#I thought we all understood that it was their circumstances that shaped them into who they are now.

[henrysglock]

Correct me if I’m wrong, but the point of showing Billy’s home life was to make him a point of comparison for Will. It was to show that Will turned out the way he did because his home life was better��it was safe, loving, and supportive, where Billy’s was not. It’s not perfect; none of the homes are. Will’s was better, though.

I thought we were all operating on the understanding that circumstances maketh man.

[neuroticbookworm]

Love in the Big City Part 2: Go Yeong and Umma

I was chased around, threatened, bullied and emotionally manipulated for months to write this piece, so @lurkingshan, this one's for you. *please release my family*

When I was reading the book, in Part 1, I remember being frustrated with Young as a narrator because of how standoffish he seemed with his descriptions of the people in his life (except Jaehee – Mi Ae in the show). I wanted to understand the emotional distance I felt in his words. And I got my answer in Part 2, where the relationship with his Umma was laid bare for us to see. The structure of this section was so smart, for it established the roots of his behavior in his childhood with Umma, and linked it to how it shaped the relationship he currently had with Hyung. Seeing it come to life on screen in the episodes this week was a treat to watch.

It becomes evident that Go Yeong’s relationship with his Umma is complicated as soon as we see them interact on screen. She is steadfastly religious, someone who believes that miracles can cure things that humans sometimes deem incurable, like cancer. We could easily infer from what we’ve seen of Go Yeong so far that she would not approve of his life.

Before I get into how her opinions and actions affect and influence Go Yeong, I wanna fully break down some of the objective facts we know about her:

She divorced her husband after he stepped out of their marriage and didn’t even have the courage to tell her about his infidelity

She is a single mother

She is an entrepreneur (in fact, we see her working from her bed in the hospital in multiple scenes)

She is religious and believes in the power of God

She is proud of her son

She loves her son

The last two points come with the biggest asterisks, because if she loves and feels pride for her son, how could she make him feel so alone? And now I shall try to explore this woman’s psyche to the best of my abilities, with a little bit of help from my personal experiences and therapy sessions I’ve paid money for over the years.

When we try to picture a homophobic parent, the image that our brain usually conjures up is often one-dimensional. (Note: This is NOT AN EXCUSE. I’m not trying to justify her actions. I am simply trying to understand why she did the things she did, by placing the context of the events of her life around them.) It is easier to process our emotions re: bad parents who hurt their children when we view their actions as simple. “They could’ve chosen not to do it and yet they did, so I hate them” is the conclusion that is the easiest to arrive at. That doesn’t make it untrue, but oftentimes, it is not the whole truth. Life is rarely, if ever, that simple, and our parents can truly love us while also rejecting fundamental parts of who we are, and never reconcile the two.

We see in the show the circumstances under which Yeom Eun Suk (Umma) finds out about her husband’s affair. She and little Go Yeong observe him from the sidelines, hidden, and see him smile like he had never done in all the time he had spent with them. We see Eun Suk feeling crushed by the implication that whatever love and happiness she thought she had had in her life with her husband was all potentially a farce. The fact that she chose to separate from him implies a couple of things: 1. She had strength and resourcefulness to provide for her son as a single mother in a restrictive patriarchal society like South Korea, and 2. She understood that staying in the unhappy marriage would only make her bitter and would affect her son more negatively than him growing up with a single parent.

She was brave enough to make those choices, and yet was still bound by her sense of propriety molded by society, and her faith. I’ve had a dynamic relationship with faith throughout my life, but I understood pretty quickly that questioning one’s faith is a particularly painful experience. Faith is supposed to be the solace one could turn to during trying times. When one is forced by circumstance to question their faith, it leaves them unmoored on the inside and further isolated on the outside. Eun Suk was already isolated to a certain degree by her divorce and her single motherhood. From what we learned in the book, there’s a history of cancer diagnoses in her family, so I would posit that she had been in Go Yeong’s shoes before, caring for her terminally ill parents in the past. Which is additional trauma from caregiving in her young adulthood that would’ve shaped her life. So I understand Eun Suk not questioning her faith when it was shaken.

She rebuilt her life and community by pursuing her faith—attending church, making friends who shared those values, and idolizing the Christian heteronormative lifestyle even after it failed her. She followed the rules dictated by her faith and community with utmost devotion, including building an entire business around heteronormative romance, in part because she had already transgressed by breaking up her own family and needed to prove she was not bucking that ideal or rejecting the church’s teachings with her choices. We see her take care of her appearance over and over when she is in the hospital after her first diagnosis and surgery, and it is yet another sign of her conformity and dedication to presenting a certain picture of her life. I understand why she would see her teenage son kissing a boy as a blemish on “a life deemed beautiful by God” and panic. I understand why she would think a psychiatric facility would help her son, and that it was her duty to try. (Note: once again, I am not justifying her actions, I am trying to understand them. Conversion therapy is deplorable and my heart goes out to everyone who has been subjected to it, including Go Yeong.) Eun Suk’s faith saved her by giving her purpose and community after her husband’s betrayal, but it also told her that her son, in his queerness, is fundamentally flawed. And like most people in this world, she chose not to rethink her entire life, and instead chose to believe that it is her duty to save her son from homosexuality and guide him to righteousness via the same path that saved her own life, ultimately traumatizing him. Hello, intergenerational trauma, my old friend!

@lurkingshan has already discussed the kdrama-fication of Part 2, with the increased intensity of Go Yeong’s romance with Hyung/Yeong Su. Expanding on that, I think the show’s depiction of Go Yeong’s relationship with his Umma rounded out the sharp edges of Young’s cynical tone from the book. We see her enjoy spending time with him. We see her joke around with him. We see her read her child with uncanny precision that mothers seem to have when she asked him “Why are you sulking like a child?”, when he was, in fact, sulking like a child. We see her observe and deduce that her son is probably seeing someone, and that someone is likely a man. Which then leads to her asking “Must I meet them?” when Go Yeong suggests a meeting with Yeong Su in the park. She runs from direct confrontation of her son’s sexuality, and yet diligently copies Bible verses, hoping for a miracle.

Eun Suk sees her son’s queerness as her own failure, and Go Yeong, in turn, sees his righteous anger towards his Umma, as his. She is so proud of him that she saves newspaper clippings of his achievements, but she is also ashamed that she couldn’t “save” him. She loves him within the confines of her faith. It’s not enough for Go Yeong, but it’s the best she can do; their relationship remains at an impossible impasse.

Yeong Su’s presence in this section is interesting because in addition to his primary role of serving as the broody, tortured creative who swept Go Yeong up in a whirlwind romance, he also serves as a parallel to Umma’s traits. When Yeong Su exclaims that “someone like [Go Yeong] couldn’t even imagine [his struggles]”, it rang eerily close to Umma telling her son “Don’t try too hard. Everyone must go sometimes”. The expression of disdain is the same, but in Yeong Su it reads hollow, as a pretentious assumption, while with Umma it registers as tired disappointment that Go Yeong would’ve surely felt as heavy as a boulder.

After finishing the book, I found myself going back to a particular paragraph:

...[I] was old enough to know that my mother did not exist solely to hinder my existence but was a person in her own right who had fought hard making her way through life. She just happened to be unlucky. In other words, the fact that our relationship had been so terrible was as natural as cancer or fungus or the rotation of our planet or sunspots. I knew this, but the feeling that she was the source of all my problems kept nagging at me. I kicked myself for thinking this about a dying person, someone who was only skin and bones at this point, but the thought refused to leave my mind.

It took me a long time to reach the acceptance Sang Young Park has put in words here. The fact that my trauma is an unfortunate byproduct of the life my parents had lived, and was not premeditated or fuelled by hate, was a hard and unfair pill to swallow. I want to grab Go Yeong and tell him that it is okay if he can’t ever forgive his Umma. Time will wash over his hurt and let him love her, even without the apology he deserves from his Umma. And I hope that, one day, he can learn to love the people in his life differently than the love he received from his mother.

[bad-surprise]

i find many people in fandom incredibly annoying. that is not a secret and it is not a sin. it is far better, in my opinion, to talk through these feelings privately than to approach said individuals because being annoying is a) not a crime in any way, shape, or form, and b) fully subjective. i am sure other fans find me annoying, and they have every right to talk through their frustrations privately with trusted friends. they also have every right to block whoever they’d like or to share whatever i’ve posted that’s upset them with their friends in order to provide context for their emotions. it might hurt my feelings sometimes and i may not like it, but that doesn’t make it wrong.

as a queer black woman, i find it extremely upsetting when the language of social justice is used in bad faith by those looking to evade accountability for shitty behavior. that is the context of those remarks.

everything i said in that conversation i would state publicly. i didn’t, though, because it seemed pointless at the time. conversation with those involved (not any of the accounts who have centered themselves in this discussion) had already been attempted and the deliberate misrepresentation of events, warping of words, and bad faith tactics that followed rendered the situation hopeless.

fandom is not a monolith. we are allowed to have different opinions on everything, and i really enjoy productive conversations with those who have differing views, so long as they’re rooted in a genuine desire for mutual understanding. people i am friends with are free to be friends with people i dislike, i have never policed that and never will.

i am always open to conversation and will offer clarifications if they’re requested in good faith. i would also point out that the screenshots being shared are very carefully selected excerpts of a broader conversation— it might be wise to ask why those specific quotes (which were poorly worded at times, sure— that makes sense considering that they were part of private conversations between supportive friends who understood each other’s context, values, and intent) were decontextualized and used for this purpose.

initially, this fandom was a very creative place, filled with diversity of thought and opinion, characterized by a sense of curiosity, imagination, and collaboration. the occasional bad actor popped up, yes, and there have always been issues with antis (which i define as those who believe there is a moral component to shipping, though it seems like in this case it is being applied to people who simply have differing opinions about a ship beloved by both parties) and those outside of the fandom who dislike the ship, but generally it was a pleasant space in which to exist alongside others. that has slowly diminished to the extent that it’s now very difficult to find reasons to remain involved. i worry that the point of all this is to push people out, but i also hope that isn’t the case.

there is no right or wrong way to ship sauron and galadriel. there is no right or wrong way to ship, full stop.

i’m so fucking exhausted by this conversation and by the fact that accusations of racism or homophobia in this fandom so often target black and queer individuals, misrepresenting our response to circumstances where our lived experiences are repeatedly decontextualized, devalued, disregarded, or manipulated in the service of something as petty as a ship war. it’s not leftism, it’s not social justice— it’s tone policing as an attempt to stoke moral outrage, and it feels a hell of a lot like an effort to dictate the rules of participation in a ship.

but i genuinely believe there’s enough room here for all of us, including those individuals i personally find disingenuous and/or annoying.

