background, the shadows of past histories and things unsaid.

Gentleman's Agreement by Valaks Yassen and Alex have a "gentleman's agreement" for handling their business in the field. No one ever said anything about parent-teacher conferences. Claims to be gen, but deserves a place on this list for subtle genius alone, because with lines like "Like a fine wine, Alex Rider was improving with age" and "How interesting that Alex Rider would be that interested in his hands", what are we supposed to think....? UST in all caps is the best description.

Salty the Sweat on my Fingertips by Galimau A fun little romp of Alex visiting Tom and having to call his overly protective boyfriend? because he's pregnant and everything hurts. Beautifully written, this fic explores the ending of Oceanbreeze7's Moonfish and follows the extremely creative monster biology to its logical conclusion of Alex getting knocked up.

Slipping Through My Fingers by Nanimok This kink meme fill hits in all the right places as we watch through the eyes of a very jealous Julius as Yassen gives Alex all the attention he needs. The writing is, as always, on point and the characterization of Julius gets absolutely nailed (almost as much as Alex). Julius/Alex, Yassen/Alex

Other

Miss Julia by DantesThird Very creepy and traumatic noncon but really believable with Julia Rothman's obsession with John Rider. Alex/Julia Rothman

gone loose inside the shell by cyanides Fantastic messed-up fic where Julius keeps fantasising about killing Alex, but then the fantasies take a different turn. The possessive 'If I can't have you no-one can' dynamic really encapsulates the ship for me, and the fic stuck in my mind afterwards. Alex/Julius

smoke haze by Ireliss Dubcon, gun kink. A really intriguing and quite dark exploration of a young Yassen's situation with Scorpia and his very complex relationship with Hunter. John/Yassen

Our Settling Bones by Galimau A multi-chapter slow burn focused on a former assassin who has lost everything...and Yassen Gregorovich. The tension is off the charts and the characerization is on point. Everything you could want from the rarest of pairs. John Wick/Yassen

Lemniscate by Ireliss A look at what awaits Yassen when he arrives back at Scorpia after killing Vladimir Sharkovsky. This is deliciously dark as well as being entirely plausible. The sensory descriptions are fantastic. Yassen/Julia Rothman

[jjmaebank]

Amnesia - JJ Maybank

a/n: this is based off the classic song Amnesia by 5sos, I'm sorry but I'm acc tempted to write so many more purely based on 5sos songs cuz there r so many GEMS. this one’s just a classic and this album reminds me of my childhood jfskk

LISTEN TO THE SONG WHILE READING (if you want lol)

Flashbacks are in italics!!

warnings: sad :((

Words: 2.8k

[GIF NOT MINE CREDIT TO OWNER]

+

I drove by all the places we used to hang out getting wasted

JJ would drive by the beach every day just to get a glimpse at your special spot through the car window. When you first left he would sit there for hours, running his fingers through the sand that the two of you would lie on as you stared at the stars. He would sit there for hours hoping that maybe if he stayed there long enough you would appear next to him. He would sit there remembering the countless times you spent getting wasted and talking about stupid things.

“Don’t you think that there are enough cows in the world for them to coordinate a mass uprising against the meat industry?” You asked as you stared up at the star scattered sky.

JJ chuckled as he stared at you with absolute adoration.

“Babe, cows aren’t humans...they can’t coordinate a global rebellion,” he laughed, his eyes never leaving your face as you scrunched up your nose in protest.

“But they did it in Animal Farm,” you pouted, the alcohol had really clouded your logic.

“What the hell is Animal Farm?” JJ asked, still smiling at your passion for social justice.

“Oh, I forgot you don’t read,” you teased, turning your head to meet his gaze.

JJ rolled his eyes and began to tickle you in response causing you to erupt into fits of giggles.

“Why would I read when I have you to give me in depth summaries of every book in the world,” he smirked, continuing to tickle you.

Your laughter. It hurt him to even remember the sound, but every time he cracked a joke with the pogues he wished he could hear it again. He wished he could watch the way your dimples showed and your eyes crinkled as you burst into a fit of laugher. He wished he could watch the way one of his jokes sent you into hysterics to the point you were holding your stomach, to the point you were out of breath. But he also wished he could forget.

I thought about our last kiss, how it felt, the way you tasted.

Your last kiss. It was breathtaking. You’d spent the whole day out on the water  with the pogues, swimming, snorkelling, soaking up the sun. JJ remembered this day as one of the most epic days of pogue history; it was the last time you were all together as one, as one big happy family. He remembered the overwhelming feeling of pride he had as he watched you beat Pope in a shotgunning challenge.

