#and maybe trying to raise a little awareness to this unfortunate interpretation

[bluebellowl]

As a german who’s studied the 3rd Reich like 4-5 times in school, and who’s country is normalising this shit again rn…

Red armbands are… uncomfortable to see.

[charliedawn]

Can the slashers meet Eddie Gluskin? I am just curious you don’t have to if you do not want to. And have a good day or night😊

Warning: MY KNOWLEDGE OF EDDIE GLUSKIN IS ALMOST NONE EXISTENT AND THIS IS AN INTERPRETATION OF WHO I THINK HE IS. PLEASE. DON’T COME AT ME.

Eddie Gluskin AKA "The Groom"

- 46 years old

- Patient with OCD and post-traumatic disorder. Obsessed with finding himself a wife. Abused physically and mentally as a child.

- Very tall and muscular man, middle-aged, with a black slicked back disconnected undercut hairstyle which is neatly combed down and light blue eyes.

- Eddie's face is covered with red scabs, skin peelings and he has a severe case of subconjunctival hemorrhage in both eyes, the right more so than left.

Face claim for him: Cillian Murphy.

VERY DANGEROUS. APPROACH WITH CARE.

Once you read his file, you frowned as you learned that Eddie Gluskin had been abused at a young age. You already felt bad for him. You knew that the first thing that man would need once entering St Louis was to have his personal space as patients with post-traumatic disorder needed to be handled with care—especially the first few days. Hence, you decided to keep his arrival a secret from the slashers at first, as to not frighten him. You were walking towards the entrance with General McCain and a couple of his men when you were made aware he had arrived.

"Be careful. He has already killed two guards in Mount Massive Asylum not a week ago. He is a tough guy."

You chuckled and shook your head.

"Don’t worry, James. I know how to handle tough guys…"

James nodded with a small smile on his face before he opened the door for you and you entered the room where a handful of policemen were waiting. They were surrounding a man who was chained down to the bench he was sitting on. The man was quiet and his eyes were facing down to the ground. You took a few steps forward before making your way through the policemen to reach the patient.

You stood before him.

"…Eddie Gluskin I presume ?"

The man remained silent for a while before he slowly raised his eyes to look at you.

"…"

He didn’t speak a word. He just started staring at you before you smiled and decided to introduce yourself.

"Y/N L/N. But, you can call me Nurse Y/N. Pleasure to meet you." You extended your hand forward and Eddie Gluskin stared at it for a moment. You chuckled awkwardly as you realised he couldn’t really shake it as he was chained up.

"Oh. Right. Sorry about that. I—" You were cut short when you felt a pressure on your knuckles and your eyes widened as you realised that Eddie Gluskin had just kissed your hand.

…

He then looked up at you with a smile and finally replied.

"Pleasure shared…"

You blinked twice in astonishment before you quickly retreated your hand and Eddie simply smiled at you. Little did you know…You had just unintentionally became Eddie Gluskin’s next 'wife'.

———————————————————————

First time meeting the slashers:

Freddy *appears wearing a wedding dress* : "Heard you were looking for a wife ?"

…What did you expect from the simp master himself ? Of course he would shoot his shot. Eddie is hot. In the way that he is tall, muscular and could rip Freddy to shreds…Of course Freddy would simp for him.

Eddie likes him, but only because he finds him amusing. Eddie chooses his wives upon various very strict criteria. Unfortunately, Freddy wouldn’t make the cut.

Freddy *looking at Author* : "Hey ! What’s that supposed to mean ?!"

When Brahms met Eddie, they both did not really talk much. However, after Eddie spent a little more time around Brahms, he started finding his company enjoyable…

Let’s be honest here.

Brahms would be the perfect bride for Eddie. Brahms is sweet, attentive and touch-starved. So, Eddie would surely like him.

But, I think Eddie would also see him as a child so maybe he wouldn’t try anything, but they would hit it off pretty quickly as two very distinguished gentlemen.

Alpha male standoff.

Eddie Gluskin is the same height and bulk as Michael, which means in Michael language: danger. Michael is like the daddy of the slashers. He protects them. So the first thing that would go through his head would be:

Should I be worried about that guy ?

And the answer is yes.

Eddie Gluskin also noticed the chain of power around St Louis and immediately noticed that all the slashers respected or didn’t mess with Michael. And you—his precious future wife—dared to spend a lot of time around Michael.

So, they wouldn’t really like each other.

Pennywise once pranked him by pretending to be you and Eddie kissed him. Eddie genuinely thought it was you and was so happy…until he opened his eyes and saw it was Pennywise.

…

He punched Pennywise in the face so many times that it took 6 nurses to get him off Pennywise.

Penny bit Eddie Gluskin’s arm because of what he did to his brother.

…

He liked the taste.

Jason met Eddie Gluskin when he was tending to his frogs. He was in the garden near the pond when Eddie came and sat down next to him. They started spending time together and Eddie even started helping him with his frogs.

They became friends—which is quite a feat considering Jason’s trust issues.

…Father Paul’s face after Eddie Gluskin came to him for the 11th time to ask him to officialise his marriage to you. (Give the poor man a break. 🤣)

Even though, A: You’re not aware of it.

B: Eddie Gluskin is mad.

And C: Father Paul is obviously no longer a priest.

But he still does it every time because A: He is bored, and B: Eddie doesn’t leave him alone unless he somehow convinces him that he would so…

[sllowshow]

aaron and bristol!

how did they meet? i think they’d been aware of each other through mutual friends/both being kind of like big personalities in a small town. i think their relationship started with him trying to pick her up at a dive bar though. i’m talking classic rp starter material, saddling up next to her and laying down that redneck romeo charm. and maybe that worked or maybe she called him on it and he had to get serious. either way, he’s persistent (in a not creepy way) and like really and truly i think aaron’s greatest skill is his ability to make a first impression. like this guy can fucking talk like no man’s business. like unfortunately i have no choice but to godmod that he’s leaving with her number. like ultimately i guess i just feel like their meeting was business as usual on all accounts. no one could have known where it was going…..

who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly? frankly i obviously have to go on my spiel here about how their upbringings put them in a very similar space like. regarding this. because they both grew up watching their moms and the ways their dads did a fucking number on her. like i think from a practical standpoint neither would really openly claim being a Romantic in the way i usually interpret this question because they know it’s all a lot more complicated than that. like i think they have the capacity to be romantic but neither are really romantics. if that makes sense.

who is more likely to plan something big for valentine’s day? i think aaron. even when like its just him and hadley, crazy kids running the streets, i think he tries to do something for valentine’s day. like is he cheating on her? maybe. but the least he can do is take her out to a nice dinner and bring flowers you know. like ultimately his mom did raise him right and especially as they got older and had the girls he’d want to make sure they were doing something special because that’s a way he reminds her how special she is to him. even if she’s fully satisfied just having beers out on the patio after dinner.

who initiates most physical contact? aaron. like sorry that’s just who he is and you can’t keep a good man down.

who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other? they are not sending cutesy texts. if they ever did it was aaron trying something but i just do not feel like Cutesy is bristol’s mo unless she’s doing it like. to be funny.

who is more protective? bristol. i think aaron is superficially protective with her, but ultimately he knows his lady and feels like very secure in their relationship. and i don’t think bristol is like actively insecure or anything but i do think like. even when it’s fully platonic and he’s got no other intentions he just talks to people in a way that can be easily misunderstood as flirting. especially when like it’s early in their relationship and he’s young and hot and insisting on taking her out all the time. i think they’d grow through it but it was definitely an early bump in the road for them that put bristol more on the defense.

who believes in soulmates? neither really. again it's too fairy tale cut-and-dry for them to ever buy into it. and maybe like soulmate as a term of endearment wouldn’t be shot down but at the end of the day, they’d only consider themselves soulmates in a sense that they wake up and know, love, and commit to each other every day, not because of an invisible string or great big hand of fate shoving them together. 

who cooks the dinner, and who washes the dishes? bristol cooks and aaron washes the dishes (until the girls are old enough to join the chore wheel, at least). bristol’s got the domestic background more so from the way she grew up and years nannying, so it just makes more sense than letting aaron burn hamburger helper. he definitely keeps his honeydo list though aaron becomes something of a weekend warrior at a point in his life. lots of little home improvement projects. and i'll tell you what he'd be caught dead before he'd let any of them mow their lawn, wash their cars, or do anything that involves a gutter.

who does the majority of the driving? aaron insists most of the time because he’s a man with a truck from north carolina. like unless it just really logistically doesn’t make sense, he’s usually trying to make sure it’s him.

whose family do they celebrate more holidays with? when they’re younger, probably bristol’s, just because aaron doesn’t have much family to speak of beyond his parents, they aren’t like a big holiday type. and his mom is more than happy to take seeing them like a few days before/after christmas if the rhodes are doing something. his dad stopped fighting to claim holidays when aaron was like in middle school, they just kind of see him when they see him (random saturday in late july he decides he will have a son). i think once the girls are born though, they take over hosting for some holidays at least, and kind of have it be a hodge podge. like it’s just not hard to just loop aaron’s mom in on what could otherwise be a rhodes clan event.

if they get married, what was the wedding vibe? i went back and forth on this a lot and please correct me if you don’t vibe with this for bristol. but i think they got married in a courthouse sometime in the months before sienna was born. very spur of the moment. tatum was their witness and the only person that knew they did it til after sienna was born, because literally it would not be fair to have a party celebrating their marriage that bristol wasn’t allowed to drink at. they probably had like one good party at their house after a couple of months where they debuted their gorgeous daughter and dropped the bomb all in one fell swoop. aaron accidentally mentioned it to austin at least once he just didn't put it together.

how did they decide what to name their child(ren)? yeah aaron’s ass did not come up with either of those names. but he was very much trying to be part of that conversation. i think ultimately they were both making suggestions, but it would be extremely easy for bristol to steer him in her direction.

[yaggmur]

I've always admired your blog, your words and how you put them together.

I'm coming here in hopes of finding answers, i just read your last post where you talked about how the previous year went for you, could you please help me with tips on how to get over a relationship, or a breakup? I lost my self respect taking him everytime he comes back. With all honesty i look up to you, your writings tell of an old intellectual soul despite your beautiful young age

i don't know if my experiences will be an answer. -rather a healthy one- i leave the moral judgment of that up to you. and thank you. i guess i just needed to talk about this a little bit.

i don't get addicted very quickly because i avoid things. and i am aware that if i get too attached to something, it will be very difficult for me to get rid of it. this is why i stay away from addictive substances. when i want to quit, i can't find the strength to make myself do it. and unfortunately, when it comes to myself, it's easier to deceive.

throughout the relationship, i tried to avoid being dependent on him as much as possible because i was aware of how addicted i could be even in single-person situations involving only my platonic feelings, and how badly it affected me afterwards.

we can say that i started knowing that it would end. i kept saying this to my close friends. but my goal was to remind myself of this rather than telling them. because even if everything goes perfectly, there is an end to everything. it will end eventually.

but this relationship lasted much longer than i thought and during that time i had no choice but to become addicted to it. that was the first serious thing i could call a relationship. that is, for the first time, i was getting realistic responses to my feelings. it was hard to get used to it

but i have seen that love is a little ungrateful. this may be due to people's wrong or different interpretation of love. and if you ask me, love is a very, very short-term thing. (i couldn't find the correct translation because in my native language we call them "aşk" and "sevgi". you feel "sevgi" for everyone and everything. and i think even hate contains sevgi. "sevgi" is generous. but "aşk" is selfish.) "sevgi" is not like that. "sevgi" is permanent.

it's not our partner that we fall in love with. it's the personality we have built in our minds, the false reality that he reflects on you, on me. but i can't be mad at him for that. because we did the same deception. this is something that happens inevitably. suppressing our own reality and being a fake person to get someone to love us.

whenever we drop this fake mask from our face then love starts to crackle. because i no longer have the person i fell in love with. there is a complete stranger. and in a long-term relationship, you have to drop that mask. what ends here is love-aşk-. but sevgi is still with us. sevgi is what keeps us together.

but what separates our relationship from that of a friend, a mother, is the presence of love. when love ends, the relationship inevitably becomes ordinary. becomes distasteful.

and if i come to your problem from here, i don't believe that love can be born again. you cannot raise the dead. and how much pleasure can it give you to walk around with a corpse?

do not misunderstand me. if you've know me just even a little, you know how emotional i am. if you had asked me this question 3 years ago, i'm sure you would have gotten a completely different answer. and i think my current self has learned from the wrong decisions i made 3 years ago.

i know him and i know he won't be back, maybe this might have made my job a little easier. i'm not saying he won't regret it, but he would rather believe that it was the right decision than believe he made the wrong decision. it's been more than 3 months since the breakup and when i wake up every morning, i still don't know what i would do if i don't know him well enough and if he decides to come back.

but i'm trying my best. i don't want to walk around with a corpse. i don't want to be fooled by two nice words and drag myself there again. loving myself is a difficult concept for me. you can imagine how difficult relationships were for me. because without loving yourself you cannot love another completely. but i didn't let that other person devalue me. when the relationship ended on a random day, i was very available to drown in those mixed feelings when i was alone. i could hate myself. but believe me, they are not needed.

and as i said in the previous post, this is an important year for me. just studying is not enough. a certain morale is needed. i tried to put all the feelings that remained inside me to this morale. i use the remaining love, the hatred, the longing to be better. but not just to get better. to be better than him, to be better than myself that he remembers.

but of course it's easy to say for me. because he didn't come back. i don't know if i can keep this state if there is any response. but i guess i'll try to force myself to do it. a momentary unhappiness is better than deep damage. we don't have to depend on anyone's love to live.

but if you still want to return to him, i won't judge you. these are things to miss. there are so many memories that i miss. but nothing is like the first. and most memories i miss are not with him, but with the fake personality i was talking about.

the pain i felt when i saw a familiar smell, a familiar face, was indescribable at first. but people get used to it. if i can do it you can too.

[cdroloisms]

Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao) 

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

[sketching-shark]

I think we should start a protection squad (although they don’t need it because they can protect themselves) for Sun Wukong and Guanyin

“Begone monkie kid fandom trying to down grade these really interesting characters with interesting personality’s and backstory ( the both of them like seriously Guanyin backstory is so cool) to a villain wile trying to justify your angsty backstory (that are no where near as cool as monkey who fights gods and Person who has 1000 arms and heads to help people in need) for the actual villain”

So who wants to join

Me:*raises my hand*

Ps: sorry if I got Guanyin backstory wrong am not an expert on it.

Haha okay so some critiques on the jttw & associated media western fandom & fandom in general coming up, so please skip this upcoming text wall if you don't want to encounter my undoubtedly ~devastating~ words (i.e. don't like don't read as people love to say, & if I have to be inundated with images of my notp every time I go into the sun wukong tag then I imagine people can be chill with me expressing my opinions & giving people fair warning that I WILL be critiquing common fandom trends, but no need for you to see that if you don’t want to. Cool? Cool.)

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PFFFFFTTT oh man there are many times when I feel like signing up for such a protection squad...when it comes to the current western jttw & Sun Wukong fandom I do feel like I'm often swinging at a rapid pace between "well it's fandom & people are allowed to make the stories they want" & "I am once again begging my fellow monkie kid enthusiasts (& sometimes creators) to do more research into the og classic/show it more respect so you can avoid any potentially offensive/off-the-mark misunderstandings of the status & cultural context of the characters in their country of origin (I promise it's super interesting & I can provide you with links to free pdf copies of the entire Yu translation, i.e. the best one ever created, so feel free to ask!) & maybe also stop constantly stripping away all the nuance of Sun Wukong's character for the sake of either making him an entire asshole so your little meow meow can look completely innocent in comparison and/or making the monkey king's entire life & character revolve around said meow meow."

Like I get that fandom's supposed to be a kind of anything-goes environment, but one thing that honestly seems to be true of a lot of fandoms--and the western one for Sun Wukong & co. is certainly not immune from this--is that there often seems to be a kind of monoculturalization at work in what stories are created & what character interpretations are made popular. Across a multitude of fandoms, you frequently see basically nothing but the exact same tropes being made popular & even being insisted on for the canonical work (especially hasty redemption arcs & enemies to lovers these days), the exact same one-dimensional character types that characters from an original work keep getting shoved into, the exact same story beats, etc. And I get it to an extent, as fandom is generally a space where people just make art and fic for fun & without thinking too hard about it & without any pressure. 

