#Self-Hatred TW

[arieefineart]

A life of being someone else by Ariee

[positivelybeastly]

Mancation: maiming; mutilation / Sinister

"Make the incision, McCoy."

There was a pregnant shine of a scalpel, the movement of an oversized hand, the twitch of fingers . . . and then . . . moments passed.

A sigh.

"I said, make the incision, McCoy."

There was a momentary wobble of a finger, a halting breath - before the scalpel moved, the gleaming stainless steel tip pressing to warm, unmoving flesh, unzipping the thin layer of - in front of the - that covered the, sternum, that . . .

Blood.

A clatter, a turn of a stomach. And then warm, pale fingers on the back of his neck, and Henry went stiff, feeling the familiar touch of his - mentor's hand on the so very human looking flesh of his neck.

"You don't want to disappoint me, do you, Henry?"

The shake of a head.

"So why do you persist in doing so, boy?"

The bob of an Adam's apple, and the garish homunculus that once was, still called itself, Nathaniel Essex, let out another sigh.

"You're fifteen years old, Henry. You're more than old enough to do this now. It isn't even a mutant you're working on yet, this is just a flatscan. They aren't people. You know that. You've seen the research we've done on them, we know that they don't feel pain the same way that we do."

Did they? Did they know that?

"There are thousands of mutants who would kill to be in the position you're in now, boy. Thousands of people with lesser intellects but greater wills to do what must be done, and they're all just sitting, waiting, for the chance that you keep squandering. How long do you think I shall wait? How many chances do you think I'll give you?"

He was quiet. The boy couldn't normally shut up when he was cloistered with his books and his research journals, but the instant it came time to do some actual damned work, he was quiet? The human spine of him was so very disgusting.

". . . I had high hopes for you. I selected you personally."

There was - a vague memory. Henry wasn't sure if it was blanketed out by some kind of mental alteration, by what he knew to be a young mind's inability to form long term memories the same way a fully formed one did, or if it was just . . . fear.

A fear of half-remembered warmth that had turned so very cold so very quickly. He remembered . . . sitting on the floor, it had been a wood floor, next to a fireplace, he couldn't have been more than - four, maybe five. Very young. Very very young. He could remember hushed, frightened voices, a man and a woman, talking about getting out of America, about leaving the farm behind and just going.

He could remember not liking that idea. Of wanting to stay on the farm, with its strings of golden corn and rich, brown earth, with its never-ending horizon and all the things he could swing from - it was a playground to him.

Everything gleamed, sparkled, it had such lustre, it begged to be looked at, turned over, investigated, prodded, poked. He'd had a field day when he discovered worms liked mud, he'd just sat there watching them for hours until his . . . someone, had found him, told him off, cleaned him up. Held his jaw and smiled, telling him that she wasn't upset, that she just wanted to make sure he was all right, that he could tell her all about what the worms had done over dinner.

Dinner had been burbling away when the knock at the door had come. The low tones and the panicked, assertive whisper-shouts of two people who knew their time was running out had ceased, replaced with silence. Just the burbling of a pot.

The swing of a door. A shadow in the doorway. A voice.

His voice.

Every time he tried to remember past that point, it got hazy. Complicated. Like a knot of hair that had been left to scraggle around itself for months, tangled so tight it was impossible to unwind, fit only to be cut out and regrown healthy. Untangled. Uncomplicated.

"I have raised you, taken a special interest in your education, in your growth, in your being. You would be lesser without me, you know that, don't you?"

In his mind, Henry pulled at that tangle, and it bled. He could remember - smoke, coagulating in his lungs, choking him. He could remember a sweet smell even through the salt of tears, blood soaked wood, and then pale. White. Pale white with a little red diamond.

"You insult me with your silence, Henry, but that's fine. It's the burden of a father to be disappointed by his son. You have one week. If I return to this lab and you do not have results for me, you'll be released from your service and you can make do out there."

There was an instinctive chill at the mention of out there. A tensing, a revulsion, a creeping horror at the knowledge that the world was not as it should be and there was nothing anyone could do to make it the way it should be.

Footsteps. The door. And then, as if like magic, the air returned to the room.

Henry breathed and pulled back, his hands shaking as he looked down at the tiny incision he'd made, barely a cut, really, but even just that speck of blood had made him want to retch. An invisible hand reached over the back of his and squeezed, directed him to grab a surgical cloth and clean, apply pressure, stop the bleeding.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He pulled away the instant he could, moved to the sink, refused to look in the mirror for as long as he could. Why hadn't he been able to do it? He'd been taught the correct method, he had studied all the surgical manuals, it should have been easy, he had hands that could, that could disassemble and reassemble a pulse particle rifle in twenty seconds, that could detect the vibrations from the music three floors down if he pressed his palm to the walls, his hands never shook, but the instant he'd . . .

He looked up, in the mirror, and winced. He was pale. Sweaty, weak, white as a sheet, god, he was disgusting. Why was this the hand that his X-gene had dealt him? Why did he have to look so basely human? Why did he have to look so degenerate, so much lesser? Why couldn't he have been one of the lucky ones?

His mutant gift was concentrated in hands that couldn't do the work he had been given. What cruel irony was this?

*

"Have you read the Lord Apocalypse's latest treatise, McCoy?"

Henry's eyes flicked up from the food he'd been pushing around on his plate with a blunted knife, regarding Kavita with a cool, cautious eye. She was a human, but - she was all right, by most standards. Allowed to work with the other mutant scientists by virtue of her intelligence and her willingness to work in the ways that Henry found so hard, she was probably a front runner for his replacement if he continued to falter.

For a moment, he considered plunging the knife into her throat, just on the off chance that happened.

"What? No. No, I have not, I've been - busy."

Busy being not busy. Busy staring at the drugged subject on his lab table, trying to work up the nerve to carve them open and nourish himself with the information that was hidden inside. Busy trying to be someone he wasn't.

"Too busy to read the Lord's latest treatise . . ? That doesn't sound like you."

He scowled.

"If you wish to continue to be enigmatic, Rao, you can leave. I'm in no mood to entertain you today."

Kavita rolled her eyes, knowing better than almost anyone that Henry was just in one of his moods, and though she elected to leave, as he'd suggested, she did, nonetheless, slide over a pamphlet - a slim one, by Apocalypse's standards, but that usually boded well. That usually meant less philosophy, more science.

'The Awakening of Mutancy - Secondary Mutation.'

"I think you'll find it an interesting read. It's still just theory, for the most part, but Apocalypse truly believes that there's potential in it."

*

Henry devoured it. From the first word to the last, it was seared into his brain, because in amongst the quasi-religious, gallingly obvious propaganda about the purity of the mutant form, there was science here - there was theory, there was data, there was hypothesis, there was . . . promise. Unfulfilled, as of yet, but it was there.

X-gene manifestation at puberty as a result of a cocktail of hormones, adrenaline, acetylcholine, forming a brand new hormone that had yet to be isolated, but that was theorised to be the root cause of mutant gifts. A hormone. Fascinating. Chemical instructions, chemical blueprints for a new form that catalysed the unique genetic markers, pulled something new out of the code, a form of alchemy, really.

Fascinating.

Fascinating.

*

"Rao, I assure you, Essex knows the specifics of this project, and it's to him, and him alone, that I'm responsible. Now, if you'll excuse me, this cell diagram has to be programmed immediately. And to do that, I'll need absolute concentration. Which means, I'm afraid, you'll have to leave."

There was a moment of pregnant silence as Kavita took Henry McCoy in, took in the frantic, manic little man as he all but raced from table to table, from station to station, before she spoke.

"Henry, this is . . . you only have three more days before Essex returns, and you haven't even begun to do the work that he's asked you to do. Are you sure you should be wasting time on this?"

"It's not a waste of time. You don't understand."

The short, clipped tone made Kavita feel as though she were staring at Henry through a funhouse mirror - he was still unmistakably himself, still that same too intense fifteen year old with a mop of brown hair, but there was a look in his eyes that was . . . impulsive. Propulsive. Determined. Worrying.

"I almost wish I hadn't given you that pamphlet now, it's clear that I set you down a path for fai - "

In an instant, he was upon her, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her against the nearest wall. Her head bounced and she groaned in pain, but even though she could see a flicker of remorse in those searing blue eyes, it didn't stop him for even a second.

"I. Will not. Fail. I can't fail. It's impossible. I'm too smart to fail. I just need time, to focus, and I don't need wittering little humans with their fragile little four chambered hearts and their shrunken brains to talk to me as if they know me."

Kavita swallowed.

"Henry, your heart is - "

"Six chambered. Just because I look like you, just because I look like a genetic mistake, doesn't mean I am. What matters, is what is in here - " He tapped fervently at his temple and his heart. " - and that is mutant." He released her, stepping back, breathing deeply, and she rubbed at the back of her head.

". . . You've done me a service, Kavita. That pamphlet was the key. But you are, in the end, only human. Don't forget that. No-one will ever let you."

He turned, and she watched him stalk over to the cell diagram once more.

"I hope - I hope that this brings you what you want, Henry. I hope, more than anything, that what you want, is what will make you happy."

*

Perhaps you should have listened to her, Henry. Instead of focusing on the genetic extractor you were developing, perhaps it might have saved you.

"There - it's done. I've finally diluted the precipitate. This . . . this is the hormonal extract, the chemical cause of mutation. With this solution, we'll be able to extend the natural chromosonal imbalances - in effect, to turn any man into a mutant."

You swallowed, Henry. You could feel, on some level, that this was a moment that would define you. What might other Henry McCoys have done? Put the extract down, throw it in the trash? Accept failure? Accept defeat? Accept the human face that stares at you from the mirror?

Not you, though.

The fear. The sheer, unbridled terror that's sat in your gut since that day so many years ago. The low, dull throb of anxiety that pulses like a second heart inside of you. The crippling, choking shadow of a hand around your throat, and something wet coagulating on your face.

The fear is what makes the decision. Not you. But then, what is a man but the sum of his fears? What is a man but the totality of the roads not taken? What is a man, if not what he'll do to avoid failure?

"Don't know what will happen if you mutate a mutant . . . but I've got to take the chance. I've got to."

That wasn't precisely the truth, was it, Henry McCoy? You didn't have to. But the fear that's driven you since you were five years old and newly adopted by a thing not of this earth told you differently, and you took the hormonal extract, and . . .

You changed.

Blinding, searing pain - for a moment, you thought you might have swallowed acid. You bent over, clutched at your stomach, and for that long moment, you thought, this is what it means to die. But that was when you understood.

It's all right to die. Resurrection, reformation, rebirth, re-emergence, resurgence, is what separates the man from the mutant, after all.

And resurrected you were. Your skin burst, the flesh separating from the muscle as the soft cells of a human burned away, to be replaced. Your nails surged forward, blood bubbling up around the cuticle as the digits swelled and everything about you grew. You screamed as that hole inside of you was suddenly filled to overflowing, as newfound strength thrummed through you, new life, new power, new you.

It's all right to die, isn't it, Henry? Nothing of value inside of you was lost. Not truly. Some other Henry McCoy might see this as a curse, but you . . . ahhh.

You were blessed.

*

"Well now, Henry, young Doctor Rao here tells me that you've been quite the busy bee - I do so hope that you've applied yourself to - "

Essex stopped.

The broad back that worked and flowed and tensed and relaxed before him was covered in a thick layer of harsh black fur. Heavy strands of hair were braided, hung low with beads. There was a glimpse of a hand, twisted into cruel, shimmering claws and grabbing, eager fingers, and Kavita brought her palm up to her mouth. She spoke through her fingers, taking it all in.

"What is all this?"

The voice that answered was deep, sonorous. There was a rumble to it that wasn't quite human. An edge to it that wasn't quite all there, or, maybe it was. It sounded so very sure.

"It's science."

Essex's voice was dubious.

"Science. How delightfully vague, Henry. What have you been doing? I hope for your sake it's been what I told you to do."

Henry - or, whatever it was that had assumed Henry's shape - turned around, and Kavita wanted to scream. Essex, even, started.

A mouth twisted with glee at their reactions.

"Why, Kavita, Nathaniel, you look as though you've seen a ghost. But then, perhaps that's accurate."

He stepped aside, revealing the body flayed open, pinioned with steel rods, the flesh taut like canvas, organs conspicuous by their absence. There had been no mercy, no invisible hands, no memory here. Just efficiency. Just good, honest science.

"After all, a ghost is nothing more than a memory, a memory of who we once were, before we become what we must."

The thing laughed, and Sinister laughed with it - delighted. Proud.

"And what am I to call my young protege, now that he's become what he was always meant to be?"

It was almost affectionate, the way Sinister's tongue curled around the words, and Kavita could see the creature revel in them. He didn't have to think twice.

"Beast. Call me Beast."

[starlitwishes]

Family? You truly think you deserve a family, puppet? You'll only endanger them as a deserter of the Fatuu.

The venomous words made Wrenn bristle and tense.

Those words coiled around something in his chest, making it hurt. Yet it wasn’t like the stranger was wrong—he didn’t truly deserve a family, did he? He had so many sins to bear, so many things he couldn’t ever make up for.

Then there was the added element of danger as well—the fact he was a Harbinger that deserted his post, no matter the circumstances. That was still treason to the Tsarista, even if Wrenn didn’t have plans on getting in her way or stopping her.

But Wrenn was so, so tired. He wanted to rest—he wanted a peaceful life. Ge wanted to be happy.

Was it really so much to ask for?

Maybe it was.

“Shut up.”

That was his only response—because in the end, those venomous words were right.

He didn’t deserve a family. He was dangerous to be around.

He didn’t deserve to be happy. He didn’t even deserve to live, after all.

[livestosave]

@ein-schnee-sturm from here

It was a scene that felt both familiar, and...not. He'd never been on this side of it, not like this. The other two, yes...he'd never been the adult coming in like this. It struck him, then, to wonder if Lark and Goodkind had ever felt this weight in their chest. The aching desire to set things right...and take care of who they could.

James took a breath, and slowly stepped inside. Instinctively, his shoulders dropped from their usual stiff, straight posture, to fall more naturally and make him a little smaller to the eye. Right now...the last thing he wanted was to be intimidating, or authority right now.

"Winter..." Despite himself, his voice came low and soft, pitched to be as soothing as he could manage. Something to latch onto, even if she couldn't meet his gaze, or even truly look at him. Gods, he could hardly ask it of her, could he? "I'm not asking you to leave her."

No. No, he couldn't. No. He remembered Ozpin too clearly laid out on a hospital bed. Remembered too clearly being in one.

Carefully, the huntsman stepped closer, keeping an eye out in case he was pushing. In case distance was what his student required from him. He wouldn't presume his presence itself was going to be helpful; he knew all too well that it could be quite the opposite.

"Please. The doctor won't make you leave, I've made arrangements. You can stay here...just please, rest." For now...for now, he would let the rest sit. He could say Winter was not to blame until he was blue in the face, but it wouldn't remove the feeling that she was. Nothing could except time and healing.

He would know that too, wouldn't he.

[cammyluvss]

stop liking this you little fuckers

if this gets 20 notes in a week ill start drawing more and going outside

if this gets 100 notes by the end of march i will actually try in school

if this gets 200 notes by the end of march i will eat more, ,,,,,,rn i only eat lunch

if this gets 400 notes by the end of march ill stand up to ppl at school who bully me

if this gets 500 notes by april ill stop cvtting

[remember-to-be-gentle]

Inspired by this tumblr post by @hawnks 

Subject: JJK, Satoru Gojo

Title: Hate Me Tomorrow (Omega!Gojo x GN Alpha!Reader)

Trigger Warning: Dub con, omega verse, scenting, size difference, biting/marking, obsessive/toxic behavior, self-hatred, knotting, knot riding, begging, heat/mating cycles, grinding 

The sweet, musky scent of Gojo's cologne and sweat enveloped you. Even the giant stuffed beta fish you were snuggling had no scent but his. His pillow fort was surprisingly spacious, granted, Gojo was nearly twice your size so there was a lot of him to fit. But being in here with him was nearly suffocating, and not just because of the light whiffs of omega scent rolling off of him or because he'd practically ripped off your jacket to snuggle into. 

He'd called you suddenly, saying that he needed to spend time with someone. It made sense. Geto just died and there were only so many people who were willing to pick up the phone for Gojo, and even fewer he'd actually call. Especially when it was a secret he was an omega, pretending to be an alpha and you were an alpha pretending to be a beta. 

The two of you were decent friends, hanging out after teaching at Jujutsu Tech for a drink or a quick round of gossip. He was one of the few people who knew you were an alpha and he an omega, an unusual kinship formed but it was never anything more. More importantly, you knew about his relationship with Geto. You couldn't say no. 

Which was why your thigh was snug against his, smartphone balanced on your knee, his favorite plushie shoved into your arms. His head on your shoulder breathes fast but not uneven. It seemed like he was trying not to cry. Poor guy. The winter fashion review didn't seem to be helping him calm down at all. Nor any work gossip. You wanted to stay and help, but it was getting late. If he really wanted to, he could just pin you down, sometimes that thought scared you.

Gojo curled onto his side, struggling closer to you, your jacket wrapped in his hands like a security blanket. 

It felt wrong to leave, but you needed to take care of yourself, too. "Hey, bud, I need to get going. Are you going to be alright by yourself?" 

Gojo buried his face in your neck, silent. He leaned his weight into you, just enough to make it clear he didn't want to be alone. 

Fuck. "I'm sorry. I'll come first thing tomorrow. We'll call out from work and go to the city or--" 

His teeth scraped your neck. Possessive, dominant. Alpha behavior. Before you knew what was happening, he was ripping off your scent suppressor, inhaling like he hadn't been breathing for hours. Alpha pheromones leaked from your skin, invading your nose. "Gojo?" 

Your stomach turned as your instincts awakened, the need to comfort an omega struggling with your own needs for autonomy. Your fingers dug into the beta fish plushie, filled with his scent. 

He reached for his own scent blocker and you suddenly realized what was going on. With his neck practically right under your nose, his omega scent was free. And not just that, he was going into heat. The pillow fort was a nest and this was a trap. Gojo was primed to breed and he was going to use you to fuck away his pain. "This isn't healthy, Gojo, listen to me!" 

But his patch was already off and the omega scent of him in your lungs, filling you, lighting every nerve on fire. Your cock swelled under your clothes, reacting to his breedable scent with vigor. 

Gently, Gojo took the plush and pushed you onto your back, yanking off his pants as his pale face filled with color. His bandages were already slipping, the iridescent shine of his six eyes laser-focused on the swelling at your crotch. He crawled on top of you, already tugging off his shirt. "Just for today, please." He panted, his thin but muscular chest heaving as if just sitting here breathing was a near-impossible task. 

His weight lowered onto your cock and you gasped, feeling his wetness through your clothes. His heat was so pleasant, feverish but warm, empty, and yearning. Blood pulsed lower and you gulped. 

Slowly, Gojo rocked back and forth, moaning loudly each time your shaft met his clit. His back arched, nipples swollen and pink, and standing at attention. "Please," he begged. "Just me just for tonight. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please, ah, Y/N. Please, I wanna cum. Let me have it inside me." 

It was getting harder and harder to think straight. He felt so good, the need to fill him up, let him fuck himself stupid on your cock growing. It would be better if you let him, a voice whispered. Another said, it's what you were made for. Just let him. 

"Gojo," you gasped. You reached for him, tried to make him stop so you could think, but his fingers intertwined with yours and he was moving faster now, his breathy moans coming faster. His skin was so soft and warm, filling you with his heat until you thought you might burst. Blood pulsed in your cock, his pussy was sucking at you through your clothing. He wanted you so badly. You wanted... What did you want to do again? You had to leave but why? 

"Y/N, I'm cumming." His hips rocked faster, tummy rolling with downy white hair covered in sparkling slick. "I'm cumming on your alpha cock." He let go of your hands to lay across your stomach, his head buried in your neck to take in your scent, his own making your head spin as pleasure threatened to burst out of your cock. His teeth met your skin, nibbling and biting gently then hard enough to bruise until he let out a long, throaty groan as he came. 

Instantly, your clothes were soaked, his hot slick smothered on your member. If you weren't fully erect before, you were now. 

Still panting, Gojo lifted himself up just enough to tug your cock free from your clothing. He didn't wait, spreading his pussy with his fingers as he sank down on your tip. Slick gushed down your shaft as he cried out, swallowing your swollen head into his heat. You bit back a groan, fingers digging into the blankets making up the fort. 

"You feel so big," Gojo moaned. "So good. I've only done this with Geto, so I'm going to have to start slow." He sank a little further, impossibly tight and hot and wet. "Feels so good," he huffed, rolling his hips and finally, sinking all the way down your shaft.

Your knot throbbed, seeming to sense that an omega was speared on your length. 

Gojo humped himself on your cock, needy moans slipping from his mouth each time his hips met yours. "Feels so good, Y/N. I've only felt Geto like this before." 

Before you could respond he pulled back to his full height, six eyes glowing in the warm darkness of the pillow fort. He spread his lower lips as he lifted himself up, clear slick drooling from his hole. His pretty, pink, clit a shining pearl at the apex of his thighs. "You did this to me. Look how wet you made me." Slowly, Gojo slid back down, pushing the head of your cock against his cervix. Again, he kept himself exposed and rose up, only to slurp your length right back down to the knot, aiming this time higher, into something spongy and mouth-wateringly soft.

"G-Gojo, I know you miss him but you can't--" 

He raised himself up and dropped down, knocking a groan from you both. "I think about him a lot," Gojo panted. "About how empty he left me. In my soul. In my body. So please, let me fix one of those. Just for now. It's okay if you hate me, but I need you now more than I've needed anyone." 

Gojo whined, flushed and excited. "Right there." He slammed back down on you with a stomach-churning squelch right into that soft sweet spot. "So good." He was riding you now, using you like a dildo to get himself off, his delicate fingers rolling his clit in circles. You couldn't take your eyes off him. "I want you to cum inside me, okay? Fill me up with your seed. Help me feel less empty." 

Pleasure gathered deep inside you, begging to come out as your knot swelled. Shit. You shouldn't. He was your coworker, your friend. But omegas needed alpha seed, he needed reprieve from his heat and you were the only one he could call--because the person he really wanted was dead. 

That thought shattered your high, grounding you back in the moment. "Gojo, I know you're still mourning Geto, but this isn't healthy for you." 

Gojo settled on your stomach, chest heaving. His hands snuck under your shirt, impossibly soft and warm in your skin. Your cock twitched inside him, wanting him to squeeze and milk you dry but that wasn't what a good friend would let him do. 

"I killed him, you know." His hands curled into fists by your hips. "He left me after taking my virginity and when he came back, I killed him on Christmas Eve because he didn't give me another choice. I'm awful, aren't I? Shoko hates me. She won't say it but I know she does. I hate me, too." The blue of his eyes shone as tears gathered, threatening to fall down his red flushed cheeks. 

"Shoko doesn't hate you." You said soothingly. You sat up, so much smaller than him, and ran your hands through his hair. "It was an impossible situation, we all think you did the right thing. We--" 

He didn't let you finish your thought. Gojo grabbed you by your shirt and slammed his mouth onto yours, his tongue filling you as if he could make you swallow every hateful thing he'd ever thought about himself. "If you don't hate me," he breathed against your lips, his spit wet and warm as it dribbled down your chin, "then cum inside me." He rolled his hips, reigniting the electric pleasure in your core. "Please. You can hate me tomorrow, but right now, I can't let you go." 

The pulsing softness of his pussy contracted, squeezing you so tightly you thought you might burst. You gasped for breath when Gojo released you and then did it again. You wanted to move. You wanted to stop. You wanted... 

Gojo pulled down the front of your shirt, rolling his hips roughly, chasing his end against your cock. He bit your chest, hard enough to bruise, marking you like an alpha. And that was enough to come undone. 

You exploded inside of him, eyes rolling back as your core emptied against his sweet spot. Your hips rolled up into his and you shivered as you felt your knot pop into his pussy, slick sliding down your thighs and onto the blankets. 

You struggled to breathe as Gojo laid himself on top of you, breathing fast. He rocked his hips against your knot, already trying to drag another orgasm out of himself. His arms slid under your back, pulling your chest to his. "You're all I have now, Y/N," he whispered, "so please, don't leave.”

[uncanny-tranny]

Whenever people who are entrenched in diet culture talk about how terrible chemicals are, I just want to whip out this:

[ndcultureis]

Autism culture is not feeling things in the normal way and hating yourself for it

.

[akirathedramaqueen]

CBT and Exposure Therapy: Blitzø Showcase

An important (really, don't skip) disclaimer

If you are contemplating whether or not you would benefit from any kind of therapy, consider consulting with your medical provider first. While I did my best to validate all the points made using publicly available resources, I am not a medical professional. At the very least, I strongly advise that you do your own research and not take some amateur's opinion about a character from a silly demon show for granted.

"Everyone in this show needs fucking therapy STAT!"

We hear fans screaming into the void every now and then. Me too. I plead guilty and I willingly put myself in custody. But I am not taking these words back.

Especially often it is being said with Blitzø in mind, who, as hinted earlier and clearly shown in the latest episode, Ghostfuckers, is not doing okay. Not in the slightest.

Which is . . . yes. Indeed, trauma-ridden Blitzø is a major problem for both him and those around him. Yes, we see him reaching his lowest point now exactly because he left these gaping wounds untreated for so long.

But the tricky question is—how, though? What to do? Will a good talking to a confidante help? Or, maybe, some kind of shock would snap him out of the spiral?

I've been pondering on this topic for more than 4 months, and, as the Ghostfuckers came out, I finally got all the data I need to prove a point. The show did all the job for me and effectively made Blitzø go through improvised versions of two popular therapy techniques. And, before I even start, I want to say—I am so glad with what we ended up with. What they did, and, more importantly, didn't do, aligns well with how it would likely happen in real life.

So buckle up, and let's see where it gets us!

Therapy # 1. Cognitive-behavioral therapy, or CBT

This is, in essence and with some corrections, your good old talking. Here you can find more information about it, so, if you're not familiar with the topic, I recommend following the link first.

But, very shortly: CBT is an extremely common approach to be tried while you're dealing with anxiety, depression, and a number of other mental disorders. What it aims to do is to help you get past unhelpful thinking (distortions) and learn not to act on it.

Looks like it fits the bill, right? Blitzø has a lot of issues with self-fulfilling prophecies, infuriatingly stupid assumptions, poorly thought-out actions . . .

But he's not like, you know . . . w-we're not, like . . . we're not doing a . . . w-we . . . what's betw— It's a transactional fucking, you see.

If you don't feel like coming, that's OK! I'm sure I can do without it for one month. :)

Stolas only cares about having a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his matress! It's nothing, ya know . . . it's nothing else.

You . . . no longer have any obligation to see me, to touch me, to bed me . . . You are— you are free of me.

He sees things which aren't truly there.

It's not Stolas giving him space after the disaster in the 'Ozzie's.' It must be Stolas not needing him anymore, getting tired of him.

It's not Stolas caring about Blitzø. He is a royal, why would he care how an imp's day he happened to be fucking was?

It's not Stolas setting Blitzø free and putting an end to a problematic transaction they had with the hope for it to grow into something more. It's him getting rid of Blitzø.

As a result, he ends up hurting himself and the relationship he had with that one sad gay bird he happened to fall deeply for but literally trashed in his own house twice, acting on nothing more than frenetic fear of losing Stolas, but in reality, driving him away even more . . . for good.

I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we're smaller and not as important!

Ha! I'm right, aren't I? You get off getting plowed by people you look down on!

And I can sorry more people, everyone but you! 'Cause I don't owe you dick! Everyone, but you . . .

So, the case's closed? Let someone—say, Millie—talk to him and tell him how wrong he was about himself and the others?

Well, here's the thing. Despite him being infinitely wrong about Stolas's intentions, we can't deny the fact that every one of his beliefs was not, in fact, a distortion. It'd led him to wrong conclusions, yes, but it was built on the information he received and legitimate experiences he had in his life. Here are only some of the facts connected to only this situation with Stolas, but there are other problematic behaviors and other reasons for him acting the way he does.

Fact # 1. The circus fire did happen, and Blitzø was the reason for it. Unintentional, and of course it wasn't his fault, but it still ruined the lives of many people—him included. Blitzø cannot act like it never occurred.

Fact # 2. Hell is divided by class and race. Their situationship with the grimoire was an embodiment of that inequality. A lot of Blitzø's outburst during the Full Moon and later in the Apology Tour was connected to it, to his beliefs that Stolas is the same as the rest of the privileged circle. Beliefs, I stress, justified by the real world. Stolas is more of an exception, and even then, his behavior is only different when it comes to Blitzø. He still acts the same toward other imps.

Fact # 3. We knew about Stolas's intentions all along, but before that fateful Full Moon, what Blitzø saw was Stolas avoiding him and not communicating the issue the Ozzie's date had raised. And before Ozzie's? Stolas did act entitled and inappropriate. He was baby-talking to Blitzø and used derogatory terms while addressing him. The dude literally called him an impish plaything in the Truth Seekers.

Fact # 4. Blitzø's heavily implied (though not officially confirmed by the show) existing conditions—ADHD*, BPD**, PTSD, and dyslexia/dyscalculia***—do affect his life, and while Hell seems to be somewhat receptive of neurodivergence, he still has to deal with it every single fucking day. He is going to be avoidant and afraid to be abandoned at the same time. He is going to hate himself. His learning disabilities are going to make his life harder. No way around it.

Note: *, **, and *** contain links to separate meta-analyses from @timkontheunsure and @tealvenetianmask about the respective conditions and how they show themselves in Blitzø's case.

And my beef with CBT here is exactly that. CBT's goal is to gaslight you into believing your distortions hold no water and suggests you just ignore them. And, as I've shown with Blitzø, these reactions and assumptions aren't baseless. They are legitimate, and, in fact, sometimes help to get by. Even though it's a crooked crutch, you can't learn to walk properly by just throwing that crutch away. You're still going to limp, and oh, will it be painful.

This is oversimplistic and dismissive. Anxiety and depression don't come out of the blue, and with mental disabilities, it's even deeper. The class/disability stigma is alive and strong, and just slapping a "you're fine" bandaid on your traumatized self isn't going to help.

Therapy # 2. Exposure therapy.

Exposure therapy is another approach commonly used while dealing with traumatic past and its aftermath—PTSD, anxiety, phobias, and such. Again, if you're not familiar, there's the link for you, but very shortly—the therapist puts the patient in a safe environment and 'exposes' them to the feared object in question for limited periods of time. The goal is to eventually get rid of the targeted fear and decrease avoidance.

And Blitzø has got some phobias for sure.

The fear of letting everyone down. Again.

And the fear of abandonment. Again.

All of it is a result of self-hatred, sitting so deeply it rules his life and his vision of how others perceive him. Said it himself. Almost.

So, where and how does the show expose Blitzø to his traumatic past?

First, the most recent, and the most obvious one—Rolando and his slideshow of all traumatic events Blitzø ever had in his life.

Second—Blitzø's drug trip in the Truth Seekers. While it does not contain the events of the past as they were, it does force him to face his fears.

Are you worried I might have enough of it one day as well? . . . You're going to die alone! . . . You're going to die alone, Blitzo!

With some stretch, the third one is Verosika's 'Blitzo sucks' party. Where Blitzø was forced to see the consequences of his avoidance and rejection.

Note: to be clear, I do think the party does not show the true extent of Blitzø's actions and how much he'd hurt people. It was exaggerated by Verosika, and here I explain why this is the case.

So, what gives? Or, rather, what gives it not?

It might sound funny now, considering I brought it up myself, but I, once again, say this is not therapeutic, just as CBT kind of 'talking.' If anything, all these three events did more harm than good.

The D.H.O.R.K.S.'s goal in the Truth Seekers was to torture the information out of Blitzø. He was not supposed to overcome it. He was supposed to crack.

The Verosika's goal was to ruin Blitzø's reputation. She was working her ass off to prove he's just a heartless freak.

The Rolando's goal was to fucking kill Blitzø.

And okay, their motivations had nothing to do with helping him, but maybe it did, in its own twisted way?

No. The writers added this to push Blitzø past the breaking point, not to heal him, and to show us more of his lore. Each time he was forced to face his past or fears or consequences, he was only spiraling more.

The only thing which did him some good was . . . well, Millie finally seeing his bravado mask falling off. But the cost of it was way too high. Not worth it.

To the therapy's defense, some points why it would never work in the way it was done in the show:

Blitzø had never given his consent and was not ready to face it. I might be very rude right now, but go and try producing some explosion-like sounds in front of war veterans without letting them know first and see what happens.

The amount of fearful experience exposed was way too overboard. He couldn't possibly digest it in a healthy way.

The environment was not safe. It was straight-up retraumatizing, an intentional one.

So there's that.

But what helped then?

We've briefly brushed over the fact Millie did talk to Blitzø. While I did imply this might be an example of CBT, here are some key deviations from the classic therapy which made all the difference.

Millie didn't sugarcoat all the shit Blitzø did. He was hurting their business. He didn't pay her. He was reduced to Bethanie. It showed her opinion can be trusted.

Millie apologized for not being there for him sooner. She admitted she relied too much on Blitzø being bulletproof, unbothered by everything. She admitted she didn't support him in a way he always did.

While proving she could never hate Blitzø, she used their common story, one he knows and can recall. She used evidence to prove him wrong, not a "it's all in your head" bandaid. And more than that, later she proved it with action—not for one second did she believe Rolando and his shittalk about what Blitzø supposedly was thinking about her. Her unwavering faith spoke more than any words ever could.

Getting back to exposure therapy . . . Metaphorically, she reminded Blitzø he can handle a beating or two. And physically beat the infestor demon out of him, which, as we can see later, didn't really affect Blitzø that much. He wasn't even battered. So, apparently, when the said exposure is done by someone who genuinely tries to make you feel better and knows your limits well, it might just work?

And finally, Millie acknowledged Blitzø's pain. She didn't brush it away. She validated him.

What all of this is about?

Like every treatment, too much of a medicine can become poisonous. So are CBT and exposure therapy.

They might help, and lots of research shows they do in certain cases. But there are limitations to what they can and cannot achieve, and they have to be adjusted to each individual story, to each trauma, and they should not be applied as a way to mend the outcome of the trauma without taking into account the story it comes with. Again, legitimate concerns and experiences cannot be brushed away or ignored.

Actualy . . . we've seen where it leads in the show too. In the beginning, Millie was quite dismissive of Blitzø's worries—all of this over a . . . breakup?

And here it comes full circle.

Only when Millie started taking Blitzø seriously, did it help them progress. And look how quickly we've switched from a complete despair to a glimmer of hope! Isn't that a beautiful closing scene?

As a closing note—we do not need to 'fix' Blitzø. After all this shit he went through, there won't be a day where he wakes up and be like, "Hey, I don't hate myself anymore! And look, I'm not afraid to be abandoned or misunderstood!"

I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is a lifelong battle. Being mentally whole, healthy, and constantly happy is no more than a myth, and everyone has their own demons and skeletons to deal with.

What Blitzø needs is some good support system to pull him back when he's down.

And boy, do I hope that one particular owl will fill in that role of unyielding pillar for Blitzø each time our lizard will fall into that pit again. Look, I love Millie, but there's only so much she can do. She can't be always present, she has her own life . . . and her own disaster of a husband to look after (affectionate <3). Here and here @lost-romantique talks about Stolas's capacity of loving, with me occasionally nodding, ha-ha. But to be short—it's fucking immense. And since he loves words, I do believe he has all the energy to tell again and again and again how awesome Blitzø is. Even if Blitzø wouldn't believe it himself.

[kittyaccent]

I am trying so hard to improve myself and my life, but the pit I've thrown myself into is so deep that i don't know if my strength will last until i see the surface again.

[ein-schnee-sturm]

“You can barely keep your eyes open, go lie down.” - James at Winter, your choice of time period darling

Calling Winter tired would’ve been an understatement. She hadn’t slept more than a few minutes since that day in Mistral, the explosion burned into the inside of her eyelids — and the acid taste of failure eating her alive from the inside out. Logically, the snow leopard knew that it wasn’t her fault, that she had had no way of knowing that the Atlesian embassy would be targeted; and even more so, that Gwenn would be inside. Gwenn, and all of Ilya’s family (those that mattered, anyway), and countless other innocents who had had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the three days it had taken to extract Winter’s Teammate’s — miraculously still living — body from the wreckage, she had been focused on keeping Ilya from self-destructing.

Finding Demeter at the same time had mollified the blond wolf only enough for them to proceed to glue themself to their cousin/surrogate sister’s bedside, much as Winter was still doing with Gwenn. Gwenn’s father Rodrigue visited when he could; her mother Naomi was busy “mourning her son”; and her baby brother Felix had been dragged out, kicking and screaming, by Naomi when he tried to join Winter. All of that had been over a week ago. Winter had kept as uninterrupted a vigil as she could, and she had thought she was fine, if tired… but clearly, she was doing worse, if someone else was telling her to sleep. For a long moment, the soon-to-be Second Year didn’t answer, hands curled into fists in her lap; the claws she could finally grow out biting into her palms. The pain was clarifying, and even though she knew that James would scold her for it, the barely eighteen-year-old needed the anchor… and she had to punish herself somehow.

(She didn’t have the energy to follow protocol and think of him as “Headmaster Ironwood,” just then.) As the silence stretched, Winter began to rock back and forth in the chair she had claimed a week ago; it was between Gwenn’s bed and the wall, so the white-haired teen didn’t have her back to the hospital room’s door. Eventually, Winter spoke, gaze riveted to her best friend’s sleeping face — the only part of Gwenn (aside from her fluffy feline ears) that had been spared by the flames and destruction of the explosion, as well as the subsequent shattering of her Aura to keep Demeter alive. “…I am her Team Leader,” the taller feline managed, feeling more wretched than she had in at least a year — than she had since abandoning Weiss and Whitley.

“And I could not keep her safe.”

She hadn’t a clue where Macaria was, either.

[canadiannationalfox]

Murder Drones Fanfic - Dove Feathers

tw// disordered eating, unhealthy weight loss, self hatred, depression, abusive parents, illness

Another day working at the Elliott Manor, it was pretty normal as of late for the little maid drone known simply as J. Every day was usually the same. Wake up her dearest friend Tessa, lay out Tessa's clothes, make sure Tessa made it to studies on time, bring Tessa some mid-morning tea, some tidying in the manor, bring Tessa back to her room from studies and then keep Tessa entertained until dinner time, and then the nightly routines.

Lately, N had been having some minor programming issues, so J had to pick up the slack on his work load.

"Fucking hell, it's almost like I have to do a lot of the workload myself," J groaned as she brought up some fresh dresses for Tessa to wear while on wakeup call for the beloved human girl.

J smiled a little thinking about her favourite human. The maid drone might have been stern, stoic, and grumpy, but around Tessa she didn't feel those emotions as much. She felt happy to help, more receptive to feed back from the girl, and looking for loopholes so they could make the best of the situation. The platinum haired drone blissfully, with a skip in her step, strolled down the hallway, thinking about part of a story Tessa had to study.

"The lovely gift of finding a strand of your beloved's long hair is like finding a feather left behind by an angel," J thought, not thinking too much at first, but recalled that in the last couple days of cleaning Tessa's bedroom, she was finding a bit more than usual of the cool-dark strands about. "Dove feathers," J joked to herself as she got closer to Tessa's bedroom door, but stopped upon hearing the soft sobs of the 11 year old girl.

J gently pushed the door open of the room, and as soon as Tessa heard the sound of the door, she stuffed something into her left night table drawer and put on a mourning veil, the dark heavier-tulle draped however over the back of Tessa's head instead of her face.

Tessa wiped her eyes and smiled happily to J. "Good Morning, Jaybird," Tessa greeted, trying to sound cheerful.

The maid drone approached Tessa and greeted, "Good Morning, little princess," before seeing Tessa's sparkling grey eyes fight back teardrops, "What's wrong?"

"I'm 'right, Jaybird... honest," the girl with the big dark blue bow insisted, finally able to push her sad feelings away. She was about to speak when her stomach grumbled.

"Sounds like you could use something to eat," J chuckled, smiling happily until she saw the 11-year-old girl's expression of sorrow.

"Just tea today, J, I'm not that hungry."

J stood in waiting, worry filled her core, standing by for Tessa asking for assistance.

The Elliott Heiress stepped behind her changing screen with a dress and was changing. "I don't need to eat, I'm..." she stopped explaining in a somber tone before trying to sound more cheery, "Pretending to be a drone today, I don't need to eat anything, just a spot of coolant or oil will do."

J, upon being called by Tessa, began walking over to the screen, seeing a lot more 'dove feathers' than before, in a trail, even a bigger group of strands, this was worrying.

"Could you synch the back for me, Jaybird? My dress is a little loose."

The platinum haired maid began to comply, helping tighten the ribbon at the waist. "You really like your mourning veil from the mausoleum, huh, Tessa?" J assessed politely, trying to make conversation.

"Oh, y-yeah, thank you," Tessa replied trying to sound cheerful, but her voice was a bit sad, "It helps me feel better about things."

J offered politely once she made sure the bow at the back of Tessa's dress was secured and tied, as over the last little while Tessa had been rescinding the offer, "I haven't been on night-time brush duty for a while, Tessa, are you doing alright on your own or do you want some-" stopped before she could even finish the sentence.

"NO!" Tessa yelped in fright while jumping back a little, realizing who she was talking to. "I'm sorry, J... but, no thank you. Sorry I got scared." Despite needing a hug badly, Tessa had to go downstairs to the dining hall since it was too rainy for the family to enjoy breakfast in the sunroom.

J stayed back, deciding to help clean up in Tessa's room, but also as a way of sleuthing. The drone kept cleaning up around the room, little stray pieces of wire, some screws, some slags from a soldering gun. And a lot more cool-black hairs.

J approached Tessa's vanity desk, where there was a lot more broken strands laying about. She opened a drawer to find Tess' hairbrush and she felt her LED eyes go into the ring mode.

There was clumps of frail black hair stuck to the brush.

The maid looked more closely at the hairs, assessing the ends. Having been the drone that helped Tessa when collecting for wigs and sewing them, she knew what a point cut or blunt cut or even the drag marks of a razor comb looked like when Tessa borrowed them from her dad when she couldn't find the sewing scissors. But it was clear that this was breakage, the ends were frayed and straw-like.

J went to find N who was in the library working close to the drone Tessa affectionately called "Vivianna" when she was younger.

The cheery little butler was trying out his recently repaired wrist nodes in helping put away the books Louisa had read the night before. V was working diligently to take out all the books Tessa would need for her tutoring for the day.

J approached N and bonked him on the back of the head. "Hey, Insipid Intern!" she greeted in an aggressive tone, "Why didn't you tell me about Tessa."

N turned his attention to where the slap came from, almost turning his head most of the way around like an owl, trilling with a happy voice, "Oh, Hi J! I don't know what you mean."

The pigtailed drone held up a clump of black hair and ordered with a snarl, "The fact Tessa's shedding hair like a border collie in the summer!" she put her hands on her hips, still holding the scraggled cluster of strands, "That and the fact she's not eating. So spill the tea or I'll spill some tea on you."

N blinked his bright alabaster LED eyes in confusion, still smiling in bemusement.

The maid with her grey hair done back in a low bun, knew some intel and spoke up, "Louisa has been trying to get Tessa to cut back on caloric intake," she adjusted her glasses and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "It's likely in an attempt at keeping Tessa thinner, despite the fact that a growing girl needs nutrients and calories to grow."

"That still doesn't explain the hair loss."

V went over to a medical book of symptoms for kids and opened it up, reading aloud to try to be helpful, "Hair loss, can be caused by lack of proper nutrition, stress, certain medical treatments, over exposure to chemicals, or ailments." She closed the book and stated with a half smile, "Hope that gives some insight, boss."

J turned her attention back to N. "N, I don't like you but I'm going to need you to be a mule for me."

The happy little snowy-haired butler giggled happily before responding joyfully, "I like doing anything."

J commanded, "I want you later when you're in the kitchen to go into the pantry and get me some protein bars and some dried fruits. Hide them under your helmet so when you do go up to Tessa later you can give her something to eat."

"Is there anything you want me to help with?" V asked curiously, standing at attention but smiling in a hopeful manner, "Mrs Elliott is sending me on a pharmacy run."

"You're going to have to buy a bottle of children's chewable vitamins for Tessa. We need to do absolutely everything to get her healthy again without arousing suspicions from Mrs Elliott, who is likely monitoring Tessa's figure."

The two drones nodded, accepting their tasks.

N asked curiously as he tilted his head like a dog, "But what about you, J? What's your mission?"

"I'm going to be Tessa's emotional support and try to coax her back before she starts having an ED like her mother."

After Tessa was done her studies, she was feeling really light-headed. The poor girl had trouble focusing at all to the tutor's lesson. She grabbed an umbrella to go outside despite it still raining.

The Elliott girl was about to take a step when she started to lose her balance, when suddenly she fell into the arms of a drone. She smiled as she heard the voice behind her.

"Oops there, don't want you falling down, Tessa."

"Th-thank you, Jaybird," Tessa spoke somberly as she was helped to stand upright again, "You didn't have to, I would've been alright."

J worriedly asked, "Why are you going out?" she talked in front of Tessa and held her hands soothingly, "You're not feeling well and you could catch cold if you go out in the rain."

Tessa shrugged it off with a smile. "Oh, it's no issue, J, honest."

"Princess, I need you to listen to me," J ordered firmly, "I can't risk you getting more sick."

Tessa got really upset now, her temper flared like a firecracker due to her being more ravenous than a dingo in a bakery's dumpster. Tessa's heart stung, the adoring little pet name was now an insult. "Don't call me that, and maybe there's a reason I want to go outside, J. Why are you controlling me?"

"What's wrong with calling you a princess, Tessa? Princesses are strong and brave. They lead with kindness and endure perils that no little girl should ever have to live through."

"PRINCESSES ARE ALSO BEAUTIFUL!" Tessa screamed back, her eyes welling up with tears as she took off her veil, showing the tattered wreck a-top her head, all uneven from breakage. Tessa sank to the floor, holding her self in a hug and crying. "How can I be a princess when I'm not thin enough and probably going to go bald as an egg? I'm just a mistake. A stupid, ugly, worthless mistake."

J sat on the ground next to Tessa and held the crying girl tightly. "Shhh, hey... We can get through this together,"

Tessa's hands shook as she held them out to look at them. "I'm so hungry that I screamed at you, but if I eat then I'll get in trouble, it's not fair. It's not fair, J, it's not fair. I just wanted to go to the raspberry plant by the graveyard so I could eat something."

J hugged Tessa from the side still, being reassuring and gentle as she spoke. "I know you're scared, but where is your Mother right now?"

"She's with Father right now, drinking wine in the bar area," Tessa answered as she wiped her tears, "Wh-why?"

J stood up, putting Tessa onto her shoulders like when the girl was much younger. "Well if that's the case, we're getting you to the kitchen, we're going to give you something to eat." She asked curiously as she started to walk along, Tessa hanging onto the top of the maid drone's head, "How little have you been eating?"

"I had some salted cucumber for breakfast and a single piece of toast with jam."

"Okay, that's good, that means Refeeding Syndrome won't be too big of a factor."

"Wait, what?" Tessa asked, as J brought her to the kitchen, "Have you been reading my medical books?"

"Somewhat," J replied, helping Tessa down off her shoulders before she went to the large industrial sized fridge, "What are you fixing for then, Tessa?"

"Strawberries... lots, please!" the ebony haired girl pleaded enthusiastically.

J brought Tessa a bowl of grapes, strawberries, and an apricot. "I know you want lots, but you don't want to shock your body and make yourself sick by over eating," the maid instructed caringly as she placed her hands on Tessa's left hand, "remember, small steps, Tess," she let go of her favourite human's hand to let her have the healthy snack.

Tessa still ravenously ate all the fresh fruit she was given, feeling a lot better once she had eaten. "I needed that, thank you Jaybird. I'm sorry I screamed at you."

"Hey, you had to get it out of your system. I get mad at other drones all the time when they get on my nerves," the wise words of the drone managed to make the human she adored giggle, J's most favourite sound in the world.

"C-could you maybe still call me a little princess, though? I... I still want to be called that, even if I don't feel that pretty."

Without missing a beat, J replied cheerfully, "Who said you're not pretty, princess?"

Tessa's eyes welled up and she hugged J tightly. "Thank you!"

"Remember, it's like that fairytale about the ogre princess, it's not about what's on the outside but about what's on the inside."

V came up to Tessa's room later, having snuck in the pocket of her dress the vitamins she had bought secretively at the pharmacy, she knocked on the door, and was happy to hear Tessa's voice sounding cheerful.

"Come in!"

The bespectacled maid drone opened the door to see J putting some very light weight bows on two braids of long hair at the back of Tessa's head. V came in and said cheerfully, "Oh! Miss Tessa, you look different."

Tessa giggled as she held up the stolen razor comb, "I'm trying out a new look!" she didn't want to admit what was going on, and she was in better spirits now, not realizing V knew. "Look, it's long at some parts and shorter in the back!" the girl trilled, showing off her black hair that was shoulder length at the back but much longer closer to the front. "It'll be a lot easier to care for."

J laughed cheerfully as she patted the 11-year-old human girl on the back, "Tessa's so talented and clever."

V gave Tessa the bottle of vitamins and responded while playing a little dumb, "I was sent down to the pharmacy to get some things and I saw these and thought you'd like them. They look like candy and are labelled as berry flavoured."

"Oh, silly, Vee!" the girl with the bows in her hair giggled, "These are vitamins! Not candy! But, I will still enjoy them!"

V went on her way, feeling happy she could sneakily help her friends' favourite human.

Once again it was just Tessa and J after V had left and N had dropped off some snacks that Tessa could hide in one of the decorative vintage jars she liked to collect.

Tessa took one of the vitamins and smiled happily to J, once she was done eating it, she giggled happily, "I guess you had a lot planned for helping save me, Jaybird."

J responded joyfully, glad to hear the joyfulness returned to her beloved's voice, "Anything for my little princess."

The Elliott heiress sat with her back straight and her head held high, because despite the set back and the lost dove feathers, she was once again soaring emotionally thanks to her Jaybird helping her, which after a few more weeks, Tessa was a lot healthier, helping carry her through until her Father put an end to the restrictive diet on his daughter.

The End

[aannonn]

I FINALLY FINISHED ITT LETS GOOO

(to anyone who wanna read it on ao3 instead! ><)

not-actually-so-funfact; my computer started to burn in the middle of the translation :D (im brazilian so i write my fics in brazilian before translating them to english- xd)

anyways!! hope u enjoy the read just as much as I did while writing it! <3

- , "Ruined. All Ruined."

(updated/fixed) Tags ;

Rating : Teen and Up Audiences Warning : Graphic Depictions of Violence Tags#1 : rated t mainly because of the swears // violent thoughts // threats of violence // whump // self hatred // self depreciation // self esteem // self esteem issues // angst // angst and feels // heavy angst // hurt no comfort // emotional hurt // crying // selective mutism // talking in musical notes Tags#2 : hurt/comfort // comfort // emotional hurt/comfort // emotional // inner dialogue // minecraft mechanics // neurodivergent // {not exactly the focus but y'k- its there} // author is projecting

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Ruined.

All ruined.

   Green sat on his bed, the tie tied carefully around his neck crumpling from the tightness of his knees being hugged close to his chest. A crumpled tie was certainly not something he would take lightly, and he would quickly fix his posture so he could tidy it up and leave it the way it was before, perfect as it should be. But- honestly? Green felt no motivation to do so right now.

   He doesn't understand what he did wrong. Did he prepare too much? Did he create a lot of expectations? Did he let his anger and arrogance get the best of him again?

   Everything seemed perfect, everything was perfect, but then that silverfish suddenly emerged and, in the blink of an eye, everything around him seemed to be shattering; All the months of planning and preparation and so, so many songs he wrote and scratched because none of them felt perfect enough felt like they had been stepped on, crushed and thrown into lava, slowly burning right before his eyes.

   Is not fair. None of this was fair. He worked so hard to get to this moment, to improve his musical skills and impress an entire audience with his music, his passion. His friends, friendly acquaintances - everyone he knew was there - even Orange was there! They were all there for the concert, for the performance, for him.

   He felt like he was on cloud nine, happily boasting about the praise and applause floating around him like birthday confetti, roses being thrown at him as a sign of love and admiration - His friends and family were congratulating him and looking at him with so much admiration and love and affection for his amazing and so well-planned, so well-done, so perfect performance.

   He felt so adored, like the celebrities he saw on YouTube, being praised and complimented and talked about by many, many people, with so much admiration and adoration in their voices when talking about them. He felt so envied, as if several people adored him so much that they wanted to have his talents, they wanted to be him. He felt so loved, friends and family being so proud of him that he felt himself laughing happily, smiling so big that his cheeks hurt.

   ...Then a silverfish rised onto the stage, stepped on his noteblock, and the adoring, gazing eyes of the crowd - of his friends - were on the mob, and suddenly it seemed like it wasn't his concert anymore, but rather a random silverfish who just invaded the stage and stole his place, his audience, his moment.

   Green clenched his fists, bringing his knees even closer and crumpling his tie even more; Is not fair. None of this is fucking fair. He worked so hard for this, he worked so long for this, and now it's all ruined. Everything is ruined.

   The audience applauded and the show was a success, but the silverfish was the one in the spotlight; It was what was being boasted about, congratulated, adored, happily applauded for its' incredible performances.

   Meanwhile, Green was collapsing in pain in the middle of the stage and suffering from a horrible concussion.

   He felt humiliated, awfully humiliated. Shame, disappointment, and anger flooded his entire being, and the moment he woke up in his room, in his bed, with an ice pack on his head and a potions kit right on his desk, the only thing he did was have a staring contest with the ceiling with hazy eyes, his mind was a complete fog as he felt himself swinging his leg from side to side, jiggling it repeatedly distractedly.

   They cheered, the audience cheered, his friends cheered, but none of the cheers and joyful whistles were directed at him, as if the show had never even belonged to him in the first place.

   Green clenched his fists so tightly that he felt the faintest hint of blood coming from his palms, tears stinging his eyes distressingly, falling and spilling and wetting the mattress like rainfalls.

   Small bubbles appeared in his throat and made him let out soft sobs while small melodic notes came out of his mouth, making unbearably unpleasant and hostile noises, seeming as if a million instruments were being played at the same time, forming a loud and unpleasant noise for the ears. Fortunately the canorous notes that came out were small and therefore you wouldn't be able to hear them properly if you weren't close enough to his face.

   He felt so pathetic, so ridiculous. It wasn't even that bad; Everyone in the audience loved and genuinely enjoyed the show, his friends even formed a band and Orange finally played the electric guitar he had after years of not even touching it! So why was he so sad? Why did he feel like his entire world had just collapsed? Why did he feel so angry at the silverfish that only wanted to play with him?

   Because he was so selfish. So selfish and arrogant the little musician.

   He wanted to pull his head off, his stupid head with a stupid brain that only knew how to think about itself - He wanted to find that stupid silverfish and sink the tip of the diamond sword at its' stomach, jab it and stab it and all over again until all that was left of the mindless mob were little white clouds signaling its permanent death.

   He wanted to punch himself, spank himself - He wanted to be vengeful, he wanted to scream - He was so angry at himself, so angry at the silverfish, so angry at his brain, so angry at his feelings, so angry at his friends who didn't even try to help him get the silverfish off the stage and bring everyone's attention back to him, so angry at the world that was never merciful to him, hurting him again and again and again and again and again and again like a fucking punching bag.

   He wanted to isolate himself from everything and everyone to show the world how fucking angry and tired he is right now. He wanted his friends to invade his room to shower him with love and affection, hugs and apologies and promises that they would take better care of him, that they would never try to hurt him again, that they would never let the world hurt him again.

   He wants the world to burn, he wants the world to hold him like a baby.

   He's so selfish. Selfish and arrogant little adorable musician.

   His mind was a fog full of thoughts as his emotions took control, his body swayed slightly from side to side like a mantra, all of this making his brain unable to register the sound of footsteps approaching his position on the bed or even extra weight being added to the green mattress.

   Green jumped when he felt a hand holding his arm gently, rocking his body serenely and distracting his mind from thoughts for a few brief moments. He still didn't take his face off his knees, but he didn't take the hand off his arm either.

   Faint sobs and small musical notes echoed through the spacious house, the fog of dark thoughts in his mind gradually fading until all that was left were just faint sobs and dry tears gracing his face, a few tears still running down his chin towards the bed, small drops of water, some already old, wetting the mattress.

   He didn't register and didn't want to register how long it had been since he and the familiar but currently unknown stickfigure had been sitting on the bed. The stickfigure just rocked him calmly and slowly, distracting him from his thoughts that only got darker and darker, while also giving him time to calm down at his own pace, which Green deeply appreciates.

   Eventually, his breathing seemed to have finally eased and he opened his eyes, raising his head slowly and groggily, somewhat destabilized after the horrible mental breakdown he had just had.

   Yellow's composed and slightly worried face greeted him, the gentle movement of his head cooled off the nervous spasms he felt in his body after his brain had correctly registered the pathetic and disappointing scene he had just made, right in front of one of the last people he wanted for to see him in this state.

   Yellow remained quiet, his hand still on Green's arm as he continued to rock him gently, his movements filled with nothing but pure affection and concern for him. For Green.

   Green raised his head groggily, feeling light bubbles rising in his throat again and a new spiral of crying emerging before he pushed it back by force, several carefully chosen words in his head ready to start a conversation and break the suffocating silence, even though none of them had any actual desire to actually produce real sounds.

   He coughed, a hoarse, noisy wet cough, taking a deep breath - with some difficulty - before merely forcing a sound out of his throat, words in his mind all jumbled together - he just wanted to break the silence, a silence so quiet and still and suffocating.

   - W.. what." His voice was hoarse from crying and small musical notes were muddled with the words, making the words that came out of his mouth a confusing cacophony of sounds and verbs without a correct direction.

   Yellow patted his free hand on his knee nervously, whispering softly; - I just wanted to check up on you."

   Green no longer felt any motivation to actually form words and say them out loud, so he just shook his head sharply and pushed Yellow's hand away from his arm, a small musical note faintly leaving his mouth; a twisted, angry, broken sound.

   Go away.

   Yellow quickly understood the message the older one wanted to convey and tapped his hand on his knee nervously again, a slight, almost imperceptible movement of his shoulders lowering in defeat before he stood up and walked to the door, his steps light, but steady, echoing in the now empty space; where a single green stickfigure sat on his own bed of the same color, hugging and consoling himself from the world that only knew how to hurt. The only sounds that could be heard were his own whimpers and small melodic notes that the form curled up like a ball of the arrogant little musician emanated.

   It's so quiet. The world seemed so much lonelier and more dangerous when it was quiet.

   It's just him, and the world that hates him.

.

.

.

.

   At some point in his breakdown; round two(2), Green fell asleep; spilled tears still dripping onto the mattress while light, dry remnants clung to his cheeks. Honestly, Green isn't sure if he actually fell asleep, all he remembers is that his perception of his surroundings was momentarily desensitized and he found himself lying in his bed, a pair of hands on his shoulder shaking him with enthusiasm to side to side, presumably being the reason why his brain seemed to have regained awareness of his surroundings when he felt a sudden and unexpected physical contact stirring him impatiently.

   Red's excited and unbearably happy face was what greeted him this time, determination and enthusiasm adorning his movements as he continued to shake him the way he normally would when he had done something cool and desperately wanted to show to someone.

   Noticing the slight movement of Green's head moving towards him, Red let go of the shorter stick's right shoulder and jumped back, his arms bobbing up and down happily before grabbing Green's hands and pulling him in a way so that he was now sitting on the bed, relinquishing him and quickly rushing to the door, giving him one last look (still jumping up and down and waving his arms happily) before jumping out of the house, his steps happy and hurried resonating even outside the household.

   Green just stared at the door now open to him, not moving a single inch to follow Red to wherever the latter wanted to show him, an internal debate in his head with the decisions he could make.

   Getting out of bed, let alone walking to the door, seemed like a challenge. His body had little to no motivation to exercise and his head was still a fog that momentarily distracted him from his surroundings. He really didn't want to get up.

   But there would be no more silence if he did. The world would no longer seem so dangerous and immense for him if he went outside.

. . .

   Green sighed, staring at the floor for several long moments before merely forcing his body to stand, stumbling a bit in disorientation after sitting for so long, before practically dragging himself to the door, his slow, sloppy steps echoing through the silent residence.

   The entire time he walked towards the open door, Green stared at the ground, absentmindedly counting the pixel particles of the blocks he passed in his mind.

   He really had no desire to do anything... But the silence he was in was too suffocating and oppressive for him to bear.

   As he walked, Green quickly noticed that the light gradually dimmed with each new block, getting darker and darker until he couldn't even see the color of the staircase.

   Green took his eyes off the floor and raised his head, noticing how the computer's lighting seemed to have suddenly faded, enveloping both him and the programs and the PC's characteristic background in immense darkness - Much like when he himself removed the brightness of the computer to blast his latest music at that time.

   Green straightened up, feeling goosebumps all over his body as he took his cell phone out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight, quickly taking out his diamond sword from his inventory and holding it tightly, keeping his guard up for any possible mobs or whatever it was that could suddenly jump on him.

   He slowly descended the steps, his steps light and careful as he illuminated the darkness around him and kept his ears open for any sign of movement or noise.

   He wonders where his friends are...

   Suddenly, red and orange and yellow and green and blue lights illuminated the computer and momentarily blinded him, causing him to stagger back in fright and throw his sword and cell phone into the air before quickly grabbing the sword in alarm, pointing the sharp tip towards the light source as he vaguely registered the sound of his cell phone falling to the ground with the flashlight still on.

   A stage - his stage - his concert stage - greeted him back, colorful lights enthusiastically illuminating the center of the stage, where stood his dearest friends that he had known for as long as he could remember.

   Friends who also just watched as his concert was ruined by a fucking silverfish.

   Green shook his head sharply to dispel that thought, slowly lowering his sword as he quickly settled down, no longer feeling the impending danger scratching the back of his neck, though that also didn't mean his irritation had disappeared.

   He simply stared at the four(4) stickfigures on the stage, irritation was obvious in his movements as he gave them the silent treatment.

   Blue clasped his hands together nervously, Red dragged his feet on the floor without looking at him while Orange shifted uncomfortably; The only one who seemed more balanced and stressless of all was Yellow, although Green could detect a slight touch of nervousness in the movement of his shoulders.

   None of them said or made any movement as an indication that they were going to break the silence, Green just stared at them demanding an explanation while the others just moved and looked at each other nervously.

   Blue turned to Red, grabbing his shoulder before pushing him forward. Red stumbled before immediately shaking his head roughly and pushing Blue forward, to which Blue grabbing Orange's hand and pulling the shortest one in front of him, pushing him nervously to be in Green's gaze. Orange looked back and forth between Blue, Red and then Green, staring at the ground while rubbing his arms nervously, before finally taking a single step forward before Yellow suddenly stopped him by grabbing his shoulder and pointing at himself, to which the youngest nodded in thanks and quickly went to Red's side.

   Yellow took a deep breath, only taking three steps forward before finally breaking the silence, his voice a soft whisper with varying degrees of guilt and apologetic tone emanating from it.

   - We're sorry."

   Green bounced in surprise, confusion adorning his movements.

   At the sound of Yellow's voice, the other three(3) seemed to find courage and quickly echoed their own apologies with equal degrees of guilt and apologetic tones, a cacophony of voices over one another as they made several sudden and clumsy movements.

   - We had fun but you didn't have fun and that wasn't- It wasn't what- It was not cool. Nothing cool."

   - We're really, really sorry- The show was horrible- It was horrible to you- It was scary, wasn't it? It was terrifying... We laughed but- And- We didn't even think how hurt would you be..."

   - We didn't try to help you when you needed it most, and we completely understand if you- How angry you might- How angry you are and we won't force you to forgive us or anything-"

   Sincere. Genuine. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Don't forgive us. You don't need to forgive us. We are really sorry. We will take better care of you.

   Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry-

   - So we thought about- Ah. To repair. Give you the concert you truly deserve."

The firm tone emanating from Yellow's voice quickly interrupted the fog that was beginning to form in Green's head, turning his head towards him to realize that the taller one had raised his hand and stopped everyone from continuing with the cacophony of voices. Of I'm sorrys. Of apologies-

   Oh wait.

   Oh. Oh.

   The stage was for him?

   - I know nothing will fix the damage that silverfish caused- The damage we didn't even try to cease- But." Yellow paused, clasping his hands and fidgeting nervously in his seat before taking a deep breath and continuing; - That's- The concert really mattered to you, so. We wanted to- Give you a chance to- A second chance to. Show to the world-

   - The world being us."

   Yellow elbowed Red. - Your performance. And just your performance only. No silverfish to take your place."

   The stage was practically the same as the show, although it was significantly reduced to fit the computer and not cover the entire space to the point of being almost claustrophobic.

   The instruments from before - from the villagers who agreed to help him with the concert - were not there, just the blocks and noteblocks that had been used previously in the concert. On his concert.

   It was his show. It is his show.

   The stage is his. The performance is his. The audience is his.

   Green just stared at the stage, then at the instruments, then at his friends.

   Millions of emotions flowed like musical notes, the fog in his head forming like fluffy, adorable clouds, and suddenly he felt an immense urge to jump and bounce and play and scream and stim and-

   A single musical note, so small and confused and twisted and broken - yet joyful and hopeful and excited and free - floated from his mouth, the harp-like sound echoing so low that Green is sure none of them would have heard it if the room was not in a complete silent.

   For me?

   Yellow tilted his head gently, Blue touched his hands like he always does when he's excited, while Orange nodded and Red happily waved his arms up and down, encouragingly signaling the older one to come on stage.

   For you.

   Green timidly walked to the stage, Blue and Red quickly helped him by grabbing his hands and pulling him up, Orange walked towards him and gently pushed him to the center where the noteblocks were carefully placed in a way that formed a piano, patting his back in encouragement before going to join Red and Blue on the chairs in front of the stage, sitting right next to Red who was resting his parrots on his shoulders.

   Yellow had the staff in hand, placing his hands on his hips in a sign of lighthearted annoyance, confusing Green momentarily before realizing that the taller stick was looking at the crumpled tie with small traces of dried tears.

Oh.

   Green looked down at his shabby tie, dismay filling him at how careless he had been with his beautiful tie, before perking up when yellow hands suddenly grabbed his tie by the ends and stretched it, trying to straighten it back to the way it was before. Finishing, Yellow walked away and placed his hands on his hips as a sign of pride, while Green just stared at his tie, now even more messy and shabby than before.

   Such a mistake like that would freak him out, reprimand the causer and quickly fix the damage done.

   Now, somehow, he found no reason to care.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   Green took the staff extended to him with such delicacy and care, as if the staff would break with a single sloppy touch, holding it close to his chest like a plush.

   Yellow patted his head, touching his forehead to Green's in a tender and gentle manner, before retreating and getting off the stage, sitting right next to Blue and putting all his attention on Green, on the show. On Green. On the performance. On Green.

   All eyes and heads were on him, all attention was on him and him alone.

  Playing his slightly altered melody as he now played solo, he felt on cloud nine. Gloatingly boasting of the enthusiastic applause and whistles of his beloved audience, who adored every performance he performed no matter how imperfect they seemed to him. Of his friends, who would always be there welcoming him with open arms and would help him in any way they could. Of his family, who adore him and love him so, so much.

   It was perfect. It is perfect.

   He is adored. He is accepted. He is loved.

   He always was. And he always will be.

.

.

.

.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Pairings: None

Word Count: 1,794 Words

Summary: The solar eclipse after Solar's death has an energy to it.

Warnings: Character Death, Caps, Cursing, Overworking, Self-Hatred (from Moon, of course), Sleep Deprivation, Blood (minor), Minor Injury, Ghost, Magic, Mind Meld, Soul Bond, Sharing A Body/Brain, Pain, Nausea, let me know if I should add anything else.

Binding And Bonding

Solar woke up in an abyss. Everything around him was darkness. He could see a vague ring of light around him, lighting up the rest of his surroundings decently well. He could vaguely hear something being said into the void around him in a vaguely familiar voice but he was knocked out before he could acknowledge the voice.

-Two And A Half Weeks Earlier-

"I don't wanna go…" Solar muttered, body deteriorating and slowly disintegrating as it collapsed to the floor like his dimension likely was. Moon was quick to grab him and try to keep him steady but it wasn't any use given he couldn't feel his legs anymore.

"You don't have to!" Moon insisted, holding Solar as close as he could, Solar feeling Moon's hands slip through him as he could feel himself fading into an abyss.

"Solar? SOLAR!" Solar could vaguely hear Moon screaming as he went into a void.

-A Week Later-

"Moon, you're pushing yourself. You aren't charging or resting." Eclipse finally broke and snapped at him.

"Maybe I would if I hadn't fucked everything up!" Moon screamed back at him, too stressed to not scream at the inconveniences anymore, too focused on getting Solar back now.

"Moon, you're at a max of five percent." Eclipse reminded him.

"I'll charge when my brother is back." Moon growled venomously, eyes turning to glare that Eclipse dare interrupt him but Eclipse had gotten used to Moon being like this fairly quickly. Eclipse knew Moon would inevitably run himself down and then Eclipse could carry Moon off to bed.

Thankfully, Eclipse got that opportunity sooner rather than later as Moon stumbled and his hand hit a tray, knocking it to the floor with Moon collapsing to the floor as well a few seconds later.

Eclipse went and finally was able to scoop the poor sap up and groan at how heavy Moon was, muttering complaints about how much Moon weighed as he kicked the door to Parts & Service open for him since he was busy carrying Moon.

"You." Ruin caught Eclipse's attention before Eclipse was able to leave.

"Yeah, what about me? Want me to come in there and kill you finally?" Eclipse asked.

"No, actually. I would like you to forget Protocol 87.775.2, actually." Ruin told him and Eclipse tilted his head in question, not really knowing what Ruin was talking about.

"Forget about what?" Eclipse asked.

"Exactly! Good job! Thank you! Be on your way now!" Ruin cheerily told him and Eclipse shook his head and carried Moon up to the daycare and through the portal to the house, sighing seeing Sun's cats practically waiting for Moon, though they hissed as if they hated him anyway, but Eclipse knew the little cretins were pretending they hated Moon.

Eclipse laid Moon on the couch and put a blanket over him for the cats to crawl on top of and purr now that they knew Moon was sleeping. Eclipse chuckled at the little gremlins. They sure loved their uncle, they were purring on his unconscious body.

Eclipse plugged Moon's charging wire into the wall outlet near the couch and left to go figure out what the hell Ruin was talking about, landing at the daycare computer inevitably. It seemed the computer knew everything anyway so he may as well try.

"Nice attempt, but you are not a member of the Celestial Family." The computer told him.

"Nice joke, I actually am. But I came for answers." Eclipse told the machine.

"Whyever would I give you answers?" The computer asked.

"Ruin mentioned a protocol in me, basically asking me to delete it but I don't know what he was talking about. I will let you scan my code if you look for Protocol 87.775.2." Eclipse told the computer.

"…I will agree to these conditions, only because it may serve well for Moon." The computer agreed. Eclipse plugged himself into the computer for it to scan him and just sat back waiting, all he could do was wait. The computer was doing two things at once and it was taking a while.

Eclipse ended up falling asleep for a bit in the computer chair while the computer did its thing. However, the computer also decided to be an alarm for Eclipse as it woke him up with a loud bussing noise through his circuits.

"HEY!" Eclipse jolted awake, pulling out the cord and thoroughly startled by the computer.

"Ah, good, awake. I have found Protocol 87.775.2 as well as scanned your code." The computer told him.

"And you wake me up like your about to try giving me a controlled shock?" Eclipse snapped.

"Yes, I found it amusing." The computer would've laughed if it could, Eclipse could tell.

"Fine, what is the protocol about?" Eclipse asked.

"This protocol entails a means to what Moon has been working on. A way to undo what has been done." Eclipse scoffed at that.

"So that's why he wanted me to get rid of it. I haven't been alone in a room so he couldn't give me an order to try to get me to delete it until today." Eclipse muttered.

"Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult as it works with the essence of an energy." The computer told him.

"Tell me what I have to do."

-One Week & Four Days Later-

Eclipse walked into the room Solar had died in. He had finally made good on getting everything else ready and Sun and Moon were out with Earth and Lunar, watching the solar eclipse on the roof of the PizzaPlex.

Eclipse had chalk, blood, and a dagger. He hated this, it felt so weird. It felt so awkward to probably be the first person Solar sees when he comes back.

"Solar?" Eclipse calls to whatever remained of Solar's energy, which he had attuned himself to over the last week and a half.

"Solar." Eclipse called to Solar again, sitting down in front of where Solar died. He could feel the energy around him swirling as though Solar was trying to tell him he was there still.

"There you are." Eclipse closed his eyes, holding the chalk and drew a circle of runes with his eyes closed, following the images of runes the protocol was feeding him on the back of his eyelids. The circle was around Eclipse himself and the spot Solar died in, interlocking them.

"Solar, I can feel you. God that sounds weird." Eclipse muttered the last half. The energy jolted like it was laughing at him. "Yeah, laugh it up, idiot. Sit with me." Eclipse sighed. He could vaguely see the outline of Solar's energy sit with him.

"Thank you." Eclipse muttered, knowing he had to thank Solar. He hated that he had to. Eclipse cringed as he poured the blood on the inner ring of the rune circle, watching outside as the sky began to go dark.

"I willingly open this connection for Solar." Eclipse stated as the protocol had, cutting open his right hand with the dagger in his left dominant hand. Eclipse could see that the whisp in his vision that was Solar's energy was interested.

"Hold my hand, Solar and only Solar." Eclipse told the energy. The energy seemed to hold his hand and Eclipse sighed at the feeling, relieved Solar was just listening to him, probably out of curiosity rather than genuine willingness.

"I connect what is mine to what is yours. Wire for wire, energy for energy. I share willingly what is mine with you." Eclipse spoke evenly, making sure to read word for word.

"This day is a connection." Eclipse felt the rune light up with light, blazing as the room went completely dark. "I bind us. Mine is yours. under this light, we become connected." Eclipse lost his breath after these words of the spell, making him choke a bit as he could feel Solar's energy binding to his own, coughing to get air as he could feel his mind breaking in half, body feeling aches and pains as Solar's energy was bonding to him.

Eclipse lurched forward, nauseous as he felt Solar's AI blooming into his head, using the broken-off half of Eclipse's mind, their mind? Eclipse didn't know but he was nauseous. Animatronics weren't supposed to get nauseous. He leaned with his hands on the ground, hearing someone screaming. Was that him? Was he screaming? He still had to say the final words and get Solar to say them too.

Eclipse reached his energy into his mind, making Solar take half control with him, each having control of one half of their? body. Eclipse fed the final words into their vision to make Solar say it with him. Once Solar nodded using their head Eclipse nodded back.

"We claim the energy of the solar eclipse given to us." Both of their voices echoed and the pitch-black void of the room glowed with a peace around them, the white ring around them calmly pulsing with their energies. Eclipse finally felt a peace now as he curled up on the ground, trembling with everything that had happened, too overwhelmed to move but he had to finish it. He had to finish this. He fed to Solar in their optics the final step and words.

Solar was the one to drag their body upright again. Eclipse was shivering, Solar was shivering. The room felt cold. Everything felt cold. Solar seemed to have more force than Eclipse, Solar was learning how to share their energy.

"We undo the damage that has been done through false trust." They made sure to echo each other and Eclipse felt a bloom in his chest of the energy they claimed from the solar eclipse above in the sky still, the ring around them, practically burst into a running visual of universes coming back into being, rebuilding themselves, lives being brought back immediately, everything blooming around them in the circle of light like flowers.

Eclipse gave a soft, exhausted chuckle seeing it and seeing the sky begin to get light again. Once the ring around them finished, the warm feeling slowly dissipated and Eclipse and Solar simply collapsed onto the ground, shaking and taking deep breaths.

"Thank you." Solar whispered.

"I know." Eclipse tried to laugh but all that came out was a wheeze.

"Are you okay?" Solar asked.

"I'm exhausted." Eclipse whispered back.

"Well, you gave up your magic to bring everything back, you're probably going to be exhausted for a while." Solar sighed.

"I expect Moon to thank me, you tell him that if you wake up first." Eclipse told Solar before letting himself ease into unconsciousness, giving Solar control for a brief moment before Solar fell asleep too from being brought back and losing a lot of energy himself.

[uncanny-tranny]

Also, in response to the "testosterone making people angrier" myth, I've found that, personally, testosterone has given me the self-respect to recognize and call out when my boundaries are being overstepped in ways that I wouldn't have had the courage (or, frankly even liking of myself) to have done before. This is in addition to me working on my trauma responses, but testosterone was the spark that gave me the will to do this in the first place. When I see people sae that as anger and thus is a "bad thing," I wonder how much of that is just people being uncomfortable with us... having boundaries or enforcing them, and that the response to that overstepping is labeled as aggressive anger.

Frankly, I now actually respect myself enough to care when I am being mistreated. It seems that people sometimes take that as a personal failure on my end because I don't think I deserve mistreatment.

Caveat: Anger is a fine emotion, and it is a worthy thing to recognize and honour. I find that the accusation of trans men* and trans masc* people "being angry" on testosterone is a moot point simply because it is often a false accusation which uses anger as a punishment. My issue isn't that we're "angry," but that our perceived anger is used, often, as a transphobic bludgeon to punish those who either want to transition with testosterone or who currently are, and everything in-between.

[nervouspoets]