#and haven’t recognise them as flaws yet

[rowanthestrange]

I like Martha, I do, but people complaining Ruby hasn’t shown enough character flaws in the first two episodes like if you took “was willing to put up with his shit for way too long grrl” away from Martha she wouldn’t be so flat that she’d disappear if you looked at her side-on.

[xanvasofxords]

Thoughts On SaiTeru & Why It Makes Sense To Me

Honestly speaking, I wasn’t too big on this ship but over the time, it has definitely grown a lot on me and I’d actually like if they took that route. Mainly because Saiki ending up with someone other than Kokomi wouldn’t make sense, after all the progression they went through, ending up with each other is natural. Besides, whatever Kokomi wills eventually happens so if I had to guess I’d go with the prior lol. That aside, imo they fit each other the best.

I haven’t done ship analysis posts before so the sequence is pretty messy but I’ll try to keep it as organised as possible so it’s easier to read. Let’s start anyways :

Starting off with the very thing that places Kokomi at the top of the food-chain : her charms. Due to Saiki’s x-ray vision, that ability is rendered completely useless against him. As a result, Saiki recognises her for her true self and knows her inside out. While he’s aware of her flaws, he also witnesses her growth as a person. She makes true friends and starts to enjoy their company and care about them. For Saiki, she stops dreaming about marrying a rich guy and rejects Saiko.

Kokomi even gives up on playing the perfect pretty girl which she has been doing for years, just for his sake.

Likewise, Saiki’s psychic powers have little to no effect on Kokomi because she’s loved by the God himself and she gets whatever she wants. Regardless of how hard Saiki tries to win against her, he always ends up losing instead, all the while her likability with him increases.

Her efforts in her role, her wits and abilities surprise him enough to make him wonder if she’s actually perfect. He even goes as far as to say that they’re invincible together. Saiki goes from being half-scared of her powers to fully acknowledging and admiring her by the end.

Before Kokomi, Saiki has dealt with people who had crush on him- Imu and Chiyo. He made them give up on him with ease which resulted into him believing that it’s easy to move people’s hearts. Kokomi however, breaks that misconception by moving his own and shows him that she loves him just as he is and that won’t change.

And it’s because he’s aware that her feelings are genuine, unlike the other two, he stops resisting her completely and starts avoiding possible misunderstandings. When Kokomi changes herself to suit his tastes, Saiki doesn’t actively try to make her give up on him instead tries to revert her back to her usual self. He isn’t bothered by her feelings for him anymore, rather prefers her the way she is.

There are only a few times in the show when Saiki gets nervous. Even Nendou and Kusuke who he can’t use his telepathy on, don’t have that effect on him. Yet being alone with Kokomi makes him nervous. Prior to the mixer event, Saiki has been alone with her on more than one occasion. After that day however, Saiki’s perception of Kokomi changes. He’s aware that she truely loves him and won’t give up on him no matter how indifferent he acts towards her. It’s fairly new to him, accepting the fact that someone loves him despite all the odds and she actually manages to make him happy because of it.

Just like how Kokomi gives up on the most important thing for Saiki, being perfect that is, he does the same for her. Saiki hates drawing attention to himself and he puts a lot of efforts in that. However, he gives up on that without a moment’s thought and catches Kokomi in his arms in front of the entire school and takes her to the infirmary. There couldn’t be any better way to draw attention.

My point remains the same even if I don’t include this because Kokomi’s beauty has always been irrelevant in their relationship and this is the first and only time we see Saiki being attracted to someone. Ironically, Saiki reacts to seeing Kokomi just as any other guy would and he’s too transparent about it. Not to Kokomi but to the readers.

From time to time, Kokomi’s likability with Saiki increases to such point where he subconsciously sees her differently than others. I’m sure there are people who would disagree because Saiki makes exceptions for all his friends and Kokomi shouldn’t be different. There are multiple counter to that arguement.

One of the two is when Saiki turns invisible and shares a drink with Kokomi. Honestly, whatever happened in that chapter doesn’t make sense in the least.

Saiki has gone out of his way to get Kokomi’s valentines chocolates. I can say that’s because he loves sweets. He buys her a birthday gift : the cat mug, I can reason that he even got Chiyo a soft toy back when she was dating Takeru to make their relationship last. Several times he has gone out of his way to check up on his friends such as when Aren received a fake love letter or when Kaido and Chiyo had a misunderstanding and stayed with them the entire time to make sure everything was alright.

However, this time the only thing he has to do is avoid her and go home. Kokomi isn’t in any trouble nor does she need his help for anything. So he succeeds the moment he manages to lose her by getting up in the air. All he needs to do his teleport home.

But he doesn’t. We don’t know why.

He just turns invisible which saves him from the men searching for him, again he can teleport home or even walk home. But he just decides to sit there with her and share her drink for some reason and leaves only when she thinks of doing the same. Which is outright ridiculous because he could just leave the moment Kokomi lost him but he does the opposite and does exactly what Kokomi wanted on his own free will except, differently.

Last but not the least, the most significant moment is when Saiki hears Kokomi’s voice in the end. Having read the manga, it’s clear that Kokomi’s part is supposed to stand out from others but the added scene in the anime makes it more obvious.

I think there’s more to this moment than most talk about. Other than the fact that Saiki reacts to Kokomi’s name, what makes him smile is that even when Kokomi knows that her life is in danger, she still thinks about him. He realises that the girl he finds so troublesome truely does love him. And he knows that in the end, what she wants, will happen. Through him this time. Personally I think this scene acts as the trigger to Saiki realising that he needs his powers and he doesn’t actually hate being a psychic.

All in all, Kokomi is the only one who balances out Saiki perfectly and Saiki is the one who made her develop as a person. They’re compatible with each other and even Saiki believes that. Both have lasting impact on each other even without being able to use their respective powers which solidifies the fact that the progression is genuine. Both have polar opposite nature, Kokomi loves receiving attention while Saiki hates that. However when push comes to shove, Kokomi’s willing to sacrifice her perfect pretty girl role while Saiki’s ready to draw attention to himself despite all the efforts they both put into their respective places.

Kokomi influences Saiki’s thought process despite him being able to read her like an open book. She makes him guess his choices and decisions. She brings surprises and challenges in his life. Saiki does the same since he isn’t affected by her charms, he makes her focus on other things beside looks. And he’s literally the only one who recognises her for herself and not her beauty unlike her own brother. I could go on forever about how they complement each other but that’s for another day.

I may not be the biggest SaiTeru shipper out there but I most definitely think Saiki should either remain single or end up with Kokomi. I prefer the later.

[probablyasocialecologist]

I’m going to be honest straight away. I think “Gender Critical” people* are radicalised and I think there is a lot of danger for many cis people on the periphery to follow them down that rabbit hole. I’m writing this essay in an effort to prevent radicalisation of any feminists looking in on the situation who haven’t made their minds up yet. I’m speaking to people who consider themselves feminists and don’t consider themselves transphobic. I’m speaking to people who don’t spend time accusing trans people of having fetishes, who don’t think selfies with Proud Boys are excusable, and who don’t think soup is worse than Nazis. If that’s you, I hope you read on and consider what I have to say in good faith.

[...]

Here’s what else I know for sure. Trans people are real people. Their lives are not hypothetical. While we are discussing this topic on Twitter like it’s a theoretical game, they are truly scared for the future of their rights. So far in the UK there has not been significant legislative change, but we’ve seen hundreds of anti-trans laws proposed in the US, from threatening to perform genital testing on young women in high school sports to revoking the medical licenses of doctors who provide affirming care to threatening to take kids away from parents who even socially affirm their child’s gender. These are real children. They are not fodder for us to argue over. How many trans people, adults or children, do you know in person? And what aspects of their well-being are you willing to risk for a theoretical argument?

[...]

I don’t think I’ll have to work very hard to convince you that whatever so-called values Tucker Carlson, Matt Walsh, Jordan Peterson or ACTUAL NAZIS have do not align with the values of radical feminists. I would suggest that the reason they are interested in the issue are because they see something you don’t. Right-wingers recognise women’s liberation when they see it, because they hate it so much. They have never been on our side. They never will be on our side. They do not respect our right to our own lives, our own bodies, or our own minds, so if they are agreeing with you on an issue of women’s rights, THERE IS A PROBLEM. You might be thinking that you and Tucker don’t see eye to eye on the basics of the issue: he is pro-gender stereotypes and you are against them. But where does this all end up? It pains me to point out the right is very often several steps ahead of us; the devastating destruction of Roe v Wade shows us that. What is in it for them? They get to divide the left, something the gender debate has been extraordinarily effective at. They get to distract feminists from real issues (again Roe v Wade, the cornerstone of American feminist achievement, has fallen). On this very trip, Posie Parker has been spouting anti-abortion sentiment for the minors who need abortion and birth control the most, and since becoming radicalised, she’s claimed that lesbian mothers weren’t really mothers, and that trans men (whom she views as women) should be forcibly sterilised. They get to paint the left as the real agents of hatred, as the real homophobes, as the people really trying to shut down debate. They get to watch as lifelong feminists start criticising women’s appearance and behaviour for not being feminine enough. They get to watch as lifelong feminists start to argue that male violence is not a product of socialisation, of entitlement, of broken legal systems that do not view women’s bodies as their own, but as something inherent to men. Something they can’t help. Something we shouldn’t even try to change. And they get to recruit you. And they are doing that with remarkable success.

[wickershells]

Medeaaaaa……… Maria Callas I need you on a carnal bestial level. Admittedly I haven’t seen that much of Pasolini’s work (only salò and now this) but something that sticks out to me from both is lingering bodies, brief tenderness. I’m not gonna word this well as usual but everything is at once beautiful and ugly: beautiful costumes, beautiful locations, beautiful colour grading and dialogue; handheld camera, cuts that are a second too early, awkward acting, dirty feet, kisses that lack passion — every flaw making it feel grounded in its own myth, bringing you in with it. This world is strange, hostile, quiet, filled with gods you cannot recognise; we are all Medea begging to hear something, anything, that reminds her of home… did I mention the colour grading because oh my godddd. Little things like her taking all of Jason in, head to toe, beginning and end of (their) intimacy… going through the motions of washing both children, knowing what’s going to happen, but still it matters that she cleans them, cradles them. The ending felt a little anticlimactic to me I think partially bc the subtitles stopped working & I was taken out of the experience and also because something… was not there. I’m not sure what I was expecting; for it to linger, maybe, like it had been? I’m thinking of how inevitable salò’s ending felt, the dread that undercut the whole thing. Medea here is entangled w death, sacrifice — but I’m not sure if it felt like enough, or if it even has to. There’s a stream of consciousness I think. A river flows into a lake flows into a sea. As a piece of art it was deeply beautiful but I’m not as profoundly changed by it as I was expecting, at least not yet. You can never know and understand everything perfectly on the first watch u must let it simmer… speaking of simmering (hot) Mariaaaaaa Maria Callassssssssss

[chloeshandblyth]

The Breakfast Club (1985)

“The Breakfast Club” stands as a cinematic masterpiece, a timeless gem that transcends generations with its poignant narrative and unforgettable characters. Directed by John Hughes, this 1985 film remains a beacon of progressive storytelling, tackling themes of identity, societal expectations, and the complexities of human nature with both depth and nuance.