[campbyler]

i'm wondering if your miscommunication in this fic is based upon a theory for byler's miscommunication in the show itself? i.e. mike understood will in the van and was therefore gutted when will told him 'youre the heart' in the pizzeria etc (seemingly telling mike to say i love you to el).

i'm trying to piece together things but i've forgotten if will has ever mentioned why their relationship went tits up before. they both are not on the same page at all regarding what happened in the past, but as of this chap... mike now knows how he feels AND will! its really interesting that the hesitance is based around them both thinking that they put themselves out there once and got shot down (or so i gather so far). which means something had to have happened in the past where a third party was involved and made things unclear? because their actions currently strongly suggest mutual attraction like mike said in 10.2

so im wondering if you were inspired by the show in this way, if indeed you DO believe that mike understood will's confession of feelings fully in the van? :)

i would say that it’s not necessarily inspired by that particular interpretation of the van scene, but the miscommunication trope in general is absolutely inspired by the show! mike and will are canonically incredibly passionate characters — that passion often leads to emotional outbursts, and they’re passionate about each other and their friendship, hence why they fight a lot lol. because they have trouble pausing and giving each other the space they need to communicate. when they do manage that, they’re besties for the resties 🤎 which is what we are trying to capture in acswy!

though i will say that acswy is the result of what would happen if they didn’t give each other the time to explain themselves and talk their feelings through 😗 plus obviously with it being a modern au, they’re in different circumstances than they are in the show, so their experiences have shaped them differently. i understand the ooc allegations about acswy, but i’m not really bothered by them because i do think we have done a good job of staying true to how mike and will would react if they grew up Now and had the influences they had. for example, will is for sure sassy on the show — he’s kind to his core, and never genuinely mean on purpose, but the sass is There. i think if he grew up with max as his closest friend versus mike, lucas, and dustin, she’d bring that side out of him more than it is present in the show. max is kind and never genuinely mean either, but she hides it as a defense mechanism, and will would probably be influenced the same way. it’s the same concept where, given the circumstances mike and will are in leading up to and during acswy, the miscommunication of it all has been exacerbated by those elements. and miscommunication is Theeee byler bread and butter.

neither will or mike have mentioned why their relationship is the way that it is — that will be revealed at some point in these final few chapters, but i won’t say when for spoiler reasons of course 😇 i will reiterate what we have been saying since ch01 though: mike and will are Both unreliable narrators. neither of them have all of the info and are just going off of what they perceive to be true. that doesn’t make either one of them right or wrong — they can Both be right based on their interpretations of their situation — but it does mean they lack perspective that is necessary for them to move forward. tee and also hee.

all of that rambling done, i personally do not think that mike understood will’s confession in the van, but support anyone who does interpret it that way!! i’d have to ask suni what her thoughts are on it so we might edit later with her thoughts!!

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 8 / The Scheme

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 2.4K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7]

Summary/Setting: Based on the prologue/premise from my OneShot “A Midwinter Carol.” / Astarion and the OC broke up after his ascension. She left Baldur’s Gate for fifteen years, only to return just recently. Following the events of “A Midwinter Carol,” Ascended Astarion has been convinced to pursue a new beginning. Will he be able to change who he has become, with the help of his ex-lover or will he ultimately fall victim to himself?

Preview:

“You’re far too comfortable within our arrangement, darling. Now, simply stand there and look pretty. It’s what you’re best at,” Astarion had finally drawled after a long silence between the two of them, feigning nonchalance at her comment while the white-knuckled grip on his goblet told another story.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

A/N: Took two weeks, but we finally got there! I am going to try to start posting my longfics on a more consistent schedule. Stay tuned for the schedule, once I've figured it out lol!

-----

Delilah loathed people in power. She hated the moneyed patrons looking down their noses at her, always with an air of disgust. The wealthy acted as if they were doing her a favor; as if they weren’t the ones begging for her skills.

The elite she entertained in the brothels might have different kinks, different preferences, and different fantasies that she danced around… but one rule applied to every entitled, powerful individual that purchased her time: they loved to hear themselves talk.

It was quite comical how much her clients would share when they perceived her as an idiot. They often thought her beneath them; nothing more than a glorified decoration, a plaything. An empty vessel to spill their seed into. 

But Delilah was far more cunning than she looked. She wouldn’t have been a whore, if only her circumstances had been different. Her aspirations had always been higher than sex work, and despite loathing people in power, she knew one of them would eventually be her meal ticket out of her situation. 

She was too smart to be a whore and yet too desperate to shy away from any opportunity that came knocking upon her brothel door. 

So when Astarion first spoke to her in Elvish, insulting her in the process, Delilah knew to stay silent. From almost the beginning, she intended to play the long game with the vampire and figured it best to appear ignorant. 

She assumed his goading to be a test. She felt the silver-haired elf wanted to know if she understood his native tongue, though she didn’t quite understand why at the time. So instead of giving any indication she knew Astarion had just called her a filthy whore, Delilah simply smiled and purred a superficial compliment; it was something about how sexy he sounded speaking Elvish.

He bought it. 

After that initial test from Astarion, he would often speak in Elvish when she morphed into Eirianwen’s shape. Most strings of his mother tongue were simply sweet nothings and lamentations he clearly would have preferred to say to the real woman, not the one he paid to portray her. It was tedious to endure the Ascendant as he relentlessly plunged in and out of her body, speaking sappy nonsense as she performed exactly the way he expected her to.

He always took forever to finish.

The ordeal was ridiculous, really. But her suffering proved worthwhile, for a time. It bought her connections to other elites, a new apartment, and — perhaps most valuable of all — pieces of information. 

Over the years, Delilah collected many useful bits  of knowledge from Astarion. The bastard loved to hear himself talk, in and out of bed, just like all the others. She sold some of the lesser information to his enemies and kept the most significant pieces stored within her mind. 

Delilah knew he held the secret to true power – it was etched upon his back — and she wanted it for herself. She spent years assembling pieces of the puzzle and carefully unlocking the vaults of his psyche for that one purpose. It was no easy task. 

But those years passed, and Delilah grew more impatient with the passing of each season. Astarion was dramatic, self-obsessed, privileged, and almost always held an air of missing that stupid sorceress. Constantly soothing his ego became a full time job, and Delilah began to think she loathed him more than she loved his money and connections to power.

Eventually, she thought she would simply convince Astarion to make her a true vampire, cut her losses, and just take those powers as a consolation prize. Her time enduring the Vampire Lord had been more than enough, and she was ready for it to end. She felt she understood why the real Eirianwen left him; if she’d had the means, Delilah would have been gone long ago, too.

But not everyone is a trust fund baby. 

So, one evening, at another party almost identical in theme and guest list to the soirée they’d attended the week prior, Delilah broached the subject of immortality with Astarion. Her frustration quickly rose to the forefront when the Vampire Lord denied her far too quickly, as if he’d considered the option long ago and decided against it. 

“Why not?” she’d pressed, her arm wrapped around his, simply playing the all-too-familiar part of a decoration at his side as they walked about the great hall of some noble’s mansion.

But, even as she asked, Delilah knew the reason: she was a glorified shell in his eyes; nothing more than a novelty item. She was hardly permitted to be in her own chosen form for these parties, or in general, after all. Astarion never wanted to see her as her. He always made her rotate her appearance as his date, instead. She was never supposed to be Eirianwen in public, of course, because imagine the scandal; but she was always some beautiful being. 

Just not herself. 

Among the many strange aspects of the egotistical man she’d tied herself to for years, Delilah found it odd that Astarion seemed to prefer the appearance of rakishness without actually being a rake. Though she suspected he liked the idea of appearing unattached, should the real Eirianwen ever flit back into his life. Idiot.

“I am not currently paying you to speak, Delilah,” Astarion had warned in a low hiss, his jaw tensed as he’d refused to look at the woman holding onto his arm. 

She was in the form of some gorgeous, pouty-lipped, large chested brunette she’d seen while working in Waterdeep years ago. Astarion always seemed to prefer silver-haired dates, so Delilah intentionally gave him anything else when she was particularly irritated with the bastard.

“It’s been half a decade… she isn’t coming back, you know,” Delilah had snapped in response, unable to hold back her frustration after tempering herself for ages. 

Five years had been far too long. 

She’d been attached to this vile man longer than his precious sorceress ever had been and still played second fiddle to a memory. The thought made her insides boil with rage.

Not that she loved Astarion. Absolutely not. But she felt he still owed her something after all this time. Because truly, he was dreadful, and he would have done nothing of note with all that money and power if she hadn’t pushed him in the right direction. Hells, he couldn’t even sleep properly when they first met, let alone play political dragonchess with dignitaries and crime bosses. 

No, the majority of that had been her doing. But of course, in his pride, the Vampire Lord was certain it had been him all along. 

“You’re far too comfortable within our arrangement, darling. Now, simply stand there and look pretty. It’s what you’re best at,” Astarion had finally drawled after a long silence between the two of them, feigning nonchalance at her comment while the white-knuckled grip on his goblet told another story. 

But the shapeshifter knew her value was severely underestimated. She was more than a common whore, more than an attractive escort, more than just a shell of someone else’s form. And after years of catering to Astarion’s massive ego, one would think her other talents would be of value to the Ascendant – at least enough to consider turning her.

Apparently not.

Ultimately, Astarion kept refusing Delilah’s requests for immortality. Eventually, the shapeshifter decided she’d had enough; she would have to find another route to power. 

She’d wasted too much time already.

*

When Delilah first planned to break into the Palace, she knew entering through the dungeon would be most convenient. Waltzing in right through the front door, while potentially possible in Astarion’s form, would attract far too much attention. The servants swarmed him the moment he entered any room. Plus, she suspected her target happened to be in the bowels of the Palace, away from prying eyes – the dungeon would be faster, too.

It would be a quick job – get in, get out, get back to her new boss, get turned. 

She knew the secret entryway into the dungeon was enchanted and required a password spoken in Astarion’s voice. At first, this had been a significant dilemma. Delilah’s shape shifting was flawless, and yet she always failed to adequately reproduce voices. However, thanks to his unwilling donation of DNA at the auction, the woman successfully brewed a potion that perfectly captured Astarion’s haughty tenor. 

One utterance of “aeterna amantes” later and she found herself in the frigid cobblestone dungeon underneath her ex-lover’s abode. 

She could not help but feel pride for her multiple talents at this moment. If Delilah had been able to afford tuition at Blackstaff thirty years ago, her life would be inconceivably different. Self-study and natural talents could only get her so far, unfortunately. 

Locating the Jathiman Dagger – or “The God Killer,” as it had been called in the texts she read on the subject – had been effortless in comparison to her first trial. The ancient blade was rippling with arcane magic, and Delilah simply reached out to the Weave for guidance. Like a compass, the Weave led her straight to the second hidden passageway in the dungeon, this one much less guarded than the first. And there, behind an illusory wall, was the ticket to her future in the form of a well-worn, rusted dagger.

In truth, the woman thought the weapon that could kill anything from a god to a devil – and certainly a mere Vampire Ascendant, by that logic – would be far grander in appearance than just a simple serrated blade with a leather-wrapped hilt. At first, Delilah worried it was a decoy. But the arcane thrum when she touched the weapon was undeniable; all that was left on her end of the deal was to get back to Lady Lysandra and deliver the dagger. She could leave Edmund to rot if she wanted, Lysandra had indicated him to be disposable in their scheming. 

But standing on the precipice of her future, and try as she might, Delilah couldn’t bring herself to take the final jump and leave the stupid spawn. Not after the time they spent together the past few months. He’d been, over all, a gentleman. And when she finally propositioned him after weeks, he’d never asked her to change into any other form, despite knowing she could… that had been a first for her. 

‘Leave him, leave him, leave him,’ she thought as she made her way toward the secret tunnel leading out of the cobblestoned torture chamber.

And yet, against her better judgment and with half of her mind screaming in disbelief, Delilah stopped just before reaching freedom, tucked the dagger into her robes and began to climb the cobblestone steps of the dungeon. She willingly walked straight into the lion’s den.

*

Finding Astarion and Edmund had been simple; she only had to follow the pained grunts of the vampire spawn and the deranged shouting of her ex-lover. But as she walked in that direction, under cover of a simple invisibility spell, Delilah passed the master bedchambers where she’d laid under Astarion more times than she could count. Out of habit, she glanced into the room and spotted Eirianwen sound asleep, instead of writhing in pain like she should be with Delilah’s poisons working inside her body.