“That’s my girl!” He yelled as you downed the beer and smashed the can down on the boat as Pope continued struggling with his.

You smiled and hopped on his lap, giving him a quick peck as you celebrated being the coolest girlfriend anyone could ever have.

You were his soulmate, or that’s what it felt like, for him at least.

He remembered walking you back to your house on The Cut that night, your fingers interlaced as your hands swung with your steps.

“Today was amazing,” you smiled, masking a sadness that JJ hadn’t noticed at the time.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” JJ smiled, tracing small patterns on your right cheek with his thumb.

You leaned into his touch, knowing it would be one of the last you experienced, but you didn’t want to spoil this perfect moment.

JJ leaned in, connecting his lips with yours in a soft yet passionate kiss. But you immediately grabbed him and brought him closer, increasing the intensity of the kiss knowing it might be your last. Your lips tasted like your strawberry flavoured lip balm, but with a slightly salty tang from the sea, and he loved it.

Your lips glided against each other in such harmony it was as if everything about the two of you was meant to be. Your fingers ran through his locks of blonde hair, tugging at the nape of his neck. He responded by hooking his fingers in the loops of your jean shorts and pulling you against him.

Eventually, you pushed yourself away from him gently and smiled.

“Goodnight, babe,” you smiled.

“I love you (Y/N),” JJ whispered into your hair as he pulled you in for a hug, not knowing that his words had almost made you cry into his shirt.

“I love you too, JJ Maybank,” you responded, knowing it would probably be the last time he believed you when you said it.

And even though your friends tell me you’re doing fine Are you somewhere feeling lonely even though he’s right beside you?

It had been a year; a whole year since you’d left. You’d come back to the Outer Banks a few times during the holidays to visit your parents, but you’d never once gone to see him. You had a new boyfriend. JJ had seen him a few times the one time you brought him home with you. He knew he was biased but he didn't like the look of him, he reminded him of Rafe Cameron and he couldn't comprehend why you’d done what you did just to end up with him.

JJ would watch you from afar, making awkward eye contact whenever you ran into him at The Wreck, but neither of you had the courage to say anything. It had been a year but JJ could still read your emotions from a mile away. You looked lonely, abandoned, lost. At least that was what he kept telling himself like a mantra to stop him from breaking down or punching something every time he saw you.

However, he would ask Kie how you were every time you left and she would be brutally honest and tell him you seemed like you were doing fine. And every time he heard those words it would break him a little bit more.

When he says those words that hurt you, do you read the ones I wrote you? Sometimes I start to wonder, was it just a lie? If what we had was real, how could you be fine? Cause I’m not fine at all.

JJ remembered the first time he heard him talk to you like that, like you were nothing. You’d accidentally spilt your drink on him at the Wreck and you’d started laughing about it as you would’ve with JJ.

“What the fuck!” He yelled.

“Babe, it’s just soda,” you giggled.

“Yeah and it’s gonna stain my new fucking shirt,” he growled, “god you’re so fucking clumsy.”

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, but JJ knew that his words had more effect than you lead on.

JJ had stood up from his chair to go confront the asshole but John B grabbed him by his shirt and sat him back down.

“Don’t, JJ...” John B said sadly, knowing it hurt his best friend to see the girl he loved with someone else, but he knew that if he involved himself with you right now it would only hurt him more.

JJ would lay in his bed and wonder how it was possible that you could be so...normal, so okay, so fine. It made his heart ache as he realised what the two of you had must have been a complete and utter lie. There was no way you could just forget about what the two of you had unless it never meant anything to you in the first place.

He would go through periods of hating you, punching the walls in his room and screaming as he convinced himself you’d lied to him the whole time. His life at home hadn't got any better, but at least he could say his father’s punches didn't hurt anymore. The pain was nothing compared to the hole you’d left in his heart. He would take a thousand beatings if it meant he could have you back. But you were fine, and he was far from it.

I remember the day you told me you were leaving I remember the make-up running down your face And the dreams you left behind you didn’t need them Like every single wish we ever made

JJ would replay the moment you left over and over again, trying to fathom how you could have done such a thing to him, the person you claimed to love most.

JJ heard a knock at his door. His dad wasn’t home, but he could come back at any moment, so naturally he was concerned as to why anyone would come see him when he was the one trying to escape this household.

“(Y/N)?” JJ asked, confused as to why you were stood on his porch. “What are you doing here? You know it’s not safe.”