At its core, “The Breakfast Club” is a character study, unravelling the intricacies of five high school students who, on the surface, appear to have little in common. Yet, as they spend a trans-formative day together in Saturday detention, their facades crumble, revealing the raw vulnerabilities and shared struggles that bind them together.

Each character is a rich tapestry of emotions and experiences, expertly crafted to challenge stereotypes and provoke introspection. John Bender, the rebellious troublemaker, hides a wounded soul beneath his bravado, while Claire Standish, the popular princess, grapples with the suffocating pressure of parental expectations. Andrew Clark, the jock, struggles to reconcile his desire for independence with his father’s relentless demands for perfection. Meanwhile, Brian Johnson, the brain, grapples with the weight of academic achievement and the fear of failure. And Allison Reynolds, the eccentric loner, shields herself from the world with layers of detachment and mystery.

As these disparate personalities collide and clash, “The Breakfast Club” becomes a profound exploration of the masks we wear and the truths we conceal. It exposes the universal human experience of feeling misunderstood, judged, and alone, while also celebrating the trans-formative power of empathy, connection, and self-acceptance.

What sets “The Breakfast Club” apart is its ability to balance profound emotional depth with moments of levity and humour. Amidst the characters’ soul-baring confessions and heartfelt discussions, there are also moments of laughter and camaraderie that remind us of the resilience of the human spirit and the healing power of friendship.

Ultimately, “The Breakfast Club” is a testament to the enduring power of storytelling to inspire empathy, provoke thought, and spark meaningful conversations. It challenges us to look beyond the surface and recognise the humanity in others, to embrace our flaws and imperfections, and to find strength in solidarity and shared experience.

My rating of 10/10 is a testament to the profound impact of “The Breakfast Club” on both an emotional and intellectual level. It is a film that lingers in the heart and mind long after the credits roll, inviting viewers to revisit its timeless truths again and again. If you haven’t experienced its magic yet, it’s an absolute must-watch that promises to touch your soul and leave an indelible mark on your cinematic journey

https://chloeshandblyth.tumblr.com/

[wensvol]

The jujutsu world and its decline

This is inspired by this post and I'll be referring to it occasionally. Enjoy :)

“Nothing Gojo could’ve done would’ve saved geto. I honestly believe no amount of reaching out could’ve helped him, because Gojo was the problem.”

Before I begin, yes, there’s truth in that. Gojo’s birth altered the world in a way that can no longer be undone. His birth. Not his actions, not what he stands for, but just his birth was enough to influence the jujutsu world and reshape it. It’s the start of his existence, and he’s already done something so incredible and big that’s more than other skilled sorcerers could ever dream of. We all know no one asks to be born, so the fact that an event he had no say over had such a notorious impact is already very telling for his character.

But there’s more to this rise in curses than just his birth. The way the higher ups handle(d) things play a big part in the lives of sorcerers, curses, and even regular people. Almost everything that can be credited as response from sorcerers to curses can be led back to their decisions and influence. We don’t know a lot about the higher ups personally, but we do know quite some things about what they stand for, what they choose to represent and what they do with the power they have.

Let’s take Yoshinobu’s reaction to Itadori being Sukuna’s vessel: without properly examining the situation, he sends out his students to kill him. His students. Sent out to kill Sukuna’s vessel, aka the king of curses. And while those students are strong and have promising careers in front of them, they’re still students. Majority of them haven't even turned eighteen yet.

These people are supposed to be the future of the jujutsu world. There will come a day where all the adults who currently handle stuff will be gone. Even Gojo. Then it’s up to the next generations to handle things. But they’re treated as if they’re replaceable on a whim: they’re disregarded and used to accommodate one person in power and everything he says. Sure, there are individuals with higher statuses and powers (Todo, Kamo, etc) but I’m mainly referring to the overall image here.

Op very cleverly states that the jujutsu world is its own downfall. However, I personally don’t think they were actively trying to save it. They cater to Gojo in the ways they do to keep him on their side. If they didn’t go to such measures, and if Gojo wasn’t motivated to stay to care for his peers, he’d be gone. Gojo said he can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.

This, and some other of his ideals/visions can be seen in Megumi’s view and personality. Just like Gojo, Megumi doesn’t try to save everyone because he knows he can’t. Both of them grew up in the jujutsu world and are familiar with its flaws, first handedly. But Itadori still has the “I need to save everyone/as many as I can” mentality. He’s only been in this whole scheme for a couple of months, and has yet to experience the decline of the system he partakes in. However, said decline is happening much faster to Itadori than it did to Geto or Megumi. Itadori sort of speed runs through it, and has now come to a similar conclusion Geto had before he went rogue. His infamous “I’m a cog” says it all.

But, unlike Geto, I highly doubt Itadori will abandon his friends to form his own world. Itadori doesn’t have that claim on the jujutsu world yet: Geto suffered from it much longer, and has a certain history with it. Plus, part of Geto’s realisation was Riko’s death/the distance forced between him and Satoru. Itadori has yet to experience such a forming event. Not counting Nobara here.

There’s still a crucial part missing to this unsaid Geto/Itadori parallel Akutami keeps hinting at. Geto’s solution was to go against everything he’s been taught and told, and to reform his world. But we haven’t seen Itadori’s solution yet. It may be hinted at in the manga, but in such ways it’ll only make sense after we get the big picture. Plus, it might not even be Itadori to act out this solution. Megumi is a fitting candidate as well: he has the motivation (aka the treatment of his sister, itadori, and other friends) and enough time spent in the system to be properly fed up with it.

Back to where I said the jujutsu world isn’t actively trying to save itself. I don’t think the higher ups are blind to the problems they’ve caused, but I also doubt they’re aware of the role they played in said problems and enlarging them. It’s comparable to something I see a lot in our own governments (the one where I live, America’s, etc). They’re aware of the problem, but refuse to realise and accept they’re part of it. They act like they aren’t in control of a situation and get mad at those who really aren’t when things go amiss. The higher ups are higher ups for a reason: they’re superior to everyone, even to Gojo. Though he doesn’t act like it.

Op also mentioned that a drowning man can’t save another, and I feel like that perfectly sums up what I’ve been saying. The jujutsu world is its own downfall, but those who are part of the system can’t save it. Geto recognised he could achieve much more once he removed himself from that damaging situation. It’s only a matter of time when other sorcerers start to see it the same way. Some already do.

[phoneybeatlemania]

Hi :) my friend just sent me a link to a podcast episode called "The Psychology of John Lennon" by Psychology in Seattle. I'm kind of interested but seeing as the episode so awfully long and I have no experience with that podcast idk if it's worth a listen. So I wanted to ask if you have given that one a go and if so what are your thoughts on it? Is it insightful?

P.S.: I love your blog, I really appreciate all the hard work that goes into your posts and they're always so interesting to read!!

Hiya anon!

Thank you for the lovely “PS” message btw — I really appreciate hearing that!! :)

I have listened to this podcast a few times, and I’ve actually recommended this specific episode (which can be found here (x)) quite a bit – so I’m pretty familiar with it! The short answer here is that I would recommend it. It’s a decent illustration of the key arguments concerning a diagnosis for borderline personality disorder, albeit, not a comprehensive one. But id say the host gets the job done, and it’s a good starting point for wider discussion.

The long answer, is that the episode does have a handful of flaws. There were two main issues I recall having with it, the first being that Dr Honda assumes Mimi’s parenting was not in any way problematic or abusive. He discusses Julia’s parenting, establishing it as chaotic, and also discusses Alfred's parenting —or lack thereof, really— and illustrates how both these early abandonments would have affected John. He even mentions an intergenerational aspect to the family-line which I thought was interesting (I’m actually working on whole post dedicated to that topic!). But then he brushes off Mimi’s parenting as “good-enough”, when it evidently had a more substantial impact on John.

In discussing how a borderline personality might have developed for John throughout his childhood, I just don’t believe you can dismiss Mimi in this way, since she was such a pivotal figure in the formation of his personality. Her treatment of him appears to have been emotionally and verbal abusive — and that isn’t a judgement of her, nor is it to say that she didn’t love him (or that he didn’t love her), but simply that if you read the various accounts of her parenting styles, it seems fairly apparent that it is what would be considered abusive today. I do appreciate that John was probably always going to be difficult, and that she had her own issues largely stemming mainly from her father — but these things don’t ultimately dispel the argument that her parenting could be abusive. So essentially, Mimi's needed to be discussed in more depth for this to be a comprehensive outlook on John’s childhood. As well as this, the episode would have been improved had he dedicated more time into discussing the impact of Uncle George and his death.

The second issue I had with the episode, was that the host largely neglects to discuss John’s relationship with Paul. There are parts of the podcast where he does discuss their closeness, but overall it didn’t feel to me as though he had really recognised the depth of this relationship. Im aware that he recently did an episode on Get Back, which I haven’t gotten round to listening to just yet — but I’m interested to see to see if perhaps his perspective has changed/grown.

There are other things in the podcast which I take issue with (for instance, his understanding of the relationship between John and Yoko could be fairly shallow and one-sided), but it seems to me as though these things tended to be more-or-less related to a problematic historiography. I appreciate that Dr Kirk Honda has done dozens of these kinds of episodes, where he analyses the psychology of various celebrities and characters, and offers potential diagnosis’s for them – and therefore, I’m not expecting him to be an absolute expert on John Lennon. When you’re running a podcast which is fairly miscellaneous in its subjects, there’s an extent to which you can research each topic, and so I cant really expect the host to have studied practically Every Single Area of John Lennon’s life. There are things which I would have been more attentive towards — but I’ve dedicated, frankly, an amount of time into researching him which therapists would find concerning (*kidding*…..but not really). Additionally, I would presume that the shows hosts haven’t read most of the biographies in which they gathered their information from with much critical thought, because they’re not The Almighty Great Erin Torkelson-Webber. So effectively, their understanding of John Lennon is going to blindsided by hagiography — an example of this would be when the host cites that John’s mother was killed by a drunk-driver, which contemporary reports would disagree with [EDIT because someone misinterpreted what I wrote here, id like to clarify that Julias death as being a massive trauma for John is not hagiography — I was speaking more to the misunderstanding that she was killed by a drunk-driver, which contemporaneous accounts would disagree with. I realise now that my use of the term hagiography was misguided.]. But I wouldn’t say that this flaw is so much so that it spoils their entire overarching argument, its just a notable blindspot and something to keep in mind when listening to their analysis’s.