And gods that enraged Delilah. She wanted Astarion to suffer in the worst way, to watch the only person he ever seemed to love be tortured beyond belief, lose motor function, and eventually die after a long, chronic battle with the side effects of Delilah’s concoction. 

He deserved it, and by extension, Eirianwen did, too. She made him what he was, after all. 

But how was this possible? 

The knowledge-seeker in the shapeshifting woman decided to take a quick detour, temporarily ignoring the tortured cries from Edmund in the next room. He was strong, surely he could endure for a mere moment longer as she examined the sorceress, she thought.

After a quick study of Eirianwen, Delilah notices the ring on the sorceress’s blackening hand and realizes it's the flimsy golden band that’s protecting the woman. She remembers the auctioneer toting the magical abilities of the rings Astarion ultimately paid far too much for. 

But Delilah doesn’t dare touch Eirianwen to try and remove the ring. The newest potion coursing through the elven woman’s system had been a rush job; Delilah was not certain how potent the paralytic was or if it would transfer to her, another living being, via touch. It’s why she’d had Edmund carry the bottle around at the party, just in case there had been a mishap; her necrotic concoctions were much less potent on the undead, but on the living they were always particularly nasty. 

A flurry of curses on the other side of the wall, followed by more vitriol from the Vampire Lord, all coming from the space next door she knows to be Astarion’s office, finally rips Delilah from her thoughts and pushes her forward. She doesn’t have a plan. She really did not expect herself to risk her neck for this random spawn. 

Delilah morphs into Eirianwen’s form, mangled hand and all, and slowly edges her way toward the office. At minimum, she can distract Astarion and hopefully Edmund can break away with a bit of her assistance. He’s certainly strong.

When Delilah turns around the corner, she quickly realizes, much to her dismay, that any hopes of saving Edmund are gone. Astarion is crushing the other vampire’s skull in with one hand and plunging something into the man’s chest repeatedly with the other. Splatters of blood are sprinkled about the office like stars in the night sky. The man she’d spent months scheming with, fucking, and for whom she’d idly considered killing his master for once she achieved her goal is lying limp and mangled underneath the Ascendant. 

Edmund is gone. And the realization elicits a genuine, horrified scream from Delilah. In that moment she realizes that perhaps she actually cared for him… as much as someone like her could care about anyone. When Astarion’s eyes snap to her, Delilah forgets she’s in Eirianwen’s form and runs.

Before long, the woman recollects herself as the silver-haired elf shouts down the hallway, calling after his precious Ani. She turns to look at the Vampire Lord, her face filled with hatred, and misty steps as far as she can away from him, back toward the dungeon entrance on the lower floor. Delilah was supposed to leave the murder of Astarion Ancunin to Lady Lysandra… but she just decided that she changed her mind. 

She was going to kill Astarion in his own home, and she was going to savor every delicious moment as he watched the woman he loved stab him to death. 

-----

A/N: Special shoutout to a reader, @lil23akira for absolutely calling this! I love that you were able to pick up on all my foreshadowing. And thank you to @leomonae and @tallymonster for reading this and providing feedback as I worked through what was the most difficult chapter to write thus far.

[altocat]

Um. Long essay ahead, sorry lol.

We are talking about the Genesis-Sephiroth drama and I must say: Genesis is so very human and I love that. I think he seriously thought that Seph needed to hear some cold, harsh truth to finally see why Shinra sucked and why he and Angeal had defected. So, he just went straight for Seph’s most painful issue—his mother and the answers regarding her. 

I know we react viscerally to the idea of Gen having known about Seph searching for his mother and then weaponizing that, but think about it. Angeal is dead by that point and Genesis is on the verge of death. He is desperate. The man is broken to pieces after discovering that his entire existence had been a lie, an experiment, an abuse of power, etc., and that his own adoptive parents had “betrayed” him. He basically was reduced to an orphan that discovered how awful his care-takers were and how they had used him. 

On top of all this, he lost Angeal, his closest childhood friend, to the SAME horrific downfall. I don’t think we talk enough about how Angeal’s death probably messed with Gen, but I feel that he gets noticeably crueler and frailer afterwards. Shinra took everything from those boys, and Gen’s last hope for any salvation was Sephiroth, who was STILL letting himself be under Shinra’s command. Genesis absolutely wanted to hurt him with a wakeup call and went for the heart with his dagger. 

He probably thought he was doing well, that Sephiroth needed it, and yes, a strain of bitterness from their past rivalry tainted his words, but wasn’t it all just forgivable drivel in the face of their deeper friendship? In the end, Sephiroth could overlook that after seeing the light, yes?

Genesis wasn’t an idiot. He really did believe Sephiroth would help him despite the rude awakening, but what he lacked was deeper insight and empathy for his old friend. 

Genesis had a normal chldhood. He understood family, he understood the idea of a “hometown,” he knew how to hold friends and have fun with his life—he had autonomy despite the lies surrounding his birth. Sephiroth had absolutely none of this throughout his life and had trusted his heart only to his friends—one of whom was dead by that point and the other seemingly a traitor who appeared to use his greatest weakness against him before demanding a part of his very essence. Sephiroth had nothing left in that moment.

Genesis did truly descend into his frenzied, imagined glory-tale of three friends that were all monsters and could save themselves together, thinking that he had a chance to full-fill that dream, but he made the mistake of underestimating Sephiroth’s crumbling mental stability as a human being. We saw what discovering the truth did to two kids that grew up fairly normal. It ruined them, killed them, made one of them cruel in many ways. Gen and Angeal suffered immensely believing they were monsters and eventually reshaped pieces of history in retaliation.

But Sephiroth? The “other” child of Shinra? The solitary one? The one that had been violated directly from the womb…not just through his mother’s cells…but from the time his own life force began to take shape? The one that had been raised to be a killing machine with no true connection to the outside world? His discovery of the truth broke his psyche and led to apocalyptic events. 

Genesis simply failed to consider this, so his “splash of cold water” mixed with his own bitterness, which would have been cruel enough under normal circumstances, actually led to extremely dark consequences. I absolutely believe he knew that Sephiroth had been searching for his mother for his whole life, that Sephiroth had indicated it or brought it up at some point during their youth, regardless of whether the picture was involved or not.

I absolutely think Genesis weaponized Sephiroth’s gaping wound in that area, but I don’t think he realized how damaging it would truly be. He forgot that his friend was not at all “normal” and that his orphanhood was a different entity—something colder and more feral than most. Even most orphans are not completely deprived of normal lives and raised as weapons. We see this with many other characters. So many that lost their families or never knew them still found a way to make a place for themselves in the world or substitute their loss with something else.

Sephiroth literally could not do this as Shinra’s weapon. He had tried with his two friends and lost them both. He was already collapsing under the weight of it all, and Genesis simply did not see it in time. So, he played with fire and paid the price. That look of hurt on his face when Seph rejects him is genuine and raw and real. He had faith in them, in their friendship, and thought that it could withstand a bit of turmoil like it had in the past—but that only could have maybe been the case if Sephiroth had not been who he was—if he had been normal.

Genesis never quite fully understood his hero in the end and it makes me so fucking sad.

I don't think I could have said it better myself. Amazing analysis.

Genesis is a severely misunderstood character. It's really easy to dismiss him without taking a closer look at his feelings and motives. I think there was plenty of bitterness towards Seph, but we all seem to forget that Genesis' deepest, dearest desire at the end of the day was to share the apples with Sephiroth in a moment of acknowledgement. Genesis hurt Sephiroth badly, but there's more layers to it than just petty rivalry and Genesis being terrible just for the sake of it.

[acoolka]

I now have a Euclidian sona to project onto because I am obsessed with how their anatomy is

So this is the ref and an extra explanation of how it works

This is all i could draw today due to circumstances-TM

This is an angel-demon thing due to being inspired by angel bill art:

INFODUMP BIG LORE WARNING TEXT

Their story is that instead of destroying euclidia - while bill was in the process of “freeing them” - he miscalculted and what happened instead was he was pouring his life force into turning euclidians into 3d beings. Obviously, rewiring the whole being of, like, millions of shapes took much more energy than he expected; which he only realized about quater way in. Which was already way too late to change anything as he was being torn asunder into thousands of pieces.

The result of that was about a thousand of mildly empowered and very disoriented euclidians floating in the middle of space-nowhere, with only, like, a couple of them knowing vaguely what happened (due to listening to bill’s crazy public rants).

It took the survivors an unknown amount of time to gather together and compile a comprehensive picture of what happened and what to do next. [Insert massive timeskip here]

Billions of years down the line the now re-established euclidian society knows of the The Catalyst Event as such:

The legend goes: Once upon a time, when we lived in a world much more simple and pleasant. Sometimes - a shape with mystical powers was born. Some had unnatural strength - to lift things much bigger then themselves, some could bend light to their whims. Such things were very rare, and Cipher was one such shape. His ability most unusual of the rest: he could see into another world. Built so unlike our own - that it was impossible to conceive, nevermind describe. In our native world - the concepts he brought up - such as stars and “up” were considered immensely absurd; And thus he was known as the crazy councilman’s son.

We do not know much of the in-between time, but those who saw it say: “For long he talked about made-up things in the middle of the street, most of us thought he’d been on drugs. However we hoped he might’ve calmed down after not being seen for some time. And the next thing I know - the image of him is superimposed all over my vision. It was everywhere. I could not look away. I think i understood in that moment what he meant by “up”, and yet at the same time it was incomprehensible. Everything swam, but everything was on fire. Blue fire that flowed like the ground and like the people around me. Their organs dripping out of their body through the holes that arent there. Their screaming was all I could hear, but mine too, joining them in the neverending chorus… And through all of it, him, the crazy councilmans kid, he was in “the up”, screaming with us, breaking into pieces. I was more, I was cold, I was burning alive. There was something inside of me that was foreign, it was taking up the space that I didn’t have, too much, too much. I couldnt handle it, i screamed and screamed, for that was all I could do, hoping that would be enough, that if I flailed a bit more - the visions would take pity on me. But I was too numb, I couldnt think, I couldnt bear to move, praying to the unmerciful triangle that his apparition kills me sooner than later… And I woke up. My vision hurt, however strange that sounds. Couldnt feel anything in my body other than that. Only me that did not feel like me anymore, And an infinite void, sparkling with something, and my thoughts. It hurt to think too, for a while.”

Needless to say, we dont tell this part to kids.

After The Event - those of us who survived (and kept most of their mind intact) - did their best to find each other. We found almost a thousand, if there are more - they would be very lucky to be found in this infinity. We did our best to organize ourselves and make plans to rebuild whatever we have left. Nothing good came out of that mind you, travelling together as a monolith kind of group was unsustainable at best and a horrid idea in general; And we had no base to build anything anywhere, as our memories and bodies were all we had left. We were also all different people, too different, and keeping any sort of communication is impossible out here, with nothing to make, and the only way to communicate being face to face - to the disappointment of many - the only way we could progress and survive is either in small groups, or alone. Going to explore the nothing for any news and help at all, hoping we will find each other and reconvene once again in some future.

And so it went. The multiverse became familiar with a new nomadic species - weird flat shapes with stick-like limbs, that had various magical abilities: some more powerful than others. They were categorised, and labeled a bland name, “Shape demons”, for how they are shapes, for their disturbing shared ability to be summoned as if corporeal spirits, and for being able to forming binding magical contracts. Each of those creatures has an different affinities and power, so it would be wise not to mess with them and be specific when negotiating.

It is happy that some were able to come across and pass on a terms of infinity communication; so while not all, a lot of us formed a sort of disjointed community at last. A social media for the lost; Looking if there is a place to make a home.