The concern that laced his voice made your heart break as you dreaded what was about to escape your mouth.

“We need to talk...” you replied sadly.

JJ’s heart rate went up. Those words never lead to anything good. He observed your facial expression but you were stoic, the only hint to how distraught you were being the faint dark circles under your eyes that showed you hadn't slept. And you hadn’t. Not a wink.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” JJ asked, the concern in his voice even more evident, except his concern had shifted from your safety to whatever you were about to tell him.

“I-I have to tell you something,” you confessed.

JJ ushered you into his room and sat you down on the edge of his bed, sitting down by your side.

“What is it? You can tell me anything,” JJ continued, being the loving boyfriend that he was.

He had no idea what was coming for him.

“I’m...I’m leaving, JJ,” you sighed, your voice shaking as you feared his response. He tended to lash out when his emotions got the best of him.

“Leaving? What do you mean? Like for a bit?” JJ spouted questions, hope still laced in his voice.

“No, JJ...for quite a while,” you said, the tears that you were holding back finally escaping.

JJ’s eyes widened, his hands balled up into fists.

“W-what?” He choked, tears of his own brimmed his eyes.

“I got this amazing opportunity to study in Europe,” you continued. “I know I’d planned on going to UNC Chapel Hill so I’d be closer to home but I applied for their semester abroad programme not thinking I’d actually get it.”

At this point you were speaking too fast for JJ to even comprehend what you were saying. In fact, he wouldn't have been able to even if you’d spoken slowly.

“A semester, that’s not long?” JJ asked, some hope resurfacing.

“I know and that’s why I applied for a semester but they said they can only offer me the year abroad programme...” you explained, crushing his remaining hope.

“And you’re taking it?” JJ asked angrily, the skin on his knuckles going white from how hard he was clenching his fists.

“J...I have to...you know it’s my dream to study in Paris,” you said, going to rest your hand on his.

He pulled away from your touch instantly, causing your heart to sink.

“How long have you known?” He asked, looking down at the floor.

“Not that lon-” you started before JJ stood up angrily.

“How goddamn long, (Y/N)!” He yelled, looking down at you.

“3 months,” you whispered, letting another tear fall down your cheek.

All you wanted in this moment was for JJ to wipe your tears gently and caress you, hold you, but he couldn't even look at you right now, let alone touch you.

“3 fucking months?!” He yelled, his rage consuming him and anger clouding his vision.

He immediately turned to his wall and punched it with all his force causing a deafening cracking noise.

“JJ your hand!” You exclaimed as you stood up, knowing that was the sound of a bone or two breaking.

“I don't give a shit about my hand right now, (Y/N)!” He turned around to face you.

His eyes had gone dark and his lip was trembling. You did this, and you hated yourself for it.

“How could you keep this from me for 3 months?” JJ’s voice cracked, his own tears finally escaping.

You went to wipe them but again, he flinched away from your touch.

“I wanted this summer to be great, epic even! And it was, JJ it was... like yesterday on the boat, that was one of the best days of my life! I didn’t want it to be ruined by the fact I was leaving,” you cried, your mascara starting to run down your face.

“But it was all a fucking lie, (Y/N)! You do realise that right?” JJ continued shouting, this time tugging at his hair angrily as he paced around his room. It broke you to see him like this but you were the only one to blame.

“Don’t say that J...that’s not true...”

“You don’t get to say that! You knew you were spending your last moments with us, with me. I didn’t!” He yelled, glaring at you. And for the first time ever he looked at you with what looked like resentment, hate.

“Did you just expect me to be fine with this, with you just dropping this on me out of the blue?” He continued.

“No, I didn’t,” you whispered, “but I didn’t want our last summer to have an expiration date on it you know...”

“That is so unbelievably selfish, (Y/N),” JJ stated, his words cutting like knives.

“You’re fucking SELFISH,” he continued, causing more tears to pour down your face.

“JJ please don’t say that...I did this for us, so you could remember us happily!” You sobbed.

“Well you did an excellent job at that, well done,” JJ laughed sarcastically, clapping his hands in a fake applause, “because this isn’t sad at all right?!”

“J-” you started, your whole body shaking at this point.

“No,” he said, “just get out.”

“What?” You whispered, looking at the boy you loved who couldn't even look you in the eyes for more than a second.

“I said get out,” he repeated.

“JJ please, I don’t want us to end like this!” You pleaded, your throat closing up feeling as though it was wrapped in barbed wire.