This seems to, however, often unfortunately lead to the mentality that it’s your god-given right to do literally whatever you want with literally any cultural figure without even the slightest bit of thought put into their cultural, historical, and even religious context, even (and sometimes especially) when it comes to figures that are really important in a culture outside your own. For such figures--even if you first encounter them in a children’s cartoon--you should be a little more careful with what you do with them than you would with your usual Saturday morning line-up. It of course has to be acknowledged that there exists a whole pile of absolutely ridiculous & cursed pieces of media that are based on Journey to the West & that were produced in mainland China, but for your own education if nothing else I consider it good practice for those of us (myself certainly included) who aren’t part of the culture that produced JTTW to put more thought into how we might want to portray these characters so that at the very least (to pull some things I’ve seen from the jttw western fandom) we’re not turning a goddess of mercy into an evil figure for the sake of Angst(TM), or relegating other important literary figures into the positions of offensive stereotypes, or making broad claims about the source text & original characterizations of various figures that are blatantly untrue, or mocking heavenly deities because of what’s actually your misunderstanding of how immortality works according to Daoist beliefs. Yet while a lot of this is often due to people not even trying to understand the context these figures are coming from, I do want to acknowledge that the journey (lol reference) to understand even a fraction of the original cultural context can be a daunting one, especially since, as I’ve mentioned before, it can be really hard & even next to impossible to find good, accessible, & legitimate explanations in English of how, for example, the relationship between Sun Wukong and the Six-Eared Macaque is commonly interpreted in China & according to the Buddhist beliefs that define the original work. 

That is to say, I do think it’s an unfortunate, if unavoidable, part of any introduction of an original text into a culture foreign to its own for there to be sometimes a significant amount of misinterpretation, mistranslations, and false assumptions. There is, however, a big difference between learning from your honest mistakes, & doubling down on them while dismissing all criticism of your misinterpretation into that abstract category of “fandom drama.” The latter attitude is kind of shitty at best and horrifically entitled at worst. 

Plus, as I’ve discovered, there is a great deal of interest and joy to be drawn from keeping yourself open to learning aspects of these texts & figures that you weren’t aware of! I can say from my own experience that I’ve always really enjoyed & appreciated it when individuals on this site who come from a Chinese background--and who know much more about the cultural context of JTTW than me--have taken the time to explain its various aspects. It often leaves me feeling like woooooaaaahhhhhHHH!!!! as to how amazingly full of nuanced meaning JTTW is like dang no wonder it’s one of China’s Four Great Classical Novels. 

And I guess that right there is the heart of a lot of my own personal frustration and disappointment with the ways that fandoms often approach a literary work or other piece of media...like don’t get me wrong, a lot of the original works a fandom may grow around are just straight-up goofy & everyone’s aware of it & has fun with it, yet the trend of approaching what are often nuanced and multi-layered works in terms of how well they fit and/or can be shoved into pretty cliche ideas of Redemption Arc or Enemies to Lovers or Hero Actually Bad, Villain Actually Good etc...well, it just seems to cheapen and even erase even the possibility of understanding the wonderful complexity or even endearing simplicity that made these works so beloved in the first place. Again, I feel like I need to make it clear that I’m not saying fandom should be a space where people are constantly trying to one-up each other with their hot takes in literary analysis, but it would be nice and even beneficial to allow room for commentary that strives to approach these works in a multi-faceted way, analysis & interpretations that go against the popular fandom beliefs, & criticism of the work or even of fandom trends (yes it is in fact possible to legitimately love something but still be critical of its aspects) instead of immediately attacking people who try to engage in such as just being haters who don’t want anyone to have fun ever (X_X).   

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Anyway, I know I didn’t cover even half of the stuff you brought up in the first place anon, but I don’t want any interested parties to this post to suffer too long through my text wall lol. I was asked to try my hand at illustrating Guanyin, but as with you I’m nowhere near as informed as I should be about her, so I want to do more research on her history and religious importance before I attempt a portrait. I’ll try my best, and do plan to pair that illustration with my own outsider’s attempt to summarize her character. From what little I do know I am in full agreement that her backstory is so incredibly amazing...just the fact that she literally eschewed the bliss of Nirvana to help all beings reach it, and even split herself into pieces in the attempt to do so (with Buddha granting her eleven heads and a thousand arms as a result)...man, I can see why she’s such a beloved & respected deity. 

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 As for what western fandom commonly does with everyone’s favorite god-fighting primate...I can talk about this at length if there’s interest, but for this post I’ll just say that I guess one lesson from all of this is that for all the centuries that have passed since Journey to the West was first completed, literally no one drawing inspiration from the original tale in the west (lol) has come even slightly close to being able to equal or even capture half the extent of the nuance, complexity, religious, historical, and cultural aspects, and humor that define Wu Cheng'en's story of an overpowered monkey who defied even Buddha.

So thank the heavens we'll always have the original.

[never-enough-fanfiction]

Hey ive been swamped with ACT studying latley, i was wondering if you can do head canons on what Benimaru would be like as a dad (x mother wife) where the two of you have kids? Since he is a proto nationalist I totally see him wanting a big traditional family. How would he react to pregnancy news? What would he be like when his s/o is in labor, or his reaction to babys first steps or first word. So much fluff!!

If, while reading this, you get the feeling that it was wirtten by some caveman who doesn't know shiet about children or words, know that this caveman tried her best to make it as cute and fun as possible, and that really is the pinnacle of her abilities. Okay?

+ As always, sorry for delay, I know how nerve wracking can exams be (just finished my midterms) and I hope you will achieve the highest possible results. Unfortunately you asked an author who is what she is ... Please take these 1 500 words as compensation.

Enjoy!

News

Benimaru took the news of your first pregnancy in silence. In a silence so deaf and long that every passing second tightened the hoop around your heart tighter and tighter.

It took you three days to get ready to say it to his face, and yet the stress was still eating you from the inside. His lack of response as you fumbled the ends of your T-shirt in your hands did not make it easier nor better.

You looked up sharply, preferring to face his anger rather than spending another second in uncertainty, and you found that Benimaru was looking over your shoulder, present body, but definitely not mind.

After a few calls and waving in front of his face, Benimaru seemed to wake up and shifted his lost gaze to you.

"We will have a kid?"

"Yes, we will." You repeated, stressing each word, trying to get through to him this time. You expected many things, but not so much confusion.

"A kid." He repeated, and his crimson eyes lit up the glow. "A kid!"

Benimaru cuped your checks and kissed every inch of your face. Lips, checks, temples, forehead, nose, eyelids.

"A kid."

The next person to hear the happy news was Konro, and then the whole city somehow. The residents' mouths did not close for the next 9 months.

Each time he took it better and better. Each time he almost went out of his skin showering you with kisses or dancing around the room with you in his arms. Only this first stage of the shock was shortened.

Pregnancy

Benimaru didn't know at first what a pregnant woman could and couldn't do, so it was best if you didn't do anything. After long interpretations from the midwife, the range of your allowable activities extended beyond sitting and breathing, but there was no question of any use of force.

After a while, you even stopped trying to lift anything above the bowl of rice. Every time Benimaru saw that you were carrying a package, you happened to get the slightest rebuke. It was worse for all Hikeshi within 100 meters for not-helping. After that, you didn't want to trouble the innocent firefighters anymore.

As you can't even look at sake, your evening drinking has turned into making up names over tea. (Not that Shinmon suddenly stopped drinking. He doesn't want to drink in front of you when you couldn't, and after every news of the next baby, the alcohol flows in streams, so he can't complain about abstinence.) He loves holding you in his arms, with one hand for growing belly. Once he felt a kick, he literally melted.

With time, as the family began to grow, it was his duty to make sure that the older children did not tire you and find them to do something.

Childbirth

The first time he had no idea what to do. He literally turned to Konro saying:

"Konro, [Y / N], labor, what do I do ?!" Sould he wreck some buildings?

Konro, as a loving friend aware that there was no time to explain it to him with words, kicked his composite ass to the hospital.

While the whole city was celebrating the birth of another Shinmon, Benimaru was sitting next to you, holding a small bundle in his stiff hands.

"You can hug them, you know?"

"They are too tiny!" he muttered, afraid to raise his voice so as not to wake the sleeping figure.

“They are stronger than you think, Love. They're Shinmon after all, ”you recalled with a chuckle.

Since then, every time the inhabitants of the viewer of Benimaru running to the hospital (have you ever seen Benimaru running? Me neither.), they immediately reach for alcohol.

Begginings

Benimaru has experience and no major problems in taking care of children, especially since they are his. In his time off work, you can see him sitting in front of the Guardhouse, giving his toothless child to chew on his forearms, and sometimes making a tour around the city together, to the joy of all the residents. Other times, he will sit in front of the little one trying to teach him the first words.

*

"C’mon kid, da-d." Benimaru tried to keep the child's attention who was much more interested in chewing a wooden puppet.

"Daaa ~"

"Close enough, da-d." Some time ago he made a bet with [Y/N] that their first word would be dad, and the rules did not exclude support. "Da-d."

"Maaa ~"

"No, DA-D." He sighed softly and looked up sharply for the approaching steps.

Konro stepped into the yard, gloomy, looking around until he found the Captain.

“Oi Waka, have you seen Hika and Hina? I can’t find them anywhere. "

The red-eyed man shrugged, pointing to the street.

"Maybe they are terrorizing the candy seller again."

Konro sighed heavily and disappeared behind the building, leaving them alone again, and Benimaru returned his attention to the child, already scrambling onto his lap.

"Wanna sleep?" He helped them climb a little higher and leaned in as they held out a small hand at him. He was expecting an awkward slap on the nose, but instead got a tug on his hair almost to the floor. "Ack! What the… "

"Waka ~"

"What?" He froze as he tried to untangle the strands from his impossibly grasping fingers.

“Waka ~” The child repeated, tugging again, and giggled smugly.

Waka? Does it count as a dad? Did he win?

The next achievement was to make sure they didn't repeat all those curses after him, or at least so [Y/N] wouldn't hear.

Beni with big family

You probably expected that just as with twins, the whole Guardhouse will look after them ? Hah, ya wrong.

ENTIRE CITIES WATCH OVER THE MINI MIXES OF BENI-CHAN WITH [Y/N] -CHAN. They are so spoiled that sometimes it feels like only you and Benimaru have any rules. On the other hand, there are no problems with finding your children, just call them by name and half the street will indicate their whereabouts.

• Maybe you can't see it, but Benimaru doesn't know what to do with himself out of happiness. Even when he comes home in the evenings after a really long day, the sight of all those faces looking at him as the center of the world makes him smile. At such moments, he will always find some strength to play.

• The fun begins when they are old enough to help him with his work, not putting the Infernals to rest or blowing up houses, but just making a errands around the city where he can show them what Hikeshi's job is and teach them about his core beliefs.

He doesn't always succeed, but he knows he can rely on you and your ability to use words if he does.

• Benimaru has no problem with cases when one of his children doesn't want to follow in his footsteps, he knows that he has raised them well and that when he is gone, they will take care of his city regardless of his position or profession.

• BUT NOTHING RELATED TO THE EMPIRE!

You had to use force to stop him from throwing your daughter's boyfriend out the door when he heard he was with the empire.

Play time

Benimaru's favorite form of spending time together is, of course, teaching his children everything he can. Regardless of their gender, they all have inherited above-average amounts of fire power and a love to destruction.

After several dozen problems with stopping his own children from killing their siblings, Benimaru created a game called: "dad agains everyone"

It’s fun to watch Benimaru surroded by figures half his height, who try to collapse him to the ground.

Rest of the family

Grandpa Konro

This man survived small Benimaru and the Twins. There is nothing this man haven’t seen. Which makes him the best grandfather in the empire. At this stage, Koro already has a separate locker for everything from his numerous grandchildren.

He is also your kids safe place when the parent's fury rages outside.

Aunt Hika and Hina

There were times when you had to entrust your older children to the care of twins (if your children were several years old, Hika and Hina were also older, don’t get me wrong). The girls made sure that the younger members of the family learned everything they needed to know about Asakusa, the inhabitants and their usual behavior.

In fact, at some point they were considered to be part of their siblings, and so were treated like ones (read: regular bloodshed).

Nevertheless, every time one of the stepsiblings messed up with someone they shouldn't (manga readers know perfectly well that kids have it after their dad), the two fire foxes turned into two bloodthirsty beasts, ready to chase away any problematic individual.

[phoenixyfriend]

I’ve been trying to figure out the best obi wan ship. They all have one slightly problematic thing this way or that. I’ve landed on the idea of obi wan and an equal is pretty top tier. But then I saw a picture of Coran from voltron. Coran and Obiwan might be a disaster but also both are dad shaped, both are bad ass, both are ginger, both have an accent. I think it could work. But another part of me is like Coran is just obi and jarjar mashed together. At the very least they hooked up.

Hey I just had restaurant ramen and Starbucks and actually feel like a human being so let's do something unnecessary but funny. I'm taking this as a challenge, anon.

Also IMO Coran has more in common with C3P0 than with JarJar

So obviously, both of these happen in Big Space, but the difference appears to be density. We see about the same complexity of culture and species interactions, but Voltron covers more galaxies. It's vaguely implied that Earth, at least, is the only planet with sapient life in the Milky Way.

I think the way I want to play this out, culturally, is that the Voltron area of the universe covers a much wider, but much more sparsely populated area, while the SW-verse is just the one very densely populated (in part because apparently humans just went Literally Everywhere) galaxy, where they didn't necessarily bother with developing the tech to go to other galaxies (except Rishi, which only sort of counts) because they haven't really even charted out their own yet. It was never contacted by the Voltron side of things because [checks notecards full of excuses] it's really far away from Altea and all that, and the Force shielded the galaxy from Galra interests because Reasons.

All this to say that the two franchises didn't interact until after the Voltron plotline was already over. We'll say it went mostly canon, except Allura survived because uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck that.

We'll say that this is mid-TCW, you know, before Obi-Wan is a bundle of repressed traumas and bad coping mechanisms that's lost almost everyone he's ever loved to the dark side through death or corruption. He's still (mostly) okay! Anakin's not dark (or at least, not as dark as he could be; Obi-Wan doesn't know about the Tuskens), and Ahsoka's still in good standing and most people are alive and--and okay the army is a massive ethical violation he hates with his very soul and he misses Qui-Gon and Anakin's keeping secrets and pulling away from him every day but He's Fine, Guys.

He's Fine.

In comes a ship from not Wild Space, but beyond that. Intergalactic visitors, from the direction of the deeply concerning Force bullshit they felt a few years ago. Translation tech is decent enough on both sides that they get to talking pretty quickly. The explorer is actually a member of the Blade of Marmora, who gets the absolute most basic info (approximately this many inhabited planets, approximately this many trillions of sapients in the recorded galaxy, basic structure of the government for the past however many years, most recent conflict, etc.)

BoM person is like "cool, okay so you guys are really well set-up so I'm just gonna head back and kick this up a few rungs of the coalition ladder because this is way above my paygrade, I'll make sure you get some diplomats who can maybe help out with the whole galactic civil war situation as neutral parties."

The Voltron Coalition does send a diplomat! They, uh, also send Coran, who isn't technically a diplomat, but he's high-level.

The thing is, okay, that Coran is mostly just... passably competent at things. He's a jack of all trades, master of none type. He knows a lot of things, actually, but his practical knowledge in high pressure situations tends to be up in the air. He knows how to fix the Castle Ship and various technologies, but all of that info is ten thousand years out of date. He was a competent fighter at one point but these days his back gives out. He's very knowledgeable regarding intergalactic politics but, again, that information is ten thousand years out of date. He's also a little prone to social gaffs in dicey situations (e.g. the inciting incident in the Voltron Show episode where he misses the single day with clear skies), but puts in so much goddamn effort to make things happen.

In this manner, he's like a warped mirror of what Obi-Wan is and could be.

THAT SAID

Coran is actually really good with teenagers, and specifically with training them.

And Obi-Wan... isn't.

Obi-Wan's snarky and snippy and sassy, and he's decent enough at teaching and he's great at being a jokey friend and all, but he's not necessarily very good at emotions. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, the teenagers he spends the most time with are Really Full Of Emotions. He tries, bless him, but he's just... he doesn't respond well to emotional conversations at the best of times.

His son-figure saying "You're like a father to me" leads to a response of... radio silence. Guys. That's not the mark of a man who knows how to talk about his feelings with the people he cares about.

In swans Coran with the various other diplomatic envoys of the visiting extragalactic community. The entire situation is really leading to a lull in the war because nobody wants to risk pissing off this clearly well-funded, well-powered third party. As a result, many of the High Generals can interact with the envoys, even if they spend quite a bit of time eyeing the Separatist representatives on the other side of the room, because clearly Everyone Needs A Seat At This Table.

It's a very tense situation.

Obviously, Coran is exactly the weird uncle that goes around telling plausibly-exaggerated stories about Weblums and Yalmors and Balmeras. I'm going to say at least one former Paladin is there, maybe Hunk. Hunk's fun, and also very willing to help Coran make friends and seem Amicable instead of Distant by correcting some of the exaggerations. There's a nice, calm atmosphere in a bubble around Coran and his nonsense, and it's a weird situation but arguably just... you know. It's good. He's good at making people feel safe around him.

