#and recall things in stressful moments. you can still learn from people who treat you horribly and it doesn’t mean you owe them shit)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Feeling a certain way about that latest bsd interview concerning Akutagawa and the treatment he suffered

(that way is bad.)

[lenixsocial]

Well, it's been a year...

My dad died a year ago on the 21st of January. It's been a solid year's worth of existing in a world without him. That's less stress, less judgment, less anxiety, and less of family.

I spent most of my adult life wondering what it would be like.

My dad was a dichotomy: he both loved his kids, and would do most anything for them. This is in contrast to being a right bastard and emotionally (and physically) abusive throughout his life when he didn't get his way, or when others were doing things that he thought should go another way. He was manipulative, and cruel. I never bore that out as a youth, but both my half brothers did. I only experienced it later in my life.

To the outside world he was a saint. Everyone loved him where he worked, his friends would tell you about how he'd help the homeless out or any number of charitable deeds. I honestly do believe in the fact that he'd give the coat off his back for someone in need. It's just that this stands in such contrast to the absolute and utter chaos of his home life.

I could list a litany of things I put up with as a kid, which were treated as 'a funny story' which now would be considered 'abuse'. And my half brother Kevin and I have spent the better part of this year digging deep and coming to terms with events and kind of recategorizing them for what they are and healing from that.

Last Night I had a very lucid dream where I was walking through the neighborhood he grew up in. I stopped in at an old diner he used to frequent and ordered some cheese coneys and couldn't get the words out. I had to excuse myself and went outside and saw a procession carrying a casket with him in it. I got a call from my other half brother Gene who said he couldn't make it to the procession but wanted me to lead it.

I declined. He got mad at me and I said that I was done and began to walk away when the casket opened and he strolled across the street to me.

He said he missed everyone and didn't want it to be like this (pretty much the moment he died the family split). Those who back his ex-wife and those who don't. He said he didn't want the separation. I looked at this figment directly in his eyes and said "too fucking bad...you did this. This is your legacy. This is what you left behind". I then said "I still talk to my brothers. That's all I need. I was never close to any other family, they all back her and I don't really need to have heart to hearts with people I don't know, people who insult the memory of my mother, and insult my niece and her kids. No. The family is fragmented. In time it'll heal, this will all be memories but you've left it with her. This is not what you wanted, but it's your comeuppance." He then uttered "take care of each other at least". To which I said that I would. He then sat down and said he failed. I looked down at him sitting in a gutter and said "Tabetha told me that I had to stop the martyr complex years ago. You looked like a fool. You acted like one too. People aren't your puppets. They're gonna do what they're gonna do. You didn't drive them to this. They chose it. You can't control everything. And you sure as hell can't get everything you want".

He sighed and looked up and me and said "I'll see you around son. Tell Tabetha I love her too. I love Kevin and Gene. Tell them." I was about to say "they know". And he was gone.

I then spent another fifteen or so minutes this morning reflecting on things before coming to this conclusion: He's gone. You will recall the good times, forget the bad, learn from the mistakes, and go forth. All you can do is what you are capable of doing. You can only control yourself.

I remain in a gulley where I'm even keeled on his legacy of help, and wanting to forget the anguish he's caused.

The only solace is that there's peace now.

[after-witch]

In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Title: In Sickness [Yandere Sesshoumaru x Reader]

Synopsis: You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive. Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive, either.

Word Count: 2029

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of illness

You were not often alone with the demon lord who took you captive.

Then again, you were not often touched by the demon lord who took you captive. Yet here he was, bent over you, hands wringing out a rag he’d just dipped in a pail of river water. You barely register his fingers glancing against your skin, the slight sharpness of his nail edges, as he lays the damp rag on your forehead.

You can’t help it. At the touch of the damp rag, you sigh, soft and pleased. The coolness is blissful, a brief respite from the fever that has been wearing you down for days.

“You are a nuisance,” he mumbles, grimacing at droplets of river water that dribbled their way onto the elevated mat he’d set you on. To keep you away from the cold ground, you supposed, but you hadn’t the ability to care about his unusual generosity.

Once it had become clear that your illness was no minor trifle, he’d sent Rin away with Jaken as unwilling, grumpy but admittedly loyal protector. Where they were, you didn’t know and truthfully, you didn’t have the strength to care. It was hard enough to muster up the energy to care about your own self, drenched with sweat yet wracked with bouts of shivers that alternated with fevers that made your dreams terribly real.

It had started small. A tickle in your throat, a bit of weariness. You were tired, more so than usual, more so than you expected. But it wasn’t until the fever came and refused to leave, until your legs became red and swollen and could no longer carry you, until you started to become delirious, that Sesshoumaru had taken direct action. Jaken and Rin were gone, and you were taken somewhere. A cave? It was a shelter, at least, something more permanent than the campfires and group sleeps you were used to in recent months.

And Sesshoumaru had tended to you, quietly, without much in the way of conversation. You slept most of the time, half-awakening to hear him grinding medicine and waiting until it was placed on your swollen legs, or in your mouth mixed with hot water, to fall back into a listless sleep. You wonder how long you will be able to recall the feeling of his hands on you, the unusual way he sometimes bent over you and stared, checking your breathing, feeling your forehead.

It was intimate and uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to fight it.

You were just so sick. You were just so tired.

Yet you weren’t exactly a stranger to fatigue, to stress, particularly since the day you’d been forced to go with the demon. Stress dragged you down, often making you wish you could sleep for days, a luxury that was not afforded due to the frequently traveling nature of your captor. 

That day that came back to you so often in your dreams, and was now a memory that ebbed and flowed with your fevers.

Did you talk about that day, in your feverish ramblings? Sesshoumaru acknowledged what you said sometimes only with passive noises, either uncaring or not wanting to encourage your incoherent words, intent on making you better and resuming the original course.

You really were a nuisance. So why did he keep you? You’d never asked him this out of fear. You’d certainly never questioned his decision to keep you alive, much less questioned why he wanted you in the first place. Why he agreed to the wild offering thrown before him.

Your village elders had begged the passing demon lord Sesshoumaru to lay waste to a band of lesser demons that plagued the village for years. Men, women, children, even animals--taken and slaughtered in unspeakable ways. Sometimes even killed in their homes, partially eaten. It was not unusual to wake in the morning to piercing cries from mothers finding their children mangled in their beds, or hear husbands wail in agony at the loss of much-beloved wives on the way home from fetching water.

You remember the day so clearly. Like the rest of the people in the village, you were watching from your home, peering out the door like a child, as the elders got down on their knees and begged for assistance from a demon who’d passed along the outskirts of the village.

You remember the shock of his long white hair, his luxurious clothing, his imposing presence that seemed strong enough to make you shake even from behind the safety of the doorway.