So much time passes, none alive could measure it. And yet we live and we remember. Searching for nobody knows what. However only but three human centuries ago, just one square, certainly smarter than most for sure, found a place to rest on a plane inhabited with very complicated and gross creatures. But only after a bit discovered that they couldn’t leave a small village, prevented by a barrier. Of course, asking the locals proved futile as neither understood each other, and the creatures with houses were either fearful or hostile, never-mind the aggressive fauna and flora! The smart square was very fortunate to have found one resident that is quite reasonable, and it was smart too! Together, the genius minds taught the other their language, and worked towards many great things. The pair built a portal into the multiverse for easy access to resources and contact with other shapes, then, with other found alien minds to weigh in, they figured out how to break the wretched barrier. It was not considered, then, that such action would also let out the hostile and difficult to handle flora/fauna - that, as it turns out, did not exist on the rest of the planet! That was a mess and a half to handle, thats for sure.

In “modern” times however, humans have worked hard to acclimate to the onslaught of the supernatural. A shaky truce was established in the last 50-or-so years; non sentient creatures handled by a special task-force, the sentient ones have forced through a negotiation of “human” rights (they worked, and still work, for freedom alongside the marginalised and dehumanised groups of humans. Who surprisingly, for the most part accepted their aid). Shapes that have decided to settle on Earth of this universe are… very few. It is a rarity to see one, usually an occasion of seeing a shape demands a selfie and a blog post at least.

As for Euan, their story is not complicated.

A travelling Shape demon couple had an unintentional offspring. They travel a lot, and frankly - care not for wasting time and energy on raising a whole new person. Earth-08356 came up on their radar, a fine place to look for any bleeding-heart creature who longs for a young of their own. A spiritual human was recommended a ritual by a friend of a friend, for a guardian spirit - that, for a price, can grant any wish. The woman couldnt carry one of her own, as a miscarriage too many made it too dangerous. She partook to many religions in search of an answer, a cure, but despite the supernatural and the weird now permeating the planet - there were none. The ritual was supposed to be one of many, yet it became a solution. The shape couple answered the summons, ‘perfect, just what is needed’. The never yet mother begs for a magical cure, for fertility and health to carry a small one to spread her love and want that she could not contain. The Demons respond, ‘ you will recieve a young all of your own, to love and raise, and it will love you in return. We will not demand payment, yet for a neglect of some of your wish. The child will not be of your blood. It will not bleed red, nor be a human child at all. Your want is of a mother yearning for a helpless little person to love without condition. So the deal is such: You will gain an offspring of your very own, it will love you eternally, you shall teach it all you know; But can your love be pure? To love still, an alien so far removed from any creature you have seen? It will love you for as long as you love it, yet it will be hard, many do not like that which is different. Will you accept it? Can you protect it?… Will you? ‘

And thus a human gains a child. It is cute, it loves, and it is loved. The demons did not lie, Euan was a challenge after challenge. In fact, the challenges do not seem to stop. It is hard, and very taxing on every resource she has. The child is good and full of warmth, but by the infinity do they not fit into human society, no matter how hard they try or what is done - the only saving grace is that mental illness is similar in such different beings.

—

That is all lore-talk for now, now onto more technical stuff:

Their parents’ ability is to make ones body into liquid, and the other ones is to fall apart into smaller copies of themself/ or grow when enough energy is consumed. Euan, thus, can usually shapeshift their body like a constructor of two triangles, and manipulate their facial features and limbs to a disturbing degree. Yet they’ve always felt dysphoric for… something.

I have not yet figured a way to do this, but I planned for them to somehow get infused with a copious amount of energy (like, idk, spontaneous wormhole be upon ye) - and unlock like, near infinite shapeshifting. Or something along the lines of danny phantom aka unhealthy amounts of multiverse magic radiation exploded with them in the middle and now they can walk throughwalls disappear andfly- take any form and rip space matter apart due to being everywhere and everything all at once.

-

Extra ref with the infinity bag and some glitches?? not sure where I was going with this…

[biblioflyer]

X-Men: Disproportionate Power, Disproportionate Disorder

Superheroes and Villains are already well understood to complicate traditional understandings of crime, law enforcement, and general social cohesion. When large numbers of people start manifesting powers, the problem only grows. As does the existential dread.

Previously I discussed why X-Men as a setting is fundamentally pessimistic as a necessity according to the creative choices made. It is an essay in 5 parts:

1,2,3,4,5

This is a new series analyzing how experience and social status influences Mutant outlooks on the assimilation vs separatism/supremacy question.

The last part unpacked Xavier’s relatively pampered background and how it likely made him more optimistic, but also how he’s seen more of the sharp end that he’s usually given credit for.

Mutants complicate systems of justice. Assuming the same spectrum of morality as Sapiens, Mutatis with Dark Triad personalities and high power levels, perhaps even Omega level, represent an existential threat. Unlike mortal Premieres and Presidents, someone like Apocalypse can’t easily be thwarted by a minion who simply doesn’t follow orders. Incidentally, I’d happily swap out pretty much any Federal holiday for a Vasily Arkhipov day.

X-Men is also rife with examples of Mutants with more minor abilities using them for criminal intent. Although we could of course fairly ask whether the lack of acceptance pushed them to this, we still must expect that even in a more just society, some Mutants will suffer mental health crises or otherwise simply be contrarian and problematic because it's part of the natural spectrum of Humanity.

Much of social thought is oriented around the idea that you can design a society that rewards good behavior and works around the worst instincts of humans very effectively. Debates over models and systems are functionally debates over what is the more correct understanding of human motivation and behavior and the best way to encourage “good” behavior and discourage “bad” behavior, and to a great extent by what rubrics we should judge good and bad. 

I think all told, we have done better than many historical societies: a person in the 70s/80s would be shocked at how low US rates of violent crime are. This is the era that gave us Escape from New York and Judge Dredd: the idea of entire cities as prisons. 

This is perhaps not an unfamiliar concept to those who watch closely the status and fates of stateless and displaced people now that information more widely circulates, but many people had their ideas about cities shaped by historical crime waves. Many people are also slow to update their assumptions about cities and carry those biases to the present..

I’ve seen it noted that the correlation between living in a rural area and skepticism of government and the regulation of behavior, the so-called “nanny state”, may represent a difference in experience. In the country or small towns, dumb or antisocial behavior has lighter consequences. It impacts fewer people. If you’re playing around with distilling, making homemade explosives, or just having a loud party, the distance between homes often means it's largely the problem of the people involved in doing something reckless or stupid if something goes wrong.

If you throw an all night rager in a densely packed apartment building with walls that wouldn’t pass muster as Amazon packing material, you’re likely to make a lot of enemies. Same as if you start playing around with toxic chemicals. Expectations that people will simply self-regulate, following the honor system or being wary of its dark twin: the Darwin Award, simply fall apart when there are too many people in too close of quarters. 

Eventually someone’s judgment is going to be dubious because even under the most ideal of circumstances, you probably can’t quite keep every last outlier on the Bell Curve from frakking around and finding out.

Now add superpowers into the mix. 

So we who exist outside of the narrative need to contend with this: Human fear of the consequences of Mutant powers wielded by the unscrupulous or disordered is rational.

Collective punishment and oppression of Mutants remains cruel and unjust.

Next: The precariousness of passing and the earned cynicism of those who have known only the wrong end of the boot.

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #11

Did you know that I like to make wire trees? I weave them myself, by hand. I'll show you some of my best examples:

I even made one of you. Here's what it looks like:

I like taking the trees I make and turning them into various weird handicrafts. I don't sell them; I give them away to people who have been good to me and to others. I'll show you:

Here is what became of the tree that I wove for you:

Easily, though, my best handiwork is this one:

It is a rainbow tree encased in an epoxy sphere. You can find an explanation of what it is within the letter I wrote for you a while back. Right now, it is in the hands of some very important people in Japan; I gave it directly to someone who might be able to help you. I hope that they are enjoying it, and I hope that they can see the love with which it was made.

Somewhat recently, my therapist thought that he could turn my tree-weaving into a self-love exercise. The reasoning goes, we can look at trees and see that they're beautiful no matter what shape they've grown into. So he asked me to turn myself into a tree. I tried to weave a colorful willow tree. This was the result:

And you know? I've never hated a tree that I've made until this particular one. As you can see, it's nothing like the other trees I've made. It's a bit of a mess. It can't even support its own weight. It tried to be colorful and flowy, but really, it just ended up being loud, obnoxious, overly dramatic, and relatively useless. I thought about taking it apart so that it wouldn't be a waste of gemstone beads, at very least. But instead, I put it in a box and left it somewhere for weeks, so that I wouldn't have to look at it. I was disappointed and ashamed about how it had turned out.

But then I realized something. What if I'm looking at it from the wrong angle? What if it only looks useless because it is not in the correct orientation? What if it only looks like a disappointment because it's not in a place where it would thrive?

So I changed its circumstances. Its branches no longer look so noisy now that they're spread out and being used to keep it balanced. Whether it can hold itself up is no longer relevant now that its main focus is reaching and embracing. The branches bend under the weight of their circumstances, but they will not break, even if you let them help you to climb out of wherever you're at.

(It looks much better in real life than in the photos, I promise!! Haha!) The only times I ever really feel as though I am alive are when I am trying to reach for someone else and bring color and joy to their world. This tree does not stand tall and proud like my other ones do because the weight of the colorful leaves it carries is too much. But maybe that's okay; we have to be willing to kneel down in order to help the fallen anyway, right?

I think my therapist will be happy to learn that I've finally understood his lesson today. I will tell him about it next week.

May you, similarly, learn how to look at yourself and other people with the same marveling eyes with which you regarded the trees as you were looking out of the window in the inn at Nibelheim, when you first arrived there.

Please remember that you are loved. And please stay safe; I don't want it to be the case that all I have left of you are these random letters that I write to you.

Your friend, Lumine

[lostinnirvana]

An open letter to my Almost — The one that got away.

There’s something deeply haunting about the idea of being “the one that got away.” The one who was almost everything, but never quite became it. It’s a feeling that lingers, a memory that fades but never disappears. And when you realize, after all these years, that the love still exists—unchanged, maybe even stronger—it leaves you with an odd sense of closure, mixed with a thousand what-ifs.

Ten years ago, we stood at the crossroads of becoming something real. We loved each other, though I don’t think we fully understood the depth of that love. We were younger, less experienced, trying to make sense of life, love, and everything in between. Timing wasn’t on our side. Circumstances pulled us in different directions, and we became each other’s almost—two people who could have been, but never fully became. Life happened. We moved on, or so we thought.

But here we are, ten years later, and the love never truly went away. It still lives quietly between us, unchanged by the distance, the silence, or the years that passed. It’s strange, isn’t it? To realize that after all this time, we still love each other. That connection we shared, as fleeting as it was, still lingers.

I’ve often thought about how we became each other’s almost. How we were just shy of being everything for each other. For years, I questioned why we couldn’t make it work. Why, despite the love we had, we were always just out of sync. But over time, I’ve come to understand something that has brought me peace: qadr—divine decree.

Our story, no matter how incomplete it feels, was always part of a larger plan. It was written that we would cross paths, love each other, and then go our separate ways. It’s easy to think of fate as something cruel, but qadr reminds me that everything happens for a reason, even the things we don’t understand. We weren’t meant to be together back then, not because we didn’t love each other, but because it wasn’t the right time. There were things we both needed to learn, ways we needed to grow, before we could be ready for something deeper.

Through the years, I’ve held on to sabr—patience. Not in the sense of waiting for us to reunite, but in accepting that some things aren’t meant to happen when we want them to. Sabr has taught me that love doesn’t always follow the timelines we set for it. Sometimes, it grows quietly in the background, waiting for the right moment to reemerge. And when it does, it’s more profound because it has withstood the test of time.