Cue the hissed argument between Skywalker and Kenobi. The actual cause of said argument isn't important, just the fact that, in a dark corner where they're less likely to cause a PR issue, Anakin and Obi-Wan are having it out. Anakin's maybe twenty, still a lanky ragebaby, all that fun stuff. Obi-Wan is a the endpoint of every too-young brotherdad. He's thirty-six but feels like he's sixty-three. He's tired, but trying so damn hard to still connect with Anakin and just--just--

Obi-Wan gives himself a few minutes to calm down before following Anakin. He doesn't even remember what they were arguing about, really, but he has to mend the bridge before it frays even more than it already has. If Anakin goes to Palpatine for advice again, he's going to... do something. Obi-Wan isn't sure what, but he just has to fix this.

What he finds is... well, Anakin did end up going to vent to a man of an earlier generation who acts like a slightly eccentric older relative, but it's not Palpatine for once.

The goofy, slightly abrasive but mostly charming, brightly-colored representative of the Voltron Coalition is standing in the little balcony that Anakin's made it to, listening as Obi-Wan's recently-knighted padawan vents. The man nods and makes noises at the appropriate times, and then asks questions that are... maybe a little too accurate.

"You said that you view him as a father, that he raised you after you left your mother."

"Well, yeah, but he doesn't think I'm ready, or--"

"No parent ever does."

"...my mom thought I was ready to become a Jedi."

"I can't speak for your mother," the representative says, "but the princess of my people, Allura... I half-raised that girl from the beginning, and after the destruction of Altea, we were all the other had left. I watched her lead battles and bring life to planets, trying to rebuild a universe out of the ashes of what we'd left behind... I saw the evidence with my own eyes, and I still, every time, I worried for her."

"Why?"

"I worried that she'd be hurt, that she wasn't ready, that she'd make a decision she regretted. Often, she did, and I had to help her back up, and while she's always come back, stronger than before... she is the closest thing I have ever had to a daughter, and I will always worry for her. Every parent does. Do you think, perhaps, that your own Jedi Master, that you consider a father, may worry because he looks at you like a son? That it's not that he doesn't trust you, but that he doesn't trust the world around you?"

Obi-Wan feels his heart in his throat.

The conversation continues in that vein. While Obi-Wan can't say he likes the fact that this stranger is putting words in his mouth, if only as hypotheticals, he can't deny that there's a part of him that relaxes as Anakin does, as every frustrated fresh-knight question gets a measured elderly-steward response that's angled to consider the interpretation that favors Anakin and Obi-Wan in equal measure. Every word encourages Anakin to talk things out and lay boundaries and express his frustrations to Obi-Wan in the plainest words possible.

There's a story in there, more than one. The representative tends to go off on tangents, ones that Anakin sometimes finds interesting and sometimes just resigns himself to. Mostly, though, it goes well, and Obi-Wan... well, he's always been 'a nosy little bastard,' according to quite a few people.

(In his defense, the terms they'd used about Quinlan's 'investigative personality' had been quite a bit stronger.)

He eavesdrops to the end, and Anakin doesn't notice at all. Obi-Wan's not sure if he should try to address Anakin's lack of awareness of the world around him. He's not technically Anakin's master anymore. The comment may be taken as a criticism of his worth and capability, rather than a sincere desire to see his padawan not die.

He approaches the representative instead. He intends to introduce himself. Instead, the first words that tumble out of his mouth are:

"How do you do it?"

The man--older than he looks from a distance, more wrinkles than the bright hair would suggest, but not quite elderly yet--turns and lifts a brow. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry, I'm--" Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. The young man you were just talking to is my former padawan, er, my former apprentice. I've been finding it harder and harder to speak with him over the past few years, and it seems that every interaction we have leads to an argument. How do you... manage that? I can't get him to listen to me at all."

"Ah, teenagers," the man sighs.

"He's twenty."

The representative pauses, and turns to him. "Are you the one he says raised him? The father?"

"Well... yes, I suppose that's one way to phrase it," Obi-Wan says, eyes darting to the side. He doesn't know how to explain the whole attachment situation to someone who barely knows what a Jedi is. He has even less of an idea of how to explain his own broken ability to speak of emotion, the parts of his mind that Bant clucks over and attributes to his own complicated relationship with Qui-Gon. "I had custody as his primary guardian from ages nine to nineteen and was the primary individual for handling his schooling, health, and general upbringing."

"That sounds to me like a very convoluted way of saying you were his father in all but name."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm not exactly old enough to be his father, and I wasn't exactly the person he was supposed to learn from; I was the... back-up option."

"It seems he cares for you very much."

"He didn't have much of a choice," Obi-Wan says, with the kind of helpless smile and awkward shrug he's long gotten used to sharing with people when they ask. "And I assure you he'd have been happier with the man that was meant to teach him."

"I'd say that the 'would have' in this situation is much less important than what is," the representative says. Obi-Wan probably should have paid more attention to his name. "I wasn't in a position to define my relation to Allura or her father in the way that truly suited our situation, by... oh, tradition, social norms, public relations, take your pick. I was a very well-regarded official, of course, but I wasn't royalty, not even nobility, and I certainly wasn't wasn't legally or publicly part of the family. But for all the limitations there, I was still able to find ways to tell her and her family what they meant to me, and they in return. Your apprentice cares for you very much, and I'm sure you care back, but I'd hazard quite the guess that you've no idea how to tell him that."

"I... I shouldn't," Obi-Wan says. "I'm fond of him, of course, but I've no wish to smother him, and to simply say it would be undignified. I imagine he'd laugh in my face."

The representative raises one eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink.

"Master Kenobi," he says carefully. "Might I suggest you go find your young man, tell him you love him, and perhaps give him a hug?"

Obi-Wan's face flares red. It's been years since anyone short of Yoda has spoken to him like that.

"I'm not a child," he sniffs, trying to angle enough away that the blush isn't as noticeable. He's damnably prone to such things. "You're not that much older than me."

The man laughs, and Obi-Wan lifts his glass to his lips in a futile attempt to hid the embarrassment a little more. "Oh, not counting the stasis, I've well reached the age of six hundred and twenty-four, my boy!"

Obi-Wan chokes on his drink.

The man laughs a little more, but thumps him on the back until he's breathing normally again.

"Yes, most of the humans I've told have had quite the reaction!" the representative assures him. "But yes, even with the times adjusted to what any given local year is, I am significantly longer-lived than most species."

"No kidding," Obi-Wan manages. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and looks over at the representative. He takes in the wrinkles and bright eyes, and says, "Well, I must say you look very well for a near-human of such an age. I can only name one person in that category that has managed better, and I haven't seen her since I was a child."

"I shall take that as the compliment it's intended to be," the representative says, twisting the edge of his mustache and beaming.

The man is... well, goofy, really, and quite a bit older than Obi-Wan had thought, but he's quite the charmer. Obi-Wan faintly compares him to a few different people in the back of his mind, but nothing quite fits. For all that the man is quite the jokester and--going by some things he'd seen from the corner of his eye in the main party--a master of physical comedy, the representative is actually more competent than he looks, and for all his visible age, not bad to look at. He is also, seemingly, an expert in dealing with teenagers and young adults, something Obi-Wan himself is... decidedly not.

He really should go speak with Anakin.

And there's a war to fight.

He doesn't really have much time, even with the recent lull.

He's in no place to be looking at the clean-shaven jaw and wondering what it would feel like under his lips, or to let himself consider whether this man would be the kind to have an hours-long discussion as to the narrative forms common in other galaxies, and whether they have anything paralleled to those in Obi-Wan's own, or if this man would show the same enthusiasm over teas that he'd shown over the hors d'oeuvres inside.

He should... really go find Anakin.

"I suppose it's time to find my padawan," he says, more to fill the air than anything. "Er... thank you, both for speaking with him, and for speaking with me."

"Not a problem at all, Master Kenobi!" the representative says, and Obi-Wan realizes that there's one last thing he may have... forgotten.

"This is terribly embarrassing, but I don't believe I caught your name?" Obi-Wan says.

"Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service!" the man says, with a sweeping bow. "As you can imagine, most simply call me Coran."

"Then I insist you call me Obi-Wan," he says, and before he can stop himself, "Might I bother you with an invitation to a shared tea time? You seem a knowledgeable fellow, and I'd appreciate the chance to... eh, pick your brain, shall we say."

It's not the smoothest come on he's ever put out there, or the most easily interpreted, but... well. Perhaps it's for the best. He's rather often found his tastes going in irresponsible directions, and it'll be much easier to brush this off without diplomatic incident if there's room for Coran to politely ignore the less platonic options.

Obi-Wan hopes he doesn't.

It's very selfish of him, but a dalliance with an older gentleman... well. He does, perhaps, make such irresponsible decisions, even now.

"I do believe I'd enjoy such a thing!" Coran enthuses, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand and shaking it in large, effusive movements.

Oh, this is a terrible idea, Obi-Wan thinks, even as he exchanges comm numbers and says goodbye.

Still.

He likes the idea of having at least a little fun, sedate or less so, while they have some time to themselves.

[novaliae]

hey mcytblr (and by mcytblr i mean my two followers who like mcyt), let’s talk about aphobia

recently aphobia has been rearing its ugly head on mcyttwt and elsewhere in the fandom. it started with this clip of phil responding to a dono about whether he’s okay with fans headcanoning c!phil and c!techno as a qpr (queerplatonic relationship). transcript of the clip:

dono: are you okay with people portraying you and techno’s characters as qprs? qprs are platonic life partners. it’s an argument in the fandom.

phil, over the last sentence of the dono: i don’t give a shit. i—i just don’t give a shit.  it’s headcanons; it’s not real.

(it’s my first time doing transcripts of things so i hope i did it right)

unfortunately, this led to problematic shippers claiming their romantic headcanons or fancontent was actually a qpr. the most blatant include a tweet from a t*chza artist depicting phil and techno kissing with the caption “besties” and replies full of people mocking qprs (ie qrting the art and adding “i love queerplatonic relationships”). the implications, of course, are that people who hc c!phil and c!techno or any other duo in a qpr are just closet problematic shippers, and that qprs don’t exist by extension. and naturally, twitter being twitter, this has spiraled into a whole lot of “aphobia doesn’t exist” and “aces/aros aren’t oppressed” and a bunch of other all-around nastiness/anti-ace sentiment.

let’s unpack this.

first of all, what is aphobia, and what are qprs? if you haven’t heard of it before, aphobia is the discrimination against or invalidation of people on the aromantic or asexual spectrums. people on these spectrums do not experience romantic/physical attraction or may only do so only in certain circumstances. this means that aspec people often do not end up in a “traditional” romantic partnership, especially if they identify as aroace (both aromantic and asexual; aroaces experience little to no sexual and romantic attraction). aspec people will sometimes instead be in a queerplatonic relationship. a queerplatonic partner, or qpp, is most often described as a platonic soulmate/platonic life partner, and is someone with whom you form an intense emotional bond (something beyond traditional friendship) that is inherently nonsexual and nonromantic. the most common dsmp fandom interpretations of queerplatonic relationships are c!beeduo, who are platonically married in canon, and c!emeraldduo, who are the subject of the dono phil received.

ace and aro people are constantly invalidated and forced to justify their ace/aro-ness. we hear all the time that being aspec isn’t really a thing or that we’re confused and don’t know what we actually feel. by implicitly stating that qprs are not legitimate or that they’re romantic relationships in disguise, aphobes a) imply that ace or aro people with queerplatonic partners are actually in a romantic relationship but won’t label it like that because of stubbornness/stupidity/lack of understanding, and b) push the notion that deep and lasting connections cannot exist beyond romantic/sexual partnerships. which. is absolute bullshit and blatant aphobia.

cuddling, holding hands, and kissing on the cheek/forehead (behaviors often part of queerplatonic relationships) are not inherently sexual/romantic. let me say this again for the aphobes in the back. cuddling, holding hands, and kissing on the cheek/forehead are not inherently sexual/romantic behaviors. they are things that sexual/romantic couples may do, but they can also be integral parts of relationships that aren’t based around that sort of thing, like friends and families and yes, queerplatonic partnerships. when fans create art of qpps holding hands or fics where they cuddle and bump foreheads, they are not meant to be interpreted as shipping. i know i’ve said these words so much they’ve stop sounding like actual things, but implying otherwise is amatonormative and is aphobic.

by writing off all queerplatonic partnerships as shipping, or hell, even close platonic ones that aren’t explicitly labeled as queerplatonic, you are erasing a massive facet of the ace community while continuing to conform to an incredibly rigid and liner mindset about what attraction is/isn’t. nothing is more invalidating to an ace or aro person than claiming something they do is sexual/romantic when it clearly isn’t meant to be interpreted that way. we have made it clear that what we feel (or don’t feel), and you are blatantly ignoring that. you are repeating the same old tired stereotype that aspec people do not really exist and we’re only confused or too afraid to confront our “actual sexualities.” stop sexualizing queerplatonic relationships or turning them into something they’re not. qprs are not the next “just gals being pals,” they’re just aspec people trying to exist and sick of having to constantly justify their existence.

i could do a whole other post about exclusionist arguments i saw in some of the tweet’s replies like “aspec people aren’t really oppressed” and “aphobia doesn’t exist,” and maybe i will later on, but this is primarily about the general mockery made of qprs on twitter.

stop belittling ace people. stop mocking qprs. i am sick and tired of the aphobia/amatonormativity in this fandom. let’s be better than this.

please reblog and raise awareness!

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 5

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Content warnings: None

Morgan awoke to the sound of humming. He stretched, groaning as his muscles protested. Evidently his choice of sleeping positions had not been ideal, but he'd been too tired to care when he'd settled in. The humming stopped, and Deckard Cain turned to him from where he had been tending a pot over a small fire nearby.

"Would you believe," he said, "that none of the Sisterhood would give me your name, friend? Such a strange thing."

He would believe it. He'd learned long ago that it was generally not worth the trouble to correct people once they'd decided what they wanted to call him. The strange thing here was how little Cain seemed to be troubled by his presence. He would enjoy it while it lasted.

"It's Morgan."

"Well, Morgan, we have much to discuss. But before we get started, let us eat. You must be famished after yesterday's events." He held out a bowl of steaming soup, which Morgan accepted gratefully. It was hot and filling, exactly what he hadn't realized he needed. He'd gotten cold overnight.

Morgan briefly summarized the request that had brought him here: to disturb the progress of the unidentified manifestation of darkness taking root in these lands. Cain filled in quite a lot of details while Morgan mainly listened, asking occasional questions for clarification. A great and ancient evil had come to light in Tristram, leading eventually to the tragedy that had befallen the city. Although a hero had been successful in defeating that evil, it seemed he had been unfortunately corrupted by the same. He had fled eastward, but to complicate matters, another powerful demon had arisen to trouble the area.

Cain suspected this new demon to be Andariel, the Maiden of Anguish. Quite a title. He shared what he knew about her: a venomous demon queen with the power to enthrall mortals unlucky or unwise enough to look her full in the eyes. Like most major demons, her power also manifested in a sort of influence that spread out from her like a miasma. By Cain's estimation, this would be apparent through increased emotional sensitivity in those affected, to complement the physical anguish she was capable of inflicting. That would be something to look out for; emotional regulation was the foundation that gave strength and clarity to the priests of Rathma. To have it disrupted would compromise his ability to act in the best interest of the Balance. Morgan would have to be careful about that.

He was enjoying the conversation, to his surprise. Cain had a vast wealth of knowledge and seemed eager to share it. He was explaining his interpretation of a particular prophecy when Blaise stalked up to them with a sour look on her face. She glared daggers at Morgan, crossing her arms.

"Good, you're awake. Come with me, we have work to do."

"We do?" He'd expected - hoped, if he was honest with himself - that her involvement would be finished after retrieving Cain. That was as far as Kashya had demanded it, anyway. "I thought you-"

"I thought this nightmare was over too, but I just finished arguing with Akara. One of our old commanders has risen from the dead to attack us, and she blames you." She looked back toward the gates. "I told her that's not how your stuff works, but she didn't believe me." That was a surprise - he would not have guessed she might speak up in his defense. He wondered what had changed. Maybe Cain had convinced her somehow. The man was good with words, with people, in a way Morgan knew he could never hope to echo. "So if you don't come with me to put her back in the ground, you're probably going to regret it," Blaise continued with a pointed look.

Well, Morgan couldn't argue with that. He stood and stretched, taking stock of his belongings as Cain pressed Blaise with questions. She bore them with more patience than he'd expected. One of the other scouts had survived the attack, but her recovery was not going well. It sounded like she'd been poisoned. A shame they hadn't kept the arrow; he might have been able to identify the toxin. But then again, if he tried to treat her and failed, they would be even less willing to trust him. If Cain was right, it would be a moot point anyway - he thought the resurrection was Andariel's doing, meaning that the poison was likely due to her influence. He had no experience with that type of venom.