He didn’t even bother saying no. He’d simply glared at them as if they were dirt and began to walk away. Then one of the elders pivoted on his knees, spitting out words that would turn out to seal your fate: “We will give you one of our women as an offering! Please, o great lord!”

Still, he did not stop, and the elder let out a shaky cry. Then the elder stood on wobbling knees and looked wildly around the village until his eyes landed on your half-open door, your face barely peeking out of it. He was a man who’d witnessed your birth, a man who’d once given you a special treat for free when you tripped and skin your knee as a child, a man who had serious conversations with you in recent weeks about finding a husband as surely someone so dutiful and kind did not wish to remain with her parents forever.

He was also a man who’d run to your home, quick as you’d ever seen him, and yanked you out of the doorway until you fumbled and fell over on the ground. His hands were sweaty with fear yet they clamped around your wrist like a weight.

“This one will make an excellent servant! She can cook and clean and embroider! Or you may have her--or, or kill her! Whatever you wish! Please, please,” he’d begged again, bowing low while keeping an iron grip on your wrist.

You remember the sound of wind in your ears. You remember the feeling of pain in your knees, in your elbow, where you’d fallen hard. You remember the soft scratch of the door opening, the way your neck twisted around to see your parents and brother hiding behind one another, simply watching you. You remember the look on their faces, confused and scared yet saying nothing. Why didn’t they pull you back in?

And then you remember the sound of footsteps approaching. It was the demon. You looked up and he loomed over you, staring impassively at your form. He didn’t bother glancing at the elder, who was now trembling as much as you.

“Very well,” he said quietly, yet with a tone that was unmistakably firm. “She is mine. In exchange, I will kill some vermin for you.”

A sound rushed through the villagers from behind their doors. Sometimes when the wind blows just right, you’re reminded of it. It was a murmur, a gasp, a collective sound that was relief and sadness all at once. They would be saved from the demons at the expense of one of their own. A sacrifice.

You remember pulling on your arm, crying out something. Did you cry for your mother or your father? You can’t remember now. It didn’t matter. They had already shut the door, and the sound of your sister crying from behind it was the only noise that came through.

Someone tied a rope around your wrists. You kicked, and the rope was jerked until you were standing on numb legs. You had no choice but to walk, to be dragged, as the demon held onto the other end and simply left the village without another word. You cried, you begged, you feverishly cried out to the people watching from behind the doors, to the elders who clutched their hands but watched you leave all the same.

He took you. But he didn’t kill you, or have you, or even make you a tireless servant to his demonic whims. He simply expected you to pull your weight, or at least, that’s what the green imp--Jaken, you’d learned--told you was the expectation. So you helped to cook, you helped to mend clothes, you minded Rin. Nothing more or less than the others were expected to do.

You were kept bound when not doing your chores for a few weeks. When he’d taken the rope off, you’d waited for the moment and run--not that you got far or got anything than a few more weeks with the rope for your troubles.

You hadn’t tried to run for a while. It did no good. And the areas you’d traveled through were sometimes riddled with demons or wild animals that would surely kill someone such as yourself with little effort, should you try to make it on your own.

With Sesshoumaru, you were fed. You got enough rest. You were protected. Not that you didn’t wish every day to return home, to sit with your family for meals, to chase your sister around and tease her to get her to laugh when she felt blue. Not that you didn’t hate being sometimes treated like a pest, like a dog, when it wasn’t your choice to be here in the first place. But at least you were still alive, still able to hope you would see your family again some day.

A sigh from lips that weren’t your own draws you out of your memories, sweeping away the memory of that day and every day of captivity since like dirt being beaten out o f fabric.

You open your eyes, grateful for the soft light in the cave, and see Sesshoumaru sitting across from you, his back up against the stone wall. Your head feels clearer, less foggy, less hot, thanks to the rag and you decide to sit up a bit. Laying down all the time makes you feel dizzy. He watches with no change in expression as you wiggle yourself into a higher position, wiggling yourself back on the mat until you’re resting against the wonderfully cool stone.

You stare at each other for a few moments. The sound of the fire he’d set up further in the cave is low, crackling. You try to imagine him gathering wood, crouching low to do the mundane work that you and Rin and Jaken often did, and it seems ridiculous.

You try to imagine these things in order to avoid asking a question that has been on your mind since the moment the ropes had chafed your wrists, the moment you’d been forced to stumble after him.

But you can’t avoid it forever, and finally, you speak.

“Why did you take me?”

You would never dare to ask this question if the others were here, if Sesshoumaru hadn’t been tending to you, intimate and up close, for days. But the fever and the strangeness of the situation has made you feel clearheaded in a bold, perhaps too much so, way.

He simply stares at you for a few moments, and you think that he will choose to ignore you until his gaze shifts almost imperceptibly to the side.

“You were offered to me.”

It is your turn to offer a passive noise. The answer he gives is is nothing. At least nothing that makes sense to you, makes sense of your situation.

“Why didn’t you kill me, then?” Surely there was a reason, since he didn’t make you a hapless servant, either. “I was supposed to be a sacrifice.” Or you were meant to be. Instead he’s made you something altogether in-between. You weren’t worked to the bone or treated terribly, but you couldn’t leave. You weren’t killed, but you weren’t any more useful than his willing companions, either.

You don’t get the answer you wanted. Or any answer at all. Instead, he merely scoffs, and stands up to leave the cave. He pauses at the entrance, waiting until you turn towards him to speak.

“I will not take long.” He gestures towards the mat with one hand. “Go to sleep. And refrain from asking such stupid questions when you wake up.”

[ectonurites]

hey! how knowledgeable are you on stephanie brown? because i got in a bit of an argument with a dc fan on reddit who claims she's all these awful things, but im still relatively new to steph and i want to see what was true and what wasn't. link to screenie right here: https://ibb.co/vh6CYCJ

these may be matters of opinion, but even then, i'd like to know your take. i haven't read her firsthand often enough and i trust your judgement over this random redditor who seems to have some sort of blonde-woman related trauma left untapped.

I'm not necessarily the most knowledgable on her in the world, but I do know a decent amount because she's one of my absolute faves and I love her

But ohhhh boy that screenshot is a lot.

I will say that several of the things this person brings up are based in canon but are taken in the worst faith and framed in the way that makes her look as bad as possible, if that makes sense? It’s ripping things away from any context, because there's a very clear bias against her here.

I'll go through it point by point under the cut

First of all though before digging into this, I want to make it clear she was a 15 year old for the majority of the things this person is talking about. Like just pause for a second and remember she’s a 15 year old victim of abuse. That is something that I think factors into a lot of her behavior! Anyways, I kinda while doing this got into a ranty 'talking at you' format in response to the person who wrote all that, so don't take any of this as me yelling at you who asked the question/you anyone reading this.

