#and being a bit much about it because its too personal for me

[arabellasleopardcoat]

You have no idea how your reblog made me cry. I had forgotten I had written this fic (It's the second I posted, and you can tell by the quality of it) and you caught me in an especially sensistive day. When I wrote it, the only thing I intended was to tackle consent issues in Westeros with a kind partner, and it was right after I watched the episode where Aemond went looking for Aegon in the brothels. The way my skin crawled! Of course men can suffer it too, and I was glad to see it on screen, but I knew they probably wouldn't do it justice, which prompted me to write this. The butchered treatment they gave it in S2 (One could argue the opposite point too, considering it may as well be him going back to his groomer, yet they didn't tell or show that, did they?) vindicated me.

I have never read the ASOIAF books, and I stopped watching the show after the first season, because it was that triggering to me. The amount of violence towards Dany, Brienne, the casual cruelty of men like Tywin and Joffrey, it was enough to kill me a little.

The start of HOTD wasn't promising either. While it depicts sexual violence in a subtler manner, it is still there. Aemma and the horrible opening scene, Alicent and even Helaena and Aemond at some points have made me cry. I have also cried reading fics from these fandoms (Fem!Jon Snow has so fiercely disgusted me sometimes by the things they do to her I have not stopped thinking of it for days) and I found I didn't have the heart to write violence that aligned so much with what I myself suffered. For some readers it can be interesting or freeing, the same for the writers, and I am not here to judge. But it is not for me. And it will never be. I am aware that my writing might not be for everyone either, it's why you will see my fics always properly tagged, and exageratedly so. It is also why I have left other fandoms, which are centered around violence even more than this one.

I just wanted to write what I needed to read at the time. It is also why I will always hold some degree of empathy for show Aemond, despite knowing he is a war criminal. I am interested to see how his relationship with Alys will develop.

To hear that my fic has touched your heart for its themes, and that you didn't think me silly or something for not portraying him as some sort of insensitive, evil person who is absolutely unfeeling means more than you know.

Anyway, sorry for traumadumping (More like ranting) on you. Thank you for reading and for feeling so touched by my words you decided to let me know.

Death in four moves (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Queen Alicent is starting to notice your lack of pregnancy. You discuss it with your husband, and come out a stronger marriage because of it.

A/N: No one dies in this one, guys. Just quoting Tyrion. For a more detailed warning, click read more and scroll until after the dots.

Warnings: Fluff. Discussions of SA, sex, erotic novels, infertility, miscarriages, and pregnancies (None actually happen in the fic)

Catapult /ˈkatəpʌlt/

noun

a forked stick with an elastic band fastened to the two prongs, used by children for shooting small stones.

In Cyvasse, a catapult can take out a dragon.

“It’s the third month you bleed.” Queen Alicent said, with a hint of disapproval. She had perfected just the right amount of passive aggressiveness when being nosy. Your eye twitched slightly. You understood now the resentment Princess Rhaenyra held for her, with your sheets being examined by the Queen daily, your moon’s blood carefully tracked and advised on when the best moment was to conceive. “When will you make me a grandmother?”

You sipped at your tea, buying yourself a few seconds to answer. You were having tea in Haelena’s chambers, a family meeting, if you will. More like an intervention, truly. Alicent sat next to Aegon, who was in his cups already and seemed uncaring about the discussion.

“Mother, you are already a grandmother.” Aemond pointed at the hostess herself, who was on her hands and knees showing a bug to her children. The twins blabbered to her, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sweetness of the scene. Seated next to Aemond, you gently squeezed his forearm in silent thanks. His lips barely curved up into a smile. Despite his kindness in helping you out, you knew what the Queen’s response would be. It was like you were actors in a well-rehearsed play, one that had been repeating for the past six weeks.

“Yes, but those are your brother’s children. I want you two to make me a grandmother, too.” The Queen explained, smiling at him. The first month, there had been relative peace. Aemond couldn’t have knocked you up that fast, everyone reasoned. Not while still attending to his duties in the way he did. But when the second month came, and the sheets were stained red once more, Alicent had been disappointed.

Being Aemond’s wife was not an easy task. At the rate it was going, you were starting to think it would have been easier, inheritance disputes aside, to be married to Aegon. It was not that Aemond was unkind. On the contrary, he was most amenable. He cared about you, treating you with respect and even making efforts to be friendly. His mother was the problem.

You see, when the time came for Aemond to be married, Queen Alicent had handpicked you, from all the eligible ladies in the realm. The bride for his favorite children had to be perfect. She had had, I kid you not, a list. The girl Aemond married had to be smart, to be able to match him and converse about the topics that interested him, but not too educated, less she had ideas about her role in society. Devout to the Seven, but not superstitious. Brave, but not brazen. Kind, but not overly so, less she was too familiar with those beneath her. Pretty, but not one of those intimidating beauties or too aware of it. A maiden, pure and sweet, but not innocent. And so on, the list went. You weren’t too sure what she had seen in you, but she had decided you were perfect for him.

Aemond, mother’s boy as he was, had been willing to try. And he was pleasantly surprised with you. Yours wasn’t the most passionate of marriages, but you were good friends. He enjoyed your sense of humor, and you two liked the same books. Marriages were built on less. But there was the issue of consummation. Or well. There was no issue, since it hadn’t happened yet.

Neither of you dared tell Alicent that the first night, when you had come to him in your wedding gown, shaking with fear, he had done you the kindness of sitting on the bed with a goblet of wine and pulling out a deck of cards. You remembered clearly the way he had drawled, so effortlessly self-assured “I was uncertain whether you knew how to play Cyvasse, but guessed this was a safe bet.” You had nearly laughed in relief, sitting next to him and explaining you didn’t know how to play it, but cards you could do.

It had gone like that, for three long months. Aemond came to your chambers once a week, and you two played cards or just sat down talking for the whole night. He had even started teaching you Cyvasse. You didn’t mind it. He was an attractive man, your Prince, but you two had been strangers before the wedding. It was sweet, and you were a practical woman. You had all the perks of marrying a prince, and none of the hardships. If this were what your entire life would be like, you could handle it. And you would have, were it not for your mother-in-law.

A knock on the heavy wooden doors jolted you out of your thoughts. The guards announced the Grand Maester.

“Just on time.” Queen Alicent muttered, and became him over with an imperious hand. The old man stepped closer, holding a jar with some dirt? At least to you, it looked like that. The Queen took it from his hands, and opened it, grabbing your tea cup and stirring it into the drink before you could protest.

“Hare liver, pulverized with salmon. I had the maester prepare it for you, dear girl! You will have it at every meal.” Alicent beamed. Your grip on Aemond’s forearm became deathly. Aegon started laughing, before flinching suddenly. You weren’t able to tell if the one who had kicked him under the table had been your husband or your mother-in-law.

“I truly think there is no…” Aemond started to say, before getting interrupted.

“It is said to aid conception.” The Grand Maester bowed. His tone showed he wanted to be anywhere else but here, trapped between Alicent’s hopeful look, Aegon’s amusement and your indignant glare. His urge to leave was evident, not even flinching at the glare Aemond directed him for interrupting.

“Thank you, my Queen.” You answered, graciously. “Thank you as well, Grand Maester.” The man bowed again and exited the room. You eyed your now ruined tea, and Alicent. Her smile didn’t waver. You could tell she was waiting for you to drink it, and so, you smiled back and brought it to your lips.

It had to be the most foul concoction you had ever tasted. It was fishy and oily and oh so salty. You nearly spat it out, but controlled yourself, digging your nails into Aemond’s arm until he squirmed in pain. Aegon laughed again, before nearly choking in his haste to speak.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” While he laughed, you quickly took his cup and intended to drink his wine to get the taste out of your mouth. He made a grab for the wine, but so did Alicent.

“I read wine could harm conception.” She explained, passing it back to Aegon, who gave you a superior smirk.

“Mother, please. She looks like she is about to throw up.” Aemond pleaded and took the cup again. Aegon protested, but he brought the cup to your lips, urging you to drink from it. “Let her have it.”

“Aemond, I’m trying to help you both.” Alicent huffed. You quickly drank, less she tried grabbing the cup again. “We should do all that the books said. I have been reading on the topic, and I assure you…”

“I read…” Aegon interrupted loudly, giving you a wink. You knew he was about to do something disruptive, and that he would hold it over both yours and Aemond’s head for letting you escape. “Female pleasure is of the utmost importance for the woman to fall pregnant. So tell me, brother. Have you been pleasuring our dear…”

“Aegon!” Alicent yelled, slamming a hand over his mouth. “How can you say such things, with your children in the room? By the Seven, what will your brother’s wife think? That we are a family of…”

Aemond grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room.

“You have to tell her.” You said, as soon as you were outside. He was gently pulling you along towards the gardens. “I’m not drinking anymore of that stuff. And careful, or else I will ask her to give you some too.” It had been the last straw. Your sheets being checked, you could take. Her not so subtle nudges towards laying with your husband on certain days, you could too. But being prohibited wine, and forced to take the concoction with every meal, was not something you were willing to do. Not when it was not an issue of fertility, but of the lack of… Intimate relations between you two.

“I don’t want to disappoint her.” It was said quietly, but it broke your heart. You took his hand and squeezed. One of the things you disliked about your new life was the amount of pressure Aemond was under. He had quickly become your best friend, and you liked to think you were his too. It hurt you, to see how much he pushed himself and how the nerves and worries ate him away. You knew perhaps he didn’t return your feelings, which had been steadily growing since the chaste kiss you had shared in the Sept, and all the sleepless nights spent playing games and talking, but you loved him. And it always hurt, when those you loved were in pain.

“I doubt you will. She loves you. Just because you would rather not be a father yet…” You smiled at him, trying to sound sure of yourself. In truth, you knew the Queen would be disappointed. She so wanted Aemond to be a father. He was her favorite. A baby from him would be a dream come true.

“I do want to be a father.” It was said very quietly, almost a confession. You turned towards him, unable to believe your ears. Aemond was pointedly looking towards a bush of roses, not making eye contact. His posture, normally so perfect, was a bit slouched, as if trying to curl into himself. Ashamed. He was no fool, to not be aware of your feelings, so that meant…

“Oh.” You blinked. It felt like something shattered inside you. It was not children he disliked, but you. A few tears sprang to your eyes, but you blinked them back, determined. You wanted him to be happy, even if not with you. Lowering your eyes, so he didn’t see your heartbroken expression, you answered.“Oh. Well. I’m still a maiden. We could ask the High Septon for an annulment.”

Aemond turned to look at you, bewildered. Then, a scowl took over his face, purple eye narrowing in anger.

“Annulment? Why would I want that? Is that what you want, an annulment?” His voice was starting to raise, slightly. You shushed him, frantically. But he kept going, stepping closer, hands grasping roughly at your shoulders. Aemond forced you to look him in the eyes. “You dislike me that much?”

“No. No. But if you are not attracted to me…” A few tears fell down your cheeks. You hated it. You didn’t want him to think you were manipulating him. It was distasteful, your mother had always said. Crying for a man to stay, it was not behavior befitting of you. “A lady should never beg for any man to stay. Not even a Prince.” She had always said, and you tried to live by it. But she had clearly never met Aemond.

Aemond’s lips pursed in the way they did when he was thinking about something deeply. Was he actually considering your offer? The thought made more tears spring to your eyes. He looked torn. So, this was it, you were going back home. Annulment and ruin. No one would believe you a maiden with Alicent’s efforts, with how often Aemond visited your rooms. Who in their right mind would think two young newlyweds were spending their nights playing cards and board games? It stung, to think you had had one job, and you had failed. Bed your husband. Produce children. Any child, not even a boy. It was meant to be easy. You were a failure.

Before your thoughts could spiral even further, towards becoming a Septa and watching the man you loved marry another, Aemond surprised you. With a shaking hand, he brushed your tears away.

“It’s not that, either. I like you. I might even love you.” Aemond’s eye doesn’t meet yours, and it’s only that what halts your heart from roaring in happiness. You frown, rubbing at your temples. A headache is starting. Why must everything be so difficult? He is saying the words you have longed to hear for weeks, yet… Something is off.

“You can say that you don’t like me. It’s alright.” Perhaps it is dishonesty. Perhaps he is only saying it, so you don’t feel bad. Aemond is considerate like that, never wanting to upset your feelings.

Aemond glares, giving you a stern look, as if daring you to try to explain his own feelings to himself. You shrink slightly.

“No. I like you, truly. It’s just that….” He trails off, and you want to scream out in frustration. Your temper is starting to rise, too.

“What? If you are so attracted to me, you should find it easy to bed me.” You spit out, almost daring him to contradict you.

“Nothing is that simple.” Aemond says, rolling his eye. You feel the urge to shake him, but you don’t. You are a Princess now. A Princess would not shake her Prince husband, no matter how foolish he acts. You breathe in, then out. Your response comes out, tersely.

“Love is a simple thing. It’s us who insist on complicating everything.”

“It is not my love for you, what makes me hesitate. First times can be…” And at that, you almost laugh in relief. So, that is what makes him hesitate? Fear of hurting you?

“Painful? I know, but I trust you.” You grab his hands in yours and look up at him, trying to showcase your sincerity. Your eyes are wide and earnest. But Aemond pulls out of your grasp, frustrated.

“'Tis I, who doesn’t trust you.”

You recoil, immediately pulling back. Your mother had always said you were a kind girl if a bit self-centered. And it was showing. You had never thought yourself the source of his worries, or had you ever thought he could think you're capable of hurting him.

“Aemond…” It comes out in a broken little sob. You knew people said things in fits of anger they didn’t mean, but you could tell he meant this. He didn’t trust you with his body.

Aemond tangles his hands in his hair, messing it up.

“Not like that. Just… You come to me pure, but I’m not. I have laid with a woman before.” It only makes you more confused. You are trying not to make assumptions, but it is a strange thing to say. It’s expected, especially for a man of his station. You wouldn’t have dared demand purity from him, in the way men demanded it from their wives. It was natural, even. Your positions in life were different. No one, not even the Queen herself, chided a man for his lack of chastity.

“Alright. I don’t mind it.” You answer, tentatively. You really hope, this time, you get it right. But the silence that follows is defeating.

Aemond’s hands ball into fists by his side. He loosens them, before balling them again. He is trying to hide their trembling from you, you realize. A pit forms in your stomach, knowing that whatever he is about to tell you, it’s bad. Something so terrible it might be better to not even speak it aloud. You have seen this man get into fights with his nephews, spitting out the worst slurs. You have seen him defeated by Ser Criston, beaten up, bruised badly. You have seen him hurt by his father's lack of care, cast aside in favor of others. But never once, never once, shaking in the way he is now. It terrifies you.

You don’t dare touch him, or comfort him in any way, when he is trying to calm down so hard. His breath is shallow, posture hunched, as if trying to fight the instinct to flight.

“It was not a good experience. I… I fear it would be like that, between us, and taint our marriage.” Aemond says, very quietly. His eye looks watery, his mouth set into a grim line. As if about to cry. You can tell, that whatever happened, it was much worse than what he says.

“Oh.” It’s all you can say. It had not crossed your mind, that it wasn’t you what repelled him, but the act itself. You long to hug him, but can tell touch is not what he wants, right now. You remember then, all the times he evaded touches from others, so skillfully. The ducking of an arm when Aegon tries to hug him, turning it into play fighting and roughhousing. How he never initiates affection with the Queen or Haelena. How he has never touched you, apart from a pat on the arm or holding your hand. Or how his palms get so sweaty when he has to do it. How he has not kissed you since your wedding. Perhaps, even the fact that he is always dressed in clothes that cover him completely.

Never having thought about it before, his quirks start to make sense in a way you don’t want them to. It hurts, to think of him being hurt in such a way. It is not something you had thought could happen to a man, but it makes too much sense to ignore. Whatever cloud appears in your eyes, it’s too much for Aemond to handle.

“Oh.” He mocks you, chucking your chin. It’s a gesture meant to put your mind at ease, show you that this is not an unsavable obstacle. You are thankful to him for it, even if it comes at the cost of being the butt of the joke that’s not even funny, much less with the topic you are discussing. But you can pretend for him. You smile, softly.

“Do you wish to speak about it?”

“Perhaps some other day."

Dragon /ˈdraɡ(ə)n/

noun

a mythical monster resembling a giant reptile, sometimes shown as having wings. In European tradition, the dragon is typically fire-breathing and tends to symbolize chaos or evil, whereas in East Asia it is usually a beneficent symbol of fertility, associated with water and the heavens.

In Cyvasse, a dragon can remove elephants from the board.

Aemond pulls down the screen dividing the board. He gives you a smug little look, laying down on the bed only in his sleep shirt. You try hard not to stare, focusing instead on the pieces on the board.

Your catapults are gone, and only your elephants remain. He has captured your King with a Dragon. It’s an odd move. You either are not remembering right or he is cheating.

“That’s cheating! You said the dragon could only move…” You start to complain, frowning at him.

“Diagonally, which is right.” He answers very calmly, looking at you in expectation. You examine the board from all angles, noting that he is right, and he has not cheated. Unless playing with a greatly disadvantaged player is cheating because in that case, Aemond most definitely is.

You take a deep breath and lay down next to him, forgetting the board. Oh, you can feel his pride at having bested you, even without looking at him. And of course, he keeps shifting on the bed, jostling you, lest you forget what you have to do. It’s the customary price, after all. A way to encourage to actually pay attention to his instructions about how the game is played, but also a way for a young couple to start getting to know each other. Your cheeks heat up immediately, when you decide what you will say. You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly and mumble so low, it can barely be heard over the crackling fire that lights up the room.

“Fine. As a young girl, I used to steal my father’s dagger and make other children knights with it. I loved playing Queen.”

Aemond laughs, a deep, sincere laugh. His eye crinkles at the corner, a pair of tiny dimples making themselves known. You like how true laughter lights up his face, you decide. It’s cute, but not something that often happens.

“That must have been adorable, wife.” Aemond smiles at you, boyishly. He is about to tease you, you know it. Your heart melts just a little more. “I apologize for being but a lowly Prince.” You start to laugh, but the laughter dies in your throat with his next words. “Perhaps I can indulge you.”

You rush to correct the treasonous words, scared. Aemond is an ambitious man, you have known that from the start. Just as ambitious as he is dutiful, your husband. But you can’t help but wonder if in this case, ambition outweighs the duty he feels towards his family. You don’t know him enough to make a judgment yet. So very gently, with your pulse ringing loud in your ears, you speak.

“I like Aegon. No matter if he is a drunk fool, sometimes. And your father is pretty boring, but alright. And Princess Rhaenyra." You don't say anything positive about her, not when you had learned through this same technique she had demanded Aemond was punished after losing his eye. If you had a chance, you would strangle her. But only a little. Otherwise, it would be treason, and it would be setting the wrong example. Queen Alicent always told you it was best to lead with your actions, and not only your words.

Aemond smiles, pushing your shoulder lightly.

"Not like that.” He complains, but gives you a long look regardless. You know he has noticed your slip, referring to Rhaenyra as an afterthought and only after Aegon. He knows now, without you having told him, what your thoughts on succession are. He is perceptive like that. “I was thinking more along the lines of crowning you my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“You never compete in tourneys, husband.”

“For you, I would. If you wished to be Queen, for you, I would.” And it feels like Aemond is promising something else, something more than just being the one to get a crown of pretty flowers. It scares you a little, to be the focus of such devotion. Such honeyed words, too, which you know are unusual for him. The urge to kiss him is strong, but his confession, a few days backs, still weighs heavily between you too. He has definitely noticed you are more careful with your touches now. Still playful, but giving ample time to pull away. Yet, you can’t leave him hanging either. Not when Aemond is trying so hard for you two to work.

“I would, too. You would look handsome, with a flower’s crown.” And thinking yourself so sly, you slide your hand underneath his, laughing. Aemond laughs too, and pulls you towards him, trying to get you to put your head on his chest. You do so eagerly, listening to his heartbeat. At first, it is rushed, and he remains stiff, despite being the one to initiate the embrace. But slowly, Aemond relaxes and starts carding a hand through your hair. You think it feels much like what heaven must feel like.

The motion lulls you to that state between sleep and consciousness, where your head feels fuzzy and full of cotton, and your movements are sluggish. It feels like a dream, the way the shadows dance on the wall, and how his heart pounds steadily under you. You wish you could sink into him, fuse the two of you, as the Maesters of old said soulmates were. Nestle close to his heart, curl around it with greedy little hands, protect him from the world. Your eyelids drop, despite your fight to stay awake. Aemond smiles down at you, amused, and runs his hand over the slope of your nose, tracing the contours of your face. You scrunch your face at him, about to scold him for disturbing you, when he speaks. At first, it doesn’t make sense to you. And then, you realize.

“I was thirteen. Aegon took me to a brothel. I…” It feels like being stabbed, over and over again, tiny sparks of pain in your chest. In your mind’s eye, you can see him. A slightly younger version of Daeron, perhaps with longer hair. A big, purple eye, the other side of his face freshly scarred. Tiny. Terrified. And that you know because you know his growth spurt didn’t hit until he was fifteen, courtesy of your cyvasse games. You also know he was painfully shy and quiet, the product of a childhood filled with mockery and neglect. That, too, he had shared, after a game you knew Aemond had lost deliberately, feeling you were losing more embarrassing stories than he was sharing. Still, you hadn’t minded.

It hurts to think of your awfully kind husband being taken against his will. You doubt, had you been him, you could have survived it. Being violated so… It aches so bad, tears start filling your eyes. But you do not speak, less you break the spell and Aemond clams back up.

“I… I didn't want you to think I was weak. You are one of the loveliest things I have had, in a long time.” He says, voice breaking slightly. You shift in his grip, and look him right in the eye.

“You are not weak.” You enunciate, clearly and slowly. And you hope your sincerity shines through your eyes because you do believe it. Unable to speak a word, silenced as he was by shame, you think you would have broken much earlier. That Aemond stands, whole, before you and speaks the words aloud after so much time, says leagues about his character.

“I was meant to come out of it a man. It went…wrong.” He tries explaining, but you shake your head.

“You were not in the wrong.” You make a mental note to try to strangle Aegon later. You had known he was a… Interesting character, to say it kindly. But this… This took the cake on reckless, thoughtless behavior. He was at least three years older than Aemond, yet he had not half the sense his brother posses. Perhaps, your husband is better suited to be king. After living three months with the Targaryens, you were starting to doubt their closeness to gods. You stomp down your personal grievances, knowing Aemond needs love, not rage.

“May I hug you?” You ask, softly. Aemond laughs, a little watery, and pulls you on top of him. He hides his face in your hair, sobbing softly. You fantasize of killing half the whores of Flea Bottom, Aegon, Viserys and perhaps Alicent, too. You fall asleep like that, limbs entangled with each other and forgoing your ritual of messing up the room and your appearances. Despite it, the next morning, the maids who find you are more convinced than ever before of your closeness.

Elephant /ˈɛlɪf(ə)nt/

noun

a very large plant-eating mammal with a prehensile trunk, long curved ivory tusks, and large ears, native to Africa and southern Asia. It is the largest living land animal.

In Cyvasse, each player has multiple elephants.

It takes you a few sleepless nights to try to find a solution to your problem. Despite being praised often for how learned and bright you were, you couldn’t find an answer to your questions. You see, you have always been a planner. You tackled your concerns by doing research about them and then coming up with an action plan. But there was no research to be done here. You had to work with the facts.

You knew Aemond was not willing to confess to his mother. Nor were you about to betray his trust. But she would keep pressuring, for you to fall pregnant. You could buy time, faking an illness or perhaps even a pregnancy followed with a miscarriage. Yet, you had been chosen not only as Aemond’s companion, but to bring the next generation of Targaryens to the world. And both of you wanted children. He was too proud for letting you get pregnant and pass the baby as his own. Not with the situation with his nephews.

So. You were back to square one. You had to find a way for both of you to have children, and not traumatize Aemond about it. And get Alicent off your back. Research. You could do research about how a lady ended up with a child.

You poured long hours over medicine treaties and concluded this: It was not his member that had to go inside you, but his seed. It would also be useful if you broke your maidenhead in some way, less you ended up trying to give birth still a virgin. So, in theory, Aemond didn’t need to enter you. Just collect his seed, and perhaps you could pour it inside you with a jar or something. Still, you put that thought on the back burner, as a plan b. Oftentimes, the best solution was not the most complex one, and so, you had to at least try to perform intimacy with you. But you didn’t want him to suffer, and so, you decided to approach one of your maids about it.

“Dyana.” You said, as the girls were unlacing your gown and unpinning your hair for bed. “Stay.”

It was low, what you were about to do. But you knew of none else who had gone through something similar. Dyana had been appointed as your maid after having the unwelcome attentions of Aegon on her. There was nothing that could be done, not when the King was so ill, Alicent had told you. She wouldn’t subject him to having to pass judgment on his own son, not in his state. And besides, there had been no harm done, with the girl not falling pregnant. At the time, you hadn’t questioned it. Now, it made you sick to think your brother-in-law, who was always supportive of you in front of his mother, could have hurt her in such a way.

Dyana stayed behind, brushing your hair in front of the vanity. The other maids scurried out in a flock of dresses and chatter. You met her eyes through the mirror, in low candlelight. She was the Targaryen kind of pretty, with hair so blonde it almost looked like theirs. Perhaps that had attracted Aegon.

“I understand you were forcefully subjected to Prince Aegon’s… Advances.” You said, once you were alone. Dyana was very tense, obviously reminding the last time she had been alone with a member of the royal family. You decided to spare her the anxiety over what you wanted, if any, to make this shameful act you were committing a bit less traumatizing. “I have questions about it, from woman to woman.”

The brush clattered to the floor. Dyana’s eyes turned from anxious to terrified. She was frozen, unable to bend down and pick it up. You turned in your stool, to reassure her.

“I'm not going to punish you. I don’t want to know about the act, or reprimand you or blame you.”

Dyana bent down to pick up the brush. Her shoulders remained tense.

“I only want to ask a question. And you don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to… But if you do, I will reward you handsomely.” You tried putting her at ease, using a soft voice. Much like with Aemond, you stuck to not sudden moves and no touching. To show her that you were serious, you pulled a handful of gold dragons, letting them clatter on your vanity’s table, next to the bottles of expensive lotions and perfumes Aemond had bought you. “But my husband can never know. No one can ever know.”

Dyana raised her head at the sound. She looked at the gold, and stood, anxiously wringing her hands together.

“Milady… That’s a lot of gold for a question.” Dayna’s eyes were fixed on the ground.

“It’s an important question. It requires utmost secrecy.” You answered, handing her half. “For keeping this conversation private, even if you would rather not answer me.”

Dyana took the gold, quickly hiding it inside her pocket. She seemed to fear you were playing a joke on her and would take the gold away at any time. You didn’t blame her, with how badly she had been treated so far. Keeping her waiting would be even more cruel than what you had already done, and so, you asked.

“How do you trust again, after it?” It was a clumsily worded questions, asked in a rush and in a single breath. It came out more like “Howdoyoutrustagain, after… It.” Not the most dignified wording, either. You were supposed to be eloquent, smart. Yet, you were floundering as an overzealous child.

“I…” She had clearly understood, by the look on her face, but didn’t know what to say. How to approach it. Dayna stepped closer, scrutinizing your face. Searching. But for what?

“How can you lay with a man again?” You repeated, trying to sound a bit more self-assured and narrowing down your line of questioning. You knew she was currently in a relationship with a stable boy. He always picked her up on the nights you and Aemond were supposed to bed each other.

Dayna looked at you, expression doing a full one eighty. Her eyes stopped being frightened and turned sad. One of her hands went again to brush your hair, almost in comfort.

“It is not the same man. And. Um. Never in the same way, my lady. He asks. All the time. And not like…” She trailed off, concerned. You didn’t notice, too busy committing her advice to memory. “My lady, you should really speak to the Queen….”

At those words, your head jerked up. Why did she bring up Alicent? Did she really think you could ask her about intimate relationships? Unless… She thought Aemond was… Oh, by the Seven, that was even worse.

“Aemond is not mistreating me. But my cousin’s husband is. I just don’t know what to tell her, having been so lucky.” You lied, trying to sound as convincing as you could. But you knew she wasn’t believing a word out of your mouth.

“Can they mend things?” Dyana asked, and it was obvious she didn’t buy that you were asking for a friend.

“From what I gather.” You answered, tersely. Of that, you were certain. Aemond liked you enough to at least try. You would consult him first, making sure he was not uncomfortable with the idea, but you knew he felt the grains of sand on both your clocks draining, as you did. Time was something you didn’t have. But Dyana didn’t know any of that. She was asking you, even if covertly, if you thought your husband could not be a brute. It showed, in the way her eyes filled with pity.

“Tell her to ask him to be soft. And… Not that, right away.” Dyana blushed, lowering her eyes in embarrassment. You gave her a puzzled glance, confused. If not intimacy, right away, what did she mean? Kissing? “Go slow, do something else….”

“Like?” You tilted your head to the side, hoping for a clarification.

“Mouth. Fingers.” The girl looked like she was about to hide under the table from embarrassment. And truly, it was a bit strange. An unmarried maid teaching a lady about intimacy.

“Oh.” You frowned. Dayna squeezed your shoulder, with very soft hands. “Thank you.”

King /kɪŋ/

noun

the male ruler of an independent state, especially one who inherits the position by right of birth.

In Cyvasse, the goal is to kill the King.

Your research had led you to A Caution For Young Girls. A popular novel between the common folk and that had costed you great effort to acquire. The plan had included a horse, a chicken, Aegon, and a copy of the Seven Pointed Star you had had to defile. You prayed that the Seven forgave you, both for reading such dirty tales and for destroying a copy of their sacred book to hide the book you were really reading. That day, even Queen Alicent had mistaken your newfound devotion for the Seven for a lady praying for a child and had pointed to you as an example for Aegon. In truth, you had been on your knees before the effigy of the Mother begging for forgiveness, and not a child.

It had been for a better cause, you told yourself. If truly were the gods who gave the Targaryens their right to rule, it meant they were favored among the rest of the men. Surely, finding a way to procure a child to one of the most pious, gentle Princes the realm had to offer justified your actions. Surely, Aemond’s devotion made up for your sins, or at least, the seven prayers you had recited under each of their effigies did. Surely, right?

Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing something bad. Literature is meant to open the mind. That’s why yours and Aemond’s studies had been encouraged from a young age. And the novel had certainly opened your mind to new ways of being intimate. You had no clue there were so many ways one could use their mouth, fingers, and openings. And if you had felt aroused by reading it… Literature was meant to be enjoyed, too.

So, the next time you and Aemond were alone, you said there was something you needed to talk to him about. You brought out your notes, and took the Cyvasse board away from the table, placing your research there instead. Aemond’s eyebrows raised at seeing you pull out such an amount of parchment, yet he said nothing.

“You want to be a father. I want to be a mother. We are married. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I have researched for two possible ways of achieving it. Watch…” You pulled out a diagram, crudely drawn. You grabbed a stick, much like the one your Septa used to teach you when you were a child, and were about to start explaining, when Aemond interrupted.

“Is that supposed to be…” Aemond had the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “A… Um… Is that…?”

“Yes, now shut up. I’m trying to explain my plan.” You answered, not even the slightest bit ashamed. Couldn’t he see you were explaining your research? “You see, we don’t actually need to have any kind of sexual contact for me to fall pregnant. We just need to insert your seed…” It was said in a very clinical manner, but Aemond interrupted, again.

“Wife, I know how conception works.” Now he was fully blushing, and you frowned. It was not your intention to make him uncomfortable, so you decided to go straight to the point.

“Alright, so we will skip that part. Fine. We have two options. You either pleasure yourself and spill in a jar, or we build up to intimacy. I researched the way to make that the least traumatizing for you as possible, too.”

Aemond looked at you, for one long second. The silence stretched, and you worried this was going to end up with losing him in the most painful way you could imagine. Your blooming relationship, dead by your tactless hand. Aemond stared some more, his eye narrowed. Then, he burst out laughing. You felt so embarrassed you hoped the earth would open up and swallow you whole.

The both of you stayed like that. Aemond laughing so hard tears sprang from his eyes, and you, diagram still in hand, with what Aemond would later swear was the cutest pout he had ever seen.

“This has to be both the sweetest and strangest thing someone has ever done for me.” He finally said, drying his tears.

“You are not mad? Or hurt?” You asked, eyeing him a bit suspiciously, but with a smile of your own.

“Come here.” Aemond widened his stance, and you stepped closer, giving in to his unspoken request for you to stand between his parted legs. With a touch so light, it might not even be there, Aemond tilted your head down and kissed you. You felt as if the world stopped, for a minute. The kiss was clumsy, with him sitting and you standing but you could swear it was the kind of kiss the poets wrote about. You let him lead you, reminding Dyana’s advice, and you could feel the way he smiled against your mouth for it.

“I made my decision.” Aemond said, as you pulled away to take some well-needed breaths of air. Your mind felt like mush, with how dizzying the kiss had been. You had not a single clue what he was talking about.

“Huh?”

“We will try to have the children the normal way. I can learn to trust you enough for it.” And it felt like your heart was singing, with how happy you were. You smiled brightly at him. It was an honor that he was willing to trust you that much, that he was willing to try. You knew, were you him, you would have hesitated more. Aemond was a brave man, you had to give it to him.

You wanted to kiss him silly. But you had promised yourself to keep things at his pace, were he to choose this path. And so, you asked.

“Hug?”

Aemond laughed, and pulled you closer, burying his face on your chest. You hugged back, holding him.

“So, what did your research say? About building up intimacy?” Aemond shifted, looking up at you, purple eye shining with mirth. You spluttered, slapping his shoulder. He laughed again. “You know, in all seriousness… The Seven have given me a strange woman. But I wouldn’t change you for anything.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

Detailed warning: Aemond confesses to the reader that the reason they haven’t had sex yet is not a lack of desire but a bit of fear, and describes what happened to him when he was thirteen. The reader does her research and presents it to him, crudely, but he is touched by her gesture.

As a fellow SA survivor, I hope I have managed to portray the struggle to trust a partner again in a manner that is both tasteful and fluffy, with an adequate dose of humor and awkwardness. Writing Honesty raised a few thoughts on the matter of consent in Westeros. I never got to finish GOT because of the same issue. My heart ached for Aemond during the brothel scene, and I wondered about it a lot. I have yet to see it portrayed in any fanfiction. I apologize in advance if it made anyone uncomfortable.

[ms-demeanor]

Hey friend! So while I'm incredibly skeptical, I'm not strictly against alternative medicine, like you are. I saw you mention reiki, and thought you might geek out on this article like I did:

https://web.archive.org/web/20200308195914/https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/04/reiki-cant-possibly-work-so-why-does-it/606808/

It's called "Reiki Can't Possibly Work. So Why Does It?" and I highly encourage reading the whole thing. It first of all thoroughly debunks a lot of the claims reiki practitioners make but it also details all of the studies that have proven its effectiveness and provides what I find a pretty compelling explanation: that much of modern western medicine is stressful and traumatizing. Of course laying in a quiet room with the lights dimmed while a kind person sits with you and wishes for you to be well is effective. It reduces stress and all of the negative biological processes it triggers, which promotes healing.

The article mentions that for years we didn't understand the mechanism by which acetaminophen worked - we just knew it did. I knew a man who was really into "chakra therapy" in the 90s where he had a set of colored sunglasses that, supposedly, would rebalance one's out-of-whack chakras through light therapy. He found that attending to his throat chakra, yellow, helped him sleep better. Years later, formal studies found that yellow lenses filter blue light and can help regulate circadian rhythms.

When I was really little, my uncle sold magnet therapy products (which claimed to promote circulation?? I think??). I had a huge meltdown at a family reunion and no one could get me to calm down. My uncle put a blanket full of magnets on top of me, and I immediately relaxed. Imagine my surprise hearing that story for the first time as an adult who now uses a weighted blanket for stress.

I agree that people need to be really careful about these practices, about getting scammed, and especially about herbal supplements that can have dangerous interactions. I also think there's an extent to which you can analyze the risks and benefits and say, "Okay, I have no idea why this works but it does and there's no major downsides."

Hey so I get a bit heated in this response but I want you to know that I approached this ask in good faith because I know you and I know that we have a lot of the same values and interests and this touched a nerve that was not at all your fault and once I get past the direct response to the article I think I come off a little less. Um. Like the aggression there is not directed at you, it's directed at the article and at one person mentioned in the article specifically who is part of why my reaction to the article is so not good. But I promise after the last bullet point I come off as less reactive, I think. (I'm also publishing this publicly because I think it may be helpful for people to see how CAM stuff often gets away with a veneer of skepticism-that-isn't-actually-skepticism - the article claims to be skeptical but then makes a ton of assumptions and cites some truly mind-bogglingly bad sources that a lot of people won't recognize as bad if they don't have a hair trigger trained by far too much time on the bad CAM parts of the internet).

I've actually read that article a few time times, and would like to do a quick rundown on why I find it unconvincing:

She doesn't cite any decent studies on reiki; one that she does cite is just a self-reported questionnaire response from 23 people in 2002.

While we don't know the exact mechanism of action for acetaminophen, we do know that it does work - it measurably reduces fever and in double blinded RCTs produces reproduceable results in reducing certain kinds of pain. The Science Based Medicine authors cited in the article who called for an end to studies on reiki did so both because there is no plausible mechanism of action for reiki (specifically as energy work, not as 'being in a room with a patient person who listens to you') and because there is no good evidence that it works. (And they wrote a follow-up to the Atlantic article; I like SBM but it's quite sneery, as are most of their write-ups of reiki). When Kisner asks "why should this be different?" when comparing reiki and acetaminophen, the answer is: because there is not only no plausible way that reiki *could* work, there is not any good evidence we have that it works better than placebo.

"Various non-Western practices have become popular complements to conventional medicine in the past few decades, chief among them yoga, meditation, and acupuncture, all of which have been the subject of rigorous scientific studies that have established and explained their effectiveness." This one sentence needs probably twenty or so links in response, suffice it to say that western medicine has emphatically not established and explained the effectiveness of AT LEAST acupuncture and the casually credulous way Kisner accepts that acupuncture is effective (effective FOR WHAT?) throws some serious doubt on her ability to assess these kinds of things.

The title of the article is "Reiki can't possibly work, so why does it?" and that's probably the Atlantic's fault more than Jordan Kisner's fault, but she doesn't ever demonstrate that it works. She says she got a buzzy feeling after her training, she says that patients at the VA were asking for reiki as treatment for pain and sleep disorders, she says that people remembered "healing touches" from parents and loved ones and that the same mechanism might be what makes reiki 'work.' She says that reiki "has been shown by various studies that pass evidentiary muster to help patients in a variety of ways when used as a complementary practice" and the two studies that she includes that weren't just a questionnaire were 1) a non-blinded study of heart rate variability post heart attack where the reiki arm involved continuous interaction with a trained nurse and the other two arms involved resting quietly or classical music (so relaxation as a result of additional focused attention by attentive medical professionals could account for this? Why was the control for this study not having a med student sit and hold the patient's hand?) and 2) a study of patients who sought out reiki who were surveyed after treatment and noted improvement on one of twenty mental or physical markers (this study is like, GOLD for an example of a bad study; no control, self-selected participants who believe in the efficacy of the intervention, exceptionally broad criteria for a positive result - I find it really really really challenging to grant any credence to someone who confidently cited this as an example of reiki "working")

Near the end of the article she says "At the same time, this recalled the most cutting-edge, Harvard-stamped science I’d read in my research: Ted Kaptchuk’s finding that the placebo effect is a real, measurable, biological healing response to “an act of caring.” - if she read any of Ted Kaptchuk's research she didn't link to it; what she did link to was a 2018 New York Times profile of him and Kathryn Hall, researchers at Harvard's Placebo Studies and the Therapeutic Encounter program. Being any flavor of journalist and citing Ted Kaptchuk as your source for cutting-edge, institutionally-backed science is disqualifying.

I now need to do some yelling about Ted Kaptchuk.

For clarity: I have as much medical training as Kathryn Hall and Ted Kaptchuk, which is to say: None.

Hall is a microbiologist with a PhD in Public Health, so she at least a background in science. Kaptchuk is an acupuncturist with a BA in East Asian studies and a doctorate in Chinese medicine - notably NOT a medical degree; he was forced to stop calling himself a doctor and had papers retracted after enough people questioned whether the school he claimed he attended even existed and the documents he presented to claim that he was an "OMD" were conclusively translated and did not have any indication that the granted a medical degree of any kind - Science Based Medicine was involved in investigating this because they've been comprehensively anti-quack forever and Ted Kaptchuk has been a quack forever (after recieving confirmation from the government of Macau that Kaptchuk's alma mater was not a medical degree granting institution SBM STILL gave him the benefit of the doubt and had people translate his documentation for final confirmation).

He is also an author on of one of my most beloathed ever studies, which showed that sham acupuncture, placebo, and albuterol all produced the same effect on patient-reported well-being, coming to the conclusion that patient reports can be unreliable and that "placebo effects can be clinically meaningful and can rival the effects of active medication in patients with asthma." That fucking line, that stupid goddamned line, gets cited in every piece of woo bullshit about how acupuncture or chiropractic or some scam-ass diet all work, I've run into this study while looking through at least twenty bibliographies and it is one of the biggest, reddest flags that whoever is writing the paper you're reading is full up on some bullshit. Because, see, the paper found that "placebo effects can be clinically meaningful and can rival the effects of active medication in patients with asthma" in terms of *patient-reported* markers, but the fucking study found that only albuterol produced an actual effect in lung function. Here's the sentence BEFORE the one that gets cited all the time: "Although albuterol, but not the two placebo interventions, improved FEV1 [forced expiratory volume in one second - the measure for lung function used in the study and used to diagnose asthma] in these patients with asthma, albuterol provided no incremental benefit with respect to the self-reported outcomes." It doesn't matter if the patient *feels* better if they can't actually breathe! It doesn't fucking matter - feeling better but still having poor breathing leaves you more vulnerable to dying of a fucking asthma attack! I hate this goddamned study so fucking much and it's used all the time to claim that placebo can be just as effective as medicine for making people FEEL better but, like, they're still sick even if they feel better! I HAVE HAD PEOPLE CITE THIS STUPID FUCKING STUDY TO ME AS EVIDENCE THAT I DON'T CARE ENOUGH ABOUT TREATING MY FUCKING ASTHMA BECAUSE I DON'T GET ACUPUNCTURE TO TREAT MY FUCKING ASTHMA. If sham acupuncture makes you feel better when you've got the flu but doesn't lower your fever or make you less contagious, you shouldn't act like you don't have a fever or aren't contagious this study makes me INSANE.

Okay done yelling.

I think this look at placebo in the midst of her article about reiki is really interesting because it's very common for CAM practitioners to claim that it's as effective as placebo - which just means that it's not effective. This is a great explanation from The Skeptic on why placebo isn't and can't be what Kaptchuk, Hall, and the like claim. It's also interesting to me that Kisner didn't choose to link to a 2011 New Yorker profile of Kaptchuk that is somewhat less rosy about his placebo studies and includes this absolutely crushing statement: "the placebo effect doesn’t appear to work with Alzheimer’s patients. Trivers suggests that this is because most people who have Alzheimer’s disease are unable to anticipate the future and are therefore unable to prepare for it."

But to the actual point of the ask: I honestly think it's fascinating how much CAM success probably rides on "well did you listen to the patient and pay attention to what was wrong with them and sympathize with them and help them lay out plan that made them feel like they had some agency in this exceptionally frustrating situation (chronic illness, newly diagnosed issue, totally undiagnosed issue) that they're dealing with?"

I know part of why people with chronic illnesses turn to CAM is because they're ignored and dismissed by allopathic practitioners who are largely looking for horses, not zebras - this is one of the reasons that I'm really big on reminding people that (at least in the US) DOs are fully licensed physicians who use a holistic and patient-centered approach so if you are someone with a chronic illness who has had trouble getting diagnosed or had trouble getting doctors to believe you, swapping your MD for a DO as a primary care physician might be really, really helpful to you.

But the flip side of that is that is that I worry deeply about the question of where harm starts; the example with your uncle is really great because you do have a solid instance of something working but for totally the wrong reason (pressure being the mechanism that actually helped, versus magnets being the reason given by the person who did the treatment). Some of this stuff has very little likelihood of causing direct harm, but has the distinct possibility of having indirect harms, which people in the anti-CAM space generally divide into two categories, treatment delay and unnecessary costs (opportunity costs, monetary costs, wasted effort, etc.)

I'm going to step outside of your specific example and look at magnet therapy generally, which really is a spectacular thing to focus on because it honestly doesn't have any direct harms; nobody is allergic to magnets, the kinds of magnets used aren't strong enough to interfere with medical devices, it's even safer than the whole "well herbalism is sometimes just a cup of tea" thing because there are "safe" teas that can do real harm to large populations! But simply being around magnets is not going to hurt anyone (unless they're swallowed; nobody swallow magnets please).

One of the things that I think goes under-discussed when talking about placebo and CAM is that the people trying the alternative solutions desperately WANT the alternative medicine to work (I suspect that this is why the self-selected study of reiki patients has such a significant finding). They are pulling for it; they may be looking at it as a last resort, or they may be hoping that it will work to avoid a treatment that is more frightening, expensive, or inaccessible. I think this actually contributes a lot to the delay of care that we see with CAM.

The absolute worst case harm I can imagine from magnetic therapy is delaying treatment. Let's suppose we've got a diabetic patient with gradually increasing peripheral neuropathy; they have reacted poorly to gabapentin in the past and are looking for something more natural, and they hear from their chiropractor that magnet therapy can be used to treat neuropathy. They buy some compression socks with "magnetic and earthing properties" and sleep in the socks. Whether through the compression controlling some edema or through the simple desire for the socks to work, they feel some relief from the nerve pain they were experiencing and decide that this is a success. The socks work! They continue wearing the socks with occasional pain, but less than before. However, because they are focused on the lack of pain, they don't notice that it's accompanied by increasing numbness. The numbness significantly increases their risk of injury to their feet, which significantly increases their risk of amputation.

It probably sounds like catastrophizing to say "using magnets could lead to amputation" but honestly I don't think it's that far out of the realm of possibility (every time I post on this topic I get flooded with the saddest stories in the world about people whose loved ones died because of delayed treatment for cancer or heart disease).

The second category of harm is cost, which is honestly pretty minimal with magnet therapy, as long as you aren't spending $1049 on a magnetic mat

or paying a chiropractor to give you magnetic treatments. For some other medically harmless treatments like reiki, cost is the thing that I worry about - while I was looking up information related to the article I found that people are charging anywhere from $60 to $225 a session, and selling multi-session packages for thousands of dollars - and if someone thinks that something works, even if it only works by being in a soothing space where someone cares about you - they'll pay for it.

I'm aware that all of this is also extra complicated because of the cost and lack of access to allopathic medicine - a chiropractor broke my spine because I could pay her $60 per appointment but I couldn't pay $125 to see an MD when I didn't have insurance. People who are sick are going to look for treatment; people who have been denied treatment or dismissed by doctors are going to look for alternative treatments.

But man, I really wish I'd spent that sixty bucks on half of a doctor's appointment because the chiropractor didn't know about the benign tumor that I had that weakened the structure of that particular bone when she did her adjustment; it also didn't make the pain go away, it made a different pain start and get worse because it turns out I was having debilitating muscle spasms that then had a bone injury added in on top.

(Chiropractic, for the record, goes with chelation therapy and many many many many cases of herbalism where it's NOT just cost or delay; people claim these treatments are harmless and they are not. They can do tremendous harm).

But yeah I'm not going to deny at all that all of this would be a hell of a lot better if people (especially marginalized people) didn't have to jump through hoops to prove to a doctor that something is wrong with them, and didn't have to do so in an appointment that attempts to cram whole person care down into fifteen minutes, and didn't have the possibility of bankrupting you. Interacting with allopathic medicine is a nightmare and I totally understand why people want to look outside of it for treatment.

I've just heard too many horror stories and seen too much predatory CAM to cut much of it any slack.

At the end of the SBM response to the Atlantic article, the author (I can't remember if it's Gorski or Novella) makes the point that reiki is a spiritual practice, and that we've known for a long time that spiritual practices can improve a person's well-being in a number of ways; they can reduce anxiety, they can provide community, they can give people a space to feel and express emotions that they certainly aren't going to be able to process in a doctor's office. Spiritual practices can be wonderful, and we know there are a lot of people who they can help. But they aren't medicine, and attempting to replace medicine with them (which I don't think that most reiki practitioners are trying to do, to be fair, but which Ted Kaptchuk DEFINITELY is in trying to 'harness the power of placebo') is a disservice to people who need an inhaler instead of acupuncture.

Also, and I know this was not your point but I have to bring it up because people ask about it whenever discussions of placebo come up:

The placebo effect is not treatment. The placebo effect, whether achieved through deception or when someone says loud and clear "this is a sugar pill" does not improve an illness, but it may improve how a patient *feels* about an illness. In some cases, this may as well be the same thing - if you're dealing with muscle pain because you're stressed and no matter what you do it doesn't go away because your shoulders are always up around your ears and you're grinding your teeth and you're sleeping poorly, then literally just talking to someone who is in an office and says "this is a sugar pill, go ahead and take it" may make your muscle pain feel better, but it isn't going to reduce your stress and it isn't going to last, and if your muscle pain is because you're feeling angina as a result of a partially blocked artery then it SURE AS FUCK is not going to make you better and may mask symptoms that were a warning sign of a much more serious problem. People who are sick deserve actual treatment, and placebo is not treatment, which is part of why Ted Kaptchuk makes me want to tear my hair out.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Logan and his... "Quirks"

Everyone is a lil weird. Logan is no exception

Some nsfw headcanons below the cut, it gets weird yall. some are tame. the rest are questionable. You're gonna ask me why i was thinking about it. you don't want to know

he CANNOT sit farthest away from the door. he has to be between the door and you. yknow in case of threats

feel like he would hate microwaves. idk why, i think he would extremely distrust the idea of food being heat up by radiation (Even if it wouldn't affect him?). he cooks everything by hand.

Don't let him catch you heating your food by microwave. He'll get pissy. then he'll make your food by scratch

uses phrases that were popular like 100+ years ago that no one knows. you've had to google some of them to figure out what the hell he was talking about

he taps his fingers alot. against a table, his leg, on you. it's an anxious thing

he doesn't laugh much but when he does it's loud, hes the epitomy of the word "guffaws" bc he's so loud. most of the time when you hear him "laugh" its a quiet chuckle. it's quite joyous to hear Logan across the mansion laughing

logan, as much as he acts like a wild man, is fairly neat. like, weirdly neat about his stuff. well- stuff he cares about. his jacket, his cigars, beer, maybe a few things you gave him. he doesn't need much.

this one isn't so weird, more cute- but he loves when you pet his head. only when it's just you two though

his nails grow faster than an avg person. He constantly has to clip them. BUT he does at least make sure to clean them up

i should add that logans is obv known for calling everyone bub, and gives nicknames to everyone

(he'll call you every petname in the book)

has to have his bed made in the mornings. he gets weirdly cranky if he or you don't make the bed and it's messy when going to bed that night (the man leaves his dirty laundry all over the room but doesn't like his bed not being made???)(nesting...)

hates the smell of incense (too strong) but he doesn't mind a few of the vanilla smelling candles. or the outdoorsy type ones

def will pick up new hobbies at random and then drop them (ahem i do that to)

doesn't finish his beer. he'll have a little left and go open a new one anyway

he acts like he's so gruff but he's actually like so polite about things when in someones house/the mansion. it takes you aback how nice he'll be. (x2 logan was just a bit stress don't worry about him raiding bobbys parents fridge)

ill add his fear of flying in here too

honestly he probably just doesn't like heights in general. he'll do it, go in tall buildings, planes, all of that (as well as we all seen) but don't catch him sightseeing out of the 70th floor of the skyscraper yall are in

he probably likes to wear all those layers because he doesnt let his hair grow out like he could. have you seen how much hair he can get? he keeps himself trimmed for you (if you want to call it that). the layers protects from the cold he gets from not being a hairy beast (let him be hairy)

oral fixation... i'll put this in nsfw

this isn't really weird...but he's able to sit in silence for a long time. just watching the view (you)

hes not an early bird. he'll get pissy if you are, because he wants you in bed with him. (people gotta work logan...)

leaves a clean plate of food. he doesnt like waste.

likes to grab you. hes gotta be holding onto you. even if he's single he's gotta be doing something (smoking, tapping his foot, leaning on someone), when he's with you though, you're his grounding.

NSFW

will drool during sex. he tries to control it. sometimes you feel too good though-

gets incredibly horny after missions. good luck.

also when after he goes into a burst of rage. good luck with that too

honestly he just has a high sex drive. he's a bit of a freak. it's not every time but rarely does he not get hard around you- at the scent of you

The moment you wake up in the morning, logan tells you "your period started" before you even have a chance to even fully wake up, only to realize that indeed you did start your period

he could smell it

dude is really intense about smelling

when it comes to you though he's REALLY intense about it. you know how dogs are when they smell you after you come home. logan is no different

can and WILL smell your armpits and feet if he gets the chance. it may gross you out but shits heavenly to him because thats where you smell the strongest. if you don't let him smell you he'll go for the laundry

your neck too

the man leaks so much pre-cum just at the thought of you. you'd think he came right there in his pants

does not care about you walking into him in the bathroom. he has no shame

honestly id think he'd like footjobs. not because he's got a feet thing- but like feet is where your strongest smells come from and if you...do that. his thang will smell like you

will eat you out and do you on your period btw. no shame

i don't think logan will say no to much in bed, except for the really disgusting ones, or the ones inviting other people in. he's not going to share you, or himself.

definitely has a thing about mounting you. he doesn't do it all the time but sometimes he'll lose himself and next thing you know is biting your neck and thrusting you doggy style, grunting and whining, and he won't stop till he's satisfied. the others have expressed worry over the deep teeth marks in your neck (Is he trying to maul you? - Scott)

doesn't like washing the bed sheets after you two do your thing. will complain but you have to bc you both are fairly active together in that department and you do not need your bedsheets become solid like rock. he just likes the scent :(

loves it when you lick his hands/knuckles

i think we all agree, the claws COME OUT when he cums. hes extremely careful about his hand placement bc of this.

back to oral fixation. if he doesn't have a cigar, toothpick, gum, his next best thing is you.

will SUCK on your skin. hard.

This is all i got for now, some probably really aren't a quirk but my brain was just typing what I could think of...might make more. Feel free to reblog and add your own!!

pain kink. a bad one. we all agreed on this i believe.

You know how animals have displays to attract mates? Logan is no different. When hes in the mood, hell puff himself out to you, do things he thinks youll like. I mean, i suppose avg males do this too but logan gets repetitive over it until you notice.

[possessedmen]

In the dim light of the deserted office, Leo stirred from his unintended nap on the sofa, his senses immediately heightened by the presence of his boss and long-time friend, Victor, who was now an alien vessel of desire. As Leo's eyes fluttered open, he was met with a sight that was both familiar and bizarrely different. Victor stood over him, but there was an alien gleam in his eyes, a cocky, dominant arrogance that was not quite Victor's usual demeanor.

Leo's eyes widened in surprise, his voice cracking as he spoke, "Victor? What the hell? Everyone's gone home?"

Before Leo could fully comprehend the situation, Victor, or rather the entity within him, began to speak. "Hey buddy, I'm not exactly Victor, but you see, that alien goo you rescued on your way to work? Yeah, that's me. I possessed Victor because, well, I read your mind, and what do you know? You've got quite the crush on him and I needed a body." The explanation from the alien, delivered with Victor's sarcastic charm, left Leo stunned, yet there was an undeniable thrill in the air.

The alien within Victor had read Leo's fantasies, his secret longing for this very scenario, and was now playing it out with an intensity that was almost too real. "Oh, you're in for a surprise, Leo," Victor replied, his voice dripping with a mix of his own personality and the alien's otherworldly charm.

Victor's hands were firm as they grabbed Leo's face, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but gentle. His lips were demanding, his tongue forceful as it invaded Leo's mouth, exploring with an alien precision that left Leo breathless. The kiss was a battle of dominance, Victor's tongue wrestling with Leo's, tasting every corner, leaving Leo dizzy with lust. "Wait, are we really doing this?" Leo managed to gasp out between kisses, his shock mingling with arousal. “Don’t worry about it and relax. Pretend that I’m the real Victor,“ said the alien.

As they kissed, Victor's hands roamed over Leo's body, admiring the contours with a touch that was both possessive and appreciative. "Look at you, Leo," Victor murmured between kisses, his hands tracing the lines of Leo's muscles, "You've always kept yourself in fine form. It's quite the sight, isn't it?" The alien within admired Leo's physique, enhancing Victor's natural appreciation but with a twisted, horny edge. Leo, still in disbelief, muttered, "I can’t believe that this is really happening."

Victor's mouth moved from Leo's lips to his jaw, then down to his neck, where he bit down, not hard enough to break skin but enough to mark, to claim. Leo's hands clutched at Victor's back, feeling the muscles tense under his touch as Victor continued his assault. The alien's breath was hot against Leo's skin, each exhale a promise of more to come.

With a swift motion, Victor's hand found its way into Leo's pants, gripping his hardness with a possessiveness that made Leo's hips buck involuntarily. Victor's strokes were deliberate, his grip tight, moving with an expertise that could only come from reading Leo's deepest desires. "You like this, don't you? Being dominated by your boss, your old pal," Victor whispered huskily, his voice laced with an arrogant satisfaction and a hint of sarcasm. Leo could only moan in response, his voice lost in the overwhelming sensation, "Fuck, Victor, this is insane."

Victor's other hand worked to undo his own pants, freeing his erection, which he pressed against Leo, letting him feel the full extent of his alien-enhanced desire. The contact made Leo's breath hitch, the heat of Victor's arousal against his own was almost too much. "You're really going through with this?" Leo asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and desire.

Victor then guided Leo's hand to his own hardness, making him feel the weight and heat of it. "Touch me," he commanded with a smirk, and Leo complied, his fingers wrapping around Victor, stroking him with a reverence mixed with desperation. Their hands worked in tandem, Victor's guiding Leo's in a rhythm that was both punishing and pleasurable. "You have excellent taste in men, Leo, especially with your obsession with this," the alien complimented, referring to his own cock with a cocky grin. Leo, caught in the moment, couldn't help but laugh nervously, "You're reading my mind, aren't you?" “Guilty“ the alien Victor replied with a smirk.

As the alien Victor kissed him, he suddenly paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know, Leo," he said, his voice dripping with a seductive playful tone, "Remember that trip 6 years ago after my girlfriend left me? You were quite the friend, weren't you?" The memory, long buried under the layers of their professional relationship, surfaced with a vivid clarity, enhanced by the alien's ability to delve into Leo's mind. Leo's eyes widened, "You remember that? How do you... Oh, right, the alien thing."

Before Leo could respond further, Victor's hand tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as he whispered against his lips, "I know I said to never bring it up again but you gave me one hell of a blowjob to cheer me up, didn't you?" The kiss deepened, Victor's tongue exploring Leo's mouth with the same intensity as that night, but now with an added layer of alien prowess. Victor's other hand roamed down Leo's body, reigniting the sensations from that memory, making Leo's body respond with a familiar eagerness. "Yeah, I did," Leo admitted, his voice low, "But this is so much more than that."

"You've always had a knack for making me feel better, in more ways than one," Victor continued, his voice a mix of dominance and playful sarcasm, as he guided Leo's head lower, a clear indication of what he wanted. Leo, caught in the throes of desire and the rush of the resurfaced memory, complied, his hands working to free Victor from his pants. "I guess some things never change," Leo chuckled, his voice tinged with awe.

As Leo took Victor into his mouth, he started by teasing the tip with his tongue, swirling around it, tasting the alien-enhanced pre-cum that was surprisingly sweet. He then slowly took more of Victor in, his lips sliding down the shaft with a deliberate slowness, feeling every vein, every throb. Victor's fingers tightened in Leo's hair, guiding him with a firm yet caring touch. "That's it, Leo, just like old times," Victor groaned, his voice thick with lust, the sarcasm now replaced by pure, raw desire. Leo bobbed his head, taking Victor deeper with each movement, his tongue pressing against the underside, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked with an intensity that made Victor's hips buck. "Fuck, Leo, you're good at this," Victor moaned, his voice a blend of Victor's and the alien's.

As Leo continued, Victor pulled him up, flipping him over onto the sofa with a dominant ease. "Now it's my turn," Victor growled, his voice dripping with anticipation. He positioned himself behind Leo, spreading his cheeks with a firm grip. With a slickness provided by the alien's own lubricating abilities, Victor began to slide in, the head of his cock pressing against Leo, slowly at first, allowing Leo to feel every inch as he entered. Leo gasped, the sensation overwhelming, "Victor, oh fuck..."

Victor didn't stop, pushing deeper with each thrust, his movements becoming more forceful, more demanding. "You wanted me so bad, you brought an alien into our lives," Victor panted, his voice thick with lust and a hint of betrayal as he started to plow into Leo with increasing speed. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through Leo. "But here I am, thanking you for it, you twisted bastard," Victor continued, his pace relentless, his cock sliding in and out with a slick, rhythmic motion that had Leo moaning uncontrollably.

Leo's hands gripped the edge of the sofa, his body rocking with each powerful thrust from Victor. "I never thought it'd go this far, Victor. But I'm not complaining," Leo managed to say between gasps, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Victor's hands roamed over Leo's back, sometimes gripping his hips to pull him back harder onto his cock, enhancing the depth and intensity of each penetration. "I'm inside you, Leo, just like you always wanted, but with a twist you never imagined," Victor snarled, his dominance palpable, his thrusts now a mix of punishment and pleasure.

As they neared the climax, Victor's movements became even more frantic, his voice a rough whisper, "I'm gonna fucking cum, Leo, because of you, because of this twisted game we're playing." Leo was right there with him, the edge of release so close, driven by Victor's dominance and the surreal reality of their situation. "Me too, Victor, me too," Leo gasped out.

With a final, powerful thrust, Victor let out a guttural moan, his body tensing as he climaxed, the alien's influence making the experience more intense than anything humanly possible. His release filled Leo, hot and overwhelming, as Leo's own orgasm ripped through him, his body convulsing with the force of it, a culmination of desire, friendship, betrayal, and the bizarre gratitude that had woven through their encounter. "Holy shit, Victor," Leo panted, "That was... something else."

As they lay there, panting and spent, the office returned to its quiet state, but the night would forever be etched in their memories, a twisted, hot chapter in their long friendship, now forever altered by the alien's unexpected intervention. After a moment, Victor, still under the alien's control, helped Leo to his feet. They adjusted their clothes in silence, the air between them thick with the aftermath of their shared experience. With a smirk that was both Victor's and yet not, the alien guided Leo out to the car, the night air cool against their flushed skin.

As they drove to Victor's apartment, the silence was broken by Victor's voice, though it was clear the alien was in control, blending its own essence with Victor's personality. "You know, Leo," Victor started, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying alien amusement, "I've gotta say, that was one hell of a way to end a workday. Who knew you had it in you to spice things up like that?"

Leo chuckled nervously, still processing the surreal events. "Yeah, well, I didn't exactly plan on an alien possession to make it happen," he replied, trying to keep the conversation light.

The alien, adopting Victor's sarcastic tone perfectly, laughed. "Oh, come on, Leo, you've always been full of surprises. But this," it paused, letting Victor's voice drop to a lower, more intimate register, "this was something else. I didn't know you had such a kinky side." Leo shook his head, "Kinky? This is beyond kinky, Victor. This is... alien."

Switching back to its own voice but maintaining Victor's mannerisms, the alien responded, "True, but you seemed to enjoy it. And let's be honest, Leo, you've always had a thing for me. Now, thanks to you, I got to live out one of your fantasies in a way neither of us could've imagined." Leo, still in awe, admitted, "Yeah, I guess I did have a crush. But this? This is next level."

Victor's apartment came into view, and as they parked, the alien continued, now fully pretending to be Victor again, "But seriously, man, thanks for the rescue. I mean, who would've thought getting possessed would lead to this?" His voice was filled with genuine gratitude mixed with Victor's typical sarcasm. Leo laughed, "Yeah, who would've thought? But you're welcome, I guess."

They stepped out of the car, and as they walked towards the apartment, Leo found himself asking, "So, what now? You're not planning on staying in Victor permanently, are you?"

The alien chuckled, the sound eerily familiar yet otherworldly. "Nah, buddy, I'm just here for the ride. But while I'm here, let's make the most of it, yeah? Victor's got some catching up to do with his friend, and I've got some... unique experiences to try." Leo nodded, "Let's make the most of it then."

[cargopocketcottagecore]

Right. Had a new experience along these lines today. Short version, it went well eventually and I got thanked. Still fucking sucked.

There's someone very close to me who is cis and straight. I'm their first and major touchstone on anything queer, especially anything trans^.

I was asked about "it/its" pronouns. I explained as best as I could as someone who has acquaintances with a variety of pronouns but only goes by "she/her". Used some examples. Yes, it's another thing to remember about a person. So is their favorite movie. File the info in the same place.

Things got a little heated. I shouldn't have started laughing, but this person had moved on to being legitimately *upset* at the idea of trans folks with non-standard names, like "November" (hello.) or similar. I've known folks named after deities, after seasons, after damn near anything in nature. And that was just in the cis/het community.

I pointed out the proliferation of (hyperbolically) "Keighleigh" because people wanted to be unique. Just with trans folks they were the ones choosing, not their parents. And did this person actually know anyone who used pronouns besides they, she, and he? Well,... this one person for a few weeks. Alright, so they tried something out. Ever try a style and realize it didn't fit? Me too. Anyone else? No? Alright, so you're upset about something that doesn't actually affect you.

I finished by pointing out that remembering someone's pronouns (whatever they are) is part of their identity, something to remember about them. This person fucking *hates* onions, and I said hey, you know how you feel when someone includes onions in a dish in spite of knowing you hate them? Or when someone mistakes your name for the gender that you aren't and gives you the wrong honorific (a thing that happens damn near weekly)? You know how much it feels like you don't matter to them when they do that?

That's how these folks feel. And it's at a societal level. I've seen you tear into someone for purposefully calling me "he". Those folks deserve the same, even if it's not what you're used to. No, not that it isn't normal please. That it's new. That you aren't used to it. Like when we say STI instead of STD, or call an STI test negative instead of clean. You've been worried in the past about those tests coming back negative, you didn't want to deal with the implication of being "dirty" or the like.

I saw them slowly wilt. I'm not saying this to brag about dunking on them. As I said above, they're very close to me, very important to me. What I mean is I saw the bullshit-fueled fire evacuate all at once. They got it. They saw the unnecessary outrage.

Then they apologized asked for a hug, and thanked me several times for the patience and for taking the time to explain it to me.

I feel like I need a fucking nap, but I might also have done a bit of good. And hopefully this person is able to better explain to others why trans people aren't fucking weird.

^- Do they have other trans/queer friends? Yeah, but this person doesn't really discuss those things much. Speculation on why is a fucking case study into conservativism, desperate poverty, generational trauma, possible denied introspection, and reactionary political parents I have neither time nor patience for.

"The trannies should be able to piss in whatever toilet they want and change their bodies however they want. Why is it my business if some chick has a dick or a guy has a pie? I'm not a trannie or a fag so I don't care, just give 'em the medicine they need."

"This is an LGBT safe space. Of COURSE I fully support individuals who identify as transgender and their right to self-determination! I just think that transitioning is a very serious choice and should be heavily regulated. And there could be a lot of harm in exposing cis children to such topics, so we should be really careful about when it is appropriate to mention trans issues or have too much trans visibility."

One of the above statements is Problematic and the other is slightly annoying. If we disagree on which is which then working together for a better future is going to get really fucking difficult.

[metaphorfordeath]

Anti-Psychotic

A person living with schizophrenia finds that their delusions may have more basis in reality than they thought. Originally published in the Fall/Winter II issue of Diet Milk Magazine, available here. Content warnings for depiction of psychosis, violence, ableist language.

No one is watching me.

Julie has me write that down at our session. She never listens to me. She says, it can be comforting to realize that people don’t think of you as much as you think they do. I know this already. She asks, what evidence do you have that you are being watched? I say there isn’t any. Just a feeling. She writes something down, and asks about my meds again. 

So fucking patronizing. Of course I take them. I have taken mine like clockwork, every day, for five years. Maybe I missed a few days, but who doesn’t forget sometimes. My meds are cleat spikes jabbing into the earth. Helping me keep my footing. Making sure I don’t slip.

Last week I started getting the prickle again. Like fingers up my back. Someone standing behind me, breathing. I live alone. When I felt it, I wasn’t scared at first. These things happen sometimes. I’ve been around the block. The prickle and I are old friends, practically. When it finds me, I have ways to forget it. 

I drew the blinds, which helped a bit. I had a drink—nobody's perfect—but the prickle didn’t dull. So I peeked through the shades at the street below. Normal street stuff. The sun was setting, painting the world in shades of fire. Cars went by, all the usuals. Some kids were yelling in a driveway. A wasp tapped at my window, wiggling its feelers at me. No obvious source for the prickle. So, probably nothing. For the rest of the evening I puttered, read my book, ate some frozen nothing heated in the microwave, and took my meds. The prickle was temporary, I told myself as I lay down to sleep, the usual fog settling over me in a cool, clammy layer. No one was watching me. No one ever is.

That was a week ago. It’s only gotten worse since then. The prickle turned into a terrified stomach ache that kept me up for nights and nights. I called in sick to group, told Cheryl the caseworker that I have the flu. She sounded alarmed, but she’s only worried because of what happened to Devin.

Devin was like me: good at meds, good at therapy. We were friends, in a psycho kind of way. A few weeks ago, Devin started to get bad. Stopped showing up to group, didn’t even call. I haven’t seen him in a while, even when I went looking for him in his usual bad places. I miss him. I told Cheryl not to worry. I’m steady, just sick. I’ll see her again soon. 

I keep taking my meds, but they aren’t helping like they should. The fog I count on to sleep is thin, or missing. Something scrabbles at my skin from underneath, and I keep catching myself scratching little bits off of me. When I lay down, a low, neutral voice whispers nonsense at me through the pillow I clamp over my head. I can’t shower; that’s when the prickle gets stronger. Someone standing on the other side of the shower curtain, someone looking down at me through the water stain on the ceiling. I hiss and babble out loud just to hear myself talk, to shut up the voices that aren’t mine. I get sicker by the day.

By now I haven’t been outside in over a week, but my meds are ready to pick up. I don’t want to miss a dose, so I put on shoes and the big jacket that makes me feel safe, and I go outside. Birds leer at me from the tops of buildings. Walking in the opposite direction, an old lady frowns at me.

“Hmph, same to you,” she snaps.

My stomach lurches, but I don’t say anything, just keep walking. I hadn’t spoken. Had I? 

The drug store is brightly lit. It hurts to be inside. Too many things to look at. Faces on packaging look strange now. Confrontational. Interrogative. But at least they look like faces. When I look at anyone real, their features shift. Static snow eats at the air around their heads in a halo. It frightens me, so I keep my eyes on my shoes. The pharmacy tech who’s always there gets the packet for me, rings it up.

“Any questions about your medication?” he asks. I shake my head, pay with a card. He has glasses that give his face a sort of stability, so I look at it. His eyes are brown, beard gray, no hair on his head. He smiles at me. “Have a nice day, miss.”

“You too,” I mutter.

And then I go home, have to stop myself from running for safety. The walk is twenty minutes each way; harrowing, the passing cars huge and hungry, huffing and snorting at me. The prickle is more than a prickle by now. It feels like someone is pulling out the hairs on the back of my neck, one by one. My heart thuds against my ribs so hard that I’m afraid it will burst out, plop on the sidewalk and keep throbbing without me. The paper bag with my pills turns damp and tattered in my sweaty hand. 

And getting home doesn’t even help this time.

Julie says too much TV can be a trigger for me, but I start leaving it on all the time. Noise beats silence, any day. No empty spaces that need filling. I can’t watch sitcoms or anything fictional, so I tune it to the news. The news is always. Steady, real, factual. There’s a story about a body they found by the freeway. Pushed out of a moving car. No one knows or cares who it was. There’s a picture of the scene, taped up yellow and covered in those little numbers that say where a bit of evidence is. A tattered jacket lays in a ditch, dark with blood. 

I stand and race to the bathroom, cool porcelain against my hands, bile and nothing coming up as sweat pours down my back. My head pounds, edges of my vision sparkling. I can only see the jacket. Not dirty or bloody or ruined but the way it used to look. Devin’s jacket.

Something is horribly wrong. Men-in-black wrong. The-end-is-nigh wrong. 

The prickle wasn’t imagination. It was intuition. 

Someone got Devin. Who else did they get before him?

---

The next week, I force myself to go to group. I need to see faces. See who else is there, or not. Cheryl picks me up for these, since I don’t drive. I’m sicker than I can remember being, and try to remember to ask Julie about my dose on Tuesday. I sit silently in the passenger seat, feeling Cheryl’s eyes on me. Caseworkers all have the same eyes.

“Feeling alright today, X?” 

My name isn’t the name she calls me. You don’t need to know it.

“Fine,” I say, pinching my hands between my knees. They shake if I don’t. “Still getting over that flu.”

“Sorry to hear that,” she says. Her sedan has beige fabric seats. The passenger seat is dark, stained with sweat and whatever else from all the people she’s ferried around. A vanilla air freshener dangles from the rear view mirror.

Someone shouts in my ear, so close I feel a little blast of hot breath on my neck, and I flinch. Cheryl looks at me suddenly.

“Everything okay?”

She didn’t hear that. “Yeah. Sorry. Weird itch.”

“Hmm.” 

Group is fine. It’s usually fine. I don’t say much this time, just look around at everyone in their folding chairs. Their faces are wrong. It makes me nauseous to look, but I look anyway. I need to see who isn’t here.

There are no empty chairs, but there are fewer. One or two down from usual. All the other regulars are here, picking at their skin or looking at the clock or chewing their hair. I glance across the room and for a second I think I see Devin, sitting in his old coat. But when I look again, it’s just Tom. I almost hoped.

When it’s over, there’s bad coffee to drink. I suck on a red straw and let the bitter taste anchor me to my tongue. I inhabit my body, touch my fingers to the side of my face to know that it and my fingers exist. Sufficiently convinced of my realness, I go to Amber, our de facto leader.

She’s drinking water from a bottle with cucumber slices in it, cloudy with pulp and seeds. Ectoplasmic. It makes my stomach turn.

“Amber,” I say. My voice feels far away. She looks at me, expectant. “I missed last week. Have you seen Greg, or Mariah?”

“Oh, no, I haven’t. Greg was here last week, but I haven’t seen Mariah since like, last month. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

A crinkle appears between her eyebrows. I focus on that, since the rest of her features won’t stay put. “You’re worried because of what happened to Devin?”

“I think Devin is dead.” There is a sudden hush as other people in my vicinity overhear. “I saw his jacket. On the news.”

Cheryl appears beside me. “X, would you like to talk in the hallway?” 

She pulls me out before I can answer. “Have you been feeling alright?” she asks again. “Taking your medication?”

“Yes,” I say, a little forcefully. She clicks her tongue.

“Really? Because if you need to move up your next appointment, I can make some arrangements for you.”

Despite the fact that I do want to move my appointment up, her tone hits a button in my brain and my face turns red. “No,” I say. “I’ll wait until the next one. I’m fine. I just need to know what’s happening.” A rancid taste creeps up the back of my throat. “Where are people going?”

“Honey, everyone’s here that needs to be here.”

“No—that’s not right. I need to know.” 

I can tell from the way she moves that she thinks I’m getting agitated. She doesn’t understand what I’m saying. “People call in sick sometimes. You did, just last week. Mariah was having issues sticking with the program, so we’re working something out. No one’s gone.”

“Devin is gone. Devin is dead. He’s dead and no one knows it.”

Cheryl comes closer, her voice so low and venomous that it starts to meld with the others. “I’m going to give Dr. Bern a call and try to get you in with her sooner than Tuesday. If you can’t keep up with your regimen, we’ll have to consider another in-patient stay.”

Anger chokes me until my vision goes white. “Okay,” is all I can manage. I have some unsavory thoughts, which I won’t repeat to you now.

“Good,” says Cheryl, holding my leash. “Let’s get you home.”

I don’t sleep. I don’t even try. Someone is watching me. I think about Devin, the last time we spoke before he was gone. He got paranoid, too. He jabbered sometimes, when we would see each other. The same face, he said, with glass eyes. Looking at him. Following him. He said his pills were replaced, his furniture moved, nothing looked the same as he’d left it. No one listens to me, he said. I’m scared, he said. I’m scared of what will happen next.

“I’m scared, too,” I say to no one. A chorus laughs at me. 

---

“So,” says Julie. “Cheryl told me you’ve been having some trouble sticking to your medication.”

“I stick to it,” I say, and set the pill bottle on the desk in front of her. “Count them and tell me I’m not.”

She doesn’t move to count them. I’d hoped at least that she would humor me. “It sounds like some of your persecutory thoughts are returning. Tell me about what you’re worried about.”

“I saw on the news that they found someone’s body in a ditch off the interstate. They showed pictures. I think the body was Devin.”

“Devin from your group?” I nod. “We actually just heard from him last week. His brother answered when we called his phone. Devin is currently in a private rehabilitation clinic in Cincinnati. He’s alright, X.”

A numb feeling falls over me all at once, like a sheet. Something crawls up my thigh and disappears into a deep hole in my flesh. “Oh.”

“Amber talked to us, too. She said you asked her about Greg and Mariah’s absences this week?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I followed up on those for you, too. Greg had an accident at home and was in the emergency room during your meeting time this week. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to reach Mariah personally, but her father informed me over the phone that her family has pulled her out of the program. She won’t be returning.” Julie leans across her desk. “X, can you please look at me?”

I look at her. Her face is twisted, like a mask, papier mâché, drooping strips of plaster bandage. The static threatens to consume her, and me.

“I’m going to increase your dose to eighty milligrams. For now you can take two of what you have at the usual time, but I’m sending in a new prescription to the pharmacy.” She scrawls something on a pad at hand, and I take the opportunity to look away. “I’ll see you again this time next week, okay? And if anything’s the matter, you can call the nurse’s hotline. We’ll take care of you.” She hands me the script. 

“Thank you,” I say, and then someone brings me home. I am silent for the drive. Thinking.

Wasn’t Devin an only child?

I start doubling my dose. The fog doesn’t come. The prickle intensifies into ceaseless paranoia. I check the window locks three times a day to make sure, even though I live on the third floor. Chair under the doorknob, empty bottles stacked on it so I’ll hear if someone comes. I can’t stop thinking about Devin, and the others. Were they all really fine? Was this just a breakthrough-breakdown, pills ceasing their function and leaving me alone, spiraling? 

I hadn’t tried calling Devin in weeks. He didn’t pick up the first few times, and anyone in that state doesn’t usually want to talk anyhow. But Julie said someone answered when they called. Maybe they would answer for me.

The phone buzzes. Surging forward and receding, like a tide. Devin could be there on the other end. Getting better. Being cared for. I close my eyes and wait to hear his voicemail, or something else.

Click. “Hello?”

The voice startles me so much I can’t speak. A stranger.

“Hello?” says the phone. “Who is this?”

“Um,” I say suddenly, “Devin?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the voice says. “Devin isn’t here right now. May I ask who’s calling?”

“I’m—his friend. X,” I clarify. My voice is not of me. “Can I talk to him soon?”

“No, unfortunately he can’t talk. But I’ll let him know you called, he’ll be happy to hear people are checking up on him.”

“What’s—who are you?”

“I’m Eric, Devin’s brother. I’m taking good care of him, miss. Have a nice day.” 

The call ends. Something in my stomach shrivels. I run to the bathroom, but there’s nothing to bring up. I don’t know why that voice scared me so much. Why had I thought Devin was an only child? He hadn’t mentioned his family—maybe I’d just assumed, or forgotten if he’d said. Of course he had a brother. He was alright. They all were, now.

---

Days pass. Bugs make their homes in me. My medication runs out, the new pills ready for pickup. I’d rather die than set foot outside. But I need my stability. I steel myself to leave, and exit my apartment into the world. 

Everyone looks at me. They all want to hurt me. A car drives slowly past me and I try not to look at the people inside. My head hurts. It’s hard to see where I’m going, but I go.

The drug store is bigger than it was last time. Brighter. Angrier. People avoid me as I shuffle towards the pharmacy counter. The pharmacist who’s always there smiles at me again.

“Do you have any questions about your medication?”

I shake my head, fumbling for my card. He’s staring at me through his glasses.

“Do you need me to call someone for you?”

His voice makes me want to puke. I shake my head again, take the pills and make for the door. A crowd of voices shout at me as I stagger out into the air. I miss the way things were. My cleats don’t fit anymore. I tear the bag open, pop the lid off the bottle and shake a pill into my mouth, force it down dry and sticky and hope it does its job. My mouth is sweet where it lingered. It didn’t used to be so sweet.

There is a dull shock of understanding that blooms at the edge of my mind. The prickle rises on the back of my neck, and I look over my shoulder again. The pharmacist is looking at me from his position behind the counter. His face ringed in static. He waves at me. And I take off running.

There is no one I can call. No one who will listen. There are only doors that will slam in my face, white speckle tile and fluorescent lights and needles. He knows that. He knew it for Devin, too. He knew it for the rest of them. The wind in my face feels like fingers grasping at me, tugging at my hair, slowing me down. I race home, up the stairs and lock the door, brace it with furniture and then I sit on the floor and cry and cry. They’re laughing at me. Trading whispers. Look how stupid. Look how gullible. Go on and cry, crybaby. 

So I do. It’s all I have left.

The next time it’s group, I don’t come to the door. Cheryl calls me, but I don’t answer. There will be a wellness check if I don’t come. I want them to, now. When her calls finally stop piling up, I wait fifteen minutes, then step outside. I leave my door open, leave what I can to show that I am gone. I leave the pills out, and the script. Crush a few with my heel for good measure. I hope they can put the pieces together.

It’s dark, cool. It reminds me of the fog, makes me wish I could sleep. Eyes follow me through the evening. Headlights burn me as cars move past. I walk slowly in my big jacket, letting myself be watched. Letting the prickle come up my neck, creep over my scalp, trickle down over my face until it covers me in a thin layer and I prickle all over. The prickle and I are old friends. It tells me when to be afraid.

Then there are headlights at my back that don’t go away. The growl of an engine crashes into me. I stop walking, and someone gets out. I don’t turn to look. I can’t stand to look at faces anymore. Suddenly, I have a funny thought. Maybe I do have some questions about my medication, after all.

Something whistles through the air above my head, and the world disappears.

When I wake up later, I’m not sure if I have. There are stars. It smells like gasoline, copper and dirt. My jacket is gone. My mouth is gone, too. My hands. You’re caught, someone says in my ear, you let it happen. With my eyes, which I still have, I look across the floor. It hurts to look. There’s blood under me, sticky black. The prickle is gone. I discovered its source.

I’m alone for a long time. It’s hard to say how much. I realize that there’s a door behind me when it opens. Light falls across the floor, yellow tractor beam coming to take me away. I long to be weightless, but the earth won’t let me. Then the pharmacist who is always there puts his shoe against my face and turns me over. He doesn’t speak. He crouches down and looks into my eyes like he is trying to take something from me. Then he takes the tape off my mouth.

All I do at first is scream. It's all my body knows how to do. He sits and watches me. When I can see his mouth, it’s smiling, and I realize he likes it when I scream. So as soon as I can, I stop. Silence rushes back into the gaps, roaring in my ears.

“Good girl,” he says when I am quiet. His voice is a distorted growl, infrasound, rattling my eardrums. “Aren’t you such a good girl?”

I think about his throat in my teeth. I think about his blood on my face. For a moment it feels like I am lunging for him, jabbing thumbs into soft and fragile places. But he still has my hands, turning numb and purple at the small of my back. So I sit up as much as I can and spit at the floor near his feet. Faster than my eyes can track, he lurches forward. Fist in my hair, hauling me up to hip height.

He looks into my face with his glass eyes. His mouth is monstrous, all his white teeth sharp in a thicket of gray.

“I’ve been watching you,” he says. 

I know this already. There is nothing satisfying in the confirmation of it. 

He is not the man in black I always pictured. He could be anybody.

“Think of this as a favor I’m doing you.”

Then he hits me again. And other things.

When I’m alone, voices chatter in my ears. No one is coming, they say, you are alone. They will not find you. You and the ditch will be friends soon. So you amounted to this—better than nothing, we suppose. I shush them, rock myself against the cement floor and hum and think about grass, and birds. I try not to leave myself room to cry. I don’t want him to have the satisfaction.

A thousand years go by. Outside the room, there are voices. Not any of mine. His, and others. They start loud, and get quiet. His voice goes away completely. Doors open, distant, then closer. Light falls over my body again, and I feel the weightlessness. Real this time. My hands come back to me, but I can’t move them. There are faces, more than I’ve seen in a while. They scare me, but I can’t run, so I try not to look. Except at his. They take me past him, and I look. Through his glasses I see his eyes, still trying to take something from me. He has, by now. But not what he wanted.

I sleep for a long time, and when I wake up, the world is the way I remember it. My feet on the ground, cleats and all, not slipping. When I’m well enough they bring me to identify Devin’s body, since he didn’t really have a brother after all. They find Mariah’s, too. Greg really was in the emergency room, turns out. But there are others. Too many to think of.

Cheryl changes careers afterwards. Probably for the best. I find this out when she drives me to group the first time after I get out of the hospital. She doesn’t look at me much, but when she does, I can see her eyes are different. Not caseworker eyes anymore.

“Lauren is going to be taking over your case starting next week,” she says after a long silence. “So this will be the last time I see you.” I can tell she’s trying not to cry.

“Okay,” I say. 

She never apologizes. No one does. They all say they’re sorry for what happened to me, but that isn’t the same thing. People who don’t listen never think to apologize for it. They think they were listening all along.

Things are mostly the same as before, except I get my pills mailed to me now. And I think about Devin a lot. When I pour myself a drink, I pour one for him too and pretend he’s with me. I don’t have any pictures, so mostly I think about his voice. The last time we ever spoke, he told me, no one listens to me, X. 

What I said then was, I know the feeling, man.

But now I just tell him I’m sorry.

[suempu]

caleb blurbs because this text has me twirling my hair

-> minor spoilers for his interactions, jealousy (is it really a surprise atp lol), he's a bit petty, typical yandere caleb -> no pronouns used for the reader, not proofread (scratches head)

<3

yeah you might think he’s some kind of mean hard dom 24/7 (and he’s definitely capable of that based on the situation) but first and foremost, all he wants is to good for you.

caleb’s always been a giver. he’s someone you’ve relied on ever since you were both young and he’d be damned if you ever stopped coming to him for help.

he wants to drink your tears, eat your skin, and live from each beat and pump of your heart. everything about you consumes him, you're his entire world— of course he'd do anything and everything for you.

from every miniscule muscle twitch of your face, he can read and dissect whatever you're feeling and thinking. he prides himself in knowing about your wants and needs.

so how would he feel when he finds you strolling around Linkon with what looks like if a bunny grew human legs. he feels a twitch in his eye.

or when he hears your heartfelt laughter in Meows Cafe with a suspicious looking man with platinum hair, who looks far too serious to be caught in such a cutesy place. his hand curls into a knuckle, eager to interrupt your outing where it not for the look of your face. and for the fact that he died.

it happens numerous times, different occasions of him spotting you in the most random locations. his squad member talking about a recent gallery of her favorite artist, caleb's about to tell her off about work until he catches the sight of your figure on the photo of her phone.

caleb's shaking his head with a frown. he's gone. he's been dead for a year... and he finds out you've been frolicking the fields with these men. holding hands with these people as if his fake body wasn't buried deep into the ground of the cemetery you visit each week.

post homecoming wings, he's crashing the party no matter the place and time. he keeps up the charming and boyish, childhood best friend act and tries to compete with the others. he does not give a fuck, he'll do what it takes to make you realize that he's much more capable than your replacements.

"oh, and who might this be?" his smile is so shiny and bright as if his chest isn't bubbling with anger. caleb traps you with a side hug, arms resting against your shoulder. "don't remember you introducing this face to me yet, sweets."

you'd have to drag him away after that, nagging when you get home that he couldn't just try and intimidate every person he sees you hang out with.

he's crossing his arms, watching you pace around your apartment with a sour look on your face. he only smiles condescendingly.

"come on, they aren't even all that. its not that big of a deal, pip. if he can't handle it then.... i guess he's just not good for you."

he's gonna downplay shit while wearing the most trustworthy smile ever and you're not stupid enough to believe half of the stuff he's saying, leading to squabbles.

but if caleb's being honest... he loves that you're fighting back. it reminds him of your childhood arguments and he's relishing in every moment he can spend with you.

he's too proud and sure that your rightful place is in his arms. he's not even worried that you're defying him. that's how big his head is, he's not even worried. (spoiler, he is very worried.)

"hey, come over to mine, i cooked your favorite ;)"

throughout the meal, he'll act like a mom chastising your boyfriends. always criticizing them, questioning their motives. you huff and puff, defending your... friends(?) with a determined look on your face.

caleb reaches a hand out and wipes the corner of your lip. "got a lil somethin' there, sweets." he murmurs before licking his finger off, maintaining eye contact. "they take care of you right?" he half chuckles— half scoffs. "bet they don't even know how you like your food prepared." "caleb..."

but no matter, he'll let you spread your wings, run around with these boys to god knows where. he'll cement his place in your life, being with you ever since you've been kids, and the heavens will have to drag his bones to get him away from you.

you'll understand soon enough that in the end— its always and only going to be him.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 8

Source for pic

Trouble 8

Word Count: 5093

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I am DYING to write the next chapter... just you wait...! Now I need to know each and every one of your thoughts on this, please!

Masterlist

“Roronoa.”

“Cap.” Zoro matches his long strides with Mihawk’s. The hospital beeps sound faintly from the rooms they pass, and nurses hasten their steps to answer some wailing woman two rooms down. 

Mihawk stops abruptly in front of a room, and his amber gaze pierces Zoro's eye. “I know you just got back and barely had any time to rest, but I thought you might want to be present when we interrogate him.”

Zoro nods. It's another one. Another man has shown up with missing limbs and a note. A crime of passion seems far-fetched now. This case and Lucci’s are definitely related. They're too similar to be a coincidence. 

Besides, Zoro doesn't really believe in coincidences. 

“Has someone talked to him already?” Zoro asks as Mihawk’s hand sets on the handle. 

“The doctors haven't let anyone near him yet. And they say he's heavily sedated, so we might not get much out of him for now.” Mihawk is directly involved now, and that alone tells Zoro they are about to treat this case with the level of respect it demands. 

“After you, Cap.”

The door swings back as Mihawk pushes it, and both men stand near the hospital bed. Zoro recognizes the man immediately. He's the store clerk of the grocery shop he usually goes to. 

“Hello. I'm Captain Dracule Mihawk, and this is Officer Roronoa. The nurses told you we were coming, right?” 

The man nods, his eyes glazed over and out of focus. Then he raises his arm as if he’s going to run his fingers through his hair, but groans when his stump hits his forehead instead. 

“I have nothing to say.” He sounds slightly frightened as his voice wavers, with shaky breaths escaping his lips. 

Mihawk ignores him, a scowl forming on his lips. “What do you remember about the person who did this to you?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Any detail is important. Height, build, voice, distinctive features–”

“I have nothing to say!”

Mihawk inhales deeply. Zoro knows his Captain is a very patient man. If he were the one doing the interrogating, he would be shaking the man by his collar right now. Couldn't the man see they were trying to help him? 

“So you were threatened.” It's not a question. It's a mere statement. The man's eyes fill with tears as his chin trembles slightly. 

“What am I supposed to do now? My hands were my job. I can't do my job without my hands!” He sobs, his shoulders sagging. “Not just my job… How am I supposed to live like this? He ruined everything.”

Mihawk places one hand on his shoulder, his hawk-like gaze losing a bit of its edge for a moment. “It's not all lost. You're alive, and that's more than many people can say. We're trying to help you. We want to catch the bastard who did this before they can hurt somebody else. But we need your help to do it.”

The man closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he starts talking. He says that it was a man who did this - massive, bulky and really tall. He had a mask covering his face, a hoodie and gloves on, so any detailed description is off the table. He also had a rough voice and immediately threatened him if he shared the details of what happened with the cops. 

“After he… when he… he said to never touch what's his again. I didn't understand what he meant. I was in shock, I guess.” He sighs, his head falling back. “Can you call the nurse? I can't take this pain anymore.”

Mihawk nods, and Zoro turns, ready to leave, but the man isn't done yet. “He had maniacal red eyes and seemed amused by my suffering.” 

The clap of the notebook his Captain had been scribbling on signals they’re done, so Zoro takes another step towards the door while Mihawk thanks the man for his help. But when they’re halfway through the door, he speaks again. 

“I should've listened to her. She said someone was coming for me.”

Her?

“Who are you talking about?” Zoro speaks for the first time, his stomach churning with unease. 

The man shrugs and shakes his head, his chin trembling again as, most likely, the threats the criminal spewed fill his mind. “It's nothing. Nothing. Forget it.”

“Who is she?”

“I said fucking forget it. Leave me alone, I'm done!” 

Zoro grits his teeth, his instincts driving him towards the hospital bed, ready to drill the man with more questions until they get what they came for. But Mihawk’s firm grasp on his shoulder stops him. 

“We'll leave. Rest. Thank you.” They both leave the room, and Zoro growls as soon as the door clicks behind him. 

“He knows more!”

“And you should know when to stop. Let him rest. We'll try again another day.” Mihawk starts walking, and Zoro follows, staying silent when his Captain asks the nurses to check on the man. “I have a feeling this case is just getting started, anyway.”

Mihawk’s foreboding words echo in Zoro's brain all the way back to his car. The creep who's doing this is leaving him uneasy. A feeling of dread tightens his stomach and constricts his heart. 

All he can think about is keeping you safe, and he can't exactly pinpoint why. 

Though it's quite a coincidence that Rob Lucci ogles you and gets his eyes removed, and the store clerk hits on you and gets his hands chopped. Quite a coincidence indeed. 

And Zoro doesn't fucking believe in coincidences. 

-*-

You take your car to Robin's, even though Nami offered to pick you up, knowing how unreliable your old car can be sometimes, because you want to avoid having Zoro bring you home. And, gosh, you want nothing more than to spend time with Zoro, but if you can help it, you'll do whatever’s in your power to keep him from touching you. 

No matter how hard that might be. 

You don't even know how you’re going to get into the right mood to party with your friends. They all have so much energy, and you… don't. At least not right now. 

Briefly, you wonder how many times you’re going to use the ‘I'm just tired’ excuse today, but a buzz from your phone distracts your thoughts. 

Unknown: Remember, Kitten, no one touches what's mine.  Unknown: Behave, be a good girl for me, and I won't be upset.  Unknown: I'm always watching. 

You stuff your phone into your pocket before forcing a fake smile onto your lips and buzzing the doorbell of Robin's apartment. She opens the door with a smile that quickly turns into a frown upon setting her eyes on you. 

Not even all the makeup in the world can disguise the massive bags beneath your eyes, the redness in them, or the frayed look. And even if it could, Robin is your most perceptive friend. 

Still, she doesn't address the matter directly. She simply gives you a tighter hug than usual and whispers in your ear: “You need anything, honey? I won't ask questions, even if it's murder.”

The laugh that bubbles up in your throat is completely genuine, and you feel a little lighter. “Oh, trust me, Robin, I know you're the one to ask! But I'm okay, just tired, I guess.”

That's one. 

“Are you sure? You know I know ways to get rid of a body without getting caught…”

“Nico, I'm right here. I have no qualms about taking your ass to jail, you know?”

He's teasing Robin, but his piercing eye is set on you and you have to bite your lower lip to stifle a sob. Zoro's mere presence exudes safety and all you want to do is rush into his arms and forget everything. Forget about feeling scared, trapped, helpless and useless. 

He's right there. 

“Hey, Troublemaker, making trouble?” Robin smirks, shoves Zoro playfully, and returns to her home, leaving you two alone in the doorway, where Zoro leans casually. You notice his piercing gaze assessing the dishevelled state of your hair, the lack of care with your chosen outfit, the way your hands fidget with the hem of your jacket, and surely the way your lip trembles. 

“Hi. Not today, Zo.” You give him a soft smile along with your chill greeting, but the slight buzz in your pocket alerts you, and reminds you not to push it, so you quickly erase it from your face. 

Zoro's eye widens, and he crosses his arms as his brows scrunch. “Is everything–”

“I'm just tired.”

Two.

“See you inside, I’ve got to go greet our friends.” You try to get past him, but he stretches his arm across the doorway and blocks your path. You inhale a quick breath and are inundated with the smell of steel and his musky scent. Safety. Protection. 

… Home…

“Hey. Talk to me.” He mumbles, reaching and tilting your chin slightly so he can look into your eyes. “You look like you haven't slept in days.”

Bzzzz.

You shake your head both as an answer to his question and to deflect his touch. A quick step away brings your back against the doorway, his arm right next to your face and he leans in, seeing you're trapped. 

“Yeah, I know. Too much farm work, I guess. I'm just–”

“Tired?” That's three. 

You nod. Bzzzz. Then you flinch, and Zoro arches his eyebrow. 

“Talk inside, okay?” And before he says anything else, or does anything else - because it's starting to prove impossible to stay away from him - you duck beneath his arm and scurry inside. 

-*-

What the royal fuck? 

Tired? That's not tired. That's exhausted. You look like you've been through hell and back and, apparently, you don't want to tell him why. 

What's going on? 

Zoro follows you inside and closes the door behind him. He watches as you force a smile on your usually cheery face and greet the rest of your friends. Then he watches as Luffy hugs you tighter than usual - probably noticing your frayed state - and watches you push him away, your hand flying to your pocket. 

You stare at your phone, eyes darting back and forth - reading - then you close them shut with an almost imperceptible shudder, and put the phone back in your pocket. 

What is going on? 

He watches you when you think nobody's watching, and he sees the way your hands tremble as you reach for a sandwich you only nibble on, giving the rest to Luffy. He sees the way your eyes dart around the room and the way you avoid windows, preferring to sit in the middle of the living room and on the floor. 

He's especially interested in whoever is texting you, because you can't seem to let go of your phone. Though the texts don't make you happy. They seem to upset you. 

He also sees the way you avoid the Cook and all his flamboyant attention. He realises that your actions are so thought out, so careful, that you're not even your clumsy self. He sees you struggle, trying to smile and to engage. 

To pretend. 

But mostly, he watches as you actively avoid him all night. 

Something is definitely going on. And he's going to find out what. 

-*-

Unknown: The Vinsmoke is too flirty. Get away from him.  Unknown: You're doing so well, Kitten.  Unknown: Avoiding the cop all night. Look how well-behaved you are. 

The hundredth involuntary shudder assaults you. You're trying. By all that is sacred, you really are trying to be good. 

But you feel watched. Not that usual uneasiness that comes from the creep watching you, no. Sadly, you're already getting used to that dreadful feeling. What you're feeling right now is the piercing gaze of Zoro. He's watching your every move. And all you want to do is gravitate towards him. 

He's right there. 

With a heavy sigh, you collect the empty plate of the food you never touched - thank God for Luffy's unending appetite - and go to the kitchen to set it in the sink. 

“Need help?” Fuck. You just saw Zoro snoozing on the couch. Does he have superpowers or something? Now you're both alone. 

Your heart starts hammering away in your chest as you rinse the plate and set it aside. With a deep, steadying breath, you turn, holding a dish towel in your hands as you dry them. “Thanks, Zoro, I'm all done.”

The smile plastered on your lips feels as fake as the little plastic birds Robin has adorning her windowsill. But you try to sell it as you drop the dish towel and start to move to get away from him as fast as you can. 

“So you're running from me again?”

Shit. 

“What are you talking about, Zo? I'm just heading back, you can come too if you want.” But he doesn't move. And he's blocking the door. 

“Stop lying to me, Trouble. You've been avoiding me all night.” Does he actually sound hurt? “What's going on?”

“I'm just–”

“Don't even think about giving me that crap about being tired. You're not tired. You look like hell.”

Bzzzz.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.” You try to make light of the matter and get past him to go to the living room, but he grabs your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

You flinch and shudder, your eyes closing with a gasp. 

“Stop. Talk to me.” You sigh and close your eyes. You want to tell him everything. “Are you still getting those weird gifts? Is that what this is?”

Yes! And so much more! “No, Zoro. The gifts stopped, the person must have given up.” You sigh, the lies coming easier than you would’ve liked them to. “I'm tired. I hate being alone in that big house, and I miss my dad. That's all.” Some truth mixed with the lies might just help you sell them. 

He nods, and his hands squeeze tighter. “I get that. But that doesn't explain why you're running from me.” Bzzzz. You flinch again and roll your shoulders, trying to evade Zoro's touch because you know that's what the texts are sure to be about. “See? Why are you avoiding my touch, Trouble?”

Shit! 

“I'm not.” Wow. That lie wouldn't fool a child. 

“Prove it.” What? You raise your brow, lips curling into a dumbfounded expression. “Let’s finish what we started. Let me kiss you.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

No. God, no. 

You want to. You want this nightmare to come to an end. You want Zoro to kiss you, and to hold you, but mostly, you want him to protect you. To help you crawl out of this miserable rut you got yourself into. 

But you can't. Because you know the texts that await you are all threats to his safety, and you can't risk him. You just can't. 

“I… Zo… I'm not feeling well, another time, maybe.”

You can't bear the hurt in his eyes so you look down, but he doesn't relent. “I thought… I thought we had something. I thought you wanted…” His hands cup your cheeks and he forces you to look at him.  “This.”

You do. God you want all of it. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

Zoro leans slowly. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Your throat feels dry, your phone doesn't stop vibrating and there's not enough air in the world to fill your lungs. 

“I did. Before.” You leave it at that and he's so surprised by your answer that you take advantage and slip past him, trying to hold back sobs as you quickly make up an excuse to your friends and leave. 

You shouldn't have come. This was a mistake. You just managed to hurt Zoro. 

Fuck. 

-*-

You don't quite know how you made it home, but you did. Tears kept streaming down your face, and you blinked them away furiously, but reaching home and locking the door behind you doesn't bring the sense of safety it used to. 

Everything is tainted. You don't feel safe anywhere. 

The phone burns a hole in your pocket with its incessant buzzing. Someone called you on your way over, and you bet it was Zoro. You don't dare to look, as you already know there are dozens of texts from your interactions with Zoro tonight. 

He almost kissed you, and he was so adamant in trying to find out what’s wrong with you. Your friends noticed something was up, but the tired excuse worked perfectly with them, whereas with Zoro… 

He didn't buy it for an instant. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

“God, just stop!” You screech, your hand clawing at your pocket as you take the device out and turn it off without even glimpsing at any text. You place it with force against the kitchen table and slump in the chair, holding your head tight as sobs claw up your throat. 

You're tired, you are. But it's not just physical. What he's doing to you is much worse. It's torture, and it’s bringing you closer and closer to despair. 

A melodic sound comes from your phone, and you hold your breath, removing your hands from your face as you stare at the bright screen. It turned itself on. 

What? 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: Kitten, don't shut me out. You don't want to anger me any more than you already have. 

You stand up abruptly and widen your eyes, a hand pressing against your mouth as a way to trap the whimper that threatens to escape. Then you turn off the phone again, setting it back down on the table as if the thing were on fire. 

You can count the time passing by the accelerated thrums of your heart hammering against your chest.

The melodic sound chimes again, and you freeze as the screen lights up once more. Its obnoxious light fills up the room as the harbinger of doom itself. 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: That’s strike two, and I’m not amused. Don’t shut me out. I’m not–

This time you turn it off and shove it inside the kitchen junk drawer, amidst corks and can openers, hoping against all hope that this nightmare comes to an end, because how can it continue if you push it out of your sight?

Your stare burns a hole in the drawer, but you don’t hear the melodic jingle of the phone turning on, nor any buzzing. Is it… over?

The sounds of the old house seem amplified as you train your ears on any noise.

Can it actually be this simple?

BANG!

Your scream comes as unannounced as the loud bang that rattled the front door. Grasping the edge of the table with all your might, since your legs gave out from under you, you stare in the direction of the front door.

Then you hear it, clear as day, loud as if it were right next to you: footsteps. Heavy footsteps thump on the porch in a slow, taunting march. It’s him. It has to be him. You feel all your limbs locking up, constricting your breaths.

BANG! 

This time, you press both your hands against your mouth and stifle your cry. He’s right there. Your breath comes out of your nose in loud, rapid bursts, and your head feels light. It’s over. He’s come for you and there’s no escape. 

The footsteps cease, and you take a deep breath as tears drip down your face. Did he give up? 

You're not quite sure how you get the courage to do it, but you approach the front door with very light steps, avoiding the creaking boards of the floor and standing on your tiptoes to try and see through the peephole, even though you’re already dreading what you’ll find once you press your eye against it.

Darkness.

You can’t see anything. Should you turn the porch light on?

BANG!

This time, you can’t contain your loud cry as you fall to the floor. The door rattled right against your touch and your stomach tightens at the thought that there’s just a door separating you from whoever is out there. 

You crawl backwards, deranged sobs leaving you as you curse and plead, not quite sure what to do.

And then, as your back hits the kitchen counter, you know what he wants.

Getting up on shaky legs, you can still hear the pacing outside the door. You’re terrified. Fear makes your limbs congeal, and you shake your hands to try and stop them from trembling. Your fingers fumble with the drawer, and you have to clasp your phone with both hands as you turn it on. 

The melodic ring resounds all around the kitchen, and, as soon as the phone is connected, it buzzes.

Unknown: Good girl.

-*-

Another restless, sleepless night. 

You can’t shake away the fear that he left behind, no matter how much he assured you over texts that he would never hurt you, he just needed to make you learn. You’re a fast learner, he said. You can be good, he added. You just need to be reminded of this now and again.

He kept calling you his, kept saying you’d learn to love him, to call for him, to need him. 

You were so shaken up from the whole ordeal that you threw up whatever meager food you had managed to eat at Robin’s. Then, you locked yourself in your room again, trying to drown out any thoughts of heavy footsteps or threats. 

There was no rest or sleep.

Just paralysing fear and helplessness. You can’t see a way out of this hell. Maybe there really is no escape.

-*-

Saturday comes and goes, and though your friends call, you ignore them. 

Except Zoro doesn’t relent. He calls, and you don’t pick up, so he calls again, and again, and again until you do. 

“I was about to march in there and see if you were alive.” He’s growling, but he still sounds a bit hurt, and you grimace, making yourself smaller against your couch. You’re sitting on the floor, somehow it seems more secluded, safer.

“I’m fine, I’m just sick. I think I caught a cold.” You cough a bit, trying to sell the lie, but at this point, you doubt Zoro actually believes anything you say.

“Right. So, you’re not coming with us to the movies today?”

“Not today.” You sound defeated, exhausted, shaken, and scared. You hope he just thinks you’re as sick as you claim to be. 

“What if I go to you and we watch a movie at your house? I can get the Cook to make you some soup.”

A whimper almost leaves your lips, and you have to take a few extra seconds to compose yourself before answering. 

“It’s okay, Zo. I’m fine. I just need some rest, okay? See you soon.”

And you hang up on him, like the coward you are. 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Kitten, that’s enough indulging the cop. You don’t get to answer any more of his calls. He needs to know you don’t want anything to do with him.

You read the text and drop the phone on the floor next to you, your head falling against your knees as you hug them tighter. You’re numb to all of this now. He controls you, he owns you, and there’s no escape. 

You’re trapped in your own home, cornered in your own life. 

You’re barely surviving. You’re just existing.

And it’s painful as hell.

-*-

The week goes by, and you fall into a numb routine. You get up, throw away whatever gift is waiting for you - sometimes they’re fresh flowers or candy, other times there are dead animals or crumpled flowers - you feed the farm animals, then try to eat something.

The afternoon is spent cowering in fear until you do the rest of the chores. Then, you try to eat something else for dinner after you lock up every inch of the house. You curl into bed in your locked bedroom, cry yourself to exhaustion, and start all over again the next day.

The stalker’s texts are relentless. He praises you and your beauty, your behaviour, and how good you are to him. Then, sometimes, he says you still need to learn, to accept that you’re his, and to understand you will love him back eventually.

And then, there’s Zoro.

He calls, he texts, and he comes knocking at your door. Every single day.

You pretend not to be home when he comes, even though he says he knows you’re home, but you don’t open the door or say anything. And then, he always gets a call from the station, something urgent that comes up, and he needs to go.

You know it’s him orchestrating Zoro’s life as well as yours. And the noose tightens around your neck. 

-*-

Friday comes, and you’re not even strong enough to get out of bed. You’re drained. You ask Ace to help with the animals and stay curled up in bed for the majority of the day. Your phone is strangely silent.

No Zoro.

No stalker.

You fall asleep. A restless sleep born from weariness and depression. Then, you wake up drenched in sweat. It’s almost dark outside, and an ominous feeling grips you in its hold. You try to listen, to hear if there’s anything out of place, any foreign sound that doesn’t belong, but all is quiet.

You check your phone, and there’s nothing there.

Everything feels peculiar and unusual. 

You get up on light feet and have to take an extra minute to steady yourself because your head feels light, and you feel faint from not eating all day. Then, you slowly make your way downstairs. It’s too quiet. Too eerie. 

Something is definitely wrong.

It takes you an extra minute to notice, but when you do, all the breath is knocked out of your lungs. 

There’s a huge, beautiful bouquet of fresh roses in the middle of the kitchen table.

He was inside your home. 

He was inside while you were asleep and vulnerable. He could have been in your room, he could have touched you, he–

Heavy gasps disturb the eerie silence of your home as fat droplets of tears stream down your face. You can’t take this, you can’t. It’s too much, and you’re not strong enough. There’s no way you’ll be able to survive this alone.

You grab your phone and press Zoro’s name, placing the phone against your ear with trembling hands. It’s time to tell him everything.

Except the call doesn’t go through.

“Come on!” You whine, your legs giving out as you fall to the floor, the red from the roses still burning your retinas. You try again. And the call doesn’t go through.

It’s his doing. 

The police. You dial the number and press the phone against your ear, but it disconnects before even ringing. 

“No!” You scream and throw the phone to the floor, getting up hastily and bumping against a chair before your trembling fingers grasp the landline phone. Sobs and hiccups leave your lips, and you don’t even care, You’re so tired, you just want this nightmare to end.

The line’s dead.

A broken, desperate scream climbs up your throat, and you lose track of time as you curl up into a ball and cry some more. 

There’s still someone who can help. Even though asking for his help is the last thing you want to do, maybe it’s exactly what you need to get out of this.

Ichiji.

Determination and a newfound purpose seem to stop your tears from flowing freely, and you grab your phone again, taking a seat on the couch this time, not wanting to stare at the roses anymore and not daring to touch them yet.

The call goes through, and you sigh in relief.

Two rings, and a familiar voice churns your insides. “Well, hello, Doll. This is… unexpected.”

“Ichiji, I need your help.” There’s no use beating around the bush. “I need you to spare me one of your bodyguards.”

The idea hit you like a truck. Ichiji has tons of bodyguards, he can be persuaded to share one, you’re sure of it. Even if you have to owe him something - and you know he’s going to collect - it’s much better than living in this constant fear.

The silence prolongs for a while before he sighs heavily into the phone. When he speaks again, his voice is clipped and monotone. “I would love to help, Doll.” Somehow, you doubt that very much. “But I’m a bit understaffed at the moment.”

“Cut the crap, Ichiji. You have dozens of bodyguards. Each one is better than the last.” It’s true. They’re all elite. Might as well just say he doesn’t want to help you, that you can understand.

“Had.” Another heavy sigh. “I had dozens of the best bodyguards. My best one left around the same time you left me. And half of them followed him out.” He chuckles dryly as the information sets into your tired brain. His best bodyguard?

You remember him vaguely, though the name eludes you, you talked to him on several occasions. Ichiji’s events were boring and dragged on, so you made small talk. He seemed to like what he did and was the best at it. 

“Do you see the chaos you left with your departure, Doll?” This time, you’re the one that sighs. 

“I just need one, Ichiji, please.” How low have you stooped, to be begging the asshole who broke your heart? 

“I can’t. What I’ve got left are mediocre soldiers and a footlong list of threats. I barely feel safe leaving the house. But if you feel so unsafe, maybe you can crawl back to me, Doll, I’m sure I can make arrangements.”

“Goodbye.” You exclaim dryly into the phone before turning off the call. 

A bodyguard was your last hope. The small flicker of light that had turned on. And now you are truly alone. No Zoro, no police. Just you and the stalker.

You turn your head back into the kitchen where the bouquet stands, taunting you with its beauty. He was inside once. He’ll be inside again. 

How long before he hurts you?

You don’t even know when the tears started to flood again, but soon enough, your face is completely wet, and your shoulders shake with every ragged sob. You have never felt this helpless.

You’re trapped.

There’s no way out.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

And he’s come for you.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache

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[please-read-the-manga]

I know this is an older post (and I agree with all of it), but I wanted to share something I read a while back that really changed my perception on this topic/the way I personally go about rationalizing/understanding why so much of what occurs with the Uchiha feels unsatisfying.

Here's a link to the thread (lots of cool opinions/thoughts are expressed on it), but I'll try to crudely summarize what resonated the most with me. "Kishimoto's Writing On the Uchiha is Unironically A Good Example of Real Life Pro-Genocide Propaganda" by u/LivingwithStupidity.

To save space, thoughts under the cut:

Outside of our major characters (who all, to some degree, largely play antagonistic roles ie. Madara, Obito, Itachi, Sasuke, even Fugaku), the Uchiha rarely exist outside of the context of the massacre and even then, they are largely voiceless and nameless. This dehumanizes them in the narrative and robs them of individuality, especially as time progresses within the series. We naturally forget, for example, about the sweet old Uchiha aunty that runs a clan store in Sasuke's memories because she's never shown or brought up again. Outside of some hints in Sasuke's initial memories of the event that do not get repeated, we're not shown different generations of characters remembering their fallen Uchiha comrades/school friends, during later flashbacks to past wars we're not shown different Uchiha clan members fighting in the background (even though they were major participants who gave their lives in battle/on behalf of the village and operated as a founding clan - the only exception to this is Kagami and he is notably used as an exception to 'typical' Uchiha), we're not shown academy teachers having to redo their class rosters because all of their young Uchiha students were murdered, we're not shown any characters looking at empty shop stalls that used to be manned by noncombatant Uchiha characters and commenting on that loss of life/what it means to the village, etc. The rest of the in-universe world moves on and none of our major characters really call back into focus the humanity that was indiscriminately annihilated through the massacre - it laps at the surface through Sasuke's character/actions, but outside of its first introduction, it's never (imo) that explicit again. The closest we get to a proper callback to callous loss of life is Sasuke's reaction to Danzo's arm where it's revealed he violated and mutilated Uchiha bodies... but even this, I fear, is a bit too subtle for some people and it gets overlooked. Later, when Sasuke goes on to rightfully call out Konoha's crimes he specifically mentions his mother, father, and brother - and, again, I don't think this is enough to remind some readers of the sheer gravity of the tragedy at play here. Maybe even just one more line here, that reminded the reader innocent children, the infirmed, and noncombatants were murdered in their beds too, would have gone a long way... but the narrative (pointedly, in my opinion) doesn't take that necessary step. The loss of life isn't felt as vividly as it should be and I think it gives many readers license to dismiss Sasuke's grief and mission as 'unwarranted' (and it inspires the braindead 'well so-and-so suffered too/lost xyz and they didn't react like that' arguments when this tragedy, if you're capable of deeper analysis, is on a completely different scale/underscores an extremely unique injustice that is personal to Sasuke). There is a weight applied to Itachi's crimes when they're being discussed, but the critical human piece seems to be missing (imo) - hundreds of families massacred in one night is replaced all too simply with 'the clan' and I think the impact of the former gets handwaved by the phrasing of the latter.

The faulty eugenics arguments also serve as a simplistic 'see-I-told-you-so' that satisfies far too many and seems to justify, in their eyes, the complete destruction of the Uchiha bloodline and culture. Personally, if I can get a little 'real-world' here, I wonder if this is partially a symptom of poor education on genocide/the history of genocide. To me, Tobirama's unproven, disingenuous presentation on 'Uchiha genes' just reeks of 'Der Untermensch' propaganda and I think some people are far too generous in granting allowances for his very obviously pointed hatred and bias against this clan of people, especially when his direct actions as a person in power helped give rise to the eventual elimination of the Uchiha. For many people, this is all they need to know to now wipe their hands of this 'debate', call Sasuke 'crazy' and an 'edgy emo worked up over nothing' and point to this hateful, whacko eugenicist character that claims the sharingan makes 'these people' crazy so, of course, they 'self-destructed' (even if that was not the truth), of course, they're 'all bad and not worthy of Sasuke's efforts to preserve their memory/bring them justice', etc. Again, this works hand-in-hand with the previous point where we are pointedly not reminded that babies, children and everyday people without the sharingan, the elderly/infirmed, anyone who maybe had a dissenting opinion on this alleged coup - all of them - were lumped together on the basis of their 'genetic disposition and biological deficiencies' and thereby slaughtered without remorse. Now certain people can comfortably read pages upon pages of Itachi wank and be content with the knowledge that what Itachi did was justified/for the best because, well, the Uchiha are all nut-jobs. Yep, every single one. It's in their blood... just round 'em up and kill 'em. Right? These takes are so disgusting and continue to persistent in this fandom.

Finally, as mentioned in this thread already, Itachi never comes full circle to acknowledge his own victimhood at the hands of the village nor does he express any direct regret of his actions against his kin. He does regret, partially, how he handled Sasuke (and imo even that gets less focus than I frankly feel it deserves within these discussions - not only did Itachi repeatedly torture and try to force his brother onto a path that suited Itachi/Itachi's whims he was also prepared to BRAINWASH his younger brother and, again, force him to serve the state regardless of Sasuke's own freewill/agency), but Itachi never outright states that he regrets the massacre specifically (just that things could have been different) nor does he draw his own conclusions about the village's failures and how he was absolutely groomed and victimized by Konoha's violent rhetoric + the greater shinobi system (particularly when Sasuke is trying to wrap his own head around this mess of contradictions). I mean, the weight of that is enormous and I think it's a disservice to both Sasuke and Itachi to not explore the implications of that. Editing to add (I had it in the tags, but I should probably put it here): I do think Itachi felt guilt, even if it wasn't completely articulated, and that is why he manipulated Sasuke into killing him, but the major problem (for myself and many) remains that to the very end he died proudly 'Itachi of Konoha' even though Konoha inexcusably harmed him, his beloved younger brother, and his entire family. Itachi acknowledging, in some way, that the village is harmful but there should be some way of fixing that (ie. inspiring Sasuke to contemplate how that could be/what that looks like) would have added some needed complexity to discourse centering on the harm of the shinobi world/what happens going forward. I'm aware there are different interpretations on Itachi's regret, I go back and forth on these interpretations.

All this to say, I would have loved to see more flashbacks with Sasuke exploring his relationship to his mother/father/other Uchiha clan members. I would have loved to see more Uchiha merchants/laborers (or general noncombatants), cousins that Sasuke played with and met up with after his classes, elders that would sneak him treats, etc.

Their clan-specific jutsu and symbols have meaning, there is cultural significance to them that Sasuke may or may not be familiar with and, in either case, that matters. When Sasuke realizes he'll never be able to ask his father or elders what 'xyz' means in relation to their clan and his heritage, that such knowledge is gone forever, that matters. When Sasuke starts to forget certain faces, or can't bring himself to recall those times without being reminded of their bloody slaughter (as Itachi designed), that matters. Anyone who thinks about what Sasuke has endured for more than 5 minutes likely understands that these conflicting feelings/questions constantly loom around his character - how does someone who has been through something so awful, who has completely lost everything, how do they continue to endure? But the issue, I think, is that the narrative fails to adequately highlight these ideas in a way that would not only be 1.) satisfying to those of us who resonate with/appreciate the character but 2.) be capable of inspiring empathy in readers who maybe don't have the background/knowledge/experience to grapple with the weight of Sasuke's reality (again, without more explicit focus from the narrative itself).

Naruto gets to see his father and mother in two extremely meaningful moments - they're story highlights for a reason. Naruto's experience with neglect, isolation, and lack of identity have been hallmarks informing his character since the beginning. That he is given the opportunity to directly reconcile with these feelings, is great, it's satisfying - we see how this character has hurt and how they've grown and we're happy to see them receive some semblance of closure after the difficult journey they've undergone. So, I'll always lament that the same was never extended to Sasuke. To have an alternative viewpoint to Itachi's, could have greatly influenced Sasuke's calculus as he tried to parse his thoughts/feelings regarding insurmountable grief, isolation, and loss. I mean, imagine if Fugaku and Mikoto were edo tensei'd... What would they have said to their youngest son who had been tasked with this impossible mission of bringing justice to their clan in the face of the pure evil injustice that the Leaf did to them? Would he have been given peace? Would they have relieved him of his quest so that he no longer needed to suffer? Would he listen? Idk, man, we were able to waste so many chapters on random fodder characters during the war arc, we couldn't be bothered to interact with any other Uchiha?

But... if we did present other Uchiha for the purpose of exploring what closure looks like for Sasuke (even outside of Fugaku and Mikoto, though I think they could have worked too), then we would be humanizing them in a way that conflicts with what the narrative seems to want us to take away from the village's (and Itachi's) actions. We can't humanize the Uchiha without calling out this horrifying wrong the Leaf has exercised... especially if there will not be any retribution (and that could be a fascinating story to explore, a really realistic one too lol - but I don't personally think that was the narrative's intention).

It really does just feel like a missed opportunity/mishandling of 'what could have been' at the end of the day. We have hints to this greater, underexplored Uchiha lore that are fascinating - like the Uchiha relationship to the Nekobaa, the Nakano shrine the Uchiha faithfully tended for generations, and Sasuke and Itachi having their fight in what was notably an impressive clan structure far from the village.

This was a group of people connected through a deep, rich culture. They weren't 'nobodies', they weren't 'crazy and irredeemable' - they were people and the narrative would love for you to forget that.

On one level I feel like Sasuke’s idealization of Itachi towards the end is mostly a product of Kishimoto’s desire to have all the characters glorify Itachi and treat him like a saint so he can have his tragic plot twist hero character and no one questions how fucked up it is and so he can erase the rest of Sasuke’s clan and connections to his family but on the other I do think elements of it are realistic given how Obito kept telling Sasuke how much Itachi sacrificed for him and how his own sense of purpose and ideals and sense of self had already been tied to Itachi (antagonistically) for so long through trying to kill him, and how desperate he was to be loved in a way that connected him to his family. And he didn’t actually really believe that what Itachi did was right—if he had he wouldn’t have yelled at him for answers when he came back and he wouldn’t have chosen to oppose Konoha and the kages and essentially gone directly against everything Itachi stood for. I think the fact that on a very fundamental level he opposes the ideology that Itachi upheld but still feels a certain empathy for him and responsibility to him and contextualizes his worldview in reference to him does sort of make sense in a very sad way even if he would be completely justified in feeling nothing but hatred for him forever. I don’t think it was a good choice to have him refer to him in such heroic/valorizing terms though, and if that was going to be the case I wish we had seen a progression that didn’t result in concession to Konoha wherein he could accept that seeing Itachi in any kind of heroic light was deeply inaccurate and unhealthy

[ainnur]

we know you like celestialchaos (Wukong/Xiangliu) and divorced shadowpeach (where Macaque is the pathetic ex) but do you have any other LMK ships?

with or without Wukong, doesn’t matter

I DO!! Im a semi multishipper so I have few ships I like and some of them a pretty rare but I'll explain why I like them in simple way.

Start with my third favorite:

StableBoy (Ao Lie/Wukong)

To me this ship just a cute one. It match my hc that Ao Lie being the first person Wukong ever open up to after all the shit he been through because Wukong loves horses lol. And Ao lie is one of the persons that see Wukong grow to be better. I can see it as first ever heathy relationship Wukong ever have. Also Ao Lie the first person he ever truly trusted always listening to what he says. Ao Lie is Wukong's light.

OTHER SHIPS 👇🏼👇🏼

GoldenDragon (Mk/Mei)

Best friend to lover trope. They is two people that would say "If we single when we 27, we just marry each other" and the keep their dynamic. Plus they always be their for each other and match each other energy. They know each other the best and I like that about them. And when I first watched lmk I actually think they were dating or something lol. Im just like the silver and gold brother demon 🥲 sue me. If anything GoldenDragon is not parelle with Shadowpeach but StableBoy.

FreeNoddle (Tang/Pigsy)

Old married couple for the win✨ I just like how they lovingly fight with each other but comfort each other when needed.

LionPeach (Azure/Wukong)

This really giving love at first sight 😭I mean what is this. Look I like them because they cute. Azure admire Wukong and see him as great warrior, a bother, the King! Little bit too much its unhealthy. And Wukong have all his trust and having same gold as him and that is making the world a better place. But because his admiration, he blame Wukong for failing. For not achieving what he expect of Wukong to be. He also think what he doing is right. But even everything he never wanted to hurt anyone deep down and he made mistakes and redeemed himself with his life despite everything he loved his friends and they all loved him. Just look at Wukong when Azure die. And after everyting Wukong still care about him in a way.

Shadowpuppet (Not Mayor/Macaque)

Petty rival that somehow get together lol. I like them both being shitty to each other but cant leave each other side because they only have each other 🥲.

DestinyBone (Mayor/Lady Bone Demon)

One side love. Mayor do everything for LBD while her only focus on her destiny. Everything he do is for her but now she gone...he is nothing.

PuppetPeach (Wukong/Mayor)

Toxic yuri- okay look I have this idea for them with Mayor try to find someone else to serve after LBD is gone. At first Mayor dont like Wukong because you know, Wukong is the one make him realize that LBD never actually need him. But when fighting with Wukong he remember something. The warm that Wukong left him. It also cold when come to lbd and that how he like it but this warm feel strange to him. After some stalking he see Wukong as the leader, as the protector, as the hero and most importantly as a KING. Someone who deserve to be serve. I made a fanfic once about them HERE

StringDoll (Spider Queen/Lady Bone Demon)

✨Toxic Yuri for real ✨No explainition just them

IronBull (PIF/DBK)

Vilain power couple ✨. They may be a shit parents to Red Son but damn they're THAT couple. They just good with each other. I like how dbk defend PIF by saying that PIF can handle herself because she is a strong women but still worry about her because THAT his wife, he have right to be worry. And PIF? She loyal for him. 500 years finding way to free her husband from mountain. *Ehem* Take note Macaque *Ehem*. PIF would rush to her husband always. Just like when Azure attack DBK and his family, PIF quickly rush and jump infront of her husband wanting to protect him. I was like damn, you go girl ✨They either be good parents or good couple. They made their decision lol.

GoldenFeather (Peng/Wukong)

Okay I like this ship because my friend @starrclown make me ship theme with their cute fanfic. But I still have my own idea for them. I like them in 2 way

1)Peng having a casual crush on Wukong. Its never anything big. Peng just think Wukong is funny and chaotic. Peng love 'chaos' anyway and without it they think it be boring. Peng know that Wukong never actually like anyone and is fine by that. If Wukong like them back it be awasome but if Wukong dont Peng will be just find.

2) Peng have crush on Macaque😬. Hate crush but still crush. The thing is that Mac is a simp for Wukong and Peng just don't get it. He just don't get what so good about Wukong that got Macaque drolling like that. Peng being curious and also don't want seem as coward like Macaque ask Wukong for a "night" just to have the taste. Now he understand Macaque and wanting Wukong

Also Peng might be more important to Wukong consider he is one of first ink from Wukong scroll that show up and the first one to attack

This is OC x Canon:

ToxicPeach (Steve/Wukong)

Okay this is crack ship that me and my friend @halfdeadhalfpaniced made with random character we call Steve. But more time pass I kinda like the ship. Steve the wanna rockstar fall in love with the Monkey King himself. Wukong is questioning why he like that loser lol

[sharklovingaquarist]

Nothing really lets you know the reality of a mans mindset like hearing them talk when they think only other men are listening. I'm tired of seeing the inside world of men. I grew up being the "cool girl," and it's just impossible. In order to respect oneself, you have to migrate to an extreme.

I saw a video that was like "that one guy who respects women too much" and it was a bunch of guys and one goes "my girl just got her period shes not pregnant" all excited n shit. The way that men talk about sex, conception, and pregnancy legit makes me get a stress rash. Every single aspect both seperates them, whilst prioritizing their feelings. Lets unpack this

She is not "your girl" she is a partner. This idea that "she's not pregnant" not "we didn't concieve" really proves to me how men both see women as their tools whilst seeing their feelings as more important in a situation where a fetus is concieved. Kinda like saying, "Thank God I didn't pop my tire." it both credits men with "getting women pregnant" while acting like they themselves are just bystanders. All the while, they worry about the impact on them rather than the woman who would go through that process and how they would serve her wellbeing. She is your partner. When you have sex with her, you are agreeing to a contract of possible servitude. ESPECIALLY if you decide that putting a piece of plastic on your pathetic dick is too much work. Another sign that they can take an action, but the only one they see as defined by it is you. Be it taking your "virginity" or stretching a vagina. You are not a person they bond with and build a team with, just a means to an end.

While you can be excited that you didn't concieve a child, both only concerning her and only caring about the effect on you really does highlight how women are just a secondary they collect and show off.

And as for the "respects women too much" part, it was some guy saying it wasn't something to be proud of... which yeah it's not. Men make ironic videos and show basic respect as something crazy. "Haha, what a funny guy he views his partner as a separate, yet unified being of whom he works with, not utilizes what a guy!" Tbh, I didn't watch much after that. I can't stand the way men create banter around it. They can never be normal. Either you're "their woman" or you're "goddess creator of all life", never just a human like them whose differences fit to theirs like a puzzle piece.

Not to mention the idea of your male partner talking about you like that behind your back. I can't describe it very well, but the manner and tone in which they say it to their male friends is just revolting. Talking about my body like an object when you were the one not taking measures to avoid a team effort makes me feel sick. You're a fucking trophy and they're the actual humans unreliable on another being. They don't talk about it in a sense of "period = proof that WE didn't cause something" and further more don't see it as "your body because youre the stronger of us two when it comes to roles in reproduction". It's all paired with such an insulting connotation.

Idk, it's the simple ways they word it that just infuriates me. Once you start to unpack it, you can't go back. Men view you as a box they fill or keep empty. You are the one defined by them. Owned by them. They don't with you, they do to you. Your definition revolves them, much like a dog given an occupation by its owner. You are xyz and only add to their story. You function to add to their story while they revolve themselves

Sorry, this was a bit of a rant, but good lord hearing men even open their mouths just makes me cringe. They'll do anything but see you as a human on their level. Im running off a little sleep, so please excuse anything redundant. College is beating my assssss

[hirachat]

LONG POSTT i wanna ramble ab illustrhater for a bit dont mind me

i infamously live for filler so i had a blast with the premiere episode :) i wanted to breifly (lmao) talk about this ep bc oh my goodness i have faith in the writers this season bc they understand our characters so well

the way mari wants to initiate casual intimacy with adrien but doesnt know how bc shes never played that role before in a relationship (luka initiated most of it honestly) was genuinely so cute. plus shes obviously not really scared of *him* but is scared to not be *enough for him* which is where i predicted any conflict between them would go. and i dont see this as regression but more as a realistic timeline for growing up with anxiety. bc mari isnt just anxious sometimes, she has anxiety!! shes an anxious person who over thinks everything, so it makes sense that she would over complicate the smaller things in life too. im so glad theyre staying true to that aspect of her character while still keeping some of her confidence.

mari then switching to ladybug every time she got overwhelmed by trying to be close with her “perfect boyfriend” was actually so funny. bc here she is manufacturing problems in her personal life, only to then go to her alter ego where she has so many other things to worry about, but because she didnt create the problem herself she wants to fix it! 😭😭 i loved that

and chat noir staying with her was so funny, he was just watching her spiral for so long im sure he was nervous for her. and adrien hesitating to leave the date 👀 im keeping tabs on that hehehehe. adrien in general was super chill and was very much not used to initiating intimate contact with mari, to the point where he didnt even pick up on their lack of casual closeness. i blame that on the trauma honestly.

and then the kwamataga, oh my god. i strongly believe that alya would be an amazing guardian and she was the most obvious choice (no i will not argue ab this, i am a chat noir is an equal truther to the bone but this is just different shhhhh). HOWEVER, i hate the role of the guardian. its just so sad. your memories being wiped? having a target on ur back until u are taken out or renounce your role? thats so heavy, and im sure mari deliberated over it for a while. but damn. i was hoping that mari would find a way to avoid the fate of the guardians before her. and now that burden is being passed over to alya…. my heart hurts for them. the brutal cycle continues.

and then the silence after they mentioned something happening to mari was SO LOUD. GOD SHES SO DOOMED. poor babies theyre ab to go through hell.

i also loveeee chrysalis down. there was also mention of a “them” and “us” and now im just really scared 🤣 that could mean anything!!! im so excited but im also shitting myself we are not prepared for act ii of this season 😭

basically i loved it and im kinda scared for the actual lore eps bc they will hit us like a bullet train. im choosing the easy choice of enjoying life rn and avoiding the obvious impending doom looming over the narrative bc im TERRIFIED 😭

[481mclarg]

Scared to love you | AL65

★ I've never been good at telling people how I feel, but you make me want to try.

STLY      •       FANFIC + SMAU

        • Arthur Leclerc x Male!Oc Driver

« K » Sorry for being late. I have a horrible migraine + the whole city run out of power (?) + 35 fucking °C

(bue, no estoy seguro si así se dice, pero la cuestión es que se cortó la luz en todo este pueblo de mierda donde vivo). (el verano es una verga).

Warnings: insecurity/anxiety? (being afraid to come out)

★          introduction. | one. | two. | three. | four. | five. | six. | seven. |

[ 💻 ] Google News. 2023.

BREAKING. Matteo Lombardi to race for Ferrari in 2024.

          Carlos Sainz Jr.'s departure from Ferrari was something that no one expected, and the fact that the Scuderia didn't even give the fans time to recover from the news before announcing Lombardi as his replacement was even more shocking.

          The Maranello team had an Italian back in the top category and one of the youngest drivers on the grid. His great results in the past couldn’t be denied or questioned, but what was feared was that it was a hasty move on Ferrari's part. Other teams had already experienced what it was like to promote a young driver too early.

          That pressure was transmitted to Matteo. He knew he couldn't disappoint, he had to make his team proud, his country, Giancarlo, his family, his friends...

          Being Charles' teammate was strange. He felt like he was constantly hiding something from the Monegasque, which made him nervous. The fact that his voice and accent were so similar to Arthur's didn't help.

          Arthur was a subject he didn't know if he wanted to discuss with Charles. The eldest knew that they had at least been friends, but it didn't seem like his brother had told him anything about what had happened between them on vacation, even though he often makes comments that seem a bit strange.

          He preferred not to give it much importance. In the end, he hadn't even spoken much to Arthur again. He felt a bit sad for Arthur; he had wanted to maintain their friendship. At the same time, he was grateful because he didn't know if he would have been able to talk to him without remembering Barcelona.

          Everything related to the country, Spain, and its city now related to Arthur. It seemed like a curse. Maybe it was a spell from the Monegasque himself so he could never forget it, so that in one way or another, he would be present in his mind.

          He didn't see him much either. His contract in Formula 2 had ended, joining the Le Mans Series and distancing him a little from the world of Formula. He also left the Ferrari Drivers Academy, so if he didn't go to see his brother at the Formula 1 races, he had no chance to meet him.

          Arthur didn't talk about Matteo with his brother either, even though the older one also made comments to him and asked if their friendship was surviving the distance of not seeing each other on the track on weekends.

          "Yes, everything is fine" he lied. Charles smiled, reminding him that he didn't have to worry, like he had told him in that call.

          The younger one wished that things hadn't changed between them. He wished he didn't have to lie to his brother about his friendship with his teammate. He hadn't spoken much with Matteo, and he wouldn't say that they were on bad terms, but there was clearly a pending talk that neither of them dared to bring up. It was easier to keep quiet and look the other way than to resolve it.

          The Italian had been clear: "I'm going to focus on my career." He didn't want personal relationships. He didn't have the time. He wouldn't waste his energy on anything other than Ferrari. He understood that. He had to. He'd seen him work hard for years. He didn't want to be the one to ruin his life's work.

          Although he understood Matteo's point of view, he couldn't say he shared it. He sensed a fear in Matteo that wasn't typical of the boy who left everything on the track. He used to risk everything in every race. Why did he look terrified now? He was more careful -he justified- not to say that he was simply scared.

          Scared of losing.

          He had always been afraid of ruining everything, so he played it safe. Without questioning, without trying. On the track, it was easy. He could learn when a maneuver would work and when it was better to wait; in life, he couldn't know until he tried. Until he failed and learned from the mistake. But Matteo could not conceive of failing. He could not allow it.

          "Would he have acted the same way if I had gotten a seat in Formula One?" He could not know, but he did know that from his position, risking a future seat or the current one at Le Mans, he would act.

          Why not? Why not be the ones to make that difference? Why wait for someone else to act, to decide what he was going to do? He understood that he could lose support, but why did he want the support of intolerant people? Who, even if he didn't speak, would still know that they do not support him?

          Yes, he was going to attract a different look on him. He would be judged even for how he breathes, but what does it matter? If he doesn’t do it, he knows that he will judge himself for the same thing. For being a coward, for being able to make a difference, for being able to show others, to show Matteo that you can be a driver even if you are attracted to another man.

          At the same time, it was a kind of new challenge: to show people that he could continue to have successful results, that his private life and preferences did not interfere with his knowledge and skills. It even sounded stupid to believe that they could question his performance as a driver because of who he was with in bed.

          First, he had to talk to his family. It would be better to talk about it in person, get over that silly nervousness, and prepare for the time to make it public. It was also important that his family heard it directly from his mouth and not from what others were going to post on social media or news portals. He wanted to seek their support, a hug from his mother, ask what his father would have thought despite already knowing that he loved his family no matter what.

          He really hoped to be able to reconnect with Matteo, to resolve the pending things they had left in that hotel in Barcelona but for now, he could at least thank him silently for helping to know himself a little better. To discover a part that he didn't know or that he didn't know he had. Thank him for giving to him the courage to speak out, and the new purpose of showing that nothing that happens off the track matters when talking about a driver's career.

[ 📱 ] Instagram. 11 Jun. 2024.

arthurleclerc65

♡ Liked by charlesleclerc, dinobeganovic, paularon, dennishauger, olliebearman and others...

arthurleclerc65: happy pride month gays 💙🩷

⇲          Comments

user293: !?!?!?!?

user40: hellou gays

user135: I hope you get better soon🙏 being French (by choice) is not natural

user592: hello !? he just come out !!?? like- ???!!!

charlesleclerc16: 👏👏♥️

↳ Liked by arthurleclerc65

user302: 🩷💜💙?

↳ Liked by arthurleclerc65

user289: happy pride month king🫡

[ 📲 ]          matteolombardi51 liked your post

matteolombardi51

♡ Liked by dinobeganovic, dennishauger, olliebearman, lewishamilton, maxverstappen and others...

matteolombardi51: 💜

⇲          Comments

user293: AT THE SAME TIME THAT ARTHUR ?!

dennishauger: proud of you man💪

↳ Liked by matteolombardi51

user305: love is love💞

↳ Liked by matteolombardi51

user529: Is it support to the community or his coming out post ?😭

[ 📲 ]          arthurleclerc65 liked your post

481MCLARG | 26 . 01 . 2025 | CORREGIDO

[orchidshark]

I have an idea to write a supernatural fic (i know its 2025 fricken sue me) inspired by Epic. Some wild found family shit with def some Sabriel and Destiel thrown in there. Ofc just barely cannon compliant to make the story line and ships work.

Basic outline, Sam and Dean end up having to take in a girl (around 11) when her family dies and shes left with instructions to call John of all people. Oops tho they didnt get the message that his dead and she gets Sam and Dean instead. Already been raised by hunters and thus knowing WAY too much about the supernatural (great parenting choices made all around IM LOOKIN AT YOU JOHN), the boys take her in. We get some found family with Sam and Dean basically trying to do things better than their dad. "No, you cant come with us. NOT because you arent capable, youre plenty that, but youre a kid. So for once, be a kid." and stuff like that. I see Sam becoming more of a parental figure to her because of how he views his childhood compared to Dean. With Dean still in his "our childhood was pretty great, dad did his best" mentality, I see him slowly come to realize that giving a kid a GUN when they are scared of their closet was not a great choice.

Cas is there of course and Gabe comes back not long after faking his death in season 5 (I NEED MY SHIPS). The boys are able to get Sam back from Hell with the help of our fave archangel turned trickster.

The angels and demons are PISSED about their plans and figure that they need to separate this little found family. Dean and Cas are left alone at Bobby's to try and figure this all out and Gabriel is captured and taken to Asmodeus (I need his headquarters to be somewhere on earth with a connection to hell. this will make sense later). The angels take the kid and place her in a random ass town middle of no where and in the foster system, with only an Angel (im thinkin Anna cause canon does not exist here) keeping guard to make sure she cant leave and cant contact anyone.

Sam, cause hes sam and cant catch a break, goes on what he thinks is a normal salt-and-burn on his own but ends up being stopped by some supernatural being whenever he tries to go home. HE IS OUR ODYSSEUS. Lucifer is Posideon in this case, and wants him to feed into the "monster" within him so he'll say yes again and finally take over. Sam is constantly beat down, losing every person he comes into contact with on his journey, and becoming the "monster" or hunter in this case, that John was always trying to get him to be. He just wants to get home to his family.

The girl, on the other hand, is stuck with no way home and just wants to be with her family again. She wants to be just like Sam and Dean and decides so start doing research and helping out in this middle of no where town when crazy supernatural stuff does happen. She was raised by hunters and then our favorite boys after all so she has a good idea of what to do but cant actually ask anyone for help. SHE IS OUR TELEMACHUS.

They are all separated from each other for about 3 years.

She eventually finds that Anna has a bit of a soft spot left from when she used to be human and creates the opening to Asmodeus's for the kid to find. She stubbles in there and finds who? her basically step-dad, Gabriel! She steals him away and finds some of his grace to take back with her. He starts to get better but then the kid is taken. Gabriel is strong enough now to send a message to Cas. Anna thinks they all have been punished for too long.

Sam finally beats the shit outta lucifer and makes his way to bobby's just as Cas finds out that Gabriel and the kid are alive and in the same place. Our trio runs to this backwater town and heads down to Asmodeus's. The suitors are the Demons there and Sam is in a fuckin RAGE. They not only kidnapped and tortured his boyfriend for the last three years (much longer for Gabriel) but now they have his kid. Two of the people hes been fighting so hard to get back to. Sam (with help from Dean and Cas) fight off the demons and find the kid. On the way out they find Asmodeus and hes PISSED. At the last moment, Gabriel comes in full archangel and smites the bastard.

And of course we end on reunions all around (think "I cant help but wonder") and a supernatural rendition of "would you fall in love with me again" between Sam and Gabriel (cause HE IS OUR PENELOPE). Sam feels like hes changed, hes not the same person he was when he left. Hes done horrible things, killed so many creatures, allowed so many to die, just so he can go home. He wants to be with his family but knows that he might never be able to be Sam again. Gabriel has been under Asmodeus' watch for years, his grace diminished, waiting for someone to come and find him. He hoped it would be his family, his Sam. And now that he's got Sam back? Hes never letting go again. He'll fall in love with Sam over and over again because he may have changed but his soul didnt. And damn if Gabriel hadnt been waiting.

So thats my idea..........sorry this is long but anyone like?

[sly-s-n0nfusion]

Sly's personal ✨Octopath rankings✨

So I've been into Octopath since the year it came out as a franchise basically and I recently finished the second game so I felt like ranking both games' characters and stories based on my likings. Remember that all opinions are valid and if I didn't enjoy your favorite character or story as much as you did it's fine :) also, there aren’t characters or stories I actually disliked with two exceptions so I’m mostly being kind- but honest.

May do spoilers so I'll put them under a cut

Ot1

Stories

Olberic - His story has to be my favorite because of its impeccably functional structure and climax. I am a sucker for redemption stories and I think they nailed every chapter of it. They even made me like the arena chapter even though I'm not a fan of tournament arcs. It's a very well-executed emotional story and it had me hooked since the beginning (also loving the “plot twist” that his final chapter boss is NOT Erhardt, which is what everyone is expecting since chapter 1)

Cyrus - A compelling mystery story with some plot twist I liked and actually interesting pieces of lore in it. What I liked the most about it (if we ignore Therese's blatant deus ex machina moment in his ch3) is that you can't really tell what will happen when you go into one of his chapters. Also has probably the best ch4 with some of the rawest lines ever against Lucia

Alfyn - Loved his chapter 3 to death because of the moral ambiguity and also has one of the best side characters (Ogen). Golden boy has to doubt everything he knew in his life and I love that. Has kind of a slow start though

Ophilia - While I think ch2 could be executed much better and made less boring, the circular structure and moral of her story is amazing. The emotional ch4 almost made me tear up

H'aanit - Cute interpretation of a "pupil has to find his mentor" story and has some epic moments like chapter 3. Not much more than that but it was still really enjoyable (bonus mention for Susanna, one of the best npcs)

Primrose - Kinda compelling revenge tale, except that it ends in the most unsatisfying way possible. Has some nice ideas but I felt so empty and broken at the end of her ch4 because she too is empty and broken

Tressa - Not a fan of the "coming of age stories" but I enjoyed her rivalry with Ali and her friendship with Noa, as well as Leon's backstory. No hate, just the more lighthearted stories are not really my cup of tea. Apart from those, it found it pretty boring and probably has the most anticlimactic final boss ever

Therion - The one story I really didn't like because of... many reasons. Like, it really had potential with the whole Dragonstones thing and everything but they executed it in the worst way possible. Also I hate how they tried to make him trust people again thanks to some questionable people like Cordelia and Heathcote... it just didn't feel right and left me asking myself but why though so many times

Characters

Cyrus - I do love every high intelligence - low wisdom character, bonus of they're a dork and kind of naive. Could write a whole essay about him so just know he won my heart he’s been my blorbo for what 3 years now? Almost 4

Olberic - Another trope I love is grumpy and probably depressed characters who just have a heart of gold inside and use their strength to protect the people they love so there you have it. They did a great job of delivering the emotional baggage in his internal monologues

Ophilia - I love how her character gravitates around the concept of love, loss and family. She's so dear to me

H'aanit - I like her view of the world and her stoic personality but I must say that for a main character, her introspective side could've been explored more

Alfyn - Sunshine boy who feels too much. I do like men who are not afraid of crying in front of others

Therion - a bit of a lone wolf stereotype- but I like his dry and sarcastic attitude when he talks to the other members of the party

Tressa - I like that she's a bit hot-headed and I like her enthusiasm. Definitely a character who shines more when she's with other characters though

Primrose - I think they messed up a bit with her characterization sadly because I can't really tell how the real Primrose is supposed to be even after ch4. She's often portrayed as an overly-flirty femme fatale even though it's probably trauma response and often says some... questionable things to the other members of the party in her travel banters, it's hard to get her true personality right. When she's angry, she kinda comes off as cold and distant, too. I think the writers could've done a better job with her

Ot2

Stories

Castti - Hands down the best Octopath Traveler main story ever imo. It was perfect from how the emotions were delivered to the compelling plot, to the climax in her chapter 3 and the bittersweet ending in her chapter 4. So heartbreaking and has a great attention to details, as well as amazing side characters. Perfect under every aspect and I loved the “horror rpg” vibe to it

Osvald - Amazing revenge tale (and kinda mimicking The Count of Montecristo), much more effective than Primrose's and also more heartbreaking and with an ending that's a bit more satisfying (even if the last chapter is definitely the weakest one and could've been handled better for such a good story). Cool plot twists at the right times an a villain that's actually Rotten to the Core (if we ignore the ridiculous laugh Harvey has). His chapter 1 was probably the best Octopath Traveler chapter 1 narration-wise and had me almost crying at his chapter 4 boss

Throné - I wasn't expecting her story to be this good in the slightest but the "getting out of the mafia" tale is well-executed and has some nice side plots for its side characters, as well as some quite shocking twists near the end. Her chapter 1 is also super good and has some pretty good dialogues.

Temenos - I have mixed feelings towards this one because it had so much potential but it definitely needed more time to be done correctly. The mystery plot feels kinda rushed at times (especially in chapter 3 because I think that one is kind of a narrative mess like why is everything happening SO QUICKLY) and one fatal flaw: Kaldena's backstory not being addressed well enough. She is really a character who needed to pop out more in his story. In the end it's probably a matter of pacing but it does have some real big wasted potential. Also another story that like Primrose's leaves you with a really bitter aftertaste except this time it's actually fitting for Temenos' character

Ochette - .....I'm sorry guys this story is literally Pokemon Ruby and Sapphire for a good 70% of it. Which doesn’t make it necessarily the worst story but it’s not original either. What I liked though is that it has some real good first and final chapters that got me kind of emotional and also kinda creeped me out. The side "anti-racism plot" could've been articulated better narratively but that's what we got in the end so. Also big wasted potential.

Hikari - I am not a fan of stories in which by chapter 1 you already know how they're going to end and Hikari's was exactly like this. I quite enjoyed the arena chapter and the chapter in Stormhail as well, and some parts of it were very cinematic. Not much more than that

Partitio - DISCLAIMER for the next 2 stories: again, I am not a fan of lighthearted stories because of personal taste, nothing else. I want the drama lol. This is why this one was not my cup of tea. I liked the narrative pace of chapter 1 but after that one it just kinda goes a little overboard with the crazyness idk it felt kinda weird to have a bulldog, a jobless guy and a train as bosses. What I loved were the "scent of commerce" side-stories though because it was really fitting to the time period the game is set in to have the merchant traveler interested in financing new inventions and machines. Also not that compelling overall

Agnea - Guys I'm sorry but this one was a big no for me. Legit had me really bored most of the time (especially didn't like the musical parts and her dialogues-only chapter 3 oh god) and never really got me hooked. I liked how cinematic her final boss battle was though and big w for the lesbians in her story I guess

Characters

Castti - Loved her caring, yet sarcastic attitude. She was such a fun and interesting character to be around (if we ignore how many times the travelers insist on calling her “mom” because she is just so much more) and has traits to her that left me quite surprised

Osvald - I love that for once we have a character that's not always nice to the other party members. I like his sharp tongue and atypical behavior, and him going nonverbal at times. A really interesting take on the scholar character I appreciated a lot (also dilfs lover here sorry not sorry)

Temenos - Mixed feelings for Temenos, again, because he does kinda sound like certain anime characters from my childhood but he is a fun character. Sly, snarky, diffident and secretly very broken inside is always a winning combination

Throné - I liked her a lot. I like the contrast between her kind personality and the gruesome job she's forced to do, and that she wants to redeem herself from everything she had to bear since she was a kid. I love her soft side and that she wants to be the good person she is

Partitio - Alfyn, but better. I can say I'm a fan of his over the top humour and attitude and his kind, generous heart

Agnea - Fun girl! I like her bubbly personality and also that she is stubborn and determined. She’s not a deep character but she is still fun

Ochette - I think her character had wasted potential. Even though I agree that she's fun and quirky, they didn't do a great job of portraying her as part of another whole species because they really kinda just made her personality rotate around liking meat. Also didn't really like how unnecessarily infantilized she was rip but she is still cute and fun

Hikari - .......Hikari likers I'm sorry. Oomfs who are Hikari likers if you’re reading this just know that I think your tastes are valid and I'm the one in the minority because everyone loves Hikari, so sorry for what I'm about to say but he kinda was what ruined his own story for me, as well as being the only traveler I actually dislike. I didn't like his teeth-rotting sweet dialogues and his whole character rotating around the concept of friendship. I didn't like that his one (1) flaw is him being possessed by a demon because of his cursed blood. He's too perfect. Therefore to me he's too uninteresting. Sorry!

Peace ✌️

[nexstage]

Stars and Pyramids AU

Planning a new life

The first time Mabel saw someone shaking hands with Bill Cipher was during her first summer in Gravity Falls. Gideon, who had become an obsessive, callous jerk, somehow possessed the knowledge to summon the dream demon, and after doing it, made a deal with him to take over the shack.

Thank goodness they stopped him. Then, Dipper made a deal with Bill because she didn’t help him decipher the password of the old laptop they’d found. The contents of the note still sent shivers to her core due to how close she was to losing her brother. Which reminds her of the fire covering her pinky and Bill’s as they sealed the deal.

She had made a deal just like Gideon and Dipper. Did that make her a bad person?

But wait, Gideon did it because he was a greedy jerk. Dipper, because he was desperate and she didn’t help him due to the play to impress Gabe. What was the point of this deal? Helping Bill and his friends to escape a dying dimension; however, was that as bad as Gideon’s purpose or worse?

“Ehem, hello~? Earth to Shooting Star? Have you lost your mind already? I mean, great for you. The more madness, the better but let’s postpone the chaos party until we are out of this place.” Bill’s voice was the final hit that broke the ice of surrealist shock as she slowly accepted that yes, this was real. Bill reached out to her for help. Bill was desperate enough to ask for her help. They had made a deal already.

“…I… I made a deal with Bill Cipher!”

“Wow, kid. Thank you for the surprise. I know I wow you just like anybody else but trust me you’re not the first nor the last one. I can even tell you some dirty family secrets in exchange for another deal.”

Welp, now that reminded her why she must step up in her new role. “Whatever they are, I’m sure they’re lies. We must think of a way to get you all out of here. Any ideas?”

Oh, he had some. His mind traveled back to the many attempts to get the Rift out of Sixer’s hands only for his former pet to outsmart him every. Single. Time! His damn paranoia had leveled up each one of the defense mechanisms of the shack. Much worse, even if had deceived Shooting Star to lead him to the shack while he possessed Blendin, Stanford would’ve suspected the sudden appearance of a time police officer asking for the rift. Then he would’ve tackled him, shown the yellow eyes to everyone, and then shot the buffoon in the head.

What an irony, uh? That of all the people he was asking for help it had to be the same person who, unbeknownst to them, had ruined his plans. Oh well, at least Shooting Star wouldn’t screw this up. He hoped so.

“There are two ways,” He began. This was incredibly risky, saying a truth that he shared with Stanford without the fool knowing it but maybe it would gain him some points with his niece. Honesty points as she’d like to say. “One of them is in the hands of Stanford. He’s protecting with nails and teeth so it’s impossible to reach it. The other way is…a biiiiiiit controversial” ‘More like you’ll hate it because I did that to your brother’

“What is Grunkle Ford protecting?”

Ok, this might either push her more into his side or blow up in his face. “After he was brought back from the multiverse, a bit of the other side -that is, what was on the other side of the portal- was poured into your world. It’s like a little floaty mass of space and, to prevent its expansion, Stanford built a snow globe-shaped device to contain it. I called it the Rift; heck, I bet Sixer had the same idea. Anyway, he and I weren’t the only ones who know about this, your brother does too.”

Mabel’s eyes almost popped out of her sockets. “Dipper was told about it? Why didn’t he tell me anything?”

Bill laughed both cruelly and bitterly. “Welcome to the club of being wronged by Stanford Pines, kid! I mean, you think just because you inadvertently helped in bringing him back, he would be cool with you as much as he is with Pine Tree? Pffft, fat chance. Favoritism is the same as calculating pros and cons for him. And you don’t even wanna know how much he projects into you and your brother just because he can’t speak like a normal guy with Stanley for five seconds.”

He feigned watching his non-existent nails, peeking subtly at the teenager as his words penetrated her psyche. They were aware of what happened back then; what he said landed her into uncomfortable, painful memories. Memories she pushed away every time she was asked about Dipper, about his whereabouts and what he was doing.

She had to make up a convincing story for her classmates as Ford’s comment ‘Isn’t it suffocating?’ echoed in her head whenever she remembered Dipper’s choice of staying in Gravity Falls.

It didn’t get better with their parents’ divorce. They were so wrapped up in their own issues and staying as far away from each other as ever that Dipper being in Oregon barely elicited a reaction from them.

As the silence stretched, Bill glanced at Mabel wondering if maybe his movement might have hit a bit too hard. His suspicions were confirmed as the teenager bit her lower lip, holding back tears. He’d better put a stop on that or they’d be here forever.

“Hey, come on, Shooting Star. Cheer up!” One of his fingers lifted her chin softly. “So, Sixer thinks you’re not good enough, so what? It’s not that he’s better. I mean, the portal, where did it come from? His head? Nope! From mine. I gave him lots of ideas and an infinite well of knowledge.” Hey smirked in his usual salesman persona. “I can do the same for you.”

“…Cramming books and nerd stuff into my head?” She cringed at her response.

“If that’s what you want, sure. However, first, we need to find a solution to my relocation issue.”

The sadness in her eyes was replaced by determination as she recalled what she’d asked him moments ago. “You’re right. Well, the Rift is not useful if we can’t get closer to it, and I don’t want to get in trouble with…Grunkle Ford,” she mentioned his name almost inaudibly. “What’s the other way?”

This might get explosive. “…The other way, is that I possess some—“

“Oh no, you won’t! You even planned to throw my brother’s body from the water tower!!” Brilliant, she had to keep that in mind. Maybe the note was overdoing it although it was fun.

“I’m sorry, kid, but those are all the options I have. No wait, there is also building me a new portal but that would take lots of time, a huge brain, and going to Gravity Falls which may attract Stanford to our hideout, and bam! Demon hunting will be on the go!”

A lightbulb flashed inside Mabel’s head. “What about inanimate objects? Like action figurines or dolls?”

“Kid, that’s a great idea!” She smiled. “If you want to use me as your piece of entertainment on Halloween, which nope. I’m the host and soul of the party, not the clown!” She frowned.

“But can’t you make your own persona? You know, like a body to possess? Much better than taking over someone’s body.”

Bill’s eye twinkle in delight. “You are more clever than I expected, Shooting Star. Yes, there are some spells to create a body of any kind. Flesh and blood, crystal, rock, lava, you name it. But it needs some stuff: a place filled with magic or supernatural energy, specific runes, the vital force of the user of the spell, and a clear image of how the body will look. And seeing that we’ll also possess those vessels, the first spell must be connected to one of permanent linking.”

“Linking?”

“Possessing a body is different than to be linked to one made on your own. By linking yourself to a vessel, you make it your new body.”

“And what will happen with the old one? Does that mean you won’t be a triangle anymore?” Suddenly, a huge realization hit her. If Bill created a human body to inhabit, would that mean he wouldn’t have his powers anymore? Or would they be weakened? Weakened or non-existent, such an event reduced the danger of having him on Earth. And if the same happened to his friends, much better!

Bill, on the other hand, didn’t like where this was going. While escaping the void hadn’t left his mind, becoming a lesser being, powerless and vulnerable, made him gag. How could he keep taking advantage of idiots with his deals if he didn’t inflict fear on them or make a stellar first impression? His original form had everything he needed. Power, immortality, no need to eat, sleep, or even breathe. The whole jackpot!

Sure, he loved the sensations whenever he possessed someone but it was way more convenient than having a body on his own that couldn’t take a single hit. Humans were experts on fragility so what was the point of a body so squishy? Even jellyfish handle pain better than them!

He bet, no no, it was clear as water that Shooting Star might want to take advantage of such detail. Having Bill as Bill put a damper on her lame concept of “safety”; having him as a human would put both on the same level. As equals! Eugh! First dead than that!

‘Not if I keep some key details of the ritual secret from her though’, Bill contained his glee at the idea. Shooting Star wanted to help him be a human. Sure why not? But his new body would be created on his terms.

“Welp, kid, I think we have a plan in mind, don’t we? But if we want it to be successful, I must guide you through everything.”

“How? We can only communicate through dreams. And no, I won’t let you possess anyone.”

“Didn’t you mention dolls? I can use one of them and from there we can handle the rest.”

“Can I do it even if I’m not in Gravity Falls?”

“Unless you have some specific runes connected to the vessel, you can’t. Your home is too weak in magic standards, although it’s not impossible, there must be no one when we do this or we’re bust.”

“I’ll make you a plushie,” Uh, what? “You need to give me the runes, I’ll write them on paper and put them inside it. Then you can possess it.” Not bad.

“It has to look like me. If you color it green or whatever, I’ll burn your house.”

“You won’t. You’ll be a plushie,” She said it so confidently Bill would’ve been impressed if it weren’t for the slight anger and annoyance at her bluff.

“Put all your attention to this, Shooting Star. The runes must be written perfectly and in the next order.” He raised his hands, blue fire erupting from them, summoning a ball of azure flames that took the shape of strange symbols.

As Mabel memorized each rune, a part of her unconsciously wondered if Ford and Dipper knew about these symbols, if this was another lesson only they shared between them, or if she had been chosen to be told about spells and magic so ancient, so mysterious than not even her uncle could understand.