"Oh, Morgan, I almost forgot," Cain called out as they were leaving. Morgan turned to see him holding something in an upraised hand. "You had better take another scroll of town portal, in case you should need to return with haste."

"Thank you." He accepted the proffered scroll with a small bow of his head, tucking it into his belt.

"Let's get a move on already," Blaise called. She had already started walking. Morgan jogged to catch up, already apprehensive about the journey ahead. Her mood had softened around the old scholar, but it seemed Morgan would not be privy to those benefits. He hoped this situation would be resolved quickly so he could begin planning his attack on Andariel.

The battle was over in short order. The reanimated rogue captain had called out to Blaise by name, which confirmed Cain's guess about her origins - only very powerful forces could resurrect both flesh and spirit. She must have been buried inexpertly, leaving her vulnerable to those malign forces. Most funeral proceedings not led by the Order of Rathma or other experienced practitioners were more for the benefit of the living than the dead. At any rate, it served only to fuel Blaise's already considerable anger, and she'd defeated the revenant with only a moment's hesitation. Several piles of earth were evidence of Morgan's attempts to provide support. Each golem was ever so slightly faster to rise than the last, but this enemy had been agile enough to render them all but useless until she'd stumbled over a previously flat spot of ground. Not an elegant solution, but effective enough in the end. Now Blaise was examining the body, brow furrowed.

"Hey. Ghoul... uh. Morgan." That was a surprise. Cain had called him by name in front of her, but he'd assumed she wouldn't be bothered to remember it. "If you do that... ceremony. Like in Tristram. Will it... help her?"

"The final rites will lay her spirit to rest, and consecration should prevent her from rising again." He'd planned on performing them anyway, as a matter of course. At the very least, they would prevent her from being wholly resurrected again - powerful magic could overcome a properly consecrated body, but it could not pluck a spirit back once it had passed on.

Blaise seemed reluctant to ask outright, but she did step in to help when he went to move the body back to the grave it had clearly clawed out of. He opted for a more thorough consecration ritual and a shorter liturgy, both of which seemed to be well received. Blaise didn't raise any objections, at least. The interment was easier than the last ones, the ground more yielding, but a frown crept onto Morgan's face as he stood up and surveyed his work.

"What are you making that face for? Didn't it work?"

"No, that's not it. Your commander is at peace now, but there are many restless dead here. It must be Andariel making them stir like this." He could barely hear their whispers at the edge of his awareness if he concentrated. It was a little unsettling; usually he could only just sense a hint of the spirit lingering on a set of bones, nothing near this strong. He lacked the natural facility with spirits that drew some of the acolytes to his Order. At any rate, their agitation was cause for concern.

"I don't have the supplies to handle this many."

"I guess we'd better take the fight to Andariel, then. Don't look so surprised," she added, folding her arms across her chest. "The Sisterhood doesn't want there to be a... demon queen or whatever just running loose. She's killing our people. And apparently bringing them back again, and that's just fucked up. I may not like you, but you're the only person who's come through lately and survived. So we might as well work together on this."

"Yes, of course. You're right." The suggestion was wholly unexpected, but sound. Their objectives aligned, at least on the surface. If that was enough for her to tolerate working with him a little longer, he wasn't about to turn down her assistance. She was many times stronger than him. Luckily, she seemed capable of putting aside her personal feelings temporarily in order to meet a goal. It was really about as favourable a partnership as he could hope to make.

Now seemed like an opportune time to present a peace offering of some sort. But given her previous overreaction to a completely innocent comment, he didn't really want to risk giving a gift that could be taken as a token of anything he didn't intend. Perhaps... knowledge? There had been few of his brethren in the Order who'd had trouble with the portal scrolls, but their difficulties had always been resolved with a little coaching. It seemed like it would be worth trying.

He plucked the scroll from Cain out of its spot on his belt and held it out to her. She eyed it suspiciously. "Here. These are useful. You should try it again."

"It isn't that far to go back, you know," she said, not making a move to take the rolled parchment.

"The object is to see if you can use it. Not to actually travel. You might need one in the future."

She snatched the scroll from his hands and unrolled it with a snap of her wrist. "I can't even read what it says," she grumbled.

"Neither can I," he said. She looked up from the parchment with a perplexed frown. "It's not words, it's more like a spell," he explained. The look on her face told him she was going to need more than that. "You just have to believe it's going to work. Try telling it that it's going to open a portal for you."

"You didn't have to tell it anything when you did it yesterday."

"I already know how it's going to work. I just have to... acknowledge that I expect it to let me travel somewhere, and think about where." It was much easier to do than to explain. "Just try," he urged. "You don't have to say it out loud," he added, in case that helped.

She looked back down at the scroll. Her lips moved a little, and shortly a small circle appeared in the air in front of her. Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"See, it works for you. Now try to think about a specific place," Morgan advised. Slowly an image came into focus within the circle. It looked like the inside of a building. There were rows of beds lined up, presumably the barracks of the Sisterhood. Blaise looked cautiously pleased as the portal opened up fully now that it had a destination.

"I guess it's not so hard to use magic, is it?" she said with a smile. It was strange for a moment, having that smile aimed at him.

"Not this kind," Morgan agreed. There were many different types of magic and some of them were quite difficult to use even for experienced mages, but he suspected this would not be the time to get into a discussion on the topic.

"How do I close it?"

"It will close on its own when you come back through it, or if the spell is disrupted. Yesterday I tore the parchment to close it."

"Huh. Thanks."

Morgan nodded an acknowledgement and turned to go. The walk back would give him a chance to think about how to best approach the situation. Andariel was probably lurking within the nearby cathedral, if the patterns of undead were to be trusted. Demons often liked to pervert religious spaces, and major demons tended to draw flocks of lesser evils around them.

"Aren't you coming?" He turned back to see Blaise standing by the portal, hands on her hips.

"I'm walking. It isn't that far to go back," he parroted.

"This is easier, though. And faster."

"That looks like your sleeping quarters," he pointed out. "I doubt I would be welcome."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Good point. I'll see you back outside the encampment, then." She turned and paused for a moment, then strode confidently through the portal. Morgan waited until it had flickered closed behind her before taking his leave. He would have preferred to be able to put more of the spirits to rest, but that could be seen to after Andariel had been defeated. There would be little point in wasting his energy on a task that was likely to be undone. He stopped at the cemetery gate and knelt, touching a hand to the soil. A thin line rose up, curling around itself in a simple sign. It marked the area as requiring the attention of a priest of Rathma. This way, if he was to fall in battle, the next of his Order to come along would be able to soothe the unquiet dead.

He raised another golem and started walking. With this new partnership, there could be a reasonably good chance of defeating Andariel. He wondered what state the cathedral would be in, and how many skeletons he might hope to find lying beneath its floors. He hoped there would be some stained glass still intact. Not for any strategic purpose, just because he liked it. It was his personal opinion, not endorsed by the priesthood, that artisans who spent their efforts on creating beautiful things were doing work for the Light. Of course beauty and skill did not appear in the list of attributes that added up to make the weight of a person's goodness or lack thereof, and it was really just idle musing on his part. Still, he appreciated beauty where he found it.

[celosiaa]

hi me again 🥺 sorry for making you tear up even if it was in a good way (hopefully?) 💕 i don’t mind the wait at all, i completely understand and it’s 100% worth it (honestly i get so excited whenever you post a new fic)!! soooo... i was doing some research for a project on epilepsy and i got thinking about epileptic martin?? like particular in s1 maybe he didn’t tell the other archives crew as he didn’t know them that well/hadn’t worked closely with them before (ok sorry tbc as i am rambling)

hello friend!!! I am so sorry that this took me a literally unreasonable amount of time to write! I really enjoyed the research I did for this, and I love this hc forever. And I hope this is what you were looking for <3

CW seizures, nausea, misgendering

Focus.

Just focus.

For god’s sake.

It’s been nearly an hour of Martin sitting at his desk, trying desperately to rein in any sliver of concentration he can muster to look at the laptop screen before him. He feels awful doing it, but every time Jon has passed by his desk that day, he’s found himself pretending to click around or to type—though he’s got the brightness set so far down there’s no way he’d be able to see it anyway. After a few attempts at turning it back up, he’s had to immediately look away, as the pounding behind his eyes resumes again. So for now, he’s stuck with reading statements—something he is loathe to do even on a good day.

And this certainly wasn’t.

He knows better than this, knows that he’s very nearly approaching disaster—what with the not sleeping out of hypervigilance, not eating out of anxiety, and not having his seizure meds for the past two days, as he’d managed to run out of his flat without them. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he cannot send anyone back to his flat. Not with Prentiss still on the loose.

Selfish selfish selfish

No, stop it.

You haven’t even done anything.

Wishing more than anything that his mind did not constantly run him ragged with thoughts like this, Martin looks up from his papers, intending to find a rubber band to snap against his wrist as a distraction, but instead—

Instead he finds himself frozen, colors fading in and out across his vision, heartbeat steadily climbing as his fingers go numb.

No no no no

Not now not now please not now

Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few seconds, but the seconds feel like years against the rapid thrum thrum thrum in his ears, made even worse when he sees Tim approaching from the periphery.

Damn it damn it

Please please please

“Hey Marto!”

Like clockwork, the focal aware seizure ends, and at last—at last he is able to move enough to look up at where Tim stands, leaning against his desk, smile fading rapidly as he watches Martin blinking in the suddenly-too-bright light.

“You alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face, doubtless taking note of how quickly he is breathing now to match his settling heart rate.

“Y-yeah, sorry, um. Was just thinking,” is all he can reply, fighting to put an easy smile back on his face.

It seems to have been the wrong move, as Tim only shifts to sit atop his desk, expression quickly becoming overrun with concern.

“Okay, well…you look like you’re having a panic attack, mate,” he says lowly, reaching across him to grab his water bottle and set it nearer to him. “What do you need?”

Even with his misguided interpretation, Martin can’t help the flood of affection he feels toward him in this moment—because that’s just Tim, isn’t it? Never assumes, just asks what will help and then does it.

If only I weren’t such a mess, and would let him.

“Oh, n-no it’s not—it’s not that, Tim, I’m—I’m alright. Must’ve…drifted off, or something. Had a nightmare.”

There is no way Tim buys that, no way in hell—but thankfully, he lets it go.

“O…kay then. Well. If that’s the case, I was just thinking of grabbing some lunch, do you want anything? Don’t reckon you’ve eaten properly in a bit, yeah?”

God, Tim.

I don’t deserve this.

Yes, you do. You deserve a friend and you need to eat.

You need to eat.

“Uhh—th-thanks, erm.  Where—where are you going?” he asks, wishing to god his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

He takes a few intentionally deep breaths after that—thinking that perhaps it is a panic attack, after all.  Without realizing that several seconds have gone by since his question, he feels Tim’s bracing hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s not going to ask again—but offering him a clear sign that he’s there all the same.

“Just the corner shop,” he murmurs, starting to rub his thumb over the shoulder seam of Martin’s t-shirt. “Nothing fancy. But I can get you a sandwich, if you like. Well, no—I am getting you a sandwich regardless, but I thought I might be considerate for once and ask if there was anything in particular that you want.”

“Yeah—erm, yeah, just. Anything that’s warm would be nice,” he says at last, sinking a bit as Tim removes his hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Tim. That’s—that’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he says, clapping his hand back against Martin’s shoulder with force before standing. “Be back in a bit. Drink that water.”

“I will,” Martin nods, earning himself some finger guns of approval before Tim starts walking towards the lift. “Thanks, mate.”

And he’s so close now, so close to shouting after him, to asking him to pick up his meds from the chemist, if he calls them in—

Just ask just ask just ask

—and then Tim is around the corner, and out of sight.

Damn it all.

He tells himself it’s probably for the best anyway—that he’s not really even sure he can get them. But it doesn’t stop him burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration and shame. Really though, he ought to call first before mentioning anything—perhaps they have a delivery service, or they’ll refuse him, or something.

And what then?

The idea of finding himself suddenly on the floor of the archives, alone and in the dark with the worms having crawled all over him while he seized—

Have to call.

Reaching bitterly for his phone, he takes a deep breath as it rings, preparing his best “customer service” voice.

“Boots, how can we help you today?”

“Hi! Erm, I was wondering if—if I could get a refill for my prescription? For—for carbamazepine,” he says, cheery voice belying the dread with which he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sure thing! Just need your name and date of birth and I’ll look you up.”

“Right. Erm—well, it’s Martin, but I think you’ve still got me under, erm. Mary Blackwood,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth at the foul taste his deadname leaves in his mouth. “Date of birth October 15th, 1987.”

“Alright, let’s see here—“

Please please please

“—it looks like you’ve already got your refill, Miss Blackwood. Our system says you picked up your medication on the 19th.”

“It’s—it’s Mister, actually. Erm,” he stammers, stomach churning over the entire thing. “L-listen, I—I’ve had to leave my home quite suddenly, and—and I am unable to return there for the time being. So I don’t—I don’t have access to my meds. And I, erm. Really need them.”

Pathetic pathetic pathetic

“I’m really sorry, Mister Blackwood. You’re going to have your doctor call in another prescription for you before we can get you that refill. Unfortunately, it’s out of our hands.”

Of course.

“Oh, right. That’s erm—that’s okay. Thank you so much,” he says as brightly as possible, unwilling to blame anyone for something out of their control.

“You’re quite welcome. Take care.”

With a long, shaky sigh, Martin throws his phone back onto his desk, returning his head to its rightful place, buried in his hands. There’s no way he can call his doctor today—or tomorrow even, with it already being a Friday afternoon. No chance of him getting his refill, then. And no chance of sending Tim back to his apartment either.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

It was just a focal, nothing too bad.

Nothing unmanageable.

I can make it.

Steeling himself with somewhat tremulous determination, he takes another long breath—blinking back against the steady pounding in his head, and getting back to work.

—

“Aw come on, Sasha! Take a break with me!”

“Not on your life. I’m still furious with you, you know,” she replies, tossing her hair like a lion’s mane over her back. “Can’t believe you’d go all the way to the good café for Martin, and not offer me anything. Not even crumbs, Stoker!”

“Listen—” Tim grins back, hands raised in self-defense. “He looked like he could use some soup! I don’t know what else to say.”

“And you didn’t get me any? What about me doesn’t scream ‘I could use some soup, thank you?’”

“It’s different!! It’s—Martin? You alright?”

As he was walking past their bickering, eyes firmly fixed on the floor on the lookout for worms, Martin had suddenly stopped short—looking anxiously up and over their heads, framed by the doorway of Jon’s office.

“Martin?” Tim repeats, already halfway to standing in worry, following Martin’s gaze behind him and finding nothing.

Faster than he can turn back around, Martin’s muscles all tense at once—and he tips backwards onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Shit! Martin!”

Tim darts forward at once, in some feeble attempt to catch him, but of course, far too late to do so. In his shock, he can do little but stand over him for a few seconds, taken aback upon seeing his eyes still open where he lies still on the floor.

“What happened?” Jon demands, stepping quickly out of his office towards them, where Sasha now crouches near his head.

“I-I don’t know, he just—”

And then Martin begins to convulse.

“Oh my god, he’s—he’s having a seizure,” Sasha gasps as she claps a hand over her mouth, from where it had been pressed against his forehead.

“Fuck. Fuck, what do—what do we do? Do we call 999?” Tim shouts, unwilling to sit by and watch as this all goes on around him, already grabbing Sasha’s phone from her nearby desk.

“I—I think so, let me—”

“Wait.”

Two sets of eyes land upon Jon as he interjects, crouching near Martin’s flailing left arm, waiting for him to set it back down before quickly grabbing at a bracelet circling his wrist.

“I-it’s a medical bracelet. Says epilepsy,” he says lowly, quickly sitting back on his heels as Martin’s arm begins to jerk again.

“Fuck. I—I had no idea,” Tim breathes, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How could we not know?”

“We should—” Sasha breaks off quickly to swallow a lump in her throat, before continuing. “We should be timing it, did anyone see the time?”

“I-I don’t—it’s probably been less than a minute, right?”

“I think so. I’m—here, I’m googling it to make sure—”

While she does so, Martin’s head begins to slam into the ground—and Jon immediately pulls off his cardigan, folding it quickly and placing it beneath him to cushion the blow.

“It’s alright, big guy,” Tim says, settling down to kneel next to Jon, who now has a hand gently pressed to his shoulder—not holding him down, just resting there in a comfort Martin probably cannot receive.

Tim rests his own hand against Martin’s thigh all the same.

“Okay, I think we’re good so far,” Sasha says at last, setting her phone down with a timer running on the screen. “Just time it, and—and keep watch. If it goes past five minutes, we call 999.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tim says in dismay, snapping his eyes back to his friend, still convulsing on the floor. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

“No. We just have to watch out for him,” she replies, voice low as she adjusts Jon’s cardigan beneath his head. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Not the answer that Tim was looking for.