“I said GET OUT!” He yelled, tears streaming down his face, his voice coated in pain. He hated how he was acting towards you and he knew he’d regret it but he couldn’t look at you. He didn't want to hear your voice right now.

You nodded sadly, wiping your tears, your mascara now smeared on your face and coating your fingers.

“I love you...” you said gently.

You waited a moment to see if he would respond, but he remained silent, refusing to look at you. You sighed in defeat before walking out of his room and out of his life.

I wish that I could wake up with amnesia And forget about the stupid little things Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you And the memories I never can escape

‘Cause I’m not fine at all

That day was scarred into JJ’s mind. There was nothing he regretted more than the way he had acted. He still didn’t understand why you’d hidden it, he would’ve been upset at first, but ultimately he would’ve cherished every day with you even more. But he knew you weren’t selfish, and he knew you didn't mean to hurt him. You were trying to protect him and your last moments together. He still thought you’d gone about it the wrong way and in some ways you did too, but what was done was done. He simply wished he’d had the self control to keep himself from saying the things he did, and to say the things he didn’t.

He never told you he loved you back. That was his biggest regret. He never said goodbye. That was his next regret. You’d left for Paris two weeks after you told him about your year abroad programme there. Two weeks. He could’ve spent every minute of those last two weeks with you, but instead he spent it alone, avoiding you at all costs. His pride stopping him from apologising and his pain stopping him from being around you at all.

It hurt him so much that you’d ended that way, and as much as he wanted to put the blame on you, he knew he played a part in it too. But it was too late to reverse the damage. All he longed for now was to forget. He’d spent a year hoping you would come back and hoping you could go back to being JJ and (Y/N), the power couple of the Outer Banks. But when you came back with him, he realised it was too little too late.

All there was left to do was erase you from his memory.

+

A/N: holy shit that made me SAD, amnesia is my cry song. FUCKSJF I'm sorry, but like at the same time I'm not cuz like I'm kinda proud of this

tagging some lovely people: @maybe-maybanks , @baby-bearie , @obx-sos , @drewtruly , @drewstarkey , @spilledtee , @thelocalpogue , @heliopvth , @jmaybank , @ruelstyles , @jjmaybanky , @jjmayibeyoursbanks , @jjmayspanks , @ceruleanjj

[atlas-tries]

Shatter Me

A Patton angst fic by yours truly

Read on AO3

Next

Summary: All the sides have secrets, but none have one as lethal as the one Patton is keeping. Can he keep it under wraps long enough to resolve it or will the trauma of it all spell his undoing? 

Hey guys, so this has been a long time in the making (aka since January). But I finally got this finished and I’m very proud of how it turned out. This was all based on a simple headcanon I had about how Patton experiences emotional pain. I hope you enjoy it, and the next chapter will be out next Monday! Check the notes for definitive links to the next chapter.

Chapter 1: Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones but Words Hurt Far More Deeply

At some point or another, all the sides had kept secrets from each other.

Mostly, it had to do with where they had been in the past or something silly, like the time Roman “accidentally” ate all of Logan’s Crofters. The others still kept some, likely to make a well-placed or dramatic reveal of it, and Patton was no different. He himself occasionally had physical manifestations of emotional pain. However, there was one thing he knew that wasn’t a secret.

Patton knew how they all really felt about him.

Sentimental.

Overbearing.

Naive.

Worthless.

Even if they rarely said any of those descriptors out loud or in his presence, the unspoken words came through loud and clear every time they thought he would mess something up. Which was in almost every video he appeared in. They thought he didn’t notice the dismissive remarks or the eye rolls whenever he had any ideas to share when Thomas had an issue that needed working through. It’s just ol’ Patton spouting off whatever random thoughts and/or dad jokes pop up in his head like always.

For the most part, Patton could handle whatever emotional turmoil they threw at him. He knew that despite what they thought, they still cared about him and valued his opinions. The occasional pain was worth it if they were happy. And they were, especially after Thomas had introduced them to his online community of Fanders (the part that made him the happiest). Even Patton himself had been ecstatic to reach out to so many other kiddos out there. At least, he was until they had gotten in front of the camera.

Yeah, his jokes didn’t land with the others, it wasn’t a big deal. That was no different than telling them in the Mindscape on most days. However, he really wanted to do that four-part harmony when Roman suggested it, even after they immediately shot it down when he came in. But Patton could shake that off, too. He was strong. So, imagine his surprise when he discovered short, thin cracks radiating from over his heart when he was changing into his cat onesie that evening. “Oh,” he said, running his hand delicately over them, “That must’ve gotten to me a little more than I thought.” No matter, though, they always went away within a few days.