On a more positive note, there were merits to this podcast. As a professional psychologist, he is able to offer valuable insights into things such as Janov’s Primal Scream Therapy, and illustrate in laymen’s terms, essentially why its a quack. And despite his arguments being, in my opinion, fundamentally flawed since they neglect to account for two massively crucial figures (Mimi and Paul), he’s still able to conclude with a solid, evidenced argument for John having had BPD.

If you happen to be someone fairly ‘iffy’ about diagnosing (or suggesting diagnosis’s) John with a mental illness—especially something as complicated as borderline personality disorder—id definitely recommend giving this as a listen! You might still conclude that diagnosing him is not the right course of action, or that it has little value, or that its just plain wrong etc. but I still think its a good thing for people to at least understand the arguments here, since I know that in the past when I have mentioned that I think John was a strong candidate for BPD, I am often met with a response telling me that I'm just projecting onto him, which does make me wonder if they’ve really understood the objective outlook in this discussion.

Someday I’ll have to sit down and write up an entire post on all this, collecting the strongest arguments for him having had BPD (and someday I will, I swear!) but for now I’ll just leave you a few other relevant links to this topic:

An overview of the John and BPD argument (x) — @thecoleopterawithana

Exposing the voice of truth: a psychological profile of John Lennon — Deborah Fade (x) + additionally you can read the @anotherkindofmindpod critique of it here (x)

A quote from Lesley Ann-Jones and (a more important) addition from @walkuntilthedaylight (x)

[comfortwriting]

Best friends Brother - G.W

Part 1 of my slow burn mini-series, inspired by and dedicated to @amourtentiaa , want to be tagged? Let me know!

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Part 2

George Weasley x Fem Reader 

About: The Reader is falling for her best mates older brother, she confines in Ron who is already afraid of losing his best friend to the brothers he’s so pressured to be like.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, mention of food and eating, but of angst, George punching a creep.

Walking away from Hagrid’s hut towards the castle, thoughts about the more quiet Weasley twin filled your hazy head - you were planning on shooting your shot, but first you needed some advice and the only person who could do that right now is your best friend Ron - currently chewing your ear off about Hermione and the house elves. 

“She doesn’t know when to stop does she? All the S.P.E.W nonsense, if she brings it up one more time-”

“Hey, do you think George likes anyone?” you asked as cool as possible, trying to contain your nervousness and excitement. 

Although you and George had only spoken few words to one another, he was all you could think about, all you ever thought about, day in day out. You would share sweet glances and looks across the common room in the evening, the beautiful amber glare coming from the flames projecting onto George’s face, making him look like an angel. 

As much as you liked him, you were terrified that he wouldn’t feel the same, that he only saw you as his little brothers best friend - you hated it. 

Ron slowed down from his brisk walk and he continued to stare at the ground “George? As in.. my brother?” 

“yeah” you smiled shyly, swallowing hard. 

Ron could feel his heart flutter, the idea of another person - his best friend - favouring one of his legendary twin brothers over him made him sick to his stomach, he couldn’t lose anyone else, he wouldn’t let it.

He pondered his thoughts, perhaps you were asking for someone else, someone Ron didn’t care about - the desperation in his stomach kept churning to find out. 

“I don’t know” he replied in a huff “we don’t really talk much, why you asking anyway?” 

You went quiet, suddenly finding interest in the scenery as the two of you edged closer to the castle. 

“uh, no reason” you lied, running your hand through your hair. 

For all of Ron’s flaws, he could tell when his best friend was lying - he never failed calling you out for it in the past, you learnt not to play any card games with him - especially when galleons were on the table. 

The two of you entered the loud castle, pushing past students in the hall, making your way to the Gryffindor common room.

“you like him, don’t you?” Ron muttered under his breath, making sure everyone else around you couldn’t hear.

You sighed and made eye contact with Ron, his facial expression even more sour than when he puked up slugs in first year. 

You walked up the stairs and held on to the rail, looking around for the Fat Lady “I suppose I do, I was thinking of asking him to-”

Ron could feel the sweat form in his palms and under his arms, images of you and George being together all the time instead of him flashed before him.

“I don’t know, Y/N, you’re two years younger than him, you haven’t spoken more than ten words to each other.” 

Your heart pained for a moment, your spirits crushing like the ingredients in one of Snape’s potions.

“I just don’t think he’ll like you that much, I don’t want you to get hurt.” he finished, the two of you finally reaching the portrait. 

“I guess so” you mumbled “you know him better than I do.”

Over the next few days you couldn’t stomach being around George, each time you looked into his gorgeous eyes and seeing him smile, caused your heart pain, a lump forming in your throat, and hot tears filling your eyes. 

At first George didn’t notice but when he would wave and smile - only to be ignored, he couldn’t help but overthink; wondering if he had done something wrong. 

It wasn’t just George who you ignored, you kept away from your best friend Ron too - Ron felt like shit but you were away from George and that gave him enough of a clear conscience to sleep at night. 

You couldn’t sleep, you missed your best friend even when he hurt your feelings, you also felt hopeless, the only person you ever showed an interest in wouldn’t even give you a chance.  

“What’s been up with Y/N lately? George asked his younger brother, buttering his toast, causing Ron to almost choke on his. 

“What you on about?” 

George rolled his eyes and swallowed his food, “unbelievable you are, she’s been avoiding you like the plague and she won’t even look at me.”  

“So, did you make up your mind yet?” 

You swore silently under your breath, recognising the voice who called out to you - an attractive and charming Hufflepuff student in George’s year with short black hair kept asking you over and over to go on a date with him in Hogsmeade, each time you said no had failed to satisfy his desire. 

“Uh” you were trying to figure out the best way to tell him to fuck off, but then again, what did you have to lose? “yeah, I’ll be there” you faked a smile. 

Ron watched in the distance and felt relieved, from his perspective, the possibility of you and George seemed incredibly slim to none. He walked over towards you as soon as the lad split, a smile creeping up on his face. 

“Y/N, alright?” he smiled, his hands in his pockets. 

You stared at him, yes you were hurt, but you missed him - he could do much worse to cause a much bigger fall out between the two of you. 

“I suppose” you sighed “walk with me to Transfiguration class?” 

Ron smiled “can do”

“and took your bloody shirt in!” you scolded him, bumping into him playfully. 

As much as you enjoyed visiting Hogsmeade, you couldn’t help but want to go back home and climb back into your warm bed, hiding away from the world - but your habit of trying to see the best in people lead you here - waiting outside Honey Dukes for your date to arrive. 

“Look at you!” he called out, walking over and kissing your hand “ready for the best day of your life?” he grinned.

Best day of my life? with you? I should’ve stayed in bed.

“Sure” you replied, plastering a fake smile on your face. 

The best day of your life wasn’t too bad, you had someone new to talk to, to try and get your mind off things - but your heart couldn’t help but yearn for George. You looked around the shops thinking of the products he liked, disliked, and what he bought for Ron at Christmas. 

Your date had more to blab about himself than get to know you, he held your hand and bought you a much needed Butterbeer - but he talked so much that he didn’t even get round to drinking his own. The more he had to say, the more he tried to impress you, the more you disliked him, making you fall for George even more. 

Finally breaking out from the busy and overwhelming pub and out into the cold, your date stood in front of you with a strange expression on his face. 

“So?” he shrugged

“so, what?” you stared at him, your patience wearing thin. 

The shared laughter between George and Ron came to a halt when George spotted you with his classmate, he knitted his brows together. 

“Why’s Y/N around that plonker?” he asked his younger brother. 

Ron looked at you then back to George “she’s on a date”

George shook his head “he’s an absolute creep” 

The two of them stared, the student took a hold of your hand and tried to pull you in for a kiss, you pulled away and glared at him, trying to not make a scene. 

“Fucking pervert!” George hissed, storming over towards the two of you “Hey!”

George clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared and his glaring gaze settled on on the lad, he bunched his right hand into a fist and swung, everything went in slow motion as George punched him in the face. 

You were speechless, you didn’t know what to say, all you could do was stare and watch the fight unfold. 

“Stay away from her or my foot will rip you a new one!” George threatened him, he turned to you, his facial expression instantly turning soft.

“th-thank you” 

“you don’t need to thank me love, are you alright?” George searching your eyes with his, full of care and concern. 

Your heart fluttered, his voice, him speaking to you sounded like the most fascinating birds chirping, and his caring face caused fireworks in your stomach to erupt into the sky. 

You wanted to take your chance, ask him out and start over but before you could do any of that, let alone reply, Ron hurried over and interrupted; putting you back in your place and making you remember how his brother felt about you. 

“Proper shiner he’ll have in the morning” Ron laughed “sort your knuckles out George, if anyone sees they’ll send a letter home.” 

The fluttering in your heart died down, the chirping of the birds instantly turning into the most dreadful squawks, and the fireworks in your stomach burning out, starving the embers before they could relight.  

“Thanks again” you murmured quietly, flashing George one last smile before walking away, wanting to retreat to your bed and hide away. 

George had to admit, he felt quite hurt that you went back to ignoring him after he had your back the other week - he knew that you didn’t owe him anything, not even an explanation - but he couldn’t understand why even after making up with Ron, you still refused to look at him.

Sitting on the sofa in the common room in your pyjamas, you flicked through your Quidditch magazine and blinked over and over whilst you looked across the page, sleep trying to pull you in. 

“Georgie, I’ve already said-” 

“Shhh!”

Jolting awake, you looked behind you and stared at the twins, long roles of parchment in one hand and a map in the other, you yawned and rubbed your eyes, closing your magazine. 

“It’s okay boys, I’m going to bed anyway.” you yawned again, slowly getting off the sofa. 

Fred and George shared a look, the older twin nodding his head towards you “go on then, mate, I’ll be upstairs.”

Fred walked past you, he whispered a “goodnight!” and went off to his dorm, leaving you alone with the person you wanted more than anyone in the world. 

George pursed his lips, standing around awkwardly before approaching you “Y/N, can we talk?” he asked softly. 

You nodded slowly, the nerves piping up in your tummy. 

“What’s up?”

“You’ve been ignoring me, love” he said softly “have I done something wrong?” 

This was your moment, not to ask him out - but to tell him the truth. 

You pushed your stray hairs out of your face and sighed, the lad of your dreams standing beside you, looking down on you. 

“I have feelings for you George” you admitted, your mouth going dry “and that’s why I have to stay away from you, because I know you’re never going to feel the same.” 

George went quiet, the embers from the fire spreading and making it set alight, the amber tones coming from the flames resting on his face. He smiled for a moment and licked his lips, looking into your eyes.