And so they wait—silent save for the rhythmic smacking of his limbs against the carpeted floor, and the occasional whispered platitude, though all know he cannot hear them. The seconds tick by in agony while they sit helpless, all eyeing the timer on Sasha’s phone creeping up steadily past three minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Tim says, knowing how useless it is to say so—Sasha raising her eyes to meet his for the first time in a while.

“Me neither.”

“Nearly three and a half minutes,” Jon mutters, worrying at his bottom lip while still resting a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Martin,” Tim mutters. “We’ve got you.”

Ten more seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

And at last—at last he goes still, right past the four-minute mark.

“Alhamdulillah,” Jon sighs as he lets his chin briefly rest against his chest, a sentiment echoed by everyone around him.

“Okay, turn him on his side, here—Tim—”

“Got it,” Tim says as he moves to crouch next to her, helping roll him towards Jon, head pillowed on the arm Jon stretched out across the floor as a cushion.

As soon as they get him in the recovery position, they watch as saliva runs out of his mouth, surely fit to choke him had they not turned him—and he begins to snore forcefully, catching Tim very much by surprise.

“Wh-what—” he asks in bewilderment, struggling to hold back a bit of shocked laughter.

“The website said that’s normal,” Sasha assures at once, reaching behind her to grab a box of tissues from her desk behind her. “He’s going to be sleepy for a bit.”

“Okay. That’s—okay,” he says, watching as Jon takes the tissues from Sasha and wipes at Martin’s face so very gently, before tossing them aside and taking his hand.

Taking his hand.

…interesting.

Stowing THAT away for later.

As Jon starts to move his thumb across the back of Martin’s palm, the snoring stops—and his eyes begin to flutter rapidly, attempting to force their way fully open.

“Hey Martin, can you hear me?” Sasha says rather loudly, bending over him and tapping his shoulder lightly.

All she receives in response is a moan, deep and low, as he squeezes and unsqueezes his eyelids, coughing a bit against the pooling saliva. Jon reaches for the tissues again at once, cleaning his face as best as possible.

“You’re okay mate,” Tim says, patting his hip before leaving his hand there for support. “You’ve had a seizure.”

It takes a few moments, but at last, Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely around without meeting Jon’s eyes.

“Wh’ happ’n?” he slurs—all three of them exchanging a meaningful glance, a bit alarmed.

“You had a seizure, Martin,” Sasha repeats, stroking at his hair while Tim starts rubbing his hand up and down his arm, hoping it will somehow help to ground him.

Remaining still for a few moments, still blinking, Martin tries to take it all in— looking down towards where Jon still rubs at his hand, though still seemingly unaware of his presence.

“What happened?” he asks again, voice less slurred, but still weak.

“A seizure, Martin,” Jon says, trying desperately to catch his eyes. “You’re alright.”

At once, Martin wrenches his hand away from Jon’s grasp in favor of clapping it over his mouth, muffling a small and desperate gasp behind it.

“Shit. You gonna be sick?” Tim asks, already looking around him for something to grab as Jon once again prepares his tissues.

He does not respond right away, instead pausing for a few deep breaths—at last shaking his head no. In both relief and the absence of something to do with his hands, Jon fusses at the cardigan again—positioning it just so.

“Wh—oh, seizure,” Martin breathes, and Tim cannot help but feel relieved at his gaining a bit of orientation back.

“Yeah.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Martin moves the hand clapped over his mouth to rest on his eyes, sniffling a bit before speaking.

“M’so sorry,” he gasps—and it’s enough to break Tim’s heart.

All of their hearts apparently, as they immediately place their hands on him in a gesture of comfort.

“Hey, no, none of that,” Sasha soothes, brushing back his fringe again.

“M’sorry.”

“Martin, it’s alright,” reassures Jon, with such rare gentleness that even Martin lowers his hand to look—wincing quickly as he does so, and placing it back over his eyes at once.

“Do the lights hurt?” Sasha asks worriedly, placing her hand to cover his own, hoping to block more of it out.

“Yeah—ah,” he grits out with a pained little gasp, and Jon gets to his feet.

“I’ll get them,” he says, and walks quickly to the switch, sending them into a darkness illuminated only by the light from the hall.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Martin lowers his hand again, eyes still closed, and rubs absently at his nose. Stumbling a bit as his eyes adjust to the dark, Jon makes his way back to kneeling beside him, taking up his free hand again.

“Your head okay?” asks Tim, prompting Sasha to card through his hair to look for any swelling. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I couldn’t catch you.”

“…what?” comes the vague response, delayed by a few seconds as Martin tries in vain to sort through what was said.

“Still confused,” Sasha mouths at him silently—and he nods, instead going back to rubbing up and down Martin’s arm, as Sasha moves to massage his neck.

“M’sorry.”

“Hush, darling. It’s alright,” she says, and Tim knows without a doubt she will sit there all day, repeating these same things to him as long as he needs.

And loves her for it.

“…wh—Jon?”

Eyes more focused than ever, Martin looks down to where Jon still rubs a thumb over his palm, stunned very his very presence in this space.

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, offering a small squeeze of affirmation, inadvertently painting a soft grin briefly across Martin’s face—before it drops quickly again in horror, as the reality of the situation sinks in again.

“Oh god. I—oh god.”

“It’s okay, Martin.”

“No no no.”

“It’s alright,” Jon comforts, more soothing than Tim had ever imagined would be possible for him. “Just be still. You’re alright.”

Five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen as Martin’s confusion slowly fades away—his recovery naturally filled with a deluge of apologies, patient soothing from his friends, and tending to the waves of nausea that come over him every few minutes. Ever so gradually, he becomes better able to hold a conversation; better able to hold their gaze, asking what happened before he went down, explaining that his…well, everything is sore, but that it’s nothing unmanageable.

There is very little that Martin would call “unmanageable,” of course, but it’s the most they will get out of him.

“I think I can sit up now,” he says after a bit, bracing his arms underneath himself to prepare, and Tim reaches out to support him at once.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

A bit slow, a bit clumsy, they get him up—not without some worried questioning when he hunches forward, face buried in his hands as the headache worsens with the change of posture. But luckily, it dulls as quickly as it comes, and Martin soon finds himself able to look up, even to offer a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Want some water?” Tim asks as soon as he looks steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on it,” he says, refusing to accept any of Martin’s guilt-laden excuses, and dashes off to the kitchen at once, leaving Jon and Sasha still vaguely holding onto him in the fear that he might fall again.

“I’m alright, guys, really,” he assures, though he makes no effort to shrug their hands off—so there they stay.

“Do you know what caused this, Martin?” Sasha asks, folding his collar from where it sticks up at the nape of his neck.

With a heavy sigh and an exhausted pinch to the bridge of his nose, Martin replies, face reddening with shame.

“Yeah. You’re—you’re going to laugh.”

“Why would we laugh?” Jon asks so earnestly, so softly that it wins him a long and surprised look from Martin.

“I…dunno really, just. It’s just that it’s—it’s all my own fault. Stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t—” he cuts off for a moment to hiss painfully as he rubs at his temple again, and Sasha’s hold tightens ever so slightly as a precaution. “I don’t have my…seizure meds with me. I left them at my flat when—when I ran. From Prentiss.”

Of course.

Of course he did.

“I would have gotten them for you Martin!” Tim shouts as he returns with the water. “Any of us would, mate. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to send you back to my flat. She might…she might still…be there.”

He fades a bit as he speaks—rubbing once more at his temples, and Sasha resumes her ministrations of massaging his neck.

“Alright, just—it’s alright, Martin,” Jon soothes, a bit alarmed at the way he’s hunched back over—seemingly nauseous again, as he moves the bin a bit closer to himself just in case. “What can we do now?”

After a few long, deep breaths, his churning stomach finally settles long enough for him to answer, albeit a bit more vague-sounding than moments before.

“I tried…I tried to call the chemist, but…they won’t refill it unless I…unless I talk to my doctor. And it’s not like I can just go.”

“You have to get some from A&E then,” Tim insists, sitting back down next to him and pressing a hand atop his shoulder.

“No, I can’t.”

“We’ll go with you,” mutters Jon, before clearing his throat, returning to his best confident-boss tone. “We’ll keep watch for the worms. Go prepared.”

“You don’t—“

“We will,” Sasha says emphatically, leaving no room for argument—and even Martin knows when the battle is lost. “We’re happy to do it, Martin. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” he very nearly whispers, face flushing beet red as the undue attention of the afternoon catches up with him. “That’s really…too kind.”

“Well, you’ve got to get it somehow, mate,” Tim says with a chuckle, earning himself a warning glare from both Sasha and Jon. “What? I’m sure Martin wants this to happen again even less than we do. Which is saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, surprising them all by chuckling briefly in return. “Reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t—this is pretty much my worst nightmare, so…just so you all know how sorry I am.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Sasha laughs. “And it keeps continuing to not be your fault.”

“Right. Sure.”

He does not sound at all sure—but she lets it go all the same.

“We should go today, Martin,” Jon says as he stands, already grabbing a canister of CO2 in preparation. “Don’t want you to miss another dose.”

“And take that thing on the Tube?” Martin laughs, fully smiling for the first time since the whole affair began. “Think we might get some looks.”

“It’s the Tube, mate. Stranger things have happened,” Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before jumping in to assist him in standing.

“Suppose you’re probably right about that.”

“Let’s go then,” says Jon, face steeled as if armed to the teeth and ready to tangle with anything coming his way. “Work that needs doing.”

[regrettablewritings]

Animatic/Storyboard Music

Got bored/procrastinate-y on coloring in this ultra intricate card for my mom. So I’m just gonna make a list of songs I think make for good animatic material. Because why not/I wanna foist my musical tastes on people/ @locke-writes got me in a music binge. For the most part, it’s just gonna be me explaining the meanings or the vibe or what they generally tend to be used for, but really it’s mostly subjective so imaginate whatchu wanna.

“Trust Me” - The Devil’s Carnival Originally depicting a story about the Scorpion and the Frog, it’s the perfect song for when you want to depict the dynamic between a gullible or at the very least more grounded character and a figure whose intentions . . . may be less than pure. Or good for anyone, really.

“The Dismemberment Song” - The Blue Kid I have a playlist dedicated to songs whose content and sound are just . . . not married to one another, but got a weird flirtationship situation going on. Anyway, I’ve seen people say that they like to imagine it’s sung through the POV of a scorned housewife who’s finally Had Enough™️. And . . . They’re really not wrong for it. Really, though, it’s just the right song for when a sadist is just ready to gut a fucker but is disturbingly jolly about it.

“Love Me Dead” - Ludo Continuing with my trend of songs about people in less than ideal situations, “Love Me Dead” is straight to the point: The relationship is just awful and the guy gets nothing from it, but he can’t help but be hopelessly in a state of adoration for the woman he’s latched on to (“You’re born of a jackal! YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL!!”)

“Constellations” - The Oh Hellos There actually isn’t a plot to this song, it just feels really good (as all songs by The Oh Hellos are prone to be). However, if you feel a need to portray the concept of having to reorganize your thoughts after realizing that maybe they weren’t what you initially thought, and then coming to the conclusion that even though everything changes as a result, you’ll be alright? This is the song for you.

“A Kindling of Sorts” - The Oh Hellos An instrumental piece that is like . . . It’s related to another song of theirs about nationalism called “Torches”, so make of that what you will. (I personally have been using it to imagine storyboarding an opening for an animated The Witcher series.)

“The Other Side” - The Greatest Showman I know everyone and their mom has used this to portray situations like villains trying to get good guys to join their side. But I dun curr, it’s a fun song. That, and I like what Emilyamio did with her interpretation. It’s fun. For a basic rundown, know it’s another song about two characters’ dynamics being explored, with one coming to the other with a proposal that they join them in whatever endeavors they have in store. It’s often portrayed as something evil, but it really doesn’t have to be, as the original context was more about letting loose than anything.

“The Thief and the Moon” - Shawn James A much more mellow piece. Simple and straight to the point: A thief tells the Moon that he plans on stealing her light to shade the world in darkness. The Moon insists that the thief would only doom the world by doing so, to which the thief clarifies that he doesn’t care; if the world is shrouded in shadow, it means he will be able to steal with more ease (“My very existence is a race to attain wealth”). Disgusted, the Moon essentially curses the man with a warning that his greed can and will bring about his end -- and leave him to be forgotten by the rest of mankind, once it happens.

“Villainous Thing” - Shayfer James I’ve seen people say that this song is about singing to a cadaver but I can’t quite find anything confirming that (translation: I’m too lazy to look too into it). Regardless, it’s a fun ditty that yet again portrays someone with less than pure intentions encouraging someone to join him in some good old fashion villainy, as they’ve clearly endured their fair share of hardships and surely wanted to do evil anyway (“You’ll find no ever after here, it’s clear that isn’t what you came for“).

“Necromancin Dancin” - Bear Ghost Straight forward and fun as fuck: A necromancer apparently seems to cross classes and try his hand at barding by not only raising an army of the dead, but by also making them dance in order to make conquering the world easier. Because . . . a body doing Disco Duck isn’t scary, I guess.

"Aquaman” - Walk the Moon A song about one half of a couple wanting to become more involved in their relationship, but still having some nervousness about doing so. If you somehow haven’t heard this song yet, you gotta because it’s the cutest shit.

“Jenny’s Tale” - Ren I’ll be brutally honest, it’s about a woman named Jenny who just wants to get home after a long day of work and an unfortunate encounter with a 14 year old named Screech who gets way in over his head. As in, like, a death happens. That being said, I need. Like. An animated music video of this song. I imagine this shit in gritty charcoal or painted on glass, it just needs this. Somebody who isn’t me who knows what they’re doing, please look into this.

“The Curse of the Fold” - Shawn James As cheesy as it sounds, it basically boils down to not giving up or yielding. But what makes it so cool is the fact that Shawn James makes all his songs basically sound like a western gothic soundtrack. Which helps, because he admits that the title is also a reference to poker, in which giving up too often or too easily can often rob you of a delicious reward gained through perseverance and sacrifice.

“Thank God I’m Not You” - Himalayas I prefer to imagine this for an arrogant asshole of a character. Because that’s exactly what this song is about: They’re a liar and a thief, they’ve been called the son of Satan, and yet they consider themselves lucky -- ‘cause at least they ain’t you! If you have a character in mind who’s a delightful, punchable little shit, this is probably either their anthem or at least on the playlist you inevitably made for them.

"Passerine" - The Oh Hellos So there’s a common trend in The Oh Hellos’ discography that tends to explore the two founders’ experiences with faith and their growth in how they understand it or recognize it. With “Passerine”, the concept being explored is the experience they had when it came to taking a step back and realizing just how many of their supposed “fellow Christians” were actually doing some rather unchristian things, so to speak. When they “prune[d] their feathers”, it became clear that they had less in common with certain people proclaiming to be Christian while also spouting bigotry and greed. However, the desire to move away from such influences comes with the feeling of being torn, as moving too far away from the Bible leaves the singer feeling as though she is betraying something she holds dear. As a result, “Passerine” symbolizes not a breakage from faith, but a breakage from blind faith as they understood it, and the inevitable feeling of being torn that comes along with expanding upon how one views their beliefs and those around them. It’s therefore not uncommon to see Good Omens animatics using this song. (Something I also noticed is that throughout the song, you hear pieces of “Constellations”. TOH have a tendency to reference previous pieces, and considering “Constellations” is a song about changing perspective and the meanings we apply to them, it fits in beautifully with a song about reevaluating one’s stance.)

“Like the Dawn” - The Oh Hellos As stated before, a lot of TOH’s discography draws inspiration from their faith. In this case, it’s an outright retelling of the Garden of Eden, specifically when Adam awoke to find Eve had been created. What makes this iteration stand out to most, however, is that the singer is female, which seems to change the vibe you get. It sweetens the feeling of wonder we often forget the first man might’ve felt upon seeing somebody made for him, creating an air of beauty yet comfort with such lines as “And like the dawn, you broke the dark and my whole earth shook” or “You were the brightest shade of sun I had ever seen.” Even without the awareness or an interest in religious influences, it still manages to be a very feel-good song -- which is the mark of an overall good song in general!

“Confession” - RED Dealing with the constant battle of feeling ashamed that how you feel on the inside isn’t in sync with how you present yourself on the outside. That you should feel bad for smiling out at the world while screaming and thrashing -- like it’s a lie. But you can’t help it: It’s what you’re accustomed to. Though it does end on a hopeful note with the singer deciding that they want to reach out for help and rid themselves of this feeling of pain they have inside.