"She always acted entitled" - Saying Steph is entitled is absolutely ridiculous to me. Stephanie grew up with a very unstable childhood due to her dad frequently being in prison and her mom dealing with a drug addiction, living in a lower class part of the city. Tim is entitled. I don’t mean that as like a bad thing about him, but he is based on his living situation, she is not. She has wanted life to be better for herself and her mom, and is determined about that, but she is not and does not act entitled.

(Secret Origins 80 Page Giant)

"and stubborn" - I will give you stubborn though, that one is true. She’s stubborn as hell! I don’t really see that as a bad thing though, pretty much every bat is stubborn?

"demanding that Batman and Robin accept her untrained ass" - Steph may have been untrained in fighting but she's shown to have exceptional gymnastics skills from the start, and at one point Bruce even says that with the right training she could be as good if not better than Tim (in Robin #88)! So like... her realizing she enjoys trying to be a hero after she tried it out to deal with her personal business, so she looks to the local experts… and is determined about it… how is that a bad thing? It’s also not like she walked up to them and said ‘im perfect as i am let me in’ what she wanted was a chance to be a hero. But she also wasn't even really looking for approval, either, not having Batman's blessing was never going to stop her. ("So excuse me if I don't jump when you bark, Batman." in Robin #16) Later when Bruce does bring her in to train (and she also gets to train with the BoP) she's excited! She’s stubborn about wanting to be in the hero business, but it’s not like she’s unwilling to work for it.

"advocating leaving criminals to die because they 'deserve it'" - She’s a 15 year old who grew up knowing firsthand how dangerous Gotham criminals can be because of her dad, of course off the bat when they’re in a dangerous situation where any of them could die (because that’s the context here, this is in Robin #35 where they’re trapped in some super dangerous snow) she thinks they shouldn’t go back for another criminal who just tried to kill them and should instead save themselves. But she also literally WITHIN THAT SAME ISSUE then says she realized she learned something after listening to Tim and trying to save the guy! In the same issue! Characters in a story aren’t supposed to be perfect from the start… they learn things along the way???

(Robin #35)

"trying to steal from the shops they just stopped from being burglarized" - She’s 15 and doesn’t have a ton of money. She was gonna take two sodas, and when Tim said not to do it she paid with very little fuss. They stopped people who were robbing the place at gunpoint for prescription drugs. If you can’t understand the difference in severity between those things like… I do not even know where to start. (this situation is in Robin #56 btw)

"forcing physical affection onto Tim despite his visible discomfort and repeated objections (not even stopping when he told her he had a girlfriend)" - This one I will give you because she did cross boundaries with all that! But I do also want to clarify that she didn't start coming onto him until after Tim kissed her first (in Robin #5) while not telling her he had a girlfriend. That doesn’t excuse her later actions but for the first issue that she’s coming onto him from her perspective he expressed interest and she was just returning it! She even specifically says 'Maybe I should pay you back for saving my life the same way you paid me' (in Robin #16) before kissing him. That first time she kissed him unprompted was under essentially the same circumstances he kissed her unprompted, and she literally did not know about Ariana until after the fact. From that point once she knew about Ari she definitely should have backed off and she didn’t, that’s a very fair thing to criticize about her as a character. But Tim lead her on first, and I feel a lot of people like to casually forget that when talking about this situation. The way this is phrased of ‘not even stopping when he told her-‘ implies she was repeatedly doing the bad behavior before he told her, which is not the case. She still did bad things here but don’t misrepresent the situation.

"And lashing out at Tim, her mother, and her classmates in violent fits of anger" - Every comic book character lashes out at other people for the sake of drama like, I dare you to come up with a well-known superhero character who hasn’t done shit like that to a partner/family/friends in a moment of high tension/stress?

"She treated the girls around her like they were stupid bitches" - frankly this ones a little too vague like, I'm not sure off the top of my head exactly what they're talking about? in that era right around her pregnancy and stuff I really don't recall her being mean with other girls? I could be forgetting something I guess but the closest I can think of is a bit after this period of time when she has the confrontation with Greta in Young Justice but that was Greta attacking her first, not the other way around.

"got insanely jealous if Tim so much as expressed concern about another girl" - Steph getting jealous and thinking Tim was cheating isn’t that crazy when STEPHANIE BASICALLY WAS THE OTHER GIRL DURING TIM’S LAST RELATIONSHIP? Tim has cheated a little bit before! Tim cheated on Ari with both Jubilee from Marvel (during a crossover thing where he even mentions Ari specifically so it’s not like this was out of continuity/a setting she wasn't an issue or something) and also with Steph. While most of the kissing between them was Steph coming onto Tim which I wouldn’t count as cheating on his end, he did still kiss her which I would count. Not to mention that the jealousy thing (I imagine they’re talking about the instance with Star, the girl who taught Tim to skateboard, this arc of stuff starts in Robin #80 and continues for a few issues) is happening during the time she’s dating him while she still doesn’t even know his real name. He literally has a whole other life she doesn’t know about, and is someone who has initiated romantic moments with other girls while in a relationship multiple times before! With that in mind I don’t think a 16 (she's def 16 by this point) year old girl being kinda paranoid about how he interacts with girls he might know in his civilian life is that unreasonable? The later big instance with jealousy is the Darla situation- where Steph sees Darla kiss him and gets mad about it (and doesn’t talk to him about it) and thats what prompts her to become Robin. The important thing to remember about Steph in this time frame is that DC decided she had to die and they wanted to make her Robin first to drum up more attention for that death. They were doing ooc things with her to set those pieces in motion, and that needs to be taken into account. I think her getting upset about seeing something like that isn’t even ooc, but her using it as motivation to become Robin and not even saying anything to him about it is. In the earlier instance where she’s upset/jealous about Star, she does communicate to him what’s going on at least a little bit on the rooftop after they’d saved her. She makes it clear the thing she was upset about is that she feels like she can’t trust him because she doesn’t really know him while he knows everything about her, and that’s why she thinks he’s cheating. Her reaction to the Darla thing is not in line with how earlier in canon Steph would have handled the same situation, because they wanted her to die and needed a way to explain her becoming Robin.

"and expressed that jealousy by accusing him of cheating and throwing things at him" - I just addressed the cheating stuff but the throwing things was fucking slapstick oh my god this is a comic book for kids/teens like. ah yes this is horrible abuse in this little funny montage of how Steph wants him to leave her alone because she’s mad at him and he refuses to give her space

(Robin #82)

I don’t think anyone at DC or even in fandom would/should try to argue she’s perfect, because she’s not! And I don’t want her to be because perfect characters are boring. Steph is flawed, Steph has been compared in canon to Robin-era Jason by Cass & Bruce

(Detective Comics #790)

And I think these highlight some of her very real flaws that are an interesting part of her character. These plus her stubbornness and determination are part of what makes her her.