Everything went back to relative normal in short order and Patton was back to being a happy pappy. The next few videos came and went without much fanfare. He was even featured by himself to help Thomas with his adultery! There was nothing better than that. The cracks didn’t return until just before they started planning out The Mind vs. The Heart.

That morning, Patton had been making breakfast for everyone as he almost always did. This morning was especially pleasant for him because Thomas had actually listened to Patton yesterday when he suggested he go and pet all the puppies in the pet store on the way home. Having that thought at the forefront made it easy to softly sing to himself as the bacon sizzled. Roman was already eating his as fast as he could fancifully manage.

“Roman, I know my food is good, but please don’t choke up on your swallow through,” Patton said with a smile, taking the last batch of bacon out of the pan and putting it on a plate. Roman just nodded and kept doing exactly what he was doing. “Say, you didn’t happen to see Logan when you came down, did you?” Patton was getting a little worried about Logan. It was early, yes, but the logical side always made his appearance long before now.

“Haben’t sheen ‘im thish morning,” Roman said with a mouthful of pancake.

Patton hummed, set his and Logan’s plates on the table, and grabbed some forks. He sat down at the table, picking at the eggs a little. He would feel better about eating when Logan came. As if on cue, soft squeaks came from the staircase. “Huh, speak of the devil,” Roman mumbled. Patton immediately perked up.

“Good morning, Logan!” Patton shouted. Logan stopped at the bottom of the stairs and covered his ears.

“Too loud, Pat,” Logan grumbled, making his way slowly to the table.

Patton softly replied, “Sorry. I made breakfast.” He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles beneath Logan’s eyes as he approached; they were almost dark enough to rival Anxiety’s. Patton was very much hoping that Roman wouldn’t notice, if only to preserve the peace (and the rest of his good mood, but Patton didn’t want that to be the focus).

“Thank you.” Logan sat and went straight for the coffee, downing half of it in only a few seconds. So far, so good. “Ugh, aren’t I a little old for cat-shaped pancakes, Patton?”

Patton shook his head with a smile. “You’re never too old to have a Patton paw-ncake!” he said cheerily, batting a pawed hand in the air for emphasis.

“Wow, looks like someone’s been to the dark sides this morning. Can we get a bag check on Logan’s eyes?” said Roman, going for another mouthful of bacon.

Logan wasn’t amused. “I’m sorry some of us have to work overtime to make Thomas make the right decisions,” he spat. “Sometimes it’s like I’m the only adult here.” Patton felt that familiar pain ghost across his chest.

“Ex-cuse me, how dare you say such a thing, and when Padre was nice enough to make you breakfast! And anyways, you are NOT the only one who has to pull late nights, Snide and Prejudiced,” Roman countered.

Patton said, “It’s fine, Roman, ple—”

“Really?” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Because it seems to me like you only keep Thomas up at ungodly hours fantasizing about the things you want.”

“Oh, and you don’t?”

“As the most important side, no, I don’t.”

“Oh well ex-cuuuuuuse me, Mr. President—”

From there it devolved into them shouting over each other. Roman slung eggs and syrup everywhere while wildly gesticulating. Logan kept smacking the table trying to make his points. Chocolate milk was going everywhere. They had never been so tense with each other.

“Um, kiddos?” Patton said. Neither of them heard him in the midst of their shouting match. “Kiddos?” he said a little louder, reaching out toward them. “Maybe if we just—”

“THIS DOESN’T CONCERN YOU, PATTON!” both of them yelled. Patton recoiled. Another crack split painfully across his chest. Both of them went back to screaming at each other. He couldn’t stand to see them like this, even if they were hurting him in the process. What else could he do but meet them at their level?

Patton stood abruptly and slammed his hands down on the table. “That’s ENOUGH, both of you!” he scolded. They instantly hushed, flustered and in awe that Patton could even raise his voice. He took a breath and calmly continued, “Roman, I appreciate you defending me like the noble Prince you are, but it’s okay. We know that Logan isn’t the only one that works the graveyard shift, but we shouldn’t make fun of the sides that do when they’re not in their best shape. And Logan, I know you’re tired, but—”

“Yes, from trying to mitigate the effects you had on Thomas yesterday,” Logan interrupted. “We almost adopted one of those puppies when we have neither the resources nor the time to look after one. And who was the one who had to convince him that it was a bad idea? Me!”