“When I Grow Up” - Matilda . . . Only if you want to cry. Seriously. When you’re a kid, everything seems difficult but you’re positive that once you grow up, everything will change: You’ll be tall enough to climb the trees you were too small to, you’ll be able to carry everything because you’re stronger, you’ll be brave enough to fight the monsters hiding in your room, you’ll finally have all the answers. . . . But life isn’t that simple. We wish it were, but it isn’t. There’s this bittersweetness about this song, about a sense of purity we unfortunately grow out of where we think things will be just the same enough for us to do what we want when we want, but things are more complicated than that. We still struggle to reach, to bear the weight, to not be afraid, to have even a fraction of the answers. But! We’re reminded that just because we’re told life isn’t fair, doesn’t mean we have to take it. After all, nothing changes when nothing happens. And even beyond that? It helps to remember that we’re never quite done growing up; there’s always more to learn, so remember to be patient with yourself.

“Hand Me My Shovel, I’m Going In!” - Will Wood and the Tapeworms This is . . . a song. The lyrics are honestly kinda all over the place and shooting rapid fire, making it a bit difficult to discern what exactly the singer is going on about. It makes for a pretty crazy song that suggests somebody’s going unhinged, which is apparently precisely the intention?? I’ve seen a lot of people interpret this as a song about a guy who is already at a low point in his life but nonetheless is going, “. . . I bet I can go deeper. Hand me my shovel.”

“No Reason” - Beetlejuice God if i had a youtube channel the segment i would spend on this song would be so juicy just ripe and thicc with thoughts and feelings i tell ya rich like a fresh fatty peach the apple that tempted Eve and gagged Adam yes ‘Nother song that explores the dynamic between two differing people and their worldviews. At its simplest, “No Reason” is about two opposite ends of a spectrum coming to a head: Idealistic and hippie-dippy Delia is convinced that everything happens for a reason, while cynical and depressed Lydia asserts that everything happens at random and it doesn’t matter anyway because we’re all going to die. And even though the delivery is ultimately a comedic one, you get more insight as to why one another feels the way that they do: Lydia, as we’ve previously learned, has recently lost her mother to an illness, which has left her depressed and feeling invisible (a theme in the show); whereas Delia’s failed marriage and desperate attempts to nonetheless be happy have left her dependent on the idea that these things had to have happened for a reason, otherwise, her pain would’ve been for nothing. What’s important is that neither side is actually appointed as the winner, with the song ultimately ending that the universe is random for a reason.

“Barbara 2.0″ - Beetlejuice Without spoiling anything (or at least too much), “Barbara 2.0″ is about growth. It’s about learning to put your foot down after a literal lifetime of being passive out of fear of what might happen and just accepting that nothing will happen if nothing happens -- but that doesn’t make whatever happens good.

“Bleed Magic” - IDHKBTFM It’s either about a killer or a vampire. No, seriously: When Dallon Weekes was asked about what the story of the song was, that was his answer. I personally prefer to think of it as a vampire or demon of some kind, given that the song came out around Halloween. Perfect for yet another example of somebody (likely supernatural) having an upper hand on an unsuspecting mortal. ...I have way too many of these on this list, I swear I don’t have a problem —

“Feel Good Drag” - Anberlin A toxic relationship of sorts. In that it shouldn’t be a relationship to begin with. Depicts the singer being approached by an ex, who seeks a one-night stand while her current boyfriend is out of town. However, the singer is aware that trying to continue anything regardless of the situation is a moot point: Even when they were together, their relationship was doomed from the start, and nothing about that is going to change -- especially now.

“Soviet Trumpeter” - Katzenjammer (It’s kinda difficult to work with this one but I’ve seen people work with less or stranger.) Based off the life of one Eddie Rosner, a Jewish Polish trumpeter whose fame within the USSR unfortunately faded due to the Soviet Union’s heavy censorship. Even if nothing is to be done with it, it still paints a melancholic picture of a talented man’s skills being largely unknown as a result of things beyond his control. All wrapped up in a song that denotes a strange deterioration in a way I can’t quite place.

“Apple Blossom” - The White Stripes On its face, it’s a very sweet song: The singer encourages his beloved to be vulnerable enough with him to tell him her troubles and to let him “sort them out for [her]”. She’s clearly saddened, and seeing so distresses him to where he insists that he will do whatever he can to make her happy. However, the tone of the song and certain lines make it easy to twist into yet another song of a character attempting to seduce somebody into a state of vulnerability . . .

“You’ve Got Possibilities” - It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman The one singular song people actually liked from this forgotten musical. Perfect for when somebody intends on giving somebody else a makeover. Y’know, after totally roasting them on their posture and clothing. If you want to add a lil something extra, know that the context is that a lady wants to give Clark Kent a makeover, insisting that in spite of his schlubby appearance, there’s gotta be something underneath. I repeat: She is telling this to Clark freaking Kent.

 “Still” - Anastasia In the context, the show’s antagonist (not bad guy, there’s a difference) finds himself torn between obligation and personal interest: Does he fulfill his duty and live up to expectations set upon him by his father and the society he’s been selected to help uphold? Or does he let a woman he has become fond of go? Is she truly as innocent as she claims? Or is she well aware of what she’s doing? And every time he thinks he’s reached a conclusion, he can’t help but thing, “But still . . .” Good for when you want to portray a character conflicted between obligations of politics and what their heart wants.

“Two Nobodies in New York” - [title of show] Two young men plan on entering an upcoming theatrical festival but struggle with what to even submit. This song in particular focuses on them trying to figure out what to even write, the concept of fame, and if wanting the certain things that may come with fame can mean anything from being sell-outs to getting a sitcom. It’s admittedly specific, but it’s a cute and funny interaction between two guys who are, for the most part, actually in sync with their thoughts and anxieties. For the time being.

“Into the Unknown” - Idina Menzel Look, I refuse to watch that movie. I just do. But I will take this song over That Other One any day. Mostly because I personally like to imagine that the singer in this song is about to embark on a Pixaresque journey after accidentally leaving her home during the night of The Wild Hunt, accidentally separating her spirit from her body and thus giving her a very limited time to get back to it before she remains a soul trapped in a whirlwind of ghosts forever. But first: Let’s sing about that strange howling that coaxes her so.

“You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid” - The Offspring I sure do long songs that can characterize a shithead . . . Anywho! The smoothest way to go is just to portray some cocky, manipulative shit who’s used to just lying and cheating their way to get what they want before slipping away without any consequences -- to a point. There’s the option of portraying the betrayer’s comeuppance, but there’s also the frustratingly delicious option of just letting them get away with whatever to lie another day.

“Why Should I Worry” - Billy Joel When in doubt, go to earlier Disney. Because like it or not, they had some bops. And when in the need of portraying a happy-go-lucky (probably idiotic) doofus and his more neurotic or cynical friend going about their life with the former just Mr. Magooing it while the latter suffers more realistic consequences? You go with this song. If you want. That’s just me.

“Transformation” - Brother Bear For when you want to invoke a mystical or otherworldly feeling. There’s really not much more I can say except to encourage you to listen to it and watch the scene if you can find it. You’ll get the vibe.

“No Girl’s Toy” - Raggedy Ann and Andy: A Musical Adventure It’s a big shame this movie is relatively unknown and never got a proper VHS release or anything -- mainly because the music in this cult classic is definitely stuff I could see becoming standards. I could see people performing “I Never Get Enough” for little shows, or recycling “Blue” for a different show. Thankfully, somebody was able to upload a clear enough sounding recording of “No Girl’s Toy”, so at least we have that. In context (just...follow me on this), Raggedy Ann’s brother, Raggedy Andy, has had enough of being subjected to “girly things” while in the nursery. Additionally, though, the way the song was written means it can also be interpreted as just a guy who refuses to let himself be yanked around regardless of how thick the sugar being laid on him is. . . . If you wanna poke fun as a character for trying to appear tougher than what he is, here’s the song. (That being said, Andy is a sweetheart at the end of the day. No amount of tough-fronting will hide that.)

“I Enjoy Being a Girl” - Flower Drum Song (It is by sheer coincidence that this song follows the above.) Really, it’s exactly what it says on the tin: The singer enjoys being a girl and what all it entails for her. She loves her feminine form, she loves the attention she gets, she loves dolling herself up, she loves frilly dresses, and she hopes to one day marry a guy who enjoys “having a girl like [her].” And honestly? Good on her! Love whatcha love, lovely! Seriously, though, it’s a cute song for anyone who just wants to indulge in some girliness.

“Chip on My Shoulder” - Legally Blonde Come on: It’s Legally Blonde. You know what this bop is, or at least have an idea of it. But since I love this song, I’ll indulge: Disheartened by her failure to both win back her ex and succeed in the fast-paced environment of Harvard, the normally bright-eyed Elle is ready to call it quits. That is, until junior partner Emmett gets involved. Unimpressed by her story, Emmett reveals that he got to where he was by busting his ass due to having a chip on his shoulder from his rough beginnings — and maybe a chip on the shoulder is exactly what Elle needs to survive. And as somebody driven by spite, I can appreciate that kind of message. Anywho, it all in all is a song about growth and learning how to be “driven as hell” to keep up with an opportunity that may not be easy to take, but is not one to be passed by.

“What Do I Need with Love?” - Thoroughly Modern Millie “What Do I Need with Love?” asks exactly that: He could date a different girl every night of the week if he so wanted, and never once had any desire to go steady before. He considers himself lucky to have never fallen for anyone -- until now. Which he’s not! He’s not in love. ...He totally is and, by his own admission, he’s got it bad it’s terribly adorable.

“Interlude IV” - Zach Callison The entire album is actually a narrative about a failed relationship of Callison’s and I’m sure the other songs are just as great fuel for animatics -- I’m just too caught up on listening to this one over and over. Sometimes, we just wanna listen to Steven Universe cuss and be openly furious. Seriously, though, even without the context of the rest of the story, you get the idea well enough: A spiteful Zach decides to get back at the one that broke his heart in such a painful way, whereas a well-meaning friend insists they just leave it be and move on. While this technically would be the better and healthier option, Zach is just too far gone with rage to let it go and decides to take care of things by himself.

“Evermore” - Beauty & the Beast Look, I know the remake wasn’t anything crazy. But also I don’t honestly care too terribly much. Besides, this song was nice and it really gets me after that key change. We all want a royal doofus to be enamored enough with us to let us go for our own happiness but still know that their life will forever be changed because they met us. Animate that shit. Over and over.

goddamn this list is long lemme just stop this now byyyyeeeee

[forevfangirlwrites]

whenever you’re on the actress!annabeth vibe again it’d be cool if you did a jealous!annabeth story. I love jealous annabeth and I feel like you’d be so good at writing it

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

It’s a slow day. 

So slow that Percy has taken to watching Netflix on his phone, catching up on the new docuseries about the fashion industry, featuring Piper McLean and Thalia Grace (he wants to be able to talk about it next time he sees either of them).  

Never had he thought that would be his reason for watching a Netflix show.

Then again, there’s a lot he never expected from life, like intimately knowing his favorite actress. 

The bell on the door rings, signaling the first customer in like forever, and Percy pauses his show to walk up to the counter where a classic California brunette is scanning the menu. 

“Hi, welcome to Cali’s, how can I help you?” 

Her gaze drops to him at the words, immediately raising an eyebrow as her eyes continue to scan as much of him as the counter will allow.

Internally, Percy is burning in the most uncomfortable way. But he has a job to do, so he once again summons careless indifference paired with polite midwestern newscaster.

“Do you need help?” he prompts, since she still hasn’t said anything.

“Sure,” she says, leaning onto the counter a little with a sly smile. Percy takes half a step away and wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. It had not been an invitation. 

“Well I’d recommend the specials, they’re on that board.” He gestures to the board in hopes that she’ll turn her attention to it instead, but unfortunately, after a casual glance she turns back to him. 

The bell rings again and Percy is grateful for whoever just entered, because he’s not alone with this girl anymore, and she needs to hurry up now that there’s someone behind her in line.  

“But which one specifically would you recommend?” She leans against the counter a little more and he’s all too aware of the fact that her tank top is showing a modest amount of cleavage.

Honestly, she’s cute and not doing anything wrong (he recognizes how much courage it takes to flirt so openly like that), but he’s dating the love of his life and this poor girl just can’t compete.

“How about the vanilla bean frap?” he offers, mostly because it’s the easiest to make of all the specials. 

“Sure, if you recommend it, it has to be good,” she responds, sending another smile his way. 

“What size?” He asks, instead of acknowledging what she had said. He needs to nip this in the bud.

“Large.” The wink she throws makes him want to disappear into himself because no, he’s so not going there.

He does his best to maintain composure. “That’ll be $5.25.”

She hands him her card and their fingers brush, clearly something she had been planning for. Percy stifles a sigh and hands her the receipt. 

She takes it with another smile and starts to walk towards the pickup area and he gratefully turns his attention to the other customer. 

“Hi, welcome to Cali’s how can I he--”

And she’s back, poking her head in front of the other customer. “Sorry, you never got my name.”

He stares at her. 

“You know, for my drink,” she continues. 

“We call out by order.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind even though it is not true. 

She doesn’t quite buy it either. “Oh, are you sure?”

He wants to explain that it’s a slow enough day that he actually would call out by order, but that would mean more conversation. 

“I need to attend to this other customer,” he says instead, with an apologetic tone a midwesterner would be proud of. 

She smiles and walks away. “Right, sorry.”

He breathes a sigh of relief when she does, turning to the customer with a genuine apology on his lips.

“Hi, sorry about that, what can I get you?”

“A medium caramel macchiato,” a clipped voice responds, and his head snaps up. 

She’s got her hair in a ponytail, wearing a hat and sunglasses along with a hoodie—his hoodie. 

And even though she’s hiding most of herself, he still goes a little weak at the sight of her because, well did he mention she’s wearing his hoodie? 

“Sure thing,” he stutters out, punching in the order.

Her lips are set into a thin line and though he can’t see her eyes, he suspects they’re stormy (so what if he likes comparing his girlfriend’s eyes to the sky, he has the right to do that). 

He doesn’t really know why she’s mad and just hopes it’s not at him.

She doesn’t offer her card and he doesn’t ask, simply turning around to start making the vanilla bean frap, his mind running a mile a minute.

Why is she mad? Had he done something? He had been on his phone, she hadn’t texted him anything, or was it something he did last night?

(Though he remembers her really enjoying last night.)

Was it because she was annoyed at the other customer cutting her off? It is rude to get cut off and the other girl—

Wait.

Was she mad because the other girl was flirting?

His hands work on autopilot, pumping the vanilla into the cup, without really thinking about it as he formulates his theory. But even as he thinks about it, it sounds more absurd by the minute. Why would Annabeth Chase be jealous over some random girl? 

“Vanilla Bean frap,” he calls out, and the girl looks up from her phone, sauntering over to pick it up.

“Thank you!” she says brightly, immediately putting the straw in her mouth. “You’re right, it’s so good!”

“Glad you like it,” he responds politely. “Have a good day!”

And with that, he starts to move back in to make the caramel macchiato. 

“Actually,” she calls before he can do so. “I was wondering, if you wanted to maybe get a drink sometime?” 

“No, um, sorry, I’m not really interested…” he trails off awkwardly ‘cause he really hates doing this. Not that he’s constantly turning people down or anything, which is probably why he sucks at it. “Drinks really aren’t my thing,” he blurts.

“We could do lunch instead?” she offers.

“I, um, I can’t, sorry, um, hope you have a good day.” And with that he quickly shuffles back towards the espresso machine, picking up a glass to make himself look busy. 

“Okay,” she calls out, a little confused. But thankfully, she leaves.

He lets out a sigh of relief, setting down the glass and slumping against the counter once he hears the bell ring. 

“Are you just not going to make my drink?” The same clipped voice asks, and Annabeth removes her sunglasses, revealing, sure enough, dark eyes and creased eyebrow.

“Of course I will,” he says quickly, standing up. “Anything for you.”

He walks back over to the espresso machine, well aware of the palpable tension in the room. 

“So how was your day?” he asks casually over his shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.” He doesn’t know why he’s trying to be normal.

“Should I leave?”

“No! No!” He turns around, horrified. “You visiting me is the best thing that’s happened all day!”

“You sure about that?” she says in the same surly tone.

“Of course, babe, what's going on?”

“Well, you seemed fine with that other girl for company.”

There’s a moment of silence as he interprets her words.

There’s no fucking way.

He can’t help it, He busts out laughing.

“What!” Annabeth angrily yells.

“Are you…” he can’t get the word out. “Are you jealous?”   

“No!” she yells, crossing her arms and he needs to stop laughing before he actually fucks something up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, holding his hands up in defense while trying to calm his laughter.

“It’s just.” He rubs the back of his neck, thinking that it’s completely unfair that his girlfriend looks this good even while mad. “It’s just, you’re…”

At a loss for words, he just gesticulates wildly. 

“I mean, you’re Annabeth Chase,” he leans closer to her while she remains firmly rooted in place. “Not only are you extremely talented and beautiful and smart, even if you weren’t the kickass actress that’s taken Hollywood by storm, you’re still…” he pauses.