And for fuck's sake the world was mean to her, and to act like it wasn’t is just blatantly ignoring a lot. A criminal father who made her life really difficult (‘when my dad was mad at me he’d lock me in the closet!’), that time she got kidnapped for two weeks and her mom had left her (a 15 year old) alone at home so long she didn't even find out it happened (in text Steph says Crystal was visiting friends, a lot of people interpret that as her mom possibly being in rehab for her addictions again), that whole thing about how one of her dad’s friends tried to sexually assault her as a child, also just how due to her dad's work sometimes criminals would be living in their house (Literally the fucking Riddler at one point!), the fact that we as an audience watched her get tortured for several days because a plan she tried to enact to prove herself backfired since Batman didn’t trust her with important information (something Selina even calls him out on in her internal narration), like… sorry but in what way is all that not the world being mean to her?

She was Robin, she dated Robin, she likes Eggplant (because purple would've looked stupid), and makes jokes. She’s also impulsive, headstrong and determined, and wants to prove to herself and others that she can be more than just the daughter of a shitty criminal, that she can actually be a force to do good in the world.

She’s a complex character, and nobody is required to like her, but to act like she doesn’t have a single redeeming trait is ridiculous. You could write a paragraph like that with the worst moments of basically any character and make them look like shit if that's what you were setting out to do.

[demonslayedher]

An Attempted Timeline: Kochou Shinobu

Very open to feedback, because canon is as spread out as Muzan after his first date with Sun Breathing. Instead of tracking the year or distance from current timeline, we shall track this by Shinobu’s age (roughly, in most spots).  Despite being centered around Shinobu’s life events, I’m also diving into Aoi’s life, the other Pillars’ timelines of life events too, and doing some conjecture about Shinobu’s deceased Tsuguko.  Should be obvious, but spoilers ahead. 

Childhood: Raised by kind parents who possessed medical knowledge. Sometime around elementary school age (at the oldest, I’d put her at 11, but probably younger), parents are killed by a demon, house is demolished, and she and Kanae are rescued by Himejima (who was maybe around 20 or younger at the time), who hands them off to the Kakushi. After the funeral for their parents, she and Kanae seek out Himejima for training, and after a little time with them he sends them to separate cultivators (according to the light novel chapter “One Winged Butterfly.”) Training under cultivators usually takes about a year. She and Kanae perhaps passed the Final Selection when Shinobu was around 12-ish, give or take.  (For setting and comparison’s sake, Kagaya and Amane have long since already been married and Kiriya is already born.) Whether Kanae becomes a Pillar first or they establish the hospital at the Butterfly Mansion first is unclear, but these events happen relatively quickly. I suspect they might have had access to a lot of savings from their parents. Furthermore, this makes Kanae one of the many Pillars in the recent generation who blows that “it usually takes five years to become a Pillar” Taisho Secret away. (As an aside, maybe the reason the Corp as a whole seems to be full of weaklings is because the current Pillars have sucked up all the amazingness, but I digress.)

The Butterfly Mansion’s hospital was established long before Sanemi became a Pillar (according to the light novel chapter “Signpost of the Wind”). Sometime after Kanae becomes a Pillar, Sanemi becomes a Pillar. Giyuu was a Pillar before Sanemi was; the three of them were the same age. My guess is that Shinobu was around 13 when Kanae became a Pillar, putting Kanae and Sanemi around ages 15ish~17 when they would have had chances to interact. For comparison, Giyuu and Sabito were 13 at the time of the Final Selection, so Giyuu would had already been in the Corp longer than Kanae and Shinobu.

The following events either happened very quickly or unfolded over the course of a couple years:

Aoi (likely the the same age as Kanao) comes into their care (she preceded Kanao since she was there for Kanao’s naming, according to Taisho Secrets and second fanbook)*

Kanao (two years younger than Shinobu but much smaller, and given how petite Shinobu is, I can only assume this is because of how malnourished Kanao was) is adopted as their little sister on some May 19 (the anime seems to put the event in winter, but I assume it was already in production before the first fanbook was published with that detail)

Kanao has ample opportunity to observe Kanae’s Flower Breathing and learn by watching

Kiyo, Sumi, and Naho come into the fold (separately or all at once, though not as relatives)

Kanae is killed by Douma (Shinobu is age 14, one of the only pieces of this timeline we can be certain of). As she wished in her dying moments for Shinobu to live a normal life, she may or may not have had Shinobu as her Tsuguko, or had any Tsuguko at all.

Shinobu, age 14, becomes the head of the Butterfly Mansion household, where she already has five adoptive/pseudo younger sisters. At this point she takes on a cheerful personality, as well as probably set her heart on becoming a Pillar as soon as possible and becoming strong enough to defeat the demon that killed Kanae.

*Aoi’s circumstances are important (and curious) because the second fanbook tells us both that she practiced Water Breathing and that she passed the same Final Selection as Muichiro. Since Muichiro became a Pillar two months after taking up the sword, that means he went almost straight from sword to Final Selection to Pillar. We don’t know how much recovery time he needed after losing Yuichiro at age 11, because he wasn’t among the Pillars in the Rengoku Gaiden, so he perhaps only started practicing the sword closer to late 12 or age 13 (putting Aoi around 14, 15-ish when she passed the Final Selection, and presumably quit the sword right after that).  It’s interesting to note what a different relationship Aoi has with Shinobu than Kanao does, especially since Aoi was there first but Kanao was adopted as a sister in a more all-encompassing sense. I suspect (and am putting this in italics for conjecture): Due to whatever circumstances with her Water Breath cultivator (possibly difficulty in housing a lone girl among a bunch of male students), Aoi needed to live elsewhere during her training. The Butterfly Mansion was a good spot, so Kanae and Shinobu agreed, like sponsoring a junior, and in exchange Aoi helped out around the house and hospital. Aoi kept her own last name, as she had her own family to avenge. When Kanao came in, it was purely out of wanting to help an orphan who wound up staying with them instead of being adopted out, which is why she was given a family identity and an opportunity to take the Kochou name if she wanted to (or even Aoi’s family name). They were probably treated differently because of the nature of how they came in and an assumption that Aoi would leave as soon as she entered the Corp. As Kiyo, Naho, and Sumi came in, it was a weird middle ground of whether they were just looked after until something better for them came along or if they were adopted as sisters as fully as Kanao was. Ultimately, they still retained a lot of their identities from before they were orphaned, and it was more of a pseudo-sisterhood, which Aoi had sort of fallen into as well. But, once Aoi entered the Corp and then quit the sword, she probably didn’t feel she could turn to her cultivator for any help, so at that point Shinobu took more full responsibility for her as a permanent household member.