Even now, as we stand here ten years later, acknowledging that the love is still there, we both know that our story is still in the hands of something greater. That’s where tawakkul—trusting in God’s plan—comes in. Tawakkul has taught me to let go of trying to control the outcome. To trust that if we are meant to be, we will find our way back to each other. And if we’re not, then that too is written, and it will be for the best.

The realization that we still love each other after ten years is powerful, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that we’re destined to be together now. Maybe this love was never about a lifelong partnership. Maybe it was about teaching each other lessons we couldn’t have learned on our own. Or maybe, it was simply about showing us that real love never dies; it just changes form.

I’ve come to trust in qadr—to believe that every moment we shared, every part of our story, was exactly as it was meant to be. The love we had wasn’t wasted, even if it didn’t end the way we once hoped. It was part of our journey, a journey that shaped us into who we are today. And now, ten years later, we can appreciate that love with a deeper understanding, knowing that it was always part of a bigger plan.

So here we are, two people who loved each other deeply but were kept apart by time, life, and fate. And after all these years, we realize that love never left us. It survived in the quiet spaces of our hearts, waiting to be acknowledged again.

But with tawakkul, I trust that whatever is written for us will happen in its own time, and if it’s not meant to be, then there is wisdom in that, too. Because if we were meant for each other, nothing in this world could keep us apart. And if we’re not, then something even more beautiful is waiting for both of us—something we couldn’t have reached had we stayed in our almost.

We still love each other after ten years, but we’ve learned that love is more than holding on—it’s trusting, letting go, and believing in what is written for us. So, whether our paths cross again or we remain as each other’s almost, I know that our story served its purpose. And in that, I find peace.

With love and trust, J.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*SLAMS MY HANDS ONTO THE TABLE* hoo boy I have way too many hcs about mer language So disclaimer first, none of this has any basis in canon, it's just what I like to think about mer physiology. Moving on from that, I hc the mer language to not require breath, so their vocal cords are shaped rather differently from humans. Since mer have some sort of gills, based on the tweels and Azul's design (and if they don't and I'm remembering wrong that's honestly kinda stupid), they don't need air to breath. If they don't need air to breath, then how do they talk? My hc is that mer vocal cords are activated some other way (anatomy isn't my strong suit so I haven't decided the exact way). So mer do have their own language, but it's hella difficult for landdwellers to learn - so it's usually not taught on land. As for mer learning common language, that would be for emergencies - not many mer who aren't in service ventures or go to learn on land learn it well, but it's kinda like how Spanish is learned in the US - not learned well, but can be kinda understood. Anyways I have too many thoughts on mer biology and such, but ty for reading

[Referencing this post!]

ADDENDUM: Real life octopuses and moray eels don’t have gills in the shape or form we traditionally think of them on like… fish. I took a recent look at the Magical Archives and it seems that Jade and Azul’s pages talk about the markings on their sides (and some on their backs not seen in the usual frontal view) are fish-like gills. Weirdly enough, gills of this nature aren’t seen at all on more “human” merpeople. I talk a little more about that and the differences between them and the more human-like mermen guards stationed at the Atlantica museum here.

*puts on life science nerd glasses* 🤓 I’ve actually formally studied speech formation and A&P, so I can talk a bit about how normal (aka irl human) compares to some of the headcanons you shared! Of course, we don’t 100% know how merpeople anatomy and physiology is different and similar to humans (or how much fantasy races really borrow from real life), but I thought it would just be interesting to share the knowledge!

Firstly, breath is a requirement for speech because it is the movement of air across the vocal cords that results in the vibrations which become speech. Now, it’s not clear how or why merpeople are able to breathe underwater or why they don’t necessarily need to breathe air to survive; the respiratory system that typically brings air into the body must not be the same as a human’s, as that would likely result in water getting into the lungs and drowning them or crushing them from pressure. It’s entirely possible that merpeople have a hybrid respiratory system between that of a human and marine animals, so merfolk could have adapted such that the movement of water across their vocal cords produces a similar result as air does for humans. This, in addition to potentially having different shaped vocal cords, could mean a potential merlanguage has sounds that are very difficult or even impossible for non-merpeople to replicate.

Of course, that also begs the question 💦 would merpeople be able to even properly speak in their language if they were on land??? Because they wouldn’t be in the same kind of environment (and thus don’t have the same conditions as they do when they usually speak the language); this would impact how certain sounds are produced by the speech systems and then perceived by the ear.

I think merlanguage vs human languages isn’t exactly the same as Spanish vs English?? 🤔 Yes, some students may be in circumstances where their schools require them to learn a language other than the native tongue as part of their curriculum, but that’s because it can have practical applications even if they don’t become totally fluent or pursue higher level language difficulties. For example, especially in America, Spanish-speaking communities are a considerable part of the population and continues to grow, so Spanish is a popular second language. Mandarin Chinese is also on the rise globally, as China is becoming a powerhouse (so knowing how to communicate in Mandarin is smart for global enterprises). Many schools internationally also teach English as a universal second language because English is so prominently used.

In comparison, merpeople are so far geographically removed from humans and are given lore which states the majority of merpeople don’t really go to the surface world. It makes me wonder what the benefit of teaching human languages would be?? It’s not the same situation as the real world because it’s not a system where speakers of different languages would interact with each other super frequently (due to the split between land and sea). I understand maybe learning a second language for emergencies if there’s a good chance you’ll engage with populations speaking that language (like Spanish in the Americas), but it isn’t the case for merpeople because the chances of them interacting with a human doesn’t seem to be very high in places like the Coral Sea. It makes more sense to me that (if there is a native merlanguage or dialects) maybe merpeople would pick up some basic phrases of human languages (like “hello”, “thank you”, etc.) in their free time/by chance. There is no incentive to try learning another language even at a basic or conversational level unless maybe this was a path a merperson planned on pursuing further or professionally.

Again, can’t believe rubbing my two brain cells together to talk about how the fuck anime fish boys breathe and talk and are even theoretically possible—

[epitomees]

Chie’s interests were brazenly on display, allowing for an easy deduction. The stack of video games automatically labeled itself as a last minute purchase. A case could be slipped into the stack, forgotten until it was knocked over, or in a moment of remembrance that yes, this was actually a game she owned. A collection of movies was also present, mostly martial arts, but unless it was critically acclaimed, Naoto felt that it too would be forgotten among its brethren.

Something else. Last year’s present was a moderate hit. Chie appeared to be thrilled that her haori went along with Naoto’s own, but summer was the season of festivals, food stalls and game booths abundant. It prevented Naoto from diving below that line, but beyond a plush, festival commodities were not to die for.

A platter of meat would have sufficed, knowing Chie’s carnivorous palate. They could have homemade yakiniku. Well, no. Rather, they could go to a yakiniku place. The only hindrance came in the form of Naoto’s pride. Compared to last year, it went below the bar of expectations. An edible meal someone could forget versus an article of clothing that one would see in the closet. But Chie had eaten more vegetables, ate less greasy Chinese take out from some dinky corner of Tokyo. Perhaps it would be all right to allow Chie to eat to her heart’s content. Covering meals completely wasn’t an everyday occurrence, and it would be preferable than conveyor belt sushi. Of course, it had to be a respected place.

Two days after her reservation was made, in a typical rude roommate greeting, Naoto threw one of Chie’s many green jackets directly at her face. “Happy Birthday.” (She wouldn’t take it personally, would she?)

“We’re going to a yakiniku restaurant. I already reserved a table, but we should head over now. It may seem like a step down compared to last year, but I hope you’ll find this year’s present acceptable as well.”

Surprises came in all shapes, sizes, and...people, so to say. High school Chie would never have thought one day she'd live with someone who tolerated her very hyperactive personality and invasive behavior. Let alone, a friend...and let alone, that friend being Naoto out of her close friend group. Circumstances led to them finding each other in the same place, around the same time, so covering the cost of a two-person apartment appeared suitable to their financial needs.

A year already passed. It hadn't felt like it. The first few days certainly were awkward, but not too foreign, at least to Chie. Naoto never was a morning person, nor someone willing to join in her daily workouts or exercises, or even eat the same foods as her. Their groceries trips always puzzled most clerks considering their different tastes and diets. Naoto's coffee addiction baffled them, too. It wasn't too bad. An acquired likeness, for sure, but Chie didn't bash the 'hot bean water' as much now like she did during the first few months together.

They learned more about each other, now that a whole year passed without someone winding up in the hospital from food poisoning. She assumed Naoto would highly consider separating since the detective preferred peaceful, quiet living spaces but...again, surprises always came in different ways.

Even now, as Chie's special day arrived, yet another bout of shock startled the messy-haired, slowly waking brunette. Days off meant sleeping in late. Plenty of naps, too. While she emerged from the cave known as her own room, she was met with a sudden spell of darkness. Lavender scents too. "MMPFF MPF!!!" Good use of words, even though no one understood it. She pried the jacket off her face, taking in a deep inhale of air in time to let out a rather large, very noisy yawn.

"Aaaaaahhh...hmmm? What's..." Chocolate eyes adjusted to the dim living room lighting until her focus returned, now centered on the darker shades of blue standing by the coat hanger. "...w-w-wait! You mean like...right NOW!?" So much for preparation. But it was food. A birthday dinner. A meal specifically reserved just for them.

"Oh!! OoooooOOOOH!! Okay! Gimme just a sec! I can go freshen up reeeal quick!" Back into the void of her room. She was rather quick, just as promised. A bit of deodorant and a splash of cold water to the face worked miracles. A change of clothes later, and Chie once again appeared. Although this time, she traded out a simple T-shirt and shorts for a more casual dining attire.

Specifically, the haori gifted to her, from Naoto.

"Why don't you wear yours too? I know we won't be going to any festivals today-" Maybe on the weekend. She was looking forward to sharing red bean taiyaki with her roommate. "-but...ya know, we could match!" Hopefully the restaurant staff didn't get any ideas.

Or maybe...Chie wanted them to...deep down...

[andrew-james-biggs]

“I’m from another country. I speak the language here, and understand it pretty well. I was a writer and did intellectual work in my home country. I spend my time watching a lot of 

T.V. and smoking weed. I go out some weekend nights to clubs and have a good time. I know I could be the owner of a large corporation. I have a strong mind and people like me.

I’m confident yet I’m not sure of myself in this new country.���

What’s the most important thing to you?

“I enjoy my life. I don’t know what I want to do since I don’t have kids and I’m not married. I know I could be gay.”

Where do you see yourself ten years from now? Twenty years from now?

“Dude- it’s none of your beeswax! This isn’t about him or them! It’s about you!”

Whatever. I’m looking for enlightenment. How am I to be enlightened if I’m not able to experience others’ enlightenments alongside them?

“Oh God. Your people are so twisted!”

Of course it’s me literally writing a script about how I feel about other people. I get that. I’m really trying to tune in as much as I can. I’ve always loved people.

“Okay- well it’s fucked up.”

No, it’s not. It’s the natural progression of love. I care about individuals and each individual operating at their highest state possible is the enlightenment I aim for. 

That’s heaven. 

“That’s heaven, Andrew. Exactly. Who the hell is saying it’s fucked up?”

Someone surprised me with that line. It may be more accurate than I realize. Is it true? See, this is where it gets going in circles- with you telling me that it’s my own opinion.

“Well, you’ll do better with us than without us.”

Alright. Maybe you’re right. I can love people, though.

“We know you are able to- we just you to be good, too.”