Reaching out, he cups her face. “By some miracle, you’re still my Annabeth, and no one can hold a candle to you.”

At his words, her arms drop from her chest and she sighs, defeated.

“Okay.” 

And god, for a literal millionaire actress she looks so small and he wants nothing more than to hold her in his arms. 

So he does.

Jumping the counter, he walks over and wraps his arms around her, letting her lean into his chest. He presses a kiss into her hair and holds her close until finally, muffled by the fabric of his shirt, she talks.

“I had a really rough day, it took forever to get one good take.”

“I’m sorry baby,” he mutters, running a hand down her back.

Sighing, she steps out of his embrace. “At least it’s over. When are you done?”

He glances at the clock. “I’ve got like an hour left.”

She looks entirely too cute when she pouts. 

“You’re welcome to stay, it’s been a slow day.”

She cheers slightly at his words. He leads her behind the counter, showing her the door to the employee room should she need to hide. 

“You weren’t…” he hesitates as he finally makes her caramel macchiato. 

“What?” she asks, leaning on the counter next to him, scrolling through her phone.

“You weren’t actually jealous right?”

She turns her attention back to her phone and shrugs infinitesimally, but he catches it. 

“Annabeth, how?” He cannot believe this, he refuses to.

She sighs. “It’s not easy dating me, I know, and maybe you’d prefer a more...normal relationship, where you don’t have to hide things. Plus,” she adds, even quieter. “You didn’t seem to hate it.”

He pours the shots of espresso in her drink and caps it. 

“Annabeth,” he says, walking over to hand her the drink. “I want you, I don’t care if I have to do extra things, I don’t want normal. And,” he stresses, “I did hate it. I just shouldn’t be rude to a customer. It’s called acting.” He adds a wink and she rolls his eyes, taking a sip of her drink in favor of responding.

“Besides,” he adds, completely changing the tone of the conversation by wiggling his eyebrows. “How many people can say they’ve had sex with Annabeth Chase?”

“Percy!” she smacks his arm, a blush coloring her face at the crude comment.

He just laughs and pulls her closer. 

“Maybe you need a reminder on just how much I’m yours,” he says in a low voice, inches away from her lips.

Annabeth doesn’t say anything, but she sets her coffee down and rests her hand on his chest. “Maybe,” she whispers.

It’s all the reason he needs to lean in and close the gap between them, capturing her lips in his and prying her mouth open.

She tastes like caramel macchiatos and the day is anything but slow. 

A/N: Thank you for the prompt! This is something  I actually wrote a while back because I too wanted to write jealous Annabeth so this was the perfect way to post it. I also got a request on ao3 for it so it seems to be a popular prompt lol I hope you liked this and it was what you were looking for! Thanks again for sending an ask!

[wizardofahz]

Introducing Grim

A/N: Just a little bit of silly to get back into writing. This is a follow up to Fulfilling the Lie.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I think someone’s going to die.”

The panic in Nia’s voice has Kara shooting straight up out of bed though she manages to stop before crashing into the ceiling. Still hovering in the air, she asks, “Did you have a dream? Are you okay? Where are you?”

It’s the middle of the night--3:52 AM according to her phone--which makes the dream scenario most likely. Hopefully that means Nia is safe at home. Still, Kara mentally prepares herself to change into her super suit and fly out the window.

“I’m at home,” Nia responds, speaking a mile a minute. “I dreamed that there was this big black dog, like you know the Grim in Harry Potter? The omen of death? And I think Alex was there, but I don’t-- I didn’t get the sense that she was in danger? But I don’t know. It’s the Grim, right? I keep thinking about Ron’s Uncle Bilius and how he saw a Grim and died. And I know that’s Harry Potter, but, I mean, the messages in my dreams come in symbols, right? So maybe my powers are finally trying to communicate with me in a language that I’ll understand, and maybe that means that someone else is going to die even though I saw Alex, and--”

“Oh,” Kara says once Nia’s words register. All the adrenaline dissipates from Kara’s body, and she sinks back down onto her bed. “No, you dreamed about Alex’s cat.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Nia sighs with relief. “I was really worried. Like I said, I didn’t think Alex was going to die, but I’d really hate to be wrong about that. You know how hard it can be to interpret my dreams.”

“I get it,” Kara says, and she means it. If there was any sign that something would happen to Alex, anything at all, and there was something Kara could do to stop it, she would. “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too,” Nia says with a shaky laugh. “All that freaking out, and it was just Alex’s cat.” A brief silence. “Kara?”

“Yeah?”

“Since when does Alex have a cat?”

Oh, right. After they left the animal shelter, their day had been a whirlwind of pet supply shops and cat-proofing the apartment, and with Alex and Grim’s matching lack of enthusiasm for attention, they hadn’t really told anyone other than Eliza, J’onn, and Kelly. Oops. Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. Almost literally. “Today, or I guess, technically yesterday. It’s a long story, but his name is Grim.”

“Okay,” Nia says in a tone that indicates that she doesn’t really understand but she’s willing to go along with it for the moment. “No one’s going to get hurt, and that’s what matters.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Kara mutters, thinking about the unfortunate mismatch between sharp claws and soft human flesh.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

...

Kara’s breakthrough moment with Grim comes entirely by accident. 

Her mission for the evening is to keep Grim away from the kitchen while Alex and Kelly finish preparing dinner. Unaware that Kara is an invulnerable Kryptonian, Kelly had given her an apologetic look upon hearing her assignment. Kara doesn’t mind the teeth and the claws. She just hopes Grim doesn’t get too mad at her. She’s still trying to get on his good side.

“I’m sorry. You can’t,” Kara says, intercepting Grim as he wanders in the direction of the kitchen. She crouches in front of him and tries to redirect him. “Alex is busy. How about the cat tower? Want to climb on that instead?”

He does not.

After a few repetitions of this, Kara brings Grim to the couch, holding him in her lap as he tries to wiggle free. He meows his discontent and begins to claw at her.

“No, no, no,” Kara whispers quickly, grabbing a blanket and pushing it between them. “You can’t. Kelly doesn’t know.”

Normally accustomed to a Kara who’s willing to play scratching post, Grim looks up at her in consternation. He paws at her tentatively, testing her reaction. His claws sink into the blanket instead. He pushes into her and then pauses as if processing the feeling. He flexes, stretching his toes out before grabbing the soft material again.

Kara joins him, running her hands through the blanket as well. “I know. It’s nice, right?” 

Grim begins to knead the blanket in earnest. 

“They’re so cute,” Kara hears Kelly whisper from the other side of the kitchen island. 

“Yeah,” Alex whispers back.

It’s one word, and a quiet one at that, but it’s so full of love and happiness. Kara knows how important family harmony is to Alex, and Grim is part of the family now. She knows, without Alex having to say anything, that Alex has been waiting for this moment.

She is going to hug Alex as soon as she can.

... 

J’onn J’onzz is a cheater. Of this, Alex is convinced.

After meeting Grim, he initially keeps his distance, but after a while, J’onn seems to know exactly when Grim will tolerate being pet--not to mention exactly where he wants to be pet--and when he’s feeling antisocial. Alex has no doubt that J’onn is reading Grim’s mind.

Because of this, J’onn and Grim establish an understanding faster than anyone other than Alex.

That is until her mom arrives.

“Mom, this is Grim,” Alex says. Grim is currently in her arms for everyone’s safety and comfort, but Alex kneels and places him on the ground between them.

Eliza kneels opposite her. “Hi, Grim. It’s nice to meet you.”

Grim looks to Alex, who nods with approval. “It’s okay,” she says. “It’s just Mom.”

Grim takes a tentative step towards Eliza. She reaches out a hand to let him sniff her, and it’s not long before she’s allowed to pet him, scratching him gently behind the ears.

“What? How?” Kara whines. “That’s not fair.”

“Apparently Alex is only deferential to Eliza,” J’onn says. “He can sense it.”

Alex’s eyes narrow. There it is, evidence of her suspicions. “How do you know that? Are you reading my cat’s mind?”

“I may not work for the DEO anymore, but I still find it prudent to investigate and track potential threats.”

“Hey!”

“He’s a sweetheart,” Eliza says, joining Alex in coming to Grim’s defense. Years of raising Alex has taught Eliza to recognize when someone is reaching their limit. “It’s okay, sweetie. You can go.”

Grim scampers off for the moment, but he returns to her regularly throughout her visit for more head scratchings.

...

Trust has to be earned.

As a therapist, Kelly is very well aware of this. She has a lot of practice ensuring that her patients grow to trust that they will be listened to and not judged.

The problem is that she has done this by communicating in English, a language that Alex’s cat Grim does not speak, and Kelly, being allergic to cats as she is, does not have a lot of experience speaking cat.

“I’m not trying to hurt her,” she insists to Grim, who is scowling at her from Alex’s side.

Kelly is using her lunch break to check on Alex, who has had a long couple of days vigilante-ing. Sure enough, upon letting herself into the apartment, she was met with the sight of Alex asleep on the couch, still in her outfit with the tight suit and boots on.

Kelly had simply thought to wake Alex just long enough to get her to change and into bed, but Grim seems to be taking offense to the idea of disturbing Alex’s rest.

Ironically one of his growls nudges Alex into consciousness. She drowsily blinks a couple of times before recognizing her visitor.

“Kelly?”

“Hey,” Kelly says gently. “I thought you might want to change out of that outfit and get into bed. You know, be more comfortable?”

Alex looks down the length of her body. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea.” She instinctively reaches for Grim. “Come on, dude.”

When she slides into bed, Grim settles beside her again.

“Do you need anything?” Kelly asks before she leaves. “I can refill Grim’s bowl. I noticed it was empty.”

“Ye--” Alex yawns. “--ah, that’d be great. Thanks. You’re the best.”

After several repeat occurrences, Kelly can tell that Grim is growing to trust her more.

The ultimate show of acceptance comes when she’s staying at Alex’s because of a cold. She wakes up feeling better but with a weight on her chest. That weight is Grim, curled up and purring up a storm.

Kelly smiles and reaches out a hand to pet him. “Thanks, Grim.”

...

Grim backs away from Nia with a hiss.

“Maybe try again with a little less enthusiasm,” Kelly says. “Less is better with him.”

Alex keeps an eye on the three as she talks to Brainy. She has finally been coaxed into bringing Grim to game night to meet the rest of the Super Friends. She trusts Kelly to make sure Grim is all right, the only reason she isn’t glued to his side.

Brainy is a question machine. He asks if Alex met Streaky, the differences between Grim and Streaky, the differences in cat personalities, inherent cat behaviors, and the logistics of cat care. Alex is sure Brainy has additional questions, but Kara and J’onn are approaching from the kitchen area with the drinks, and Grim is starting to look overwhelmed by all the people.

Alex is about to rescue him when she catches the look on Lena’s face.

Lena is looking at Grim with an expression of horror in multiple senses of the word, maybe half foreboding horror like one watching a horror movie and half distasteful horror like someone being given a rancid fruit and being told it is an exquisite solid wine.

Alex finds that latter half offensive.

“You cannot use my cat as an excuse to restart Non Nocere,” Alex says, startling Lena.

“I wasn’t thinking about it,” Lena says, her voice entirely lacking in conviction. In fact, her face says that if she hadn’t been thinking about it before, she’s started thinking about it now.

William is running late, and by the time he arrives, Grim has disappeared into the shadows. 

That’s not to say that William doesn’t meet him.

Sort of.

When William goes to the bathroom, the sound of the door closing is followed by a scream of surprise from William and a series of yowls from Grim.

Kara and Alex run for the bathroom and skid to a stop as William stumbles out of it.

“Kara, you were right about the cat.”

...

By the time Andrea comes to her first game night, Grim has gotten used to socializing and learned how to let people know he’s had enough in a non-threatening manner.

Kara helps Lena welcome her to the group and introduce her to the few people she has yet to meet. Alex and Grim give Andrea identical wary looks. It is one of the cutest things Kara’s ever seen. That doesn’t stop her from steering Andrea to the other side of the room.

“Uh, maybe you should sit over here.”

[earthstellar]

It’s Deaf Awareness Week, so I’m posting my hearing disabled Drift fan fiction in full below the cut! 

I am still fundraising for my hearing aids, so if you like the story and would like to donate, you can do so at my Ko-Fi or via PayPal. 

You can also see my post on Chirolinguistics and Sign Language in Transformers media here! 

Auditory Error by Capricorn_Stellium - Word Count: 2733

Summary: 

The Lost Light visits a marketplace on a newly identified planet in the hopes of restocking on a few crucial supplies.

Unfortunately, things go less than well, and Drift is hit with some sort of energy disruptor-- Which results in processor damage.

Once everyone is back on board and clear of the fight, Ratchet and First Aid get to work attempting to assess Drift post-injury in a MedBay that is suddenly far, far too noisy.

"Stay where you are. Don't move! First Aid, get over here, get on his left side."

It was Ratchet's voice, or at least, he thought it was.

Drift was in the MedBay, so evidently they'd made it back to the Lost Light.

He quickly tried to assess himself: No missing limbs, so that's nice. Doesn't seem to be much frame damage, no evidence of blaster shots or blade damage anywhere across his armour that he could see.

Not that he could see much, as Ratchet was aggressively trying to get him to lay his helm back down flat against the medical berth.

"He's awake. Aid, titrate the sedative, I don't want him dizzy but keep it level so he's not running around." Ratchet moved to the side of the berth from where he had been standing so far, somewhere behind his helm, but it was odd. His voice seemed to come from all directions at once, and it was disorienting.

"Drift, can you focus on me? You were hit in the helm by one of the marketplace traders; Turns out Rodimus was wrong about the locals being friendly, because of course he was. Nobody else is hurt, so don't even try getting up! I don't know what they hit you with, some kind of focused disruptor of some kind. We're running additional scans to try to figure it out, but stay down for now. You aren't restrained, no painkillers. Just a mild physical sedative in the event you woke up swinging. I'm too old to keep having to fight my patients, you know."

It was bizarre; He felt totally fine. He could hear that Ratchet was speaking, but the words were... Missing, here and there. All of the sounds in the room were equally as loud, completely drowning each other out. It was overwhelming and disorienting.

He'd been in the MedBay enough times both as a patient and just waiting for Ratchet to get off shift that he was well aware it shouldn't sound like this. It was as if every piece of machinery was at maximum volume and surely Ratchet was whispering, but why would he be whispering? Was there something else going on? Was Ratchet's vocaliser damaged somehow? Why would Ratchet lie about the situation, unless it was serious?

Ratchet noticed Drift's increasingly heavy frown; He looked fairly alert, but confused. Running another quick diagnostic scan, nothing new was coming up. Drift had been concussed, he'd already known about that. The more extensive diagnostic panel wouldn't be complete for another minute or two.

"Aid, I told you to moderate--" First Aid interrupted by holding up what was the needle end of a clearly disconnected fuel line drip.

"He's not being sedated actively at all anymore, Ratchet. It should work it's way out of his systems soon, low level dose should remain for the next three to five hours but not significantly enough to produce a frame relaxing effect. Intensive scan is just about ready, give it a moment. We'll figure it out."

Ratchet huffed. He was proud of his star apprentice, but it was irritating to get blatant reassurance from a junior doctor.

Not that First Aid was wrong to comment; It was hard to administer emergency care to your own conjunx. In other circumstances, it would never be allowed at all, but the Lost Light was a perpetual mess. A good mess, most of the time. But still not quite as organised as some might prefer-- A fact that Ultra Magnus never let anyone forget.

Speaking of Magnus, the paperwork for this would be a nightmare, but Ratchet had other concerns on his mind.

Drift raised a servo to his faceplate, careful not to lift his helm lest Ratchet come after him again. "I... feel okay, I think. But I never had a concussion that made everything sound so... I don't know. Things sound wrong all of a sudden."

Ratchet and First Aid looked at each other from across their respective sides of the medical berth. Aid pulled out a data pad and began taking notes once Ratchet nodded in the affirmative to proceed.

"What do you mean? Can you describe what you're feeling?"

Drift ex-vented. "Physically, totally fine. Not even a headache, really. Everything else seems okay, but it's like... Everything is at the same volume, and is coming from everywhere all the time. I can hardly make out what you and Aid are saying, every other word is gone, it's easier for me to focus on the vague sort of rhythm of the noises you're making rather than what you're actually talking about. Like the words are messed up and lost in the sounds of everything else. But, I don't know. It's like everything is a flood of noise, except for speech, I guess? Keep talking to me, I'll figure it out."

It was Ratchet's turn to frown. "Hmm." He backed up a little from the side of the berth. "Drift, can you shutter your optics for a second? I won't touch you, but I want you to listen as best you can, okay?" Drift nodded, wondering what Ratchet was up to.