Moving back on to Shinobu’s timeline, if I’m remembering the Giyuu Gaiden correctly (it’s been a while since I read it so I don’t recall exactly), that story took place shortly after Giyuu sent Tanjiro and Nezuko to Urokodaki, and it was also shortly after Shinobu became a Pillar. Since Tanjiro took two years to train after that, that would put her at age 16. Since Kanao joined the Corp in the same batch as Tanjiro, that means Shinobu would have had about two years between becoming a Pillar and taking Kanao as her official Tsuguko (I stress ‘official’ because it comes with distinction Tengen respects, it’s not casual “sure, I’ll look after you” thing). In that time, she had (at least) three other previous Tsuguko, all girls given butterfly hairpins, and who were all killed by demons in that two year period. 

Conjecture about Shinobu and these Tsuguko: 

Knowing how likely she is to be killed before she has an opportunity to avenge Kanae, Shinobu was likely in a hurry to train a Tsuguko and started trying to pass her knowledge on right away. It’s possible they were even closer in age to her than Kanao, maybe even older, and quite possibly physically stronger. It’s possible they were trained under Flower Breathing cultivators and still used that Breath, which would have given Kanao opportunities to learn by watching.  That said, Shinobu doesn’t mention or think back to her Tsuguko often, and they never appear in Kanao’s flashbacks, though their deaths are some of the little pieces that strengthen her resolve to slay demons (she seems to care more about how her pseudo-sisters’ families were killed by them). My guess is that Shinobu made a clear divide between family and work, so as to protect the little girls from getting attached to more people who were likely to be taken away from them. Likely, her Tsuguko and the Butterfly Mansion girls resided in separate spaces and had very little interaction, and their Pillar/Tsuguko relationship was kept very formal so they could all focus on their demon slaying goals (albeit they were probably fond of each other anyway, signified by the butterfly hairpins). 

In that two year period, the following events occur in roughly this order: 

Rengoku become a Pillar (around age 18 or 19, and since he was raised practicing Flame Breathing he probably finished the Final Selection around age 12 or 13, so it clearly took him a more normal period of time to become a Pillar. But, despite being naturally gifted with strength his mother recognized, this drives home how hard he needed to work to overcome a perceived lack of “talent.”)

Iguro becomes a Pillar (around age 19 or 20, so he likely had worked at it a long time)

Aoi passes the Final Selection and quits the sword (thereby leaving Shinobu able to leave most of the hospital and household work to her since she’s no longer training), Muichirio becomes a Pillar (around age 12 or 13, genius-level speed at attaining Pillarhood)

Mitsuri becomes a Pillar (around age 18 or 19--a friend, yay! Also someone who became a Pillar way faster than normal.)

On these note, please also me to jump backwards a few years to when Kanae was still alive. Uzui had to have been a Pillar by at least age 18, but given the state of Ubuyashiki’s illness, probably a lot earlier than that, and he probably didn’t take very long to become a Pillar after entering the Corp. Since Giyuu was already a Pillar in Sanemi’s flashback, then he attained Pillarhood by, at the very oldest, age 17, so it took him four years or less. Interesting that in all these four or more years he’s been convinced the position is vacant, there’s no one else who performs Pillar-worthy achievement in the Corp’s most widely used Breath style. That really drives home the difference between the Pillars and the average cannon fodder. (Also worth noting, the Kamaboko Squad’s progression seems to fall somewhere in the middle; right to the very end the Taisho Secrets state how Tanjiro was still far from mastering Hinokami Kagura.)

At late 17 or age 18, two events occur: 

Shinobu begins filling her body with poison for the sake of exacting revenge, knowing she will likely be eaten (she began about a year before the Pillar Training arc)

Kanao sneaks out to the Final Selection of her own will and with self-studied Flower Breathing, officially becomes a member of the Corp. Shinobu worries Kanao was just doing this because it’s what everyone around her does, as Kanao cannot express that she’s built her own hatred for demons. 

Shinobu makes Kanao her Tsuguko almost right away, making the following changes (conjecture in italics):

Teaching her proper Breathing and sword technique (and the little girls witness her quick progress with blowing up gourds)

Instructing her very simply just to focus on cutting on demons’ heads so that she doesn’t get caught up in indecision on the battlefield

Censuring Kanao a bit for her choice to go against her sisters’ wishes and take up the sword, for now she risks death and giving the other pseudo-sisters yet another person to grieve. Given the risky nature of their work, Shinobu feels forced to treat her the same strict way she treated her Tsuguko instead of treat her as a sister. Kanao accepts this and goes from treating Shinobu as her sister to treating her as her master (calling her “Shihan” instead of “Shinobu-neesan”).

Over the course of the events of canon, Tanjiro and company spend a very large portion of their time in recovery at the Butterfly Mansion (even if a large portion of that time is spent unconscious), they might as well be pseudo-adoptive little brothers. But, I suspect Shinobu bonds more readily with girls. Also in that time, Kanao speeds up the ranks (she attains Hinoto rank, the 7th of 10 ranks, while Tanjiro & co attain the one above that, Hinoe). Furthermore, thanks to Tanjiro’s influence, Kanao also makes leap and bounds in being able to express herself, like something finally broke through.  This at last leaves Shinobu somewhat relieved, after maybe five years or so since she first adopted Kanao. By that time she is getting anxious about the impending final battles (and her death, which she has deemed inevitable but purposeful), and she tells Kanao the plan. And then Oyakata-sama is like, “heeeey, so I heard you want to be friends with demons, I got you one, her name is Tamayo.” (It’s possible he already told her he was planning to get Tamayo’s help and wanted her cooperation, but he didn’t actually approach Tamayo about it until after Pillar Training started (though by Kimetsu logic, it’s highly possible that the crow talking to Tamayo took place much earlier than when it was presented). I gotta wonder how quickly they worked to combine their research and if the other girls in the mansion had any idea who Tamayo and Yushiro were.

And then, at age 18 (or likely 19 given the progression of the series and very lengthy recovery periods, heck maybe even 20), Douma. Shinobu dies, Kanao switches back to calling her Shinobu-neesan instead of Shihan, Kanae’s butterfly hairpin which Kanao wore breaks in battles, Shinobu exacts her revenge on Douma while her efforts against Muzan are also in motion and then she reunites with Kanae and her parents in spirit, and Kanao wears Shinobu’s butterfly hairpin in the final showdown and then she makes Shinobu the surprise hero in the surprise final battle to save Tanjiro. It was a really long night, and a really short, busy life. 

[inkweaver22-blr]

Here’s chapter eight! Just a short little bit of fluff for you all today! Hope you enjoy!