“Tomorrow night” he whispered softly in your ear “where we first met”

Tag list: @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl  

[ouyangzizhensdad]

I don’t know if you’ve spoken about this yet, but if you haven’t, can you please address the way the fandom (but mostly JC apologists) blame WWX for JYL’s death? Because every single time I see a post of “well of course JC was still angry. WWX was the one directly responsible for JYL dying”, I want to pull my hair out. JYL chose to come see her brother. She chose to protect him. She died doing what she’s always done since she was a child. Protecting her brothers. Did she want to leave her child an orphan? Of course not! But did she want her brother to die thinking that she hated him for a loss she knew he must have been devastated and hating himself for? No she did not! And yet, certain parts of the fandom stay stripping JYL of her agency and the choices she made, just to protect JC, and I want to scream. And they don’t do it in a “JC is looking for an excuse to justify his anger at WWX, rather than self-reflect and admit to his very human flaws of anger and jealousy and resentment,” way, but a “JC has never done any wrong. WWX is the devil’s incarnate and a sister-murderer” way, and gods it’s so tiring.

Sorry for the long ask.

Hi anon,

I think there are ways to talk about jyl's death without denying the character her agency while acknowledging that the conditions for her death would not have happened without some of wwx's decisions (as well as those of other characters and the cultivation world more largely). In short, decisions don't happen in a vacuum, and I think the novel does highlight this, such as when wwx tells lwj that guidao is the only path for him under the circumstances to protect the wen remnants, regardless of all the risks it entails (and, as we know, how this brought him to his end). Of course, other people and their own decisions also have a lot to do with creating the context that brings jyl’s to her untimely death.

I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all, character-wise and narrative-wise, for jc to blame wwx for jyl’s death. The way people deal with grief is often illogical, and they can blame themselves and others for things that are outside of their control; like someone blaming themselves because another person got into a car accident driving to see them, for instance. But to treat that perception, that character-rooted interpretation of the events, as if it were the whole, objective truth of what took place is.... not it.

I think people also seem to fail to recognise that jyl was trying to de-escalate the situation, instead making her motivations only about wwx. We as readers already knew due to the soup incident and the phoenix mountain incident that jyl is someone who is able to calm wwx down when no one else can. I do think that while she did want to protect wwx, she also wanted to prevent others from being harmed as well. In that sense, jyl is trying to accomplish the same thing as lwj at Buyetian--protect wwx and protect others.

[...] right now, Wei Wuxian had already lost his judgement. He was already half-mad, half-unconscious. All evil was being augmented by him. He felt that everyone loathed him and he loathed everyone as well. He would not be scared no matter who came at him. It would not matter no matter who came at him. It was all the same anyway.

Suddenly, amid the battle noises, Wei Wuxian heard a faint voice.

“A-Xian!” the voice shouted.

Like a bucket of ice-cold water, the voice doused the vile flames raging within his heart.

[...]

“A-Xian,” she sighed, “you… you should stop, first. Don’t, don’t…”

“Yes, I’ll stop,” Wei Wuxian hurried.

He took up Chenqing, placed it by his lips, and began to play. He only managed to steady his mind with great effort. This time, the corpses finally stopped ignoring his commands. One after another, strange gurgles echoed in their throats as if they were complaining. Slowly, they bent down.

I don’t think it’s unfair however to point out that not only would jyl not have been there in the first place if wwx had not been, but that she gets hurt by a corpse wwx is no longer able to control and then dies choosing to take a hit that was meant for wwx in revenge for a man he had just killed. Calling wwx a sister-murderer is a very weird take under the circumstances, because it could not have been less his intent or wishes on top of him not actually harming jyl directly, but it is fair to say that if wwx had not lost control of his modao, it is likely that jyl would still be alive, same if he had not decided while filled with dark emotions and resentment to confront the sects the way he did. And we see how these events have changed him after his rebirth, for instance when he escapes from Jinlin Tai and makes a comment about how it was best not try to defend himself or confront them, but to flee, regroup, strategise and see what could be done. It’s hard not see how what happened at Buyetian has not informing this “lesson” he learned.

[cacoetheswriting]

congrats on your milestone! ✏️ with spencer and prompt “Being in love is not a weakness, you know?” thank you!

thank you 💘

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader Warnings: swearing, unrequited love, a lil fluff, & a lot of angst Word Count: 1k

-

Love.

Spencer Reid never truly understood how a simple four letter word could carry so much weight, so much depth and meaning.

Not until recently, anyway.

Sure, he’s read all of the scientific journals, articles, and research papers he could possibly find on the topic. He most definitely recognised the science behind the phenomenon. He understood the three stages of love - lust, attraction, and attachment. And the three chemicals in the brain that stimulate the happy feeling of being in love - noradrenaline, dopamine, and phenylethylamine.

Spencer’s also been lucky enough to experience the feeling for himself.

He loved his mom and he loved his friends, his family. He’s even been in love a couple of times throughout his life, and even though most of those romantic relationships didn't end the way he had hoped they would, he knew he should consider himself lucky to have experienced them.

Yet, as Spencer observed you from the comfort of his own desk, as he watched you fidget with the pen in your hand and chew down on your bottom lip so clearly deep in thought, he grew to realise he never encountered love like this.

He loved you. He was in love with you.

Now, how would he even begin to tell you that? 

You were his best friend. The only person in this world he bared his soul to. The only person that really knew his deepest darkest secrets. That knew how to make him feel better without even trying. That made him laugh when he didn't even feel like smiling. Fuck.

Spencer sighed. How fucking cliché of him to fall in love with his best friend.

You glanced up from the papers scattered in front of you and tilted your head in Spencer’s direction, almost as if you could somehow sense you were occupying his thoughts. Your gaze caught his and small smile circled your lips, one that the brunette doctor instantly conveyed back.

God, how he hoped you would never stop smiling at him.

“You’re not heading home?” You asked, leaning back in your chair.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Spencer replied with a smirk and you couldn't help but let out a melodic chuckle. “Touché, Dr. Reid. Touché...” Your voice faded out and the two of you quickly returned to the comfortable quiet that was present mere seconds ago.

But you didn't go back to work, no. Instead, Spencer also leaned back in his chair, a clear unspoken indication he was done for the evening and simply wanted to have a conversation. You of course were more than happy to oblige because nothing in this world compared to just talking with Spencer.

“Can I ask you a question?” He enquired as his fingers worked on loosening his tie. You responded, “Shoot.”

He briskly cleared his throat. “Why do you think people do crazy things when they’re in love?”

You furrowed your brows together and intertwined your arms across your chest. “What’s got you thinking about such a complex thing?”

“An old case.” He lied briskly, the air hitching in his throat as you eyed him for a split second, seemingly unconvinced.

But when the sound of your honey-like laughter filled the bullpen, he instantly relaxed.

“Are you sure you haven't been watching Disney films without me?” You teased and it was his turn to raise a brow.

When you noticed the slight confusion now present on his features, you quickly explained, “People always do crazy things when they're in love. It’s a quote from the movie Hercules.” After which you quickly explained the plot and added that it will be the next thing the two of you watch together.

Spencer nodded his head in agreement, a stupid grin plastered across his face as he remembered the last Disney movie you watched at your apartment ended with cuddling and falling asleep on the couch.

He bit down on his lip after a moment of silence. “I guess what you’re saying is, even animations directed at kids find love to be a weakness.” He implored.

You let out a soft sigh while contemplating his words. There was absolutely no way he truly believed that. Spencer Reid was too smart to think love was nothing but a... flaw... Right?

“Being in love is not a weakness, you know?” You countered. “Sure, it makes people do dumb shit sometimes, shit that can be perceived as failings, but it is not a weakness, Spencer.”

The brown haired doctor broke eye contact at the sound of his name. His gaze landed on his lap and he suddenly felt as if he failed you somehow. You noticed how his bottom lip trembled, as if he wanted to respond but couldn't form the sentences to express his feelings on the topic.

If what you were saying was true, if being in love wasn't a weakness, then why did he feel completely and utterly powerless around you?

Hesitantly, his eyes flickered back to catch yours. The empathetic look visible on your perfect facial features caused Spencer to swallow the growing lump in his throat.

“I know it’s not.” He said after a moment of silence. He pushed his feelings down and locked them tight, a smile returning to his face. “I was just posing a theory.”

You seemed to buy his lousy excuse because without saying another word, you hopped up to your feet and began to drape your jacket over your shoulders. “Come on then, let’s go get some food. Once our stomachs are full, we can work on your theory a little more.” You shot him a playful wink.

He licked his lips with a smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

Truthfully, he wanted to run towards you and pull you into a warm embrace. He wanted to bury his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet smell of your shampoo. He wanted to... He wanted to kiss you. Fuck, did he want to kiss you.

But again, how could he ever to tell you that?

The answer was simple enough - he couldn't. Not now. Maybe, maybe one day. Although, Spencer was prepared to simply bask in the calmness your friendship provided. That was alright with him.

Love could wait.

-

milestone celebration | masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce, @willowrose99

[yoonpobs]

choices

PAIRING. kim taehyung x reader

GENRE. assassin!au, angst

WARNINGS. mentions of a gun,

WORDS. 1.2k

NOTE. an old wip that never really got developed from here :( but I enjoyed this small part so !!! here it is :D mayhaps I'll develop it but !!!! no promises

“So this is it, huh?” Taehyung asks, a little breathless but so were you.

Though, you recognise the glint in his eyes. The one that never quite dies but burns brighter every time you look.

“Anything we did would’ve brought us here anyway,” you tell him. “This is our duty.”

Taehyung chuckles, and he looks far too nonchalant for someone on top of a three hundred foot tall building, nearly dangling off the edge.

There is fire, and it’s searing. The heat scaths you and the inferno in your chest is nothing in comparison to the everlasting flames that blind your rationale. Everything in you is telling you to pull the trigger—to do your duty and forget what you know. What you feel.

“Ah.” Taehyung looks away just so you could catch his side profile. “And what a duty it is.”

You purse your lips, the metal feeling heavy in your grip. A gun has never felt heavier. It’s never been a weapon of regret until now.

Just do it.

“I don’t have a choice, Taehyung,” you whisper.

And after all this time, you still find yourself needing to justify your actions to him.

Taehyung smirks.

“We always have a choice.”

No, you didn’t. Because your choice was either your life or his. And you weren’t ready to go, not yet. Not when you had a life to live and the world to see. Maybe it was greed and selfishness, but you were sure Taehyung would do the same.

Right?

“Can you look away?” You ask him, and it’s weird because it’s his life that was at risk and not so much yours.

Taehyung, as usual, doesn’t listen to you. Instead, he smiles at you with a grin you’ve grown familiar with and draws closer. Each step he takes makes your finger shake—the digit so close to granting you emancipation.

You don’t breathe, not until he’s right in front of you—barring his head to the side—both to look away and for a target.

You gulp, eyes blinking at the smile that still remains etched on his face.

“Do it then.”

It’s a challenge.

But it’s not the same. Not when you know that at any other moment, you would’ve pulled the trigger without thinking twice, allowing your victims' blood to pool at your feet while you cleaned the soles of your shoes.