Even though Patton wasn’t sorry about that in the slightest, he still apologized. “You did the right thing, Logan. Why don’t you go back to bed for a little while? You’ve earned it,” Patton said. “I’ll even keep your breakfast warm for you.”

Logan nodded and left wordlessly, taking the coffee mug with him back up the stairs. With him gone, Patton looked to Roman. “You owe him an apology, mister,” said Patton.

“What? Me? He was the one being snippier than an Edward Scissorhands wannabe!” Roman cried.

“Well, you didn’t help that, now did you? But he also owes you an apology, too.” That garnered a little “oh” from the Prince. Patton sighed and took Logan’s plate to the oven, turning it on to the lowest setting.

“You know we would’ve worked it out on our own eventually, right?” Roman said. “This is just what we do.”

“I know,” Patton responded. “I think … I should start cleaning up. There’s chocolate milk everywhere.”

Roman nodded. “Okay, Padre. Is there … something I can help with, at least?” He got up and handed his mostly empty plate to Patton.

“Thanks, but I can handle it,” Patton said softly, voice barely above a whisper. He felt Roman’s hand on his shoulder and looked up at the Prince.

“You shouldn’t worry about us so much. We’ll be fine. And, uh, I promise I’ll make it up to the Grinch up there,” said Roman with a small smile.

We don’t need you smothering us.

Great! Now Patton’s thoughts were going to take it upon themselves to put translations after the other’s words! Patton tried to return a smile despite the pain in his chest growing. It must’ve convinced him because Roman, with a final pat on his shoulder, turned and left. As soon as Roman was completely out of sight, Patton rubbed at the cracks to try and soothe their aching. It never worked, but it made him feel a little less like a sad dad. Oh well. At least they’d disappear soon enough.

Or not.

A few days after Losing Motivation came out, Patton had once again busied himself in the kitchen, this time baking chocolate chip cookies while humming along to the Disney showtunes that Roman had playing in the living room. No doubt Thomas would have them stuck in his head by the end of the day. Not that it was a problem in Patton’s mind; the music really helped him ignore the constant throbbing pain that those ugly fractures left on his chest. Better to have Disney showtunes on the brain than a recent ex-boyfriend, right?

The oven timer let out a short ding! at the start of the chorus to Prince Ali. “Oh cookie, where would I be if you weren’t hooooot,” Patton sang over the lyrics. He danced over to the oven while putting on heart-patterned oven mitts. “So full of sweets from eating way more than I ouuuuggghhht. To.” He took the finished cookies out of the oven and twirled around to the music, kicking the door closed and sliding the baking sheet onto the stove in one smooth motion.

Patton made quick work of getting them off the baking sheet and onto a plate. “Cookies are ready!” he shouted. Quick, thundering steps met his cry and in seconds, Roman was in the kitchen juggling three.

“Don’t mind if I do, Pat,” said Roman. Fear never deterred Roman, not even when in the face of third degree mouth burns from oven-fresh cookies. Patton would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of his son for being so brave (even if another part of him was terrified of Roman getting hurt). “Hanksh,” he said with a mouthful of molten cookie, pretending that it wasn’t actually too hot but still doing the hashafashafa thing to cool it down while he ate.

“You’re welcome, son,” Patton replied. He looked at the cookies and remembered why he was making them in the first place. Ever since Anxiety had made himself known, Patton had been trying to reach out to him. Sure, he was dark and broody and sometimes the others had a little trouble seeing how important his contributions were, but he wasn’t the villain that they made him out to be. Anxiety deserved to feel welcome, and that was something Patton would always advocate for.

He set a few of the cookies on another plate for the rest of the sides (and himself) and poured a glass of milk. “Anxiety’s gonna love this!” He picked the cookies and milk up and danced them out of the kitchen, making sure to pass by Logan on the way. Not that it was hard, he was almost always studying at the dining room table. “Hey Logan, do you wanna eat a cookie?” Patton sung to the tune of Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?

Logan glanced up from his book. “I would prefer not to as I am attempting to set a good example for Thomas by abstaining from sugar,” Logan responded.

“Ah. Well, more for me and Anxiety, then!” said Patton. “If you change your mind, there are some more in the kitchen.”

Logan put the book down and said, “Hold on, are you telling me you’re still intent on making friends with him?”

“Well, yeah, what’s so bad about that?” Patton asked.

“I can’t believe I have to explain this to you again. Anxiety has no place with us, Patton, and it’s time that you stop pandering to him. There’s a very good reason why he lives with … them, and not us.”