AO3 Link

<Previous | First | Next>

Scattered Cicadas - Chapter Eight: A Magical Morning

Tang wakes up in someone's arms. The resulting morning is nice.

----------

He was alone in the dimly lit cave. The voices, much less frantic but still persistent, called out his name. The golden-yellow light enveloped him

----------

Tang awoke slowly feeling warm and comfortable. He hummed in content as he snuggled into the arms of whoever was holding him. It seemed he was already in a relationship this cycle. That was nice.

The scholar took in a breath and caught the scent of the other person. Peaches and earth.

Sun Wukong.

This certainly wasn’t the first time he had been with the immortal monkey romantically. He actually became rather fond of him once he experienced the Monkey King’s softer side. Tang mused that it was hard not to when the cycles seemed to pair them together almost as often as they did with him and Pigsy.

He listened to Wukong’s gentle breathing for a few moments, enjoying the quiet moment of peace.

He supposed he should start his remembering ritual and see what this timeline had in store for him, but he really didn’t want to wake his partner by getting up. He could do it in bed, but that never got him as much details as reciting his memories in front of a mirror. Oh well, he could get a more accurate accounting of them later. He was much too comfortable to be bothered by it right now.

He focused.

He was the immortal monk Tripitaka. Unsurprising as half the time he was together with Wukong that was the case. He’d better start getting reaccustomed to being referred to by that name.

He had given up on reincarnation at the end of the Journey and entered into a relationship with Wukong, much to the monkey’s delight. Tripitaka smiled at the memory of Wukong’s reaction when he had agreed to be his partner in this cycle. MK’s happy stimming had nothing on the fifteen straight minutes of running and acrobatics the ecstatic Monkey King had displayed.

It had been three hundred years since the sealing of Demon Bull King and the pair had been living peacefully on Flower Fruit Mountain ever since.

Tripitaka blinked as he became a bit more awake at that. It had been five hundred years since the sealing when the staff had been pulled in the original timeline. That meant there was still two hundred years before anything he knew would happen would, well, happen.

That… was quite a lot of time.

Would the cycle even last that long? They usually only lasted the year of time from when MK became Wukong’s successor to the start of the second Journey to the West. If it did last the whole two hundred years, what would he even do in that time? He had memories of past cycles where he had lived that long, but had never personally experienced that much time passing.

Wukong shifted and pulled the monk closer to his chest.

“You’re thinking too much again,” Wukong murmured as he nuzzled the top of the scholar’s head.

“Sorry,” Tripitaka apologized softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Wukong settled back down and began to purr as he cuddled with him.

Tripitaka smiled as the vibrations from his partner’s chest soothed his worries. He had been a bit surprised to learn that most demons could purr many cycles ago, but now he couldn’t help but yearn for the comforting sensation. Thank the Heavens that Pigsy could do so as well or he’d have to wait until he was paired with Wukong to experience it again.

(That time he had been dating both demons and had gotten sandwiched between their purring had been incredible.)

The monk decided to treat this cycle as a relaxing vacation. God knew he needed one after reliving the same stressful year for countless iterations. Even if this cycle did only last a year, getting to spend it with someone he loved was more than worth it.

The Monkey King. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Bodhisattva of Victory Through Strife. Sun Wukong.

Tripitaka hadn’t thought he would have fallen in love with the immortal monkey, but fallen he had. In the original timeline, most of his feelings towards Wukong were more along the lines of hero worship than actual fondness. But getting to see the Monkey King grow as a person through the lens of Tripitaka’s memories had been enlightening.

Seeing first hand, so to speak, the change from being an impetuous, rude, and merciless demon to a focused, kind, and respectful warrior changed his perspective on Wukong quite drastically. He wasn’t some peerless hero to be placed on a pedestal. He was a person, with all the flaws and imperfections that came with that.

Wukong was still mischievous, pulling pranks and making sarcastic jokes. He had trouble expressing his fears and doubts, having to be confronted directly if you wanted to get him to open up. He always made himself scarce whenever it was time to fold the laundry.

Yet Tripitaka, and occasionally Tang, loved him anyway. He was endlessly sweet whenever they were together. Kind and gentle and caring. Tripitaka found it amusing that one of the strongest beings on Earth or in the Heavens was actually a hopeless romantic.

Surprise kisses, thoughtful gifts, and of course endless hours of cuddling were all to be expected if you found yourself to be the subject of the Monkey King’s love. Tripitaka enjoyed every moment of it.

“We should probably get up,” the monk eventually said.

“Don’t wanna,” Wukong replied, holding Tripitaka tighter.

“Wukooooong,” Tripitaka pretended to whine, not even fighting the embrace. “We can’t stay in bed the whole day.”

“Says who?”

“Says me!”

“Well it's a good thing you're not my master anymore so I don’t have to listen to you.” Wukong opened one eye and grinned teasingly at the monk.

“Oh you asked for it now.”

Tripitaka instinctively waved his hand and a burst of magical energy pulled open the curtains, flooding the room with the soft morning light.

What.

The monk stared blankly at his hands as Wukong groaned dramatically about the sun being his mortal enemy. Quickly muttering something about relieving himself, Tripitaka extracted himself from the bed and made his way to the restroom. Luckily there was a mirror so he could go a bit more in depth in recalling this cycle’s memories.

He soon found what he had missed on his first pass-over.

Tripitaka was a budding sorcerer who was studying how to harness his innate magic in this timeline.

Well.

That certainly changed some things.

At least now he had something to fill his time if the cycle did last two whole centuries.

After finishing up and washing his hands, Tripitaka made his way back to the bedroom where Wukong was now sitting up and stretching.

“So what’s on your agenda for today, love?” The immortal monkey turned to his partner as he entered, smiling serenely.

“Hmm…” Tripitaka thought for a moment. What was he going to do? He blinked as something from a long past cycle came to him.

“I’m going to try and see if I can modify the fire repelling ward into a ritual so that people without magic can cast it,” he began slowly, getting more excited as he warmed up more to the idea. “Imagine people being able to place it on their own homes and not having to worry about them being destroyed in a fire!”

Wukong chuckled as he stepped out of bed and pulled Tripitaka into a passionate kiss. He pulled away and gazed lovingly into the monk’s eyes.

“Have I ever told you how much I love seeing you get excited over your projects?”

“Perhaps once or twice,” a now flustered Tripitaka replied. Wukong just grinned and kissed him again.

“Well I do. I love the way your eyes light up. I love the way your hands wave when you’re explaining your process. I love the way you squint at your work when something isn’t going as you thought.” The monkey pressed his forehead against the monk’s, staring passionately at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tripitaka replied sincerely.

If this was what the next two hundred years were going to be like, he couldn’t wait.

----------

I hope the name change wasn’t too confusing for you all. If it is, I’ll switch it back.