I mean, I wasn’t good before because I wasn’t loving people with as much urgency as before. I was under the spell of Abraxas before. I thought slaving for material things was a noble 

order, and the material world noble in itself. I see now that I was wrong about that. Since I replaced my intent to love others with a passion for material work ethic, I didn’t need 

to focus on having my whole self there in order to properly take in the information the souls around me were expressing. I didn’t have a need to take care of myself as much, 

since that need for deeper love between souls was shifted out of phase by Abraxas.

When I find my mind drifting away from love of souls and back toward Abraxas, or serving the material world for its own sake- I reel my mind back around toward either self-love,

that is appreciating the blessings all around me- the shapes and colors and feelings, sounds, everything around me. Even the minutia of muscle and bone movements contain 

an essence of exultation. The taste of a good meal, the multitude of sensory-memory simple actions to embrace and relish. Self-love is but a tether to the realm of love, and the 

mind turns continually toward love for other people. Then there are the reflections and the people that are brought to mind throughout life in the world and through memory 

triggers during interactions. The mind splits off and holding onto love for disparate individuals with various memories attached and doing so with as much investment and 

focus as possible is a continuous practice of prayer. Also praying for myself to have the humility to recognize the efficacy of my prayer is contingent upon my own ability to 

listen to, understand, and serve the people in front of me- while withholding my judgment. Withholding judgment because what makes sense and works and is understood at 

one moment, may only do so because of a specific set of circumstances and when circumstances change, love continues to listen and seek out the best understanding and 

service for the moment. Always understanding that there is still yet a better possible outcome, and aiming in humility for the best possible outcome without any judgment or condemnation is the practice of love.

[standtogether2020]

FEAR

Fear haunts you always, the goal is to overcome what you can.

Fear is also only one word in a level system, starting with anxiety.

Anxiety is a derivative of fear and though the list may be in the wrong order, I believe this is where it starts. From worry to anxiety then the signs of being scared into panic then full paranoia switching over to outright fear evolving into terror and finally paralyzation.

This chain of the brain's processing system can be a hindrance to anyone and maybe even everyone if you are willing to show it. I feel that everyone has a weakness to fear in some way shape form or another. The problem is not the fact of knowing this chemical process of the brain exists but knowing what level matches what situation for it is different for all. I have been working with one of my wonderful ladies through her anxiety for a few years now. I'm surprised I did not think of this as a topic sooner. After one of her recent surgeries, her anxiety got really bad on certain things. I will leave it at that as it is up to her as an individual adult to share her medical records, though I am proud of the support groups she has been a part of. I may have logic but I lack experience where these support groups have the experience. So a quick thank you to the people for helping her where I lack first-hand knowledge. On the logical side of things though this is the advice I spoke to ease her mind...

I get that anxiety is a real thing and it may not be something to completely overcome. It will always be a part of our life. It is our brain's natural safeguard to protect us from bad situations or dangerous circumstances. Although you can not let it rule you. The brain may do the auto-calculating for us on the matter of what is scary, but now and again we have to manually calibrate a new list with reason and logic to decide if something is worth the fear or not. If you listen to your auto fears constantly you will always live in a shell and be branded as a coward and knowing today's society many other words can attack the mind a lot worse. But by adding bravery and courage you will have the strength to face it instead of running from it.

This was not quite understood right away so I came up with some scenarios to help comprehension. for instance...

Every time I personally go on a walk I wonder when I will fall into a manhole I didn't know was open for sewer line repairs I was unaware of, or every time I cross the road will be the time I get hit by a car, truck, or bus. Who knows, keep in mind if these are confusing,... I AM BLIND haha... others were in the police force. How many times do they walk into a gas station robbery wondering if they tell a young adult to put the stolen item back and do it simple as that or tell them to put the item back just to receive staring down the barrel of a 45. Or will speeders pull over right away or cause a ten-mile pursuit through high traffic, red lights, construction zones, or mall plazas how many casualties will happen. Or to go deeper a military soldier walking across the desert wondering when the next step will be when they hear a heavy click and realize they can no longer move or sudden death due to the pressure mine they now stand on. Thinking how long they will last before they get tired of standing and fall or get shot down due to being stuck in the open. Maybe even the thought of someone on their bomb squad making it to them in time to defuse it or the thoughts of the bomb specialist what if this mine is wired differently. which wire will release it, and which one will make us both go.

All of these people are brave and courageous because even though these fears are deeply rooted they still go out there and do what they're trained for because they all have one goal in mind. For the good of our country and the protection of our people. When my woman was four blocks down having an asthma attack it was up to me to grab the rescue inhaler and blindly book it at high speed on foot. I did not care what obstacle got in my way. I would be there for my woman when she needed me or I would die trying.

I hope this can help others with anxiety or those in fear of something. Understanding fear will always be in our lives but I hope this can help the processing of anxiety ... even just a little better

--- Eli Mackay Ramirez

[na-ta-sh-aa]

This chapter was truly beautiful, the tears that now accompany me in every chapter of this series even this time fell like rivers. I loved how you organized the chapter. The flashback was so interesting and I loved how the two of them still knew little about each other but Jake was already totally taken by her. The moment before and during Honey's haircut was so touching and meaningful. I loved how even though Jake wasn't prepared for such a difficult moment, like having to shave his wife's head, he managed to stay strong for her and try to console her and make her laugh. Not to mention how much I loved the meeting between Jake and Jensen, how they casually bumped into each other and exchanged names, and how they probably both immediately understood who the other was but neither of them wanted to say anything. Also about their meeting I loved how you wrote both their points of view of the moment.

“Or not? If you’re Jewish maybe? Don’t celebrate Christmas that’s cool too I just thought—“ You had to giggle at the college football star standing across from the reception desk with his elbows leaning on the ledge. Your smile was pure happiness, it wasn’t hard to make Jake's heart melt inside his chest—a chest he once thought was hollow.”

Aww seeing Jake a little nervous and wanting to talk to her and make a good impression on her at all costs was so nice. I've always imagined Jake as confident but seeing him in different roles is so interesting.

“you thought for a split second that maybe this was actually news to the college athlete who’d been following you around for the better half of nine months. Respectfully.”

Did he follow her for so many months? Jake was in love from the first moment he saw her🥹

“But with you? Jake just felt like Jake. Because that’s who he was to you. Simply and forever Jake.”

It's so beautiful that Jake immediately felt free to be himself with her.

“No–” You sighed. “No, I want to do this, it's just a lot.” You tried to explain. “It's probably one of the only things I still have control over.” Jake understood, it would be hard not to. After all, he wasn't heartless. If he could Jake would have taken this all away, he would have given anything, including his own life to take your pain away. “I just hope I don't have a weird shaped head.”

This part struck me so much, Jake's understanding, love and willingness to be able to do anything to take away Honey's immense pain made me once again think about how "useless" and without power Jake feels in this situation. Jake seems to me to be a man who prefers and manages most of the time to have control over the things that happen to him, I think that having to face a situation as a spectator without being able to intervene is very difficult for him, all made even harder by the fact that this is his wife going through a life or death situation.

“I'm sure you have a really nice scalp dear.” Jake chuckled as he massaged your shoulder tenderly. “And look, if you want my professional opinion, I think you’ll make an awesome live action Mrs. Potato Head.” 

The way he always tries to make her smile is so beautiful🥹

“Jake countered through a shit eating grin, that signature Seresin smile you loved so much. The very one all three of your children had inherited from their father.”

I loved this detail so much!

“Last chance Honeybee–” Jake cooed as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Are you positive?” He asked with a smile so pure it made your heart skip a beat. “I’m all in with you, just say the word and we do whatever you wanna do.” 

I liked so much the way he supports her through every step, the delicate gestures towards her and the fact that he keeps making sure that she is really ready, seeing them together like this makes me think back to the flashback of their honeymoon, where they were so happy and peaceful together, obviously now the circumstances are totally different, but the feelings between them seem to me so similar to those of their honeymoon.

“Jake stood leaning over your right shoulder, looking longingly at your lips. “Don’t do anything stupid now.” 

“Loving you is stupidity—“ Was all you said before you let your lips softly connect with your husband’s. Jake kissed you back with enough love in his heart to knock the wind right out of your lungs.”

Aww this part was so intense, even though their kiss was so fleeting you could feel all their love, the fact that despite everything that happened between them there is still trust and above all how they both need each other right now.

“With one quick motion and in the blink of an eye, Jake was running the shavers right down the middle of his head. You really had to take a second to process what he’d just done, what your husband had just done right behind you.”

“Jake!” The shrill that escaped your mouth was something unmatched to any emotion you had ever expressed before. “What are you doing?” The image of Jake shaving his head in solidarity would forever be burnt into your mind.”

“You said it yourself–hair holds memories and we can make new ones together.” Jake cooed as he shaved off those golden boy locks you loved to run your fingers through. He suited the buzz cut a little more than you did if you were being perfectly honest.”

The way you wrote this part gave me goosebumps because of how many emotions I felt, it was truly incredible. Jake's gesture of cutting his hair in solidarity and to underline even more how he wants to be by her side in every step she takes, I think it can demonstrate how Jake is keeping his promise to be with her in health and sickness. The fact that it was such an instinctive gesture moved me even more, Jake didn't need to think about it, he saw how much his wife was suffering and to show her his closeness and support he immediately acted, he would do anything to see her get better 😭🫶🏼 I also loved how Jake told her that they will be able to make new memories together. I really liked it because it seem to me that, on one hand, Jake wants to give her hope that she will heal and, on the other, he wants more than anything else a future with her.

“Would you still love me if I did?” You asked quietly, giving Jake an excuse to confess his love. Jake's lips were soon pressed softly and ever so tenderly against your once again in the blink of an eye as gentle hands still worked to soothe your stained cheeks.”

“I’ve never, and I will never, stop loving you Honey.” 

Their love is so strong and I think the two of them are discovering the strength of their feeling even better now.

There were so many things that blew me away with how beautiful they were. For example, how behind Jake's every gesture there was the desire to somehow make Honey feel a little better. The way he indulged her, waited for her time, made her laugh even joking about himself and how he kissed her continue to make me believe that if Jake could go back he would do it immediately to try to make up for his mistakes which he realized he did and would definitely give all his love to Honey. I think this even more because of the way he told Honey that they will be able to create new memories together, it means that he wants to really try again, do things differently and live with the love of his life again, and the fact that he is trying so hard this time to do things differently fills my heart with joy🥹 Their love, as I have always thought and continue to think, has not changed even during the most complicated periods between them and seeing them now so in tune makes me think that if they have the chance and the time their love will be even stronger after this situation. I'm also very curious to see what role Jensen can have. I absolutely loved the care and detailed way with which you wrote this chapter, all the emotions I felt reading it, the fact that every time you write new details and episodes regarding their past and their relationship (which in my opinion are wonderful because they make me feel even more inside the story and make me understand and empathize with the characters even more) and all the curiosities about how the story will develop that arose in me at the end of the chapter. It was really written in a beautiful way, I loved it!💗✨

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Ten: [The Potato Head Society & The Other Guy, Jarred?]

Summary: Jake helps you shave your head in hopes of keeping your power and control. Facing your own mortality makes you question your faith in a higher authority and Jensen and Jake met for the first, and what you hope, will be the last time.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Mentions of religion

Word Count: 4.2K

Author Note: It's no secret I've been having a little bit of a rough go on this hell-site as of late. But I'm still here, working on this series. Seeing your weblogs, comments and concepts truly mean the world to me. so please, don't be hesitant to share.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“My only real advice for this kind of thing is this.” Jensen sighed as he stood on the steps of his townhouse with you. Coffee in one hand, end of life brochure in the other. Things had taken a rather drastic turn for him in the last few days. After your birthday, his health started to drastically diminish–so much so that his doctors weren’t too sure how much time there was left to combat the cancerous cells spreading through his body. “Go right through it.” Jensen smiled, never once did you ever see his positivity falter. “Like right through it, feel it all, be in it, don't avoid it because the moment you start avoiding it is when it's truly won.” 