It’s a challenge you never thought you would meet.

Still, you take a deep breath and bring your gun to his head.

His hair was so soft, and it ruffled against the harsh wind of the rooftop you were on. Even the circumstances it took to get him up there hurt. A promise of a forever that ended with him.

Your hand shakes so much but you put on a brave face. You haven’t failed once and you wouldn’t need to fail now.

But Taehyung wasn’t one of your usual victims.

They were vile, disgusting and scum on Earth. You had absolutely no remorse for pulling the trigger or suffocating them to death. They deserved it for the sins they’ve committed.

Taehyung was … evil. But were not all humans capable of being evil? You were flawed, a pathetic excuse of a human being that sought to seek justice by removing the moles that polluted this Earth. You picked and chose who was worthy; with your gun as your toy and humans as your targets.

So why was it then he had to go and you stayed?

But his evil was interpreted as necessary and just—at least to you. Or at least when you tried enough to understand your victims then pull the trigger.

It was a naive choice on your part, and you suppose Taehyung was right. You always had a choice. And this time you had a price to pay at the expense of your shattered heart.

“Why won’t you kill me, _____?” Taehyung whispers, but his smile is wide—as if he has all the time in the world.

You suppose that the brink of death showed people how finite time is.

“I will,” you snap.

Taehyung laughs, carefree and unbothered. He withdraws his head, turning to look at you against your wish. And he looks the same as the first time your client hired you with a target on Taehyung’s head. The same boxy smile that didn’t belong to a man who’s killed hundreds.

But then, you were a killer too.

“Why drag it out further?” Taehyung hums. “You say you don’t have a choice but you’re not shooting.” His face is familiar and you hate that it is. That you’ve grown to understand the man was promised death from the moment you allowed his name to roll off your tongue. “Your choice is not shooting.”

He leans in, face close to yours when you blink at his vicinity. He’s warm in the Autumn night, his beige tones matched the season but nothing like the dull grey of the intent that laid in your hands.

“I said I need a moment.” You repeat, weaker.

“Or maybe you need me,” Taehyung grins.

Your eyes widen.

“You’re fooling yourself.”

“Then prove it,” he tells you. “Shoot me and it’ll all be over.”

But you don’t shoot. You stare at him as if it was your last chance at memorising his face to remember how he looks and feels right in front of you. But a part of you says it’s unnecessary because people leave yet feelings stay; though you don’t look away.

You shakily bring up your gun, placing it right at his temple when his eyes continue to bore into yours. And you’ve never felt despondency this early on to your kills. In fact, you rarely ever felt it. But Kim Taehyung brought out parts of you that you shielded away long enough for you to forget how to hurt.

Taehyung still pins you with his intense gaze, and you don’t want to appear weak in front of him when he’s so close. But you can’t bring yourself to pull the trigger—not when his face is inches away from yours and you were sure that you’d feel the blood splatter.

“Say something,” he challenges.

“I’m going to kill you,” you tell him, soft and nothing unlike the fire you had when you’ve killed hundreds of people like him.

Your finger rests upon the silver, ready to pull when you close your eyes. You take a deep breath and pretend that tears aren’t threatening to fall, that your knees are seconds away from giving out and that Taehyung was a breadth gone from disappearing forever.

“Are you?”

“Yes, goddamnit,” you hiss, eyes fluttering shut. But even the world goes dark for a moment—Taehyung is all you can see. You feel him, too. The warmth from his skin radiates against your palm. Even now, when you knew he could turn the stakes so that they were against you; you weren’t afraid.

Because deep down, you knew that Taehyung wouldn’t kill you.

“Then why aren’t you pulling the trigger?” He poses you with a question you can’t answer yourself.

Why couldn’t you?

You’ve pulled a trigger more times in your life than you could remember. But this almost feels like the first, the trepidation that lingers deep in your bones only makes your finger feel heavier. You wish it’d do the job for you—rather it be an act of familiarity rather than conscience, but you knew that it wasn’t your body who killed. It was you.

“Shut the fuck up,” you sneer at him but it’s anything but hostile. It’s desperate, it’s a plea for help that’s as helpless as you are in the same moment.

“You don't want to kill me,” Taehyung states.

You hate that he reads you.

But you don’t have a choice.

"It's not me that wants to kill you," you say softly.

"But it's you who will," he says with a tilt of his lips.

“Goodbye, Taehyung.”

[saphirered]

The first and only time Lucien displayed any vulnerability was when Jester called him "dreamy," after which he alluded to an unpleasant upbringing. I was wondering if you could write something wherein the reader (human) shows interest in him? Being his typical, condescending self, he thinks it's because the reader was with Molly, only to find out the reader is genuinely interested in him, and maybe that thaws his heart a little?

I hope this turned out to your liking. Love me a condescending tiefling who doesn't acknowledge views other than his own. Hope you enjoy! 😘

Lucien, previously mostly indifferent to you, has been keeping his distance after you read him like an open book in the card reading incident with Jester. Maybe having this bunch of gullible but curious adventurers tagging along was a terrible idea after all. Maybe best get rid of them now before it’s too late. But there you are being your stupid charming, beautiful self and something within him hesitates, even more so than with the others. You are an enigma he needs to figure out. Right now you’re an obstacle standing in the way of his goal because every second he’s paying more attention to you, he’s less on guard and that might just compromise his endgame.

Lucien is entertaining the thought to just talk his way into your bed, and get it over with. Maybe once he’s gotten his bias for you out of his system he can get back to work. Besides, you’ve shown some interest in him already, rooted in your connection with the fragment previous to his own return. Same face, same body, a few shared traits maybe, but not the same person. A fatal flaw on your end…

Perhaps Lucien can turn this into leverage, play into the parts you might latch onto believing that maybe the fragment might return to the surface if you call to him. Or play into your feelings for the fragment, play sympathetic and play upon a mutual interest. Because maybe if he plays along, you could be the game changer, the leverage, and give him answers and insights in this Mighty Nein. You might be the key to all the answers he’s seeking. And if achieving this goal results in the two of you sleeping together, two birds one stone. There’s no negative outcome for him here. Either you turn on your friends and join him or eventually stand against him and he’d already have gotten what he wants from you.

From the moment you met Lucien it was abundantly clear he’s not Molly. Yes there are some similarities and habits they share but beyond a surface level they’re very different. That doesn’t mean you weren’t curious to get to know this version of the tiefling. While he has many flaws, some that cannot be overlooked, there’s something about Lucien that commands attention. With how closed off this version is you played into the parts you did recognise, if only to make your encounters with him a bit more pleasant and less tense, be that for yourself or others around you.

Your encounters, especially when eventually traveling together grew more frequent and less tense to the point one could call them enjoyable. Of course the Nein caught onto this and saw it as hope their, your Mollymauk might still be in there. He might, maybe not in the way they hoped. Right now Lucien is here and he’s here to stay. Even from the start you didn’t want to make enemies with the man be that out of self preservation, your own curiosity or something else entirely. Making enemies with the Nonagon just seemed stupid and getting to know him, looking past all the theatrics he put up for the Nein, he’a actually a half decent person.

You’d been making progress, getting to know Lucien, spending more time with him. From the start you didn’t hide the fact that you may or may not have a thing for him. Seems like your taste hasn’t changed; charming enigmatic drama queens with great style, a dash of egoism and some hedonism thrown into the mix. It was all going well and you could see the walls slowly beginning to crumble giving you a peak behind the curtain; Lucien without the facade but then Jester came along with Molly’s cards. Curiosity peaked of course Lucien took her up on her offer of a reading.

You saw that twitch, saw the walls come down and you got a peak behind the curtain just like you had wanted. Only it lasted much shorter than you had hoped the walls rose and the curtain closed once more. You got some insights in his past based of his responses and with how close attention you were paying you know he was aware of what you were able to glean. You kind of pity him for the past he went through even the present he lives now. You recall Molly deflecting, changing the subject, doing anything to avoid confrontation if it didn’t suit him. After that card reading you got the same from Lucien this time in the form of a cold shoulder. Dammit Jester. Now you have to find a way to fix this.

The others are asleep in the dome save for Fjord currently keeping watch and you awake and bothered. A ways away at a comfortable distance is the camp of the Tombtakers. They too are asleep with the exception of Lucien who sits in front of the fire staring into the flames. Getting up with a soft puff you make eye contact with Fjord. A confused ‘where are you going?’ glance from the half-orc leads you to respond with a nod in the direction of Lucien which in turn leads to a non-verbal argument with the man, an argument that won’t stop you so when the last is said and done you just wave and step outside of the bubble, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders to block out the cold Eiselcross air.

You’re not deliberately quiet padding your way through the thick layer of snow and know full well you should be in sight of Lucien but he doesn’t in any way respond to you. His eyes stay trained on the fire in front of him so you walk up beside him. The cold very much bothers you and you’re beginning to regret your decision of walking out of the comforts of the dome just because you want to sort out this sudden cold behaviour towards you and get it over with. It may take a leap of faith to do so but if that’s what it takes, that’s exactly what you’ll do.

“Hey, I could really do with some of the perks of that infernal bloodline if you don’t mind.” You nudge his leg with your foot pulling the blanket around your shoulders just a little bit tighter. Shaken out of whatever trance Lucien had allowed himself to slip in he looks up at you.

“If you’re so cold you can go back to the comforts of that dome so handily provided by your wizard friend.” Ouch. That’s icy cold but you haven’t come this far by just accepting rude comments. You’re stubborn and you’re not backing down just yet.

“Don’t patronise me.” You sit down keeping a good foot or so between the two of you as you stare into the flames, the warmth not nearly enough to actually keep you comfortable, you’re shivering. Your presence alone puts Lucien on edge so here you’ll stay. Besides, if you get hypothermia, the clerics can fix you right?

About fifteen minutes pass and your quivering doesn’t end, your breath visible in the air, you are a constant nuisance to his previously peaceful evening of plotting. Why did you have to leave your bloody bubble and come bother him? Because right now you’re the only thing on his mind and all previous queries and grand plans have left his brain and there’s only you. Maybe you’ll just leave if he keeps this going? No you won’t. Lucien knows you longer than today and once you’ve set your mind to something you’re not letting go until you’re satisfied. Right now you’re anything but satisfied.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with because I need to get back to figuring out if you lot will remain useful or a thorn in my drawers. What do you want?” Lucien sneers studying you. His red eyes harsh, you get a clear view of the frustration and tension.

“We’re cutting the crap? Okay. All fine with me.” You clasp your hands together and lean your chin on them as you address the tiefling. “Why have you been avoiding me and giving me the cold shoulder ever since you showed an ounce of vulnerability?” Two can play this game and if you know anything from Molly it’s that if you get him frustrated and on edge he’s more likely to let things slip he’d usually keep in. By the looks of it Lucien isn’t much different in that aspect but he has a bit more self control.