For those confused about Tang's actions, he is NOT cheating on Pigsy here. Tang has a big heart and is certainly capable of loving more than one person at a time. So whenever he’s in a relationship with one but not the other, he loves that person romantically and the other platonically.

And if the other wants to join in, all the better!

Whenever none of them have romantic feelings for each other, that’s fine too because he still loves them no matter what.

Hundreds of years of reliving the same events allows you to get to know someone really well, and I think anyone would have difficulty NOT falling in love with them.

That’s all for now! See you next time!

[steve0discusses]

S5 Ep6: Joey Wheeler is on Fire, Yet Again

Came down with a little sickness-not the biggie, just a little sly guy. But I took some meds, I’m a little floaty, I’ve only been listening to baroque music all morning for some reason? And I hate baroque music usually? But I’ll leave it to bro to tell me if this is fluid enough.

Just so you know, these caps were kind of a hot mess for a while and some of them read like that Garfield in of hot eat the food comic until...today. So pls don’t judge me, Judge my damn DMV where no one was following Covid regulations because I’m pretty sure that’s where I got this damn cold.

We start off with Roland getting more attention than he ever has in his entire life. Like honestly, I don’t know what Roland’s job really is...but he’s got a very diverse set of very useless skills. One of which, is knowing how to announce sports games that aren’t really a sport, while those games he’s announcing slowly fall into chaos.

Anyway, Roland’s taking so long cherishing his sweet time before everything goes to hell, that he’s boring Joey, who’s kinda turned into a ball of stress in the waiting room.

A lot of this episode is us watching them watching Joey having a break down moment by moment, TBH.

(read more under the cut)

Yugi telling Joey to study his cards and straight up--what?

Like at this point they know what’s on the cards, right? Like there comes a point where even Yugioh cards have a finite amount of words and I’m just going to assume that like...Joey probably knows them all in his own deck, right?

(bro note: they have no limit on what they will put on a card)

Then again, maybe Yugi doesn’t know what “study” means?

Also, appreciate how some artist crosshatched the hell on Joey’s nose there and I zoomed out and ruined it.

Now for some reason every duelist is hanging out in the duel lodge, including our current arch-villain guy who’s brought a book. I want to know what book this guy even reads so no one could suspect he’s actually a hacker who uses computers. He’s reading romance, right? And I don’t think he’d even be into Twilight, I think he’s straight up into hard core Mom romance like a lame ass Nicholas Sparks over there reading “Dear John” for the millionth time because he is completely un-phased by anything else happening in this room.

Joey, our hero, just out there being an asshole for no reason.

After Tea is pushed into a locker or something screaming about her need for female friends (which she screamed in earshot of Rebecca again, who I figured was on friends terms with her after last episode...but I guess not) Leon hops up to remind us that we should be caring about the fact that his character exists.

And like, I love Leon’s hair color--that’s a good choice, and legit that is the color I tried to dye my hair at the beginning of the epidemic (it didn’t work PS, my hair cannot take dye for the life of it) but also like...he just kinda feels like a weak Rebecca as far as characters go. He’s young, he’s good at cards...I think he goes to a private school? That’s all I can think of about Leon.

He mostly just reminds us that the big prize of this tourney is to duel Yugi, who anyone could have dueled at any point even without the tournament.

On the way out of the...duel room? lounge? Area? Joey decides to like...make peace with Zigfried, and I gotta tell you, I kinda have to side with Zigfried, because Joey spent the last ten minutes being a freak in the dressing room/lounge/bathroom and at one point looked like he was going to hold the entire locker room in a stranglehold.

I would also want some space from Joey Wheeler, is what I’m saying.

After insulting Joey’s style (which honestly, Joey...has a style? He pops his collar, that’s his entire style.) Zigfried assures us that Joey’s gonna lose and like...

...probably, right? Just looking at the plausible direction this season will go.

Anyway, Joey is such a mess (which is the theme of the episode, that Joey needs to learn to chill in order to win at card games) that Rebecca is like “I understand if all of you leave me to go help our poor baby Joey.” And no one felt bad for her.

Mokuba comes over to tell everyone all of the Kaiba family secrets because Mokuba has no filter.

Seto has devoted himself to staring at a computer screen for the rest of this episode. I guess he’ll put their names into Google, realize that social media hasn’t been invented yet, and then just lie his head down on the desk and take a power nap until the tournament is over. Much like I did after taking Dayquil this afternoon.

I like how Seto dressed for success and then locked himself in the server room for most of this arc so far. Maybe he’s just...really tired, I dunno. I don’t really blame the guy, he’s had a hard time.

And then Yugi was like “DAMN IT MOKUBA, JUST ONCE CAN YOU NOT INVITE THE ILLUMINATI???”

And we had a weird scene where Yugi just started talking to the ghost and it was while he was talking to everyone else, and the show didn’t treat it like that’s a weird thing to do...but it was a weird thing to do.

This show does that sometimes, where I guess they imply that Yugi’s Pharaoh conversations are split second conversations but...they’re not, right?

Also this chick ain’t gone yet, and Mokuba is just failing at his entire job for not zeroing in on vibes coming off this chick like stinky cheeseman.

So listen.

Did the Kaibas make like 3 types of Blue Eyes Caboose to one up Noah? Because Noah made one choo choo dragon, and then Mokuba and Seto were like “how dare” and then made sure that everyone ride every single version of the blue eyes caboose just to see how proud of them they were.

How many months of troubleshooting was the train? Like how long in development did Seto and Mokuba spend on these? A lot right? Like most of the time?

I did not check the subs to see if Roland said Jumping or Champion but I like to believe that Roland thought it was a cool new name he gave him.

Then these guys all showed up.

Hey so...can we talk seating arrangements?

Tea decided not to sit next to Yugi after complaining about not spending time with him for like how many episodes? Or was it too awkward to sit on top of what was probably Pharaoh?

Or did Mokuba go like “please, Tea, I cannot sit next to the others because I’m pretty sure one is a mole that is about to go cray” and was Tea like “Good, I need female friends, these ones are driving me crazy!” and then was Mokuba like peering desperately over the edge of his self made dragon train prison realizing he has to listen to Tea complain about boys for the rest of his ride across molten lava?

Headcanons abound about this weird seating arrangement that the animators drew for the reasons they did...but reasons I cannot fully understand. That and the Dayquil is making me overfixate on random stuff.

And also, Tea is kind of the Kaiba’s security’s understudy. Just there to always protect Mokuba with her ass because she’s the strongest woman alive.

PS I missed the tumblr wars because at the time I was trying to like...run a proper business on blogger. When Blogger died and I jumped over here it was like a weird ruin where everyone was like “tumblr is the most toxic place alive” and...I’ve had a really nice time here, actually. Completely missed that civil war period and I have no regrets.