The little fissures began slowly spreading. Patton was getting good at keeping it under wraps. And under shirts. “Now Logan, just because he’s a little different from us doesn’t mean that he has bad intentions. Sure, he started out in a bad place, but who’s to say that he can’t grow out of that? Sometimes, people just need a push in the right direction to shine. Bright like a diamond~,” Patton sang the last part, which earned him a groan. “I promise, if I felt fishy about any of this, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Why would you feel like a fish? Do fish even feel?” Logan said, genuinely perplexed.

Patton sighed. “Gosh, words can be tough. What I mean is that I don’t feel bad about reaching out to Anxiety, not when he’s been reaching out to us in his own way. I don’t get the feeling that he means us harm.”

“But you have to admit that when it comes to character judgement, you can be too forgiving,” Logan said.

“… Is that a bad thing?” Patton quietly replied, wincing a little as the cracks splintered further.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Patton, are you feeling alright?” he asked.

Oh, no.

“Of … course I am!” Patton said. “I’m Morality, why wouldn’t I be feeling?”

Logan grunted and adjusted his glasses. “Let me rephrase that. Patton, moments ago, you clearly indicated you were in pain. Am I interpreting this cue correctly?”

“Um …” Patton stalled. Maybe it was time to tell someone about this; it wasn’t like he could keep hiding it forever. With a sigh, he replied, “Yeah.” Oh no no no no, he couldn’t do this.

Logan stood there silently for a few moments before realizing that no explanation was going to come out of him without prompting. “Would you care to explain what’s causing it? I can perform first aid if necessary,” he said, stepping toward Patton.

Patton backed away and put his hands up. “I’m alright, really. It’s just … a little heartburn is all. You know me, not waiting until the cookies are cool to start munchin’! It should go away soon,” he replied. He couldn’t describe how badly he wanted to get out from under Logan’s scrutiny.

“If that’s all, then, here,” Logan conjured some Tums, “please take two of these.” He offered the bottle to Patton, who took it with a smile.

“Thank you, Logan, where would we be without you?” said Patton. He took some out of the bottle and made a show of chewing them up. Even if he didn’t really need them, he wanted to be sure that Logan felt listened to.

“What is that on your neck?” Logan asked, gesturing on himself where he thought he saw something.

“Hmm?” Patton felt around in that general area, squeaking softly when he felt a small but deep fracture across his skin. How did he not notice that before? Quick, Patton, think of something! “It’s uh … it’s chocolate!”

Logan’s eyes narrowed again. “Chocolate?”

Patton smiled. “Yeeeaahhhh, I must’ve gotten chocolate on myself when I was making these cookies. Silly me,” he lied, waving a dismissive hand. Well, it wasn’t totally a lie; he did still have some chocolate on his hands.

That seemed to sate the logical side. “Very well then, be sure to wash that off. And I know that no matter what I say, you’re still going to take your cookies to Anxiety. Just, please be careful around him, no matter how he makes you feel. We do still need you to help keep Thomas functioning normally,” said Logan.

“Thank you, Logan, I appreciate that. I promise I’ll be careful,” Patton said with a smile. Logan gave him a curt nod and went back to his studies. Some of the pain subsided with that last comment, which Patton was very grateful for. If it had been anywhere near what it was before, he couldn’t have done what he had set out to do without cuing Anxiety on to his problems. With as much of a smile as he could muster, Patton picked up the cookies and milk and headed down to Anxiety’s room. Thankfully, Logan didn’t notice him adjusting his cardigan along the way.

Patton always thought it was odd that the doorway to the darker side of Thomas’s mind would be inside the broom closet at the end of the hall. In another way, it made a lot of sense when he thought about it a little harder. Anything he wanted hidden would be stowed in here for safe keeping until he was ready to confront it. Plus, it made an excellent visual pun that made Patton giggle every once in a while. He opened the door, carefully balancing the plate on his arm.

“Let’s see, last time I made two rights, a left at the weird eyeball painting that stares at you, another right, then a left, and it’s the last door on the left,” Patton mumbled to himself as he walked through the dark side’s labyrinthine corridors. “Please let there be no spiders this time.”

In between the first two rights, a yellow-gloved hand slithered its way around the edge of the corner in front of Patton, making him stop dead in his tracks. No no no, not now! “Well well well, if it isn’t Morality,” Deceit stepped out in front of Patton, “have you finally decided to join us AND bring us cookies? I know we would all be devastated if you did.” His ever-present smirk seemed even more delighted than normal.