Little Sammy held your hand as you stood next to Jensen–he was too young to understand that the man talking to you was dying, hell, you weren't even sure if you understood the significance of the pamphlet Jensen had picked up after your first CCA meeting. He’d told you it was for a friend, little did you know that friend was standing right in front of you. 

The Cancer Counseling Association held biweekly meetings at the hospital. You hadn’t planned on attending when your oncologist, Doctor Morrison, had first mentioned it. But when Jensen said he’d been going almost religiously for three years? You thought, what's the harm? 

The harm was it was depressing as fuck. 

“You go completely in the tough times, feel everything and get out the other end of it all.” You’d asked Jensen something along the lines of how he’d managed to keep fighting all this time and still be so positive about life and all its underwhelming rewards. He was for the most part, a happy guy despite it all. But even the strongest of soldiers have an achilles heel. 

Jensens just so happened to be the fact you were forbidden fruit, he wasn't about to tread on another man's toes. Especially when he was tiptoeing towards the sweet release of death's gentle hands. None of that stopped his heart from racing whenever you smiled though. 

“Many of these things you don't have a choice in.” Jensen continued as his eyes lingered down to little two year old Sammy who stood holding your hand in his. If anything you needed the encouragement to fight this battle for your children. “You know, fuck, whats that expression?” Jensen mulled it over as you chuckled, still standing on the path right outside his street facing townhouse. “Uhh–oh yeah! It's not how well you walked through the fire, but how you walked through it regardless.” 

“I think I'm just barely crawling through the flames right now–” You answered honestly. There wasn't a nice way to say he’d looked better than he did right now, with sunken eyes and skin that looked as if all the life had been drained from his soul. 

So you never mentioned it. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“So—“ The library wasn’t Jake Seresins favourite place to go, but there was someone who made the isles of hard covered literature easier to understand that always seemed to draw him in. Like a moth to a flame. “Did you have a good Christmas?” The silence that followed as you stared across the desk where you were processing returned textbooks had Jake's heart racing, he couldn’t read you and that fact made him all the more nervous. “Or not? If you’re Jewish maybe? Don’t celebrate Christmas that’s cool too I just thought—“ You had to giggle at the college football star standing across from the reception desk with his elbows leaning on the ledge. Your smile was pure happiness, it wasn’t hard to make Jake's heart melt inside his chest—a chest he once thought was hollow. 

“I had a wonderful Christmas, I went home to visit my mum, she always says that if the Christians can steal Christmas from the pagans then us non-religious folk can celebrate too.” You shrugged your shoulders politely as you kept checking off the returned textbooks from students who’d taken them home over the summer. 

“What do you mean when you say the Christians stole Christmas?” Jake Seresin grew up in an incredibly conservative, extremely religious household that attended church every Sunday rain hail or shine. Jake swore his mother nearly spontaneously combusted when he had to stay in hospital overnight after having his appendix removed. It was a Saturday afternoon when they’d presented to the emergency room—poor old Janeen nearly dropped dead at the mere thought of her ten year old missing church the next morning. 

“Lord have mercy upon us, for we have sinned.” Jake could still remember his mother crying vividly when he woke after surgery. Even at ten he knew his mother was somewhat of an overly sensitive soul. 

“Well technically, in order to convert the Germanic pagans who, like, celebrated the winter solstice and stuff—the Christians were like, fuck it, let’s just say that Jesus was born on this day and you can hang tinsel and stuff.” Again, you shrugged your shoulders like it was common knowledge, but as Jake stared down at you with confusion swirling in his emerald eyes, you thought for a split second that maybe this was actually news to the college athlete who’d been following you around for the better half of nine months. Respectfully. 

“You can’t just change someone’s birthday like that? Can you?” Jake, in all his years of attending Sunday services, Sunday Schools, being forced to read the bible and knowing far too much about parting seas and burning bushes, he’d never once been told that Christmas was just a day. 

“It’s kinda like how King James was rewriting the bible on one side of the castle and had witches trying to turn his pee into gold on the other.” Jake was speechless as you looked up at him from your chair, your eyes seemingly swirling with knowledge beyond your years. It made sense that you worked in the library on campus. 

“How the hell do you know all this?” Jake asked through a sheepish smile he couldn’t hide, your intelligence intimated him in the best of ways. You made him want to do better, be better, strive for more in life. It wasn’t that Jake wasn’t smart, he was. But next to you? It was an unparalleled excellence. 

“I uh—I tend to read a lot.” Jake caught the way you faded into yourself, never one to want to outshine others. “Just get lost in here sometimes, books are sometimes easier to understand than people.” Jake could sympathise with that sentiment, he knew what it was like to feel like everyone was watching, judging a book by its cover so to speak. Everyone knew him as the meathead footballer who’s weekends were spent racking up the body count. 

But with you? Jake just felt like Jake. Because that’s who he was to you. Simply and forever Jake. 

“Do you like, not believe in God or something Miss Y/l/n?” Jake asked cautiously. He didn’t want to offend you or come across as rude or anything—he was simply asking a question he thought he may need to know if he was ever going to introduce you to his mother. 

“I find it hard to believe in a world full of stories about Gods and Goddesses from a plethora of different perspectives that there can only be one, if one exists they all have to right? Harmoniously and complacent with the way the universe has fallen to shit without their divine intervention.” Jake had to take a moment to take what you had just said in. He was almost rendered speechless, but not quite. Not Jake Seresin. 

“Damn Honeybee, you’re fucking fearless aren’t you?“ Jake couldn’t help but to smirk as he tried to keep his voice down. “You’re just raw doggin’ life with no religious affiliations.” It was then your turn to laugh. 

“Guess I am. What about you? Do you believe in a God? An all mighty man, or woman, that sits in the clouds and judges your every action?” You asked with a teasing smirk as Jake bit his bottom lip, mulling over your question: 

Did he believe in God? 

“My mother would probably prefer if I said yes, but, the more I look at life without the rose coloured glasses I tend to think perhaps the big guy in the sky is all just some story.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Did you know hair holds memories.” The sound of buzzing clippers echoed off the walls of the bathroom as you sat before the mirror. Jake stood behind you with those big emerald eyes you loved so dearly, looking at you with a sympathetic look of understanding and support. “In some cultures people don't even cut their hair because it would upset the gods.” Jake could see the tears in your eyes as you looked at him through the mirror, understandably rambling to somewhat buy yourself some more time. “Medusa's hair was alive, there's certain styles linked to different cultures and full hair cutting ceremonies in–” If Jake didn't interrupt now you would have gone on forever. You had a habit of information dropping in situations where nervousness got the better of you. Not that Jake ever minded, he just knew if he didn't get ahead of it, you wouldn't stop. That would ultimately lead to you sitting in silence when the information swirling around inside her head had all been said. Panic would begin to rise inside your chest, the air would soon get thin, the room would suddenly get a little hotter and before you could even realise you'd be in the midst of a full blown panic attack. 

The last time Jake witnessed such a thing was when Sam had colic. 

“Honey–” Jake cooed as he turned off the clippers he held in his hand, only to place them down on the countertop to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Noone is forcing you to do this, if you don’t wanna cut your hair we don't have to.” 

“No–” You sighed. “No, I want to do this, it's just a lot.” You tried to explain. “It's probably one of the only things I still have control over.” Jake understood, it would be hard not to. After all, he wasn't heartless. If he could Jake would have taken this all away, he would have given anything, including his own life to take your pain away. “I just hope I don't have a weird shaped head.” 

“I'm sure you have a really nice scalp dear.” Jake chuckled as he massaged your shoulder tenderly. “And look, if you want my professional opinion, I think you’ll make an awesome live action Mrs. Potato Head.” 

“Jacob!” You tried to hide your smile as you felt your cheek heating with a hume so pure it made your heart skip a beat. “You’re cruel!” 

“But I made you laugh.” Jake countered through a shit eating grin, that signature Seresin smile you loved so much. The very one all three of your children had inherited from their father. “That's all that matters, now–let me work my magic alright, I've got you.” 

“You’re probably a worse hairdresser than you were a husband–” It was a low ball, but Jake took it like a champ as he reached out for the clippers. The buzzing was almost immediate as he used the pad of his thumbs to complete the electrical circuit. With the tool now in full gear, Jake chuckled as he looked at you with fake shock and horror casted across his face. 

“Oh now who's being cruel huh?” Jake watched as your eyes followed his hand that held the clippers. “Technically we’re still married Honey, you still have my last name.” He mumbled under his breath but still loud enough for you to hear, seemingly trying to keep your attention on what he was saying rather than the clippers approaching your head. 

But–you moved:

“Should we cut my hair with scissors first?” 

“Y/n–” Jake sighed as he once again turned off the clippers and placed them back down on the side of the sink. 

“No no no I'm not trying to stall, I just don't want you to accidentally scalp me when my hair gets caught up in the shaver.” Jake saw your point, for the hair you did have left it was pretty thick and full of life still. He held the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Not in frustration towards you, but in defiance of his new quest. 

“I'll go ask the nurses station for some scissors.” 

“Thankyou–” Was all you managed to say back before Jake stepped out of the bathroom attached to your hospital room. The Christmas lights still flickered in the dimly lit room, seemingly consuming the entire room in bright blues, greens, reds and yellows. Even in sickness you couldn't help but to lean into the christmas cheers. 

It hit Jake in that moment as he rounded out of your hospital room that he should get you something small to open when you wake up from surgery. The hospital has a gift shop right? Perhaps some flowers and a small gift you could keep with you during chemo. Maybe a book or a– *Thud* 

Caught up in his own train of thought as he made his way to the nurses station, Jake ran straight into someone coming out of the elevator. There were two very distinct things Jake noticed as he came back into the reality around him. Those distinct things being that the man he’d run into was carrying not only flowers, but a small gift. Huh, uncanny. 

“Sorry man, my bad.” The man apologised almost immediately after the mild impact. 

“No worries, I wasn't watching where I was going, my bad, really.” Jake responded with a polite smile his mother taught him about, the kind of smile you give to a stranger after mild inconveniences. “Jake–” Jake reached out to shake the guy's hand, in retrospect he should have kept walking. Jake really should have just let the interaction fizzle out, but he couldn't. He was too polite for his own good when it came to small interactions. 

The most paranoid fantasy Jake could think of would never have prepared him for the name that the man spoke next as he took Jake's hand in his. 

“Jensen–” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Okay, I'm ready.” Neither Jake nor Jensen knew if you had mentioned either one in conversation, so, respectfully, both men chose to play the fool. Neither one really wanted to ask. Neither Jake nor Jensen wanted to be the one to open that can of worms. 

When Jake returned with the borrowed scissors in his grasp–he acted as if he hadn’t just met the man he assumed was the very Jensen in your contacts. 

“Last chance Honeybee–” Jake cooed as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. “Are you positive?” He asked with a smile so pure it made your heart skip a beat. “I’m all in with you, just say the word and we do whatever you wanna do.” 

There was a momentary pause in the conversation. Jake's questions lingered in the air around you, it was hard not to get caught in the moment, get lost in the emerald eyes looking at you through the mirror. Jake stared you down as you shifted in your chair to look at him. He saw no hesitation in your eyes as Jake followed your gaze, searching for any sign or signal that could indicate that the next few moments were about to be a mistake. 

“Honey—“ Jake tried to heed the warning lights flashing before his very eyes as you closed the gap between the two of you. Jake stood leaning over your right shoulder, looking longingly at your lips. “Don’t do anything stupid now.” 

“Loving you is stupidity—“ Was all you said before you let your lips softly connect with your husband’s. Jake kissed you back with enough love in his heart to knock the wind right out of your lungs. The fleeting moment was broken, however, when Jake pulled away. The idea of another man kissing you on his mind, what was this guy's deal? Jackson? Jason? 

“Come on Mrs Potato Head, hand me those scissors—“ Jake chuckled, hiding his own insecurities about the man he’d unintentionally met in the hall. You took a second to keep up, but as you licked your lips to savour the taste of Jake's signature vanilla chapstick, you nodded and handed him the scissors. 

“I’m ready.” You sighed, once again looking back at your own reflection. “Let’s get this over with.” Change is an inevitable part of life, but that fact didn't make the current circumstances any easy to process. “Do you think that there's gonna be a place for me despite my inability to believe in a higher being?” Jake understood what you were saying, but he didn't have the answers. “I'm starting to wonder more about if there could ever be a life after death.” 

Clumps of hair in small sections fell to the tiled floor around you as Jake worked his hands through your hair. Cutting strands from your head like the local mower man cut grass. It felt like such a mundane task to complete, like this was an everyday run of the mill, average experience. But for you? This was a hard and confronting pill to have to swallow. 

“I’ve spent my whole life not believing in religion, so who am I supposed to pray to to keep me alive Jake?” Jake saw the tears in your eyes as he cut your hair with caution and steady hands, he heard the small but audible sobs that escaped your lips as he switched from the scissors to the clippers. The buzzing all but silenced your cries but Jake knew this was hard on you. The tears that stained your cheeks clearly reflected your sadness, anger and the inner turmoil that had been engulfing your entire existence since your diagnosis.

“You don’t pray to anyone Honey, you’re stronger than this cancer could ever be.” Again, no one ever sits you down and prepares you for this. No one gives you the heads up about the possibility of one day having to shave your wife's hair off in the name of dignity and control. But as Jake ran the shavers across your scalp, leaving nothing but a small layer of fuzz in their wake, he saw just how much sorrow and pain was swirling in your eyes. 

Jake thought to himself in that very moment: ‘I've been needing a haircut for a while now anyway.’ 

With one quick motion and in the blink of an eye, Jake was running the shavers right down the middle of his head. You really had to take a second to process what he’d just done, what your husband had just done right behind you. 

“Jake!” The shrill that escaped your mouth was something unmatched to any emotion you had ever expressed before. “What are you doing?” The image of Jake shaving his head in solidarity would forever be burnt into your mind. 

“You said it yourself–hair holds memories and we can make new ones together.” Jake cooed as he shaved off those golden boy locks you loved to run your fingers through. He suited the buzz cut a little more than you did if you were being perfectly honest. 

With teary eyes and puffy cheeks you stood on weak legs. The simple gesture of a haircut meant the world to you, Jake knew that. He didn't want you going through this alone. If shaving his head with you brought you a sense of solace? He was more than happy to. 

“Looks good–” You smiled as tears ran down your cheeks. Jake reached out to cup your face in his hands, wiping away your tears with the pads on his thumbs. “Mr. Potato head.”

“Consider us the founders of the Potato Head Society.” Jake chuckled as he leaned in to kiss your forehead. In order to cherish you the way you deserved, Jake had to be the bigger man here. He knew that a cloud of uncertainty loomed in the halls, one by the name of Jackson or fucking Jeremy for all Jake cared. But as he stood in the bathroom with you, surrounded in the locks of hair that had once been on your head, he knew damn well at the end of the day it was still his last name you chose to take. “Good thing you don't have an odd shaped head after all, it kinda suits you.” 

“Would you still love me if I did?” You asked quietly, giving Jake an excuse to confess his love. Jake's lips were soon pressed softly and ever so tenderly against your once again in the blink of an eye as gentle hands still worked to soothe your stained cheeks. 

It wasn’t a hard question to answer, nor an easy question to ask—but as Jake pulled away to rest his forehead on yours as he ran the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, you knew it was an easy concept to understand: 

“I’ve never, and I will never, stop loving you Honey.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

For as much as Jensen hated all things hospital related, over his past few years of treatment, he’d come to know these halls better than he knew the back of his own hand. 

From countless radiation treatments, to endless chemotherapy sessions. Hours upon hours of remedial therapies and acupuncture sessions to stimulate nerve endings, Jensen was a man who was just about ready to pull the plug and live out the remaining few months he had, or less, from the comfort of his back deck. 

He’d been poked and prodded, sliced and diced, far too many times to count on both his hands and for what? A few extra months tacked on top of a few years spent battling pancreatic cancer. No thankyou. Jensen had always had an optimistic outlook on life, until his life started to become the same bland halls and the same bland rooms, with the same bland doctors and nurses who all shared the same look of medical sympathy. 

Jesen, for all intents and purposes, was ready to give up his signature status of being the resistant ‘pin cushion’. The student nurses could learn how to change cannula sights on the lady, Paola, who sat in the same chair for every chemotherapy session. 

The last few days hadnt been too hot for the six foot one, brown eyed, brown haired (allegedly) man. His prognosis had been diminishing ever since he got the news his treatment was no longer as effective as it once had been. 

The day Jensen was told he only had a few short months to live before his organs would begin to fail, even with treatment, was the same day he saw you crying outside the local doctors office. The Hermitage centre as they called it. 

The last thing Jensen ever wanted was for his life to be meaningless, before he knew what he was doing? His feet were padding against the concrete as the psalm of his hands began to sweat inside his jean pockets. 

“You look like you’ve just been told you’re dying?”  As the elevator counted up the floors of which Jensen had to take from the ground floor of the Rhode Island Hospital to the oncology unit, he could vividly remember asking you that question. He recognised the look on your face because not ten minutes prior he;d been told the very same thing. 

“I'd start to get your affairs in order, Mr. Hughs “ It hadn't been just a regular check up with his local general practitioner. But it had been the almost final nail in a long awaited coffin. 

As the elevator dinged, Jensen took a few steps out into the bustling hallways of the oncology ward. Within seconds, he was met with a force so muscular it damn near knocked him back a few paces. But the cancer ridden ex fireman squared his shoulders and kept easy on his feet. 

“Sorry man, my bad.” Jensen almost immediately apologies after the mild impact. He assumed that it was him that had caused the slight collision. His special awareness was pretty shot these days. The flowers he carried were almost crushed on impact, however he managed to save the bouquet of sweet peas, peonies and pansies. 

“No worries, I wasn't watching where I was going, my bad, really.” The man responded with a polite smile Jensen could only assume his mother taught him about, the kind of smile you give to a stranger after mild inconveniences. “Jake–” like a slow motion car wreck, Jake reached out to shake Jensens hand. In retrospect he should have kept walking. Jensen really should have just let the interaction fizzle out, but he couldn't. He was too polite for his own good when it came to small interactions. 

The most paranoid fantasy Jensen could think of would never have prepared him for the look of utter betrayal that smeared itself across the blonde headed aviators face as Jensen shook your husbands hand: 

“Jensen–”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

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[connoisseursdecomfort]

Is Anya unrealistic

I never thought I’m going to write this but... I have no hate on any other shows. This is just a personal observation about kids, and let’s agree to disagree.

I just find it unfair to call Anya unrealistic. Mostly because all stories have to contain a certain level of realism to make it relatable. The only part unrealistic is that she is a telepath. The realistic part is that even if you tell a child every single thing that is in your head and try to explain why it is so, chances are the child will not understand, because have you ever tried to reason with a child by laying out facts made as easily understood as possible? (Stupid teenager me had.) That is where the comedy comes from. Obviously telepathy doesn’t really make Anya understand more about people. Her constant misinterpretation on people’s thoughts and words is literally play for laughs in both the anime and the manga. Endo made it clear that she doesn’t understand much despite the amount of thoughts she hears.

You would hear/read that quite a lot of people say Anya is quite believable as a 4 or 5 year old. They see Anya on other children, and more importantly they see echoes of their own childhood on Anya. To a certain extent Anya has to be realistic enough to be relatable, even for children. There’s a poll in Japan asking primary students who they admire the most. Anya came third, while "friends” and “mom” came first and second.

I’m not going to say Anya is an ordinary child due to her experiences, but then she’s an anime character. Most often even in the most SoL of SoL shows there has to be something extraordinary about the characters for them and/or the show to stand out. That’s why I find it unfair to say something like, oh this child sounds more like the children I know so the other child is “unrealistic”. Let me give you some of my examples.

A. I babysat a child. She’s four. It’s not that her parents don’t want her, but there are some complications so she’s currently living with a relative. It is apparent that the relative she’s living with loves her very much, and they are very close. She will soon go back and live with her parents. She is energetic, but she understands your reasonings and instructions and is very well-behaved. She doesn't really mess around.

B. I was walking on the street. A child, most likely 4-5, was throwing a tantrum. The mother threatened to count to three and if he didn’t stop there will be consequences. When the mother counted to two, the child cried even louder. The mother never counted to three.

C. My cousin is thirteen years younger than me. Our families are very close and we would have gatherings every week. When my cousin was a small child, she was shy but stubborn. She’s a tiny bit spoiled but overall well-behaved. She’s never a noisy child.

D. My younger brother, on the other hand, is the polar opposite. Loud and energetic. Very cunning and dramatic. My brother obviously knew he’s cute and smart. That doesn’t mean he can’t be the sweetest kid in the world.

There are many more examples but I’m not going to bother you with that. The point is, they are all kids, but they are all different. You won’t find a parenting book that is universal enough to solve all your problems. It could be useful for your first child but could be absolute trash when it comes to your second-born. Because they are inexperienced tiny human-beings being shaped by circumstances while growing up.

Admittedly, Anya is a calmer child. But then she was experimented on and abandoned four times. From my own observation, children know, and they learn from their experience. Remember the four-year-old I mentioned? After she visited my house, my mom was talking about that little kid, and commented how “all children test your limits by pushing your boundaries.” Even when they are four. Children are not dummies. They learn from your responses to their actions. Not saying that they will not ever mess up once they know where your limits are, but they do try to do better according to the reactions of others.

What I appreciate about the children in sxf is that Endo gives them different personalities and goals. Most often reactors to the show would say something like “that’s so Becky” or “that’s Anya being Anya” instead of “yeah, kids”. I see my six-year-old self, who watched way too many soap operas and tried hard to act like an adult but was way too dramatic, in Becky. I also see myself in Damian, because I remember myself working hard to gain my parents’ attention.

(But then a lot of people did say I acted more grown-up than others. That still doesn’t mean I was “mature” tho.)

They are not defined by their childish behaviours. I think I saw a comment stating the reason why the person think Anya’s a good child character, and it’s because children are still human-beings but with very limited experience. Endo did a good job in trying to show you Anya’s thought process. Anya behaved like that not because Anya is a child and all children do that. Anya thinks before she acts but she still acts like a child because of her own (limited) experience and child logics and misinterpretations. Like all other children, she understands very little, and that’s why she acts like the gremlin she is.

So yeah. There are people who don’t like kids, and there are people who prefer other child characters over Anya. I get it. But em, no, you don’t need to do that to Anya, or Endo, or people who have worked/are currently still working on the sxf project. They have their own vision they want to share with the audience, and they have their own experiences with kids, too. You really don’t need to say things like, my show or the characters I like is realer than yours. That might not even be the point, but still.

Like what you like. Focus on the positives about the characters you like. And have a nice day I guess.