Now I was there for the Petz wars (warz, I guess) where people were very militant about Petz abuse (abuze?) where apparently people were using the spray bottle on their catz too much and people were very, very upset about it to the point that they were like campaigning about it on their angelfire websites with the most bizarre grassroots campaigns that I still recall, to this day because they were like...well they looked like this:

PLAPA. Not only am I 100% positive that only this one guy ever called this movement PLAPA, but I’m 100% positive that not only are Catz not real people, but also this wasn’t actually happening and we never had any proof that it was. Either way, if people knew or suspected that you hadn’t deleted the spray bottle from your game (which at the time I had no idea how to do because I was a wee child) they would basically assume you were on a one way road to being a mass murderer in real life.

In real life we were 7 years old so like...thanks?

But that’s the closest I got to toxicity and at the time I was too young to make an email account and actually converse with these people. I was just there to download their Petz hexes, and I already made a post about how wonderful and incredible Petz Hexing was.

And y’all, I heard, just now after a little deep dive into the Petz Abuse debacle (which yes, is on the wiki), that apparently, like gardening, Petz Hexing came back in a big way during the epidemic--and I have found an active Petz forum in this the year 2021. The only problem is that I no longer remember how to use old timey forums...and I think I’m locked out of seeing most of these threads (and like this forum is so old I think I have to send them a letter in the physical mail to apply). But, I’m pretty sure they’re hosting a picture contest for who’s dogz poses the best. And I’m pretty sure someone created a hexxed Pickle Rick. Or it’s a photoshop that was made to look like a hexxed Pickle Rick.

Dammit why did it have to be Pickle Rick? That’s not worth re-installing Petz and getting it to run on Windows 10...

Guys is this the Dayquil? Is this really happening? I feel like I’m losing my mind for so many reasons...

Anyway, speaking about useless hexing it’s about time that our villain did something that was actually dangerous, so Zigfried decided to install a new virus that does more than turn off the lights. (it still turns off lights)

the Spreadsheet Virus!

Confounded by the spreadsheet software, it...um...it does this:

Straight up how does Excel make a volcano erupt? Is that why I have to pay for Microsoft office now?

All this because Joey made fun of Zigfried’s naturally pink hair? Which is the most normal hair on this series outside of like...Tristan?

Hey guys...Joey’s fine, right? Like how many times has Joey been on fire? And once in an iron cage next to like...a Fire Golem?

Joey’s fine.

MAN I miss Fire Golem. He had a good mug.

And then we just kinda watch chaos go across the park, chaos that includes: Too many ghosts in the haunted mansion (which honestly--you’ll get your money’s worth, sounds great!), the Ferris wheel goes kinda fast and thus might accidentally be fun, the lights turn off at some concert stage that only had 2 people on it (so it might just be motion detector lights and not even a virus), and um...literal fire and magma are going to set Joey Wheeler on fire.

Just...one of these events does not seem like the others. In fact most of these things sound like good improvements to the park and they should just hire Zigfried at this point.

Roland puts down his microphone and jogs across the stage, about a mile through the audience bleachers, and into the staff lounge, to go and bother Seto Kaiba, who is in a room that has a hi-def classical painting copy-pasted on the wall and I can’t look away from it.

I almost did a Google search on this painting but then thought better about it. There’s like...a billion classical paintings that look exactly like this, and they wouldn’t use like a Monet, they would have to do something that’s harder to catch to avoid copyright issues (because yes, even old ass paintings have copyright issues, but no one tell NFT’s which are going to be so freakin screwed and was such a bad idea, that I can’t even start).

Anyway, I have no idea who it is and it is legitimately driving me up a wall, but I’m on too much meds to do the effort of putting it in a reverse google image search.

Plus, a reverse google image search would only pull up Seto Kaiba.

So Kaiba takes us on a little flashback to his weird ass past, a weird ass past that just...doesn’t follow any of the established timelines, but I assume was shortly after adoption but before Seto got into a phase where he wore his school outfit everywhere and tried to shove his MMO off onto his Dad as a business model.

Seto is like 8 for some reason. I don’t know why, they kinda drew him younger this season anyway, like maybe they got a lot of fan mail and realized “Hey I think we made the 16 yo boy too sexy?” And they just toned Seto the hell down. That, and it’s a different animation team, and maybe they looked at Seto’s character design and were like “we don’t get paid enough to draw this well.” So...since Seto actually looks like a teen again, I guess his 12 year old self has to look like he’s in Elementary school.

Also, I only recognized this, because at some point in S3 as I was roasting Noah Kaiba’s weird fashion:

I remember distinctly roasting that little bow tie. I don’t remember when I wrote it, I think there was a version of this outfit that was in color...but I don’t remember where.

Anyway, it’s not the same jacket...but man that’s kind of awkward, ya? Like the maid who dressed Mokuba deffo got fired?

He um.

Turned the lights off a little bit.

Guys this villain is like...

...why does he think lights are scary? Like look at little Seto here. The boy is already bored. Seto duels on the edges of cliffs...he doesn’t care about the freakin dark.

We had a guy who killed everyone on the planet last season, and this season we have a little fashion gremlin standing in the corner and flicking the light switch going  “wooooo you never catch me!” and it’s like...

...I’m starting to think this guy isn’t a witch.

Like we’re at Episode 6, there’s still time for this guy to be a witch...but I really am starting to think this guy is just...straight up not a witch. It’s everything Seto wanted, a rival who isn’t a freakin magic person...and sets Joey only fake on fire instead literally on fire like last time...

and Seto is just completely unhinged by it.

Anyway, I’m off to go drink a bowl of soup and pass out. If you’re new here, this is a link to read these in chrono order.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Take A Break

Pairing: Sirius x reader

Request: Hello! Could you write a Sirius x reader where she's like the only person not interested in him and is focused on grades, so he's super confused when she pays him no mind? And of course drama queen tries everything he can to get her attention??😁

A/N: This is pretty dialogue heavy, and probably not my best work, but I still hope you enjoy! Feedback is welcome!

Wordcount: 1.5K

Sirius Black had gotten very used to using minimal effort to get attention. Boys, girls, teachers, everyone seemed tuned into him for some reason or other, and he had long moved past the odd feeling that brought about and accepted it as a part of his life. Walking down the corridors often resulted in groups of girls giggling at him, people stepping out of his way without a second thought, his jokes never went unlaughed. He may have no longer been Black family royalty, but the majority of Hogwarts students certainly treated him like a prince.

It was another regular day for him and the rest of the Marauders. They had joked with McGonagall in transfigurations, caused a minor scene at lunch, talked to each other as if they had a secret no one else could know about. Which, of course, they did, but nobody knew that. The extraordinary part of the day