“Um, no. I’m just bringing Anxiety some cookies like I’ve been doing for a while now. You know that,” Patton replied. This definitely wasn’t making him uneasy.

“Indeed I do, and I also know something else.” Deceit strode forward until he was uncomfortably close. “You’ve been hiding something I find to be … most exquisite. If you keep that up, you’re liable to put me out of a job. Tell me, how long do you think you can play my game but keep me away from the field? Or even better,” he slowly circled Patton, eyes ever trained on him, “how long do you think you can keep their prying eyes away from your little secret?” He gently touched the center of Patton’s chest, which made him hiss and nearly drop the cookies and milk.

Patton had to take a moment to catch his breath. “I refuse to … make this their problem,” he gasped. He could’ve sworn he saw a few glowing drops of his essence through his shirt where Deceit’s finger had been.

“Oh, of course you don’t. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard that one. They’re obviously trying to hurt you by saying and doing all of these little things and telling them this would only make them want to do it more,” Deceit said, coming to stop in front of Patton.

“Look, I know you’re just trying to look out for me in your … own way and I appreciate it, but please, Dee … I can’t tell them this. It would break them even more than it’s breaking me— and I won’t have it.”

Deceit’s smile faded. “You don’t want to listen to reason? Fine. But I leave you with this,” he shook a finger and slowly began sinking out, “what would hurt them more: the others finding out about this now or the others finding out about this when you’re in itty. Bitty. Pieces?” His last words echoed through the empty halls, chilling Patton to his core.

He knew Deceit was right, in his own roundabout way. That was one of his greatest assets: he was a brilliant analyst despite his airs, one that could keenly rival Logan’s perceptive inclinations. It was also what Patton dreaded about him. He couldn’t hide anything from Deceit, not that there was much he could do to hide all the cracks given how many there were.

“No!” Patton said to himself. This wasn’t the time for getting absorbed in thoughts! This was supposed to be bonding-with-his-precious-anxious-baby time, gosh darn it, and he was not going to waste any more time thinking about all the things that were hurting him! Putting on his best determined dad face, Patton quickly marched toward Anxiety’s room.

Before he could get too far, though, he saw Anxiety’s familiar, brooding figure lurking through the halls. He perked up almost imperceptibly when he saw Patton coming. “Oh, there you are. Not like I was worried about you being late or anything,” he said, fiddling with his hoodie strings.

Patton just smiled, relieved that Anxiety hadn’t noticed the little, slightly glowing stains on the front of his shirt. “Of course not. Shall we?” he replied. Anxiety nodded.

The two shared a nice, albeit short, time in Anxiety’s room talking through everything they could. Anxiety’s particular favorite seemed to be picking through Disney movies (or really any movie) to find all of the dark origins or morbid underlying themes they held. While Patton liked being able to spend time with Anxiety, the combination of being in his room for longer than around half an hour and the negative talk were lying heavily on his chest. Still, he never let it show that those cracks were slowly spider-webbing across his skin.

By the end of the day, every step was a Herculean task for Patton. He barely made it back to his room without stumbling. Still, there was one last thing to be done: survey the damage he had accrued. He trudged into the bathroom and grasped the sink with shaking arms, head hanging heavily. “Alright, head up on three, Patton. One, two, three,” he said, letting go of the sink and looking up in the mirror. Despite his weathered appearance, not much could be seen with his shirt still on aside from two small fractures that forked up either side of his neck. The few that had made it past his sleeves were so thin that he didn’t even notice them at first. Patton sighed. He really didn’t want to look at the epicenter of the damage. “Right after this, you can go to bed,” he bartered with his reflection. He gently lifted the hem of his shirt up and nearly fainted from what he saw.

The cracks at the center of Patton’s chest had turned more into chasms where his skin had chipped away like broken porcelain. His essence shone through, now a raging blue storm that threatened to break through the invisible barrier where his skin should be. From there, the light bled through into the smaller fissures that spanned his entire torso, front and back. He knew it was bad, but it had never been to this extent. He gently touched the edge of the center break and accidentally dipped his finger into the blue fluid. The tears he had repressed welled up in his eyes, spurred on by a jolt of raw emotion. Patton quickly wiped the fluid off onto his pants. The tears no longer had any driving force behind them.

“Oh Patton, you’ve got to remember not to do that,” he once again told his reflection. He had forgotten how much emotional sway his essence had when he touched it. Patton knew he couldn’t keep the happy act up like this. So, what else could he do but make himself as scarce as possible until it healed at least a little bit?

And that’s exactly what he did.