Closing his optics felt awful; It made the noises seem even louder and more all-encompassing, somehow. Hopefully this wouldn't take long. He was glad Ratchet had kept him on the berth; It was a dizzying sensation. Like the noise was giving him vertigo.

"I'm going to snap my digits in different areas and at different distances from your helm. I want you to tell me where you hear the sound in relation to yourself, so for example, upper left from your point of view, or lower right, or straight ahead. Okay?"

Drift nodded, hoping he'd heard the instructions correctly. It was suddenly much harder to fill the gaps in Ratchet's speech when he couldn't watch his faceplate while he was speaking.

The exam went on for a while until finally Ratchet snapped his digits for the last time to Drift's righthand side, but Drift stated the sound was coming from straight ahead and slightly above his helm.

"Maybe a little to the right?" He could hear Ratchet ex-vent, but from where, he couldn't tell. "Nope. Open your optics, Drift. Sorry to say you didn't exactly pass that test." He turned to face First Aid, who had apparently been following along and taking quite a few notes.

Turns out both of them were stood exactly where they were when the exam had started. Weird. To Drift, it had seemed like their intermittent words were floating around him while his optics had been shuttered. Had they moved at all, the entire time?

The noise of all the medical machinery was getting awful. How were Ratchet and Aid okay with it?

Then he realised they probably couldn't hear it. Somehow...

Ratchet's voice knocked him out of the state of distress he was rapidly falling into the more he tried to think about all the noise. "Aid, note a general lack of directional hearing. No loss of hearing overall, his audials are registering sound as usual, but..."

First Aid looked up from the data pad. "But the way his processor is interpreting the sounds he's hearing is wrong."

"Correct. It's processor damage. Damn."

Drift had missed what was probably a very important word, there. "Sorry, what kind of damage?"

Ratchet, to his credit, only looked upset for a very brief moment. But Drift could tell; He could always tell with his Ratty. And that look was never good.

"Sorry, Drift. We shouldn't talk about you like you aren't here, anyway; It's a bad habit medics can develop."

That got a small smile out of Drift. "Since when are you worried about bad medic habits? You routinely throw wrenches at your patients."

"Hey, that's usually only Whirl. And Rodimus. And..." Ratchet took one of Drift's servos into his own. "Fine, you have a point, but this is serious. We need to run more tests. And by more, I mean you're going to be in here for a while."

Drift nodded, not wanting to speak himself lest it break his intense concentration on Ratchet's intake. It definitely seemed like trying to follow Ratchet's faceplate movements made it easier to guess what words he was missing.

The words he could no longer hear. For some reason.

It was only years of experience performing various mindfulness meditations that prevented Drift's anxiety from escalating.

First Aid walked towards the foot of the medical berth to be more fully in Drift's line of sight before addressing him.

And he proceeded to say something that Drift totally missed, because First Aid's battle mask made it impossible to read his faceplates in the way that he could with Ratchet.

"Uh... I don't want to interrupt? But two things: Aid, can you retract your mask?" Both First Aid and Ratchet stiffened immediately.

"I'm so sorry--" "Drift, if you can't understand us, just say so and we can--"

And it was too much noise.

Instinctively, his servos flew up to cover his audials, which hadn't helped as much as he had hoped it might.

"Stop! Stop, I'm sorry, it's okay. Don't worry about it. But the second thing, is that it's way, way too much in here. The noise, I mean. It's a lot."

Ratchet gently grabbed Drift's wrists, getting closer in the process.

"The scan we were running has finished by now. Aid, turn off everything we're not currently using, let's see if it makes a difference in the ambient noise level. Go ahead and start interpreting the results, construct a summary, you know what to do."

As First Aid got started as directed, looking somewhat upset that he hadn't thought to retract his battle mask earlier, Ratchet moved in even closer to speak directly into Drift's audial.

On the other side of Drift's helm, he cupped a servo over the opposite audial to help block out the surrounding noise and force Drift's processor to focus on the most immediate input: His voice. "I'm sorry. I'll try to make this as easy on you as I possibly can, okay? We're not hearing things the way you are, so we'll have to figure this out as we go. But that's fine; You're okay... You will be okay."

Vision obscured by Ratchet's shoulder armour while intensely trying to focus on his voice, suddenly, it hit Drift.

He could hear, but he couldn't hear. Not really.

A thousand scenarios flooded him at once, each one more terrifying than the last.

Being in a battle, unable to tell where bullets were coming from. Hearing a ship-wide alarm go off, and being incapacitated by the noise, unable to react otherwise. Unable to help. Unable to protect Ratchet. Never being able to parse anyone's speech, always missing words, never having all the information.

Going to a racetrack and being disoriented by the hum of all the wheels and engines at high speed, causing an accident. Anywhere noisy, anyone talking. Anywhere sound exists, it would be too much or not enough and never in-between.

He couldn't fight effectively. He wouldn't able to communicate effectively, not if he constantly misheard every single thing. The stress just from the MedBay noise was horrendous; What about in the middle of a conflict, or the command deck, or even someplace like Swerve's? Totally unbearable.

He would go right back to being isolated. He would be a problem for others. A burden, an annoyance.

What if this wasn't fixable?

He gasped like he had been choking, causing Ratchet to startle and pull back. "Ratchet! Ratchet, Ratty, what if-- What if you can't fix me?"

And he knew that look.

He felt Ratchet's arm move slightly somewhere behind him, and First Aid swiftly and silently left; He would finish looking over the results in his own office space. Ratchet had probably flashed some kind of medic secret code hand signal or something.

Or maybe it was just awkward to watch your mentor's partner start crying in your shared workplace. It was probably that, and the thought would have made Drift laugh if he didn't suddenly have a terrible headache.

Ratchet made the most of his wide set medical frame type, and completely wrapped Drift in a hug.

It helped. Everything seemed like too much right now, but this, he could never possibly get enough of.

Fluid had pooled behind his optics; Some started to trickle down in small streams. Ratchet wiped some of it away gently.

"Drift, I'm not going to lie. I already know what those scan results are going to say; There's nothing wrong with you, aside from whatever is going wrong with your processor. And I'm going to be honest, because you know I don't lie when it comes to my diagnostics... If I'm right about the nature of your processor damage, it's most likely not something that can be repaired."

Even though on some level he figured that might be the case, it felt like Ratchet had jammed the Great Sword through his spark.

Before he had the chance to completely break down, Ratchet carefully grabbed the sides of Drift's helm, gently rubbing soft swirls in his faceplate and ensuring Drift didn't just fold in on himself and completely collapse.

He wanted Drift to be able to understand; Keeping his helm up like this would help Drift read his faceplate, too.

"I know. It's not good news. But we can work with it. You can work with it. We'll figure it out. If we don't have the supplies we need to make whatever assistive device we might have to come up with, we'll find a way to get them, or make them. You have me, Perceptor, Brainstorm, a whole ship full of people who can and will help you. Okay?"

Drift wanted to nod, he really did, but the tears welling up in his optics had blurred his vision, and the thought of being unable to see clearly while being unable to hear clearly was so completely distressing to him that he simply threw his arms around Ratchet's neck strut and let himself cry it out.

Not for long, and not very hard; He found that the sound of his own crying was odd and grating to his audials, both muted and sharper than it should have been.

While he could stifle his tears, he couldn't stop his upset and frustration from seeping out through his EM field.

Ratchet's armour plating shivered a bit, before he met Drift's EM field with his own and wrapped him in another hug, spark to spark.

A surge of love, care, devotion- Ratchet's EM field helped soothe Drift's headache, and slowly, he calmed down. His vents evened out, the sound of the fans rattling no longer another sound adding to his distress.

"Sorry, Ratty. I just, this is... really bad."

"Yeah, it is. But we'll figure it out."

Drift's voice fell to almost a whisper. He couldn't fully hear himself speak, although he felt his vocaliser warm up. "There's this weird dissonance, like everything is too loud and too quiet all at once. Like all the small noises are massive and I can't hear anything I actually want to listen to. It reminds me of coming down from a syk hit, when my sensory data would get a little messed up."

Ratchet stilled, then tightened his hold on Drift. He was careful to speak directly into Drift's audial. "Rung is here too, you know. We're all here for you. I'm here for you."

He pulled back just enough to kiss Drift's faceplate, where the tears had left stains. Drift stared at his intake; He wasn't sure if it was to return the kiss, or if it was an attempt to try to follow along with his words.

"How about this: While Aid finishes up the report on your scan results, we can lay down in our hab suite and hopefully it'll be quiet enough there for you to get some real rest. I can give you a painkiller before we head out; Nothing heavy-duty, but sensory sensitivity can be unpleasant and I want you to actually recharge if you think you can. I can call Velocity in to handle my other patients for the evening."

He hadn't been this tired earlier, but he definitely was now. Drift nodded, leaning his helm up a bit to return Ratchet's kiss.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

[bronyinabottle]

In a recent post on I Dream of Twilight Sparkle I said that I noticed asks that were not in my inbox the last time I decided to read through my entire ask box. So I did the same for my mod blog. And while there were some also that I didn't see before. Most are questions I feel either I feel like I may have already sufficiently answered enough with my thoughts on an episode and/or it'd be weird at this point to answer something that's obviously years after the fact.

But there is two I found that I feel like I may want to respond to. The person who sent it was someone who used to discuss the show with me almost all the time, though obviously they must no longer be on Tumblr as all their blogs are deactivated. But I still want to answer since it is sort of relevant to recent stuff. Particularly in their 2nd ask.

By the way, I'm always open to questions on the show or even non-pony topics here on my modblog. I still do love talking about G4 ponies and I wouldn't mind some questions if any of you would like to know my opinion on anything. Now that the show has been over for nearly 2 years , I can have a perspective on many topics about Friendship is Magic that I wouldn't mind sharing. Maybe some things have changed here and there, though I think I still generally have a positive attitude towards most things for certain. I stuck with the show until the very end, and was satisfied with how it ended. And I still have interest in doing more in G4's world even as G5 approaches. (Though I'm sure perhaps once that movie has aired that may be the focus of any questions sent here)

((My answer and more after the break))

For the most part, I think I still generally agree with what I said in my initial thoughts about the Season 6 finale. It's a solid episode with some great interactions between Starlight, Trixie, Discord, and Thorax. Though the way the ending is executed is a bit of a headscratcher. Maybe somewhat less so since thinking about it now, like even if Chrysalis did keep some things loyal. What would stop them from eventually seeing what Thorax's changelings did shortly after.

But I suppose I wanted to answer this mostly about Starlight. Since while the Season 6 finale made HomerJ get over some remaining feelings about Starlight. I'll admit it took literally until writing Secrets of the Dragon's Tear (A year after the show was over) to realize the sort of potential that Starlight had. The baggage from the Season 5 finale always felt like a cloud above her for the entire rest of the show's run. And I consider Season 6's largest mistake is not trying harder to endear us to Starlight. That's what that season's entire job was, to try to make us feel a little better of how rather rushed Starlight's redemption was by giving us a more expanded look into Starlight's character. And unfortunately, I feel like it failed at that in my opinion. Thus I basically disagree (Though respect the opinion of) with those who would say the Season 6 finale was when Starlight finally won them over.

Don't get me wrong, I like how Starlight is portrayed in the episode. But it would of been stronger if say the season had explained more about Starlight's past. How did Starlight get her cutie mark, and given her opinion on Cutie Marks how did she feel at the time?

Instead, we mostly just got Starlight reuniting with Sunburst that didn't exactly give any more details to her rather vague reasons for turning to darkness from him moving away other then finding out Sunburst's personality and how his side of the story went. And from there we had Starlight befriend Trixie... in an episode I still don't really like to this day.

Ironically, the character in the Hearth's Warming episode that casts Starlight as the story's version of Scrooge (Snowfall Frost) is given more reason to sympathize with then Starlight herself.

Starlight then just about disappears up until the episode that introduces Thorax. Where she doesn't do much other then be among the crowd that Spike has to convince that Thorax is not evil.

The next time we see her is Every Little Thing She Does. Which is something of a controversial ep from what I hear, though ironically despite my skepticism of Starlight at the time. I actually sort of liked that episode since it was basically Starlight's own Lesson Zero. Though I get why Starlight deciding to hypnotize all the Mane 6 besides Twilight against their will would not be approved of. Though it does feel like at the very least Twilight and the rest give her enough of a piece of their mind at the end.

And that's how things stood before the Season 6 finale happened. Even though I do think Starlight has good moments in said finale, nothing earlier in the season really dispelled many of my feelings about the Season 5 finale's ending. So despite a good showing, I could hardly care for it. I wasn't convinced yet we were given a satisfactory answer about the many questions that Starlight's sudden redemption prompted.

Another part of my thoughts I feel still applies is when I mentioned that Starlight's a "Diet Sunset Shimmer" (Which considering what I did to link the two for SOTDT, is a bit funny in hindsight). It took just one movie (Rainbow Rocks) for the fanbase to turn a 180 on Sunset. While an entire season with Starlight as one of the good guys goes by and she remained just as divisive as before if not more so by the end of Season 6.

Come Season 7, and Starlight appears quite a bit more often though under the assumption that the Season 6 finale was enough to warm you up to her. There were many complaints during the first half of Season 7 that she was appearing more then she should (Even in an Equestria Girls special where she got to meet the character she was so often compared to). Though another thing about Starlight in Season 7 in hindsight is besides from her meeting a few more friends like Maud. Starlight isn't actually given much to actually work towards. They dropped the whole student aspect so it's not like she was doing friendship lessons under Twilight anymore (Though I suppose on the bright side for the detractors, it lessened worries about her becoming an Alicorn). Season 8 and 9 does somewhat fix that by having Starlight employed at the school, first as a counselor and ultimately ending with her as the school's Principal as Twilight herself got promoted to sole ruler. Which I'm still unsure about if fans of her character feel that was a proper ending for her. Though probably the best that could of been done in context of not much having been done with her over time.

Still, at least for me personally it felt there was alot missing about Starlight and as time went on it became obvious I wasn't going to get the satisfactory answers about her that I wanted. So as a result, I only had lukewarm reactions when a new Starlight episode was coming up. It also didn't help that there were two episodes that raised my hopes of at least one interesting aspect that would of been cool to see. The first being the episode "All Bottled Up" which I had hoped would mean it would be an episode that's somewhat genie related. And then there was Road to Friendship where Starlight and Trixie try to travel to Saddle Arabia (which is an important location in I Dream of Twilight Sparkle)... and yet never actually get there. So even on the few times that I was hoping to be excited about a Starlight episode, it dropped the ball. Partly my fault for getting so hyped about something that wasn't promised, but I would of loved to at least SEEN canon Saddle Arabia.

I'd never say that I hated Starlight back during the show's run. But she was a frustrating character for certain back then. I couldn't hate Starlight as much as some others did, but at the same time I couldn't like her as much as others. She was in likability limbo. For every fun and or good moment that included her, it's brought right back by either lingering problems that arised from the Season 5 finale or otherwise dropping the ball in some way.

In some ways, she's still a frustrating character. Though that's just how it'll always be with the canon Starlight. It's up entirely now to fanon to give their approach on Starlight that was never done in Canon. With SOTDT, I obviously did a bit of a "Fine, I'll do it myself" when it comes to making Starlight a more satisfactory character for me. Though I'm sure there are many interpretations that are vastly different from how I approached it that can satisfy others and probably be more popular and better written then mine. (My interpretation might be understandably controversial just for Starlight being put back on a path where she'll likely become an Alicorn eventually. Something Starlight detractors feared the most. Though I think I at least try to explain as best I could that makes sense with the story, her cutie mark moment being similar to Twilight's, and the identity of her mother. And I myself sort of feared Starlight becoming an Alicorn might happen, so for me to actually write it so that it might be inevitable. That's just how much of a 180 I've taken on Starlight because of writing SOTDT)

I think I mentioned this before, but I can pretty much say that in a way that I can actually say I like Starlight now. But sort of in a "FiM's biggest missed opportunity" sort of way that it becomes sort of sad to look at how canon Starlight was done. Rather then me simply shrugging her off back when I didn't care so much about her. I also understand it's a bit cheating to say I like Starlight now after doing my own sort of fanfic that had her in a major role since that might be me tooting my own horn a bit.

Though I will say as much as necessary that I am very aware alot of what happens in SOTDT would have been impossible to do in canon and I don't plan on pushing what I did to expand on Starlight's backstory as gospel. It only applies to what I'm doing on the blog, I will not be making a case that my interpretation is the only correct one. I'd actually welcome seeing some different interpretations on things such as who Starlight's mother is, what they feel her past was like outside of the Sunburst leaving incident, and/or especially how Starlight originally got her cutie mark. (I've even said my personal guess is different then how I did it in SOTDT, as my guess is she got it the first time she discovered the cutie mark removal spell). Cause if nothing else, I've realized Starlight is a very interesting character that I think would be fun to explore all the possibilities with. It certainly could be something for those still on the G4 train to talk with one another about.