“Perhaps I’m just done playing the part of a long gone fragment you’re desperate to hold onto, darling. It’s been fun but the game’s over.” Lucien’s this close to deadpanning that sentence. Close but not close enough. You laugh almost disappointed. Such a blatant lie, you expected better from this one.

“Laugh all you want. The game is over.”

“You’ve spent too much time with people agreeing with you all the time that you seem to have forgotten what it’s like to have your views misalign with that of another.”

“Now you’re the one patronising me.” He jabs back. Eyebrow raised you press your lips together. So looks like it’s not going to take much for you to get answers out of Lucien.

“I’m not the one spooked by some cards and the notion of showing a fraction of vulnerability in a moment the majority won’t even catch on to let alone understand.” Lucien turns to face you and glares.

“Are you done yet?” Oh you’re not nearly done but you also know Lucien can be fickle and you don’t want to push too far. You’ve got one more up your sleeve. Okay maybe a few more… Should you give him a choice on which one he’d like to address? You snort. Lucien grabs you by the shoulder and turns you to face him with disapproving expression trying to cover the frustration and how much you’re getting on his nerves right now; less because of your attitude and more because of his own issues.

“So your game ends before you weasel your way into my bed and attempt to use me for your own benefit, manipulate me until I spill all my friends and I’s secrets, and cast me aside once I’ve outlived my usefulness?” Nail. On. The Head. Lucien’s taken aback by that one. The shock’s clear and he does not like it at all you caught him off guard by exposing his plans just like that when you’d been playing along just as he had been trying to get you to.

“How’s that been working out for you? Or do you count attachment as a weakness now as well? Since vulnerability already is a major one in your opinion.” Lucien takes the verbal attacks and he’s none to happy about it. He’s just lost his advantage, or at least the advantage he thought he had. Maybe he got so caught up in this little game that the line between him playing and him actually being blurred and you just called him out on exactly that.

“Depends. How well is it working for you?”

“You trying to charm your way into my bed? Peachy. You trying to manipulate me by playing into the shared traits between my dead companion and you. You’re doing terrible. Maybe your own feelings got in the way? Is attraction also a weakness then?” Lucien’s fist clenches as you yet again air his dirty laundry. This habit has to stop, for his sake.

“Very well then, since me charming my way into your arms has been going so smoothly, let’s get this over with and go our separate ways that we for once and all can confirm your fragment is never coming back and I can get you out of my head.”

“If you think that’s going to solve all your problems then I fully consent but I highly doubt that will fix anything since your own interests in me won’t just go away by sleeping with me. That’s not how these things work.” No use in beating around the bush and while he’d rather not admit it Lucien considered the fact that just getting rid of the jitters won’t get rid of his feelings towards you. Damn you. This would have been so much easier if you would just prove him right even if he wasn’t.

“Then what do you suggest? We kiss and make up and go our separate ways?” Lucien huffs and you roll your eyes. Anything to deflect from being faced with his feelings and dismiss yours. Can he just accept you’re interested in him and not in the shadow of Mollymauk that’s left in him?

“You want a kiss? Fine. A kiss you’ll get.” You’re the one getting exasperated with his quick dismissal so you put your hand on the side of his neck. Give him a chance to pull away or stop you before you put your lips to his. The kiss deepens into a snog and you find yourself hoping Fjord hasn’t been keeping an eye on you or he’d be in for a show without any context. You’ll have a lot of explaining to do later….

Enough’s enough and you break the kiss paying close attention to Lucien who’s processing whatever’s running through his head. You just hope he’ll be able to put his own stubbornness aside, get over himself and admit to his feelings and yours because last you checked denial is much more of a problem than vulnerability ever will be.

“You need to start accepting people don’t automatically work the way you think they work. You don’t have to like the fact I actually like you nor do you have to like me in return but you cannot dismiss my feelings and opinions just because they don’t suit you.” You pat his cheek and while he’d consider it a belittling gesture, it’s fair game at this point. Maybe the game’s still being played after all and he was never in control of the game to begin with. That’s a bit of a damper in the grand scheme of it all.

It leaves Lucien to think. Since he’s already way over his head and too far into this that there’s no way back, maybe he’ll take his chances. No major changes. The goals remain the same but for now maybe he can enjoy a little company every so often if you’ll allow it… Maybe he can drop the cold exterior, get rid of the ‘divine purpose’ attitude and just let himself be for however long it lasts. At the end of they day he has little to lose and much more to gain.

“Fine. I recognise your interests in me as more than for what silvers of that fragment remain.” Lucien does not like admitting defeat and the expression on his face brings you so much satisfaction. Yes you might have feelings for the man but that doesn’t mean you can’t find joy in these kinds of interactions even if they are rooted in frustrations.

“And…” You push for him to continue. You can see him grit his teeth but he continues at your behest.

“And, accept them along my own. No matter how much I hate to admit it, I apologise for excusing my own behaviour and motives as means solely to manipulate you.” Lucien glares at you seeing your own satisfaction.

“Good boy.” You pat his cheek.

“Now since you’ve gotten all of this out of me you better share that blanket of yours because you’re not the only one freezing out here.”

“So the cold does bother him after all.” You grin and scoot over to wrap the blanket around the both of you. A bit of the rigidness remains, not ready to drop the cold and distant attitude just yet, if ever entirely, you know the ice is melting, even if just a little. More than you expected. More than you could have asked for. Now how the hell are you going to explain this to the others….

[zosonils-art]

Do you have a robot master OC (of the eight plus Drum) that you’d say is your favorite? If you haven’t done an infodump for them yet then you should do that one next

i couldn't choose a favourite if i tried, i love them all, but since you mentioned drum i thought i'd give her some new art and a proper dedicated post too! infodrump [ayyy] under the cut

drum, serial number SWN-002, is my take on the popular [????? i'm still a bit of a mega man fandom newbie i don't know hjdfn] 'wily equivalent to roll' oc template! she keeps things running at the various castles and fortresses and hideouts and whatever else her dad holes up in, whether that's by doing housework, planning schemes, or dodging taxes. whenever wily is trying to take over the world, drum acts as his second-in-command, ensuring that everything goes according to plan and ordering around the latest group of robot masters

she's every bit the edgy mid-00s teenager she looks: sarcastic, apathetic, and always talking back to her dad. she's more obedient than bass is, but she doesn't care for her job at all and will resort to any flimsy excuse or act of malicious compliance she can come up with to slack off. due to her purpose as an organiser and commander, she's a bossy control freak who's quick to anger when things don't go exactly her way, although when she's off work the worst of these traits recede in favour of more conventional teenage apathy. she sees herself as above the time and effort it takes to go out of her way to be mean to people like wily and bass tend to do, but she's equally uninterested in being nice on purpose and her default attitude is squarely on the nastier side

when she doesn't have work to focus on - and sometimes when she does anyway - drum is the lead vocalist and guitarist in a garage band, of which she is [currently - a friend's ocs get involved later, but that's a whole different post] the only member. i'm not good with music terms but she's into whatever genre stuff like wake me up inside and crawling in my skin is [i know those aren't the names hdfjf it's just the words i know people will recognise]. the sort with the crunchy guitar and the very loud lyrics about being sad and/or angry. playing or blasting music helps her to calm down when she's in a bad mood, which is pretty much all the time. the first warning sign of a new wily plot is a spike in search popularity for my chemical romance

i haven't gotten around to designing it, but drum has a non-armoured form like most of the other more explicitly kid-like robots, which she mostly uses for loitering around malls when she has an excuse to not be at home. she rarely buys anything, just hangs out and radiates an aura that makes suburban white women hurry their three kids into the next shop. drum often ends up hanging out with like-minded teens in the same vague area of the goth/punk/emo venn diagram she occupies, and makes a bit of a game out of seeing how honest she can be about her life without revealing that she's one of the world's most wanted robots. she tells herself that it's just something she does out of boredom and curiosity towards humans, but it mostly stems from loneliness and the desire to have literally any friends that aren't her brother's dog

as a sort of contrast to the healthy and positive relationship between their lightbot counterparts, drum and bass absolutely DESPISE each other and make no secret of it. each of them thinks of the other as an insufferable prick and they'll get into petty arguments over just about anything, from whose turn it is on the xbox to who treble loves more. [for the record, it's drum. she lets him hang out in the kitchen while she's cooking and sneaks him food scraps when bass isn't looking. he's the only family member she has an even remotely positive relationship with.] pretty much the only thing that can get them to stop fighting is mutual hatred of a bigger prick, and so far the only person to consistently get them to put their differences aside like this is wily himself - as much as the wily kids hate each other, they hate their dad just a little more, and have a history of teaming up just to mess with him. sometimes mega man can spark that spiteful cooperation, but drum's total apathy towards the light-wily family rivalry means she usually sees him as not worth her time and just finds bass' obsession with beating him even more annoying

drum wasn't made for combat, and as such she doesn't have a signature weapon or any fancy tricks like the copy chip. usually she just orders other robots to do the fighting for her. however, she is equipped with a standard arm-mounted buster, and can hold her own in battle with a 'fight smarter, not harder' approach if she has to. she's also outfitted with the same treble adapter that bass has, so if she's backed into a corner she can call on him for a power boost. treble is capable of supporting both adapters simultaneously, so as an absolute last resort they can all combine into treble-boosted drum & bass, who theoretically has all the combat power of bass plus the strategic thinking from drum and the boost in power from treble. in practice, though, drum and bass are so at odds with each other that they can barely hold together in the same body without either fighting for control or outright splitting apart to argue harder. again, it takes a lot of spite to get them to work together, but if something draws their combined ire and convinces them to cooperate they're an utterly terrifying force to be reckoned with

the game idea i vaguely have in my mind would feature drum as the final-not-final boss before wily reveals he was the mastermind behind it all and surprises absolutely nobody. she was put in charge of the latest world domination attempt, probably as the result of a 'why don't YOU take over the world if you're so smart' conversation, and in true drum fashion she follows a standard wily plot outline to the letter - including the blatant flaws, like all eight of her chosen robot masters forming a rock-paper-scissors wheel just begging to be exploited by the copy chip, and making a clear path from just outside the death fortress to her base of operations. after she's defeated in combat, she sarcasically wonders aloud how mega man could have possibly bested her plan and then helpfully points rock directly to wily's castle. she didn't wanna do the stupid scheme in the first place

again, i love all my ocs too much to possibly choose a favourite, but i'd say drum was the most fun to come up with if only because i had the help of some mates in a discord server. someone was like 'hey if there's bass is there a roll equivalent called drum or something lol' and i SPRINTED to microsoft paint to rough out a character design and the next entire day was just a constant stream of all of us bouncing ideas off each other and creating the meanest girl in the universe. her design changed a little bit from the initial sketch, most notably she used to have the half-shaved hairstyle that every gay person tries at some point before that changed to a midpoint between phoenix wright and sonic the hedgehog, but overall everything about her as a character flowed really well from the start. while she's fallen mostly into my hands since the initial brainstorm, she absolutely wouldn't exist without those friends' input and i feel that that's important to mention!

i'm very tired and i've been working on this on and off for the past day so i'm gonna call the infodrump finished here - thanks for giving me the excuse to talk about her! unfiltered and transparent versions of the art below as always

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Some thoughts on Jack and Tommy’s character’s relationship.

Hey guys, some thoughts on Jack and Tommy’s character’s relationship.

They’re just so tragic, you know? They could be such good friends - and they have been in the past. But instead one wants to kill the other and they can’t seem to really see each other. And I think it’s because they’re so similar. They really are.

They have so much in common. They love to hang out with others and both enjoy cause a certain level of chaos for fun. They have a similar sense of humour. They were both part of L’Manburg and miss being a part of it. Neither are able to live a peaceful life despite wanting closure. They’ve both experienced hurt/betrayal from the people they trusted. They’ve both lost everything many times.  They’ve both died and come back. They’re both currently plotting to kill their enemy in order to finally experience peace. 

And yet the biggest difference is perhaps how Tommy gets way too much attention while Jack doesn’t get enough. Jack feels overlooked and his plot over Season 2 was him trying to do things but each time his scheme would get foiled before it even went anywhere and no one even noticed. He got so tired of never being noticed and that fed into his anger. Tommy meanwhile was being targeted throughout season 2, Dream was actively trying to destroy his life and  every single action he took was being harshly judged. He wanted nothing more than to just chill and have a nice time but he kept being forced to take a stand and choose between his friends and get challenged on everything he did. If Jack’s character is fed up with being seen as a side character than Tommy’s character is equally tired of being seen as a main character.

This issue was so apparent in their fight at the hotel. Jack was furious as Tommy was overlooking him yet again while Tommy did not want to deal with anything, just wanting to feel normal again after his ordeal. 

These two just can’t seem to see each other! Tommy doesn’t know that Jacks still caught up on that time he killed him - he’s unaware that it was a canon death and that he hadn’t resolved it after his apology afterwards and letting Jack steal Hotter Girl. He’s unaware that Jack felt abandoned in Schlatt’s Manburg. Unaware that Jack died in the Doomsday war fighting in defence of Tommy’s L’Manburg and then came back from the dead. When Jack shouts at him, he can’t see that Jack’s been suffering as well and needs him to actually listen and pay attention to him. Tommy looks at Jack and says, ‘nothing ever happens to you. You’re Jack Manifold.’

Meanwhile Jack is seeing Tommy as a monster, the shadow of his once friend who died a long time ago. He thinks Tommy is the source of all conflict on the server and can only create problems and that’s not really who Tommy is. Like Tommy was in no way responsible for Doomsday - it was Tubbo and Quackity for the Butcher’s army, and Techno and Dream for the actual attack. Tommy griefing George lead to Dream building those walls and attacking Manifoldland yes, but Dream was targeting Tommy anyway and likely would have found some other reason to have him exiled if he hadn’t done that (rather minor) grief. (Not that he hasn’t done anything wrong, just nothing that really means the server would have actually been better without him.) Tommy is instead another victim trying his best to recover and be more peaceful. He was trying to move on when they argued in that hotel, not because he didn’t care about Jack at all, but because he was overwhelmed and couldn’t deal with discussing how he’d died or Jack’s feelings about it. 

Both characters are rather lonely right now. When Tommy died, Jack admitted he didn’t feel like he had anyone and that Tommy had been giving him a purpose. He missed belonging to something, missed the good days of L’Manburg when he had real friends. The first time he felt betrayed was being left behind in Manburg. Meanwhile, while Tommy was in prison, he expressed how there being trapped alone in isolation was a fate worse than death to him, and much of his exile had been marked by his great feelings of loneliness. Getting out had him seeing some of his friends seeming to be moving on and it hurt him to feel so left out and unwanted once more.

Both of them want Dream gone. They both recognised him as the biggest threat, even as Jack sees Tommy on the same level while thinking Dream is taken care of and Tommy is afraid that Dream will escape and bring more terror to the server. Jack wants to become Prison Warden while Tommy wants the prison to be reformed and Sam to be removed from his position. These two both want the hotel to thrive, they both consider it theirs. 

Their goals align so much, they have so much to offer each other, they are such natural friends and yet they are at odds. I want them to resolve their issues. They’ll have to both learn to see each other properly and both learn to listen to each other. They’ve both had development - after his reaction to Tommy death, I don’t think Jack will be able to go through with killing him. He’s not a cruel person, just an angry one. And Tommy has been trying to be less self-centred and he’s been expressing his issues better lately. I feel like he should be able to actually listen and try and mend things when he’s ready. He does have the capacity to apologise and admit fault once he’s realised.

All in all, it is my hope that they could be friends again and become close. The potential is there!

--Thanks for reading. I don’t know Jack’s character quite as well as Tommy’s - though I do watch and love them both - so please, please tell me if I got anything wrong about him or you’d like to offer any extra insight that I may have overlooked. I adore their dynamic and really enjoy discussing it, tragic though it is. Hopefully I haven’t seemed too harsh on either character, they both have flaws and reasons for them and they’re both sympathetic!

[boatemboys]

This fandom has a v black and white views on characters - they're either good or they're bad. Obviously this has a lot of problems. But it means they go as far as they can to either push a character into a "good" character or a "bad" character. This means that when one of the "good" characters does something that isn't good, the fandom will go as far as they can to not acknowledge the fact that what the character did was bad. They'll brush it off, or blame it on one of the characters that they made bad. Such as, Dream. In almost every situation, I feel safe saying 90% of the time, the fandom will blame any flaw that a character has on c!Dream, even if it means reaching super far. With Ranboo’s lore near the beginning with the "Dream" voice, i can kind of understand where they're coming from - its dreams voice, it would make sense to assume its dream - a lot of people think that he can do a lot of superhuman things, so what's just his voice in someone's head? its not that farfetched. But now, his lore is not linked to dream that much. It’s just him, enderwalk, and his character having flaws. But because of these tight boxes that the fandom loves, these dont matter and are automatically the fault of Dream. With Tubbo, people link all of his problems to dream as well - and i agree, some of his problems are linked to dream! But not all of them. I’d say a lot of his problems come from L'Manberg, but the fandom would hate to admit that as they're all super attached to L'Manberg because uwu my wmanbuwg Wiwbur Soot and Tommyinnit. Tubbo's problems are spread out - some to dream, some to L'Manberg, and some are just because of himself and his own personality. One of his flaws, with the Ranboo experiments, id say are a fault of his own curiosity. One of the reasons, I think, that the fandom are so uncritical of c!beeduo, are because of their old attachment to c!clingyduo. Clingyduo don't hang out that much anymore, so the fandom had to find a new group of teens to love,  and what better group to love than beeduo? They have a lot of stereotypes, per se, of different duos, and when all of that is combined into one duo, the fandom adores it. So the two characters were automatically sorted into the good box. Which is a problem that the fandom needs to recognise. Neither of the characters are good nor bad - none of the characters are. All of the characters in the dream smp, including Dream, Schlatt, Quackity Sam, etc, are neither good or bad. They're just in the middle. Some are more good or bad, but none are 100% either. The fandom has to understand this, but they haven't yet.

[theharellan]

Who Am I in Your Arms?

Written for Stories of Thedas Volume II Pairing: NB!Lavellan x Solas Prompt: Hair

In the aftermath of Wisdom's passing Solas takes the first steps towards moving on from its death, though this time he need not do it alone.

Trigger warning for suicidal ideation and depression / derealisation.

Read on AO3.

Light strains through the open window, highlighting the dust suspended in the air by the morning breeze. With each sigh of wind from the mountains’ peaks it rises anew, kept aloft in perpetuity each time it begins to sink to the bedroom floor. Solas watches from his back as the light that flows through open windows grows longer, reluctant to acknowledge the fast-approaching noon and all the duty that comes with it.

He does not truly know how long he lies there, looking idly up at the ceiling, neither dreaming nor truly awake. From a distance he recognises the sound of Mother Giselle calling to a Chantry Sister and sees the shadow of a passer-by darken the window momentarily, but these notes are brief and fleeting, skirting over his consciousness without room to take root. The doorknob turns, latch unhooking with a click, force of habit compelling him to look. His eyes meet Ian’s as the door swings ajar, and he suddenly wishes he had at least sat up before he’d entered. “You’re awake,” Ian says. Relief quiets the tension he held between his brow, a look too soft to be meant for him steals across his face as he settles beside him, the mattress sinking with a sigh beneath his weight. “I was afraid- I- I was—” As he fumbles with his words he struggles with removing a leather glove from his left hand, finding the thought only when the last finger was wrested from him. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Good.” His bare hand leans upon Solas’ cheek, touch cool and calming against his face.

“What time is it?”

“You’re needed nowhere for the moment,” Ian answers the more honest question on his behalf. “I just needed— I wanted to see if you were alright.”

It is an answer Solas isn’t certain he can give neither one way nor the other. He is of sound body and sound mind, and for many those two alone would be enough to suffice. “Thank you,” Solas mutters, having little to offer but his gratitude and an affectionate peck to his palm. Perhaps sensing the answer Solas is reluctant to give, Ian’s smile pinches, straining with concern. Guilt twinges in his gut, and he averts his eyes, penitent. “Ir abelas, Vhenan. I did not mean to worry you again.”

A soft laugh sighs through Ian’s lips, though it sounds sad to his ears. “You don’t need to be sorry, Solas. Not unless it helps.” He recognises the refrain as one oft-repeated to Ian, spoken in his own voice when Ian’s troubles wind too tightly around his heart. To hear it said to assuage his sorrows stings, no matter how much he may need to hear it. The hand at his cheek guides his gaze up, his hollow stare feeling all the more empty when beheld in Ian’s kind eyes. They scan from left to right, reading the expression on his face as though he’d opened up a well-loved book. A thumb scarred by gardener’s shears draws a smooth line across his cheekbone.

Ian’s hand glides around the side of his head, meeting resistance as his fingers cup the back delicately. “Your hair…” he says with a laugh in his breath, a hint of wonder colours his tone leaves Solas humbled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much of it before.” Fingertips idle along the nape of his neck, moving across the rough beginnings of an auburn hairline, but for Solas’ part his eyes remain transfixed upon Ian’s face. He memorises the way amusement works its way across his lips, until his teeth press down upon them, trying and failing to tamp down his growing grin. Hazel eyes fall suddenly to his and then away, pink shame heating his cheeks. “Sorry.”

Solas rises, detouring to brush his lips against Ian’s, which still bear the impression of his teeth. “You’ve no more to be sorry for than I,” he says, then as an afterthought grazes his hand over his head. A fine layer of hair has sprouted, coarse, like sharkskin against his palm. “And you are correct, it is long past time I shaved.”

“Oh, you— you’re… I thought-”

“That I intended to grow it out?” he finishes Ian’s thought, picking it up where he had dropped it. “No, and I suspect I won’t for some time.” He slides open the top drawer of his dresser and rifles through, not looking but feeling for his razor. Fingers brush against brittle dried herbs and crumpled notes too important to throw away yet irrelevant enough that he does not remember why they are here, rooting through the ephemera of his everyday life before they find what they seek.

“Typically my magic minimises the upkeep, but then…” He thinks back upon the last few weeks, how time bled together and one moment tripped into the next. Hardly a thimbleful of effort had been expended upon the simple day-to-days. “I suppose I have had other matters on my mind.”

Wisdom’s death still weighs heavily upon him. Though he had told the Inquisitor the powers which willed it into being still exist and there may again be a being who called itself Wisdom, it is a cold comfort. The moments they shared are now his alone to remember. In his grief he strains to recall every memory, summoning details of bygone ages, despair curling one cold finger around his heart as their edges begin to blur. Guilt bores into him as he tries to remember what face Wisdom wore the first time they met.

“Solas?” His hand must have lingered too long, his stillness speaking to a persistent pain he struggles to give voice, yet Ian hears it regardless. He releases the breath held captive in his lungs as Ian’s hand folds over his. Their scars align, matching together as alike rhymes in a poem might. “Would you like me to do it for you?” Solas doesn’t answer right away, mind too full of memories to fully feel the present, and in that silence Ian finds the time to doubt. “If you’d rather do it yourself…” he ventures. The hand over his squeezes affectionately, comfortingly.

“No,” he finds his voice. When he tears his sights away from their intertwined fingers, he discovers Ian’s gaze leveled with his own and offers him a thin smile. “No. I’d welcome the offer.”

Before he releases his grip on Solas, he pulls his knuckles to his lips, pressing them against the places where errant magic had marked him centuries ago. He feels the ghost of his affection as he pulls his hand back, thumb stroking the place where Ian kissed him to keep the memory alive upon his skin. “You should sit,” Ian says, motioning with his head towards the empty seat shoved in the corner of the room. It’s as near a command as Ian will ever give outside the Inquisition’s healing tents. “I can take care of everything.”

A simple sentiment, yet ambitious. His first instinct is to doubt, but not all the lessons from the past few weeks left bruises. Trust is a muscle that atrophies through disuse, stretching it again strains even on fairweather days, but he accommodates Ian’s command, sinking into the cushioned stool he works from on quiet evenings.

He watches in silence as Ian takes stock of his tools, hands touching each in succession until they are accounted for. As he pours water into a shallow dish Solas’ throat scratches, realising he had not had so much as a gulp of water since the night before. It is as refreshing on his head as it would be on his lips, however, spread by a wrung out towel across his scalp. Thin streams trickle down his neck and beneath his nightshirt, provoking shivers as they slide along the crevice of his spine.

“You’ve— there’s more here than I’m used to working with,” Ian says, hovering over the instruments at his disposal. “Do I use the oil before or after?”

“Before,” he answers, “I use the cream after.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ian nod then reach for a small vial with a glass stopper. He pours a pool no wider than the average silver crown into a cupped hand and spreads it carefully over the top of his head, working the oil into the skin of his scalp. A few deliberate strokes and his eyelids grow heavy, head tilting into the sensation. A small snort of amusement issues from Ian’s nose, but he says nothing. With fingers still slick with a thin coat of oil he rubs along his hairline, feathering coarse hair with his thumbs. It scratches pleasantly in his ears, and he muses to himself if he may be persuaded to keep it at this length, on the condition that it were afforded this attention every day.

It’s a disappointment, then, when his hands at last fall away, busying themselves with the soap. He scrapes a few shavings into a shallow bowl and tops it with water measured with his eyeballs, working with the confidence of someone who has done this before. “These steps are familiar to you,” he notes.

“The last thing any surgeon needs is to close a stray hair in an open wound,” he says, “or to let it cloud your view.”

“I suspected as much.” What faith Ian has in himself lies mostly in his duty, beyond the walls of the infirmary it is as unreliable as the wind, and about as difficult to catch.

“I haven’t… this is the first time I’ve shaved anyone’s head, though. It’s mostly legs, or arms, or beards— sometimes backs.” The thin layer of bubbles quickly stirs to a thick, soapy pillow which rises higher than the bowl it was concocted in. “I never knew how much hair humans had until the Blight.”

The conjured image of Blackwall’s scurrying naked through Skyhold comes to mind, the hair on his back as black as his beard, and he spares a small smile at the Warden’s expense.

He strokes the brush over his head, drawing small overlapping circles across the top of his skull. Foam snaps behind his ears, bubbles burst by the bristles as Ian passes over a second time, leaving no inch of stubble uncoated.

“I don’t… I- tell me if it hurts,” he says. Setting the brush aside, he reaches for the razor, examining the blade against the light for flaws before he’s satisfied, although he waits for an affirmative nod before he dares hold it against his scalp.

It glides smoothly beside his skin, flowing with the grain of his hair. The scraping sound is no less unpleasant as he recalls, but painless. Ian handles the blade with a surgeon’s precision. He watches him from the corner of a hand mirror laid on the desk, every so often his reflection vanishing to wash off the soap and hair built upon the razor’s edge. A look of concentration screws his expression, the boughs of Mythal’s blood bending across his brow. Not so serious as when he works, the faint impression of a smile turns the corners of his mouth. The same lips he ruminates upon the shape of in the pages of his journal, the same smile whose corners he dreamt of kissing. They click apart, and, recognising the beginning of a question upon them, something within Solas sits up straighter.

“How long have you kept it this way?”

Their eyes meet through their reflections. Ian pauses to allow Solas his answer, wiping away the excess of hair dirtying the blade in a discarded cloth. As a question it’s innocent enough, but pries at memories he’d sooner bury. Like too many answers, he’s forced to weigh his head against his heart before he speaks.

“Not as long as you might suspect.” Once it was as long as his memory, and in each thread laid a name, a lesson, a thought. With each tragedy he sheared it shorter, until at last he could bear it no more. “What time I spent on my hair I realised I’d prefer to spend elsewhere.” The lie does not come as easily as he would like, even if— as had all the ones which came before it— it lies rooted in truth. He feels it strain against the knife when he speaks, pressure mounting in his temple, as though daring him to continue with his deception. Ian is quick to retreat, murmuring a soft reminder not to speak when he’s cutting, though he can hardly hear it through the fog in his head.

His first waking breath in this world felt like a dagger between his ribs. He choked on reality itself as he stumbled from his dreams, hair dragging past his ankles, tangled with generations of birds’ nests and hollow around his ears. It should have echoed with the dirge of an empire, but instead there was nothing, and somehow that was worse. His first cut was clumsy, blood dripped down his temple and sank into the creases of his hands, but he persisted. Each time he cut himself upon the sharp edges of the world it felt like justice, even if in his heart he knew it could never be enough.

Ian wields it without malice. The same blade which a week ago might have carved a red necklace across his throat now glides harmlessly over his skin, guided by tender hands that could name all the world’s cruelty but acts with none.

He swallows, throat thick with sentiment he’d believed too numb to harm him. Every day affection like he has never known rises in him like a force of nature, blooming with all the strength of springtime. If some small part of him had ever laboured under the belief that indulging those feelings would abate them, it’s been proven the fool. He loves Ian more now than the day he felt love’s first stirrings behind his ribs, but it does not come by him gracefully.

Love sticks in his throat like his grief. Tears spring into his eyes, the image of Ian’s reflection in the mirror clouded by droplets suspended between his lashes. He holds his breath behind his teeth to keep himself steady, pressure building beneath his chest ‘til he has no choice but to release. The sour, sterile scent of soap coats his nostrils as he measures his breath, careful not to let it hitch. As he hears Ian pause to clean the blade, he turns his face to the corner of the room to disguise his expression in the moments their eyes might meet through the mirror.

Love spills onto his cheeks, hands balling the fabric of his trousers as the first drop splashes his knuckles. The blade’s touch is as soft as a kiss upon his skin, scraping off the shadows missed during their first pass over his skull, and then set aside.

Love sees his sorrow and pulls him back against his chest, narrow arms enveloping him in their embrace.

A high, shuddering inhale whistles through Solas’ nose and though he reaches for stillness, today he finds himself wanting. The world surges forth like the first snowmelt of spring in the wake of an overlong winter, and he can do nothing to curb its strength. He claps his hand against his mouth, too late to suffocate the sob that wracks his shoulders, too weak to stifle the guilt-ridden cry that chases it. Ugly tears stain his cheeks, wielded like weapons to pry undeserved sympathy from the hands of his beloved, despite the effort he’d put forth to quell them.

A kiss crowns his forehead, ignorant of the guilt his grief springs from. An apology hangs upon the tip of his tongue, begging to be voiced and denied its release, knowing in his heart any forgiveness granted will be unearned.

Perhaps Ian hears the intent in the strangled sound he makes, for he moves to assuage his worries. Another kiss adorns his brow as he kneels before him, occupying the space between his knees. With both hands he reaches up and cradles his face between his palms, tenderly swiping away the sorrow from his cheeks. Their eyes meet through the veil of his tears, Ian’s shining with their own sadness as they hold his gaze. When Wisdom was taken, he’d held him just as he does now, until Solas remembered how to coax the air back into his lungs. So much had changed since that morning, and yet so little. Ian looks at him with the same eyes and holds him with the same hands. It is a disquieting revelation, knowing his worth does not lessen the more he is known; all the rage and misery Ian witnessed in him these past few weeks hasn’t lessened the love in his eyes.

From that love a cruel hope springs, born in the part of him which dares entertain the truth. Dares to ask if Ian would show the same compassion to the elf who had woken a year and change ago and mistook the world for empty.

The thought twists in him like a knife, and his expression contorts. Whatever peace he’d found comes apart at the seams, eyes screwing shut as tears spring anew from their corners. He turns his cheek into Ian’s palm, shoulders shaking with the force of the sobs he denies himself. Fingertips bend, coaxing him closer, and he obliges, nesting himself in the crook of Ian’s neck. The scarf he buries his nose in smells like his pipe and he can still bask in the warmth of the sun upon the copper curls that whisper in his ear. The hands that cut the bitter memories from his skin hold him without abandon, squeezing as he begins to weep anew. Protracted sobs wrack his body until his lungs ache in his chest, but Ian’s grip never falters, never fails. In his arms he knows himself as never before.

The shadows in their room narrow as the midday sun passes over Skyhold and the dust in the air mingles with what little hair he’d had to his name, carried upwards by the slightest breeze beneath the doorframe. In the sweepings he sheds his grief and carries forward what remains: his duty, his regret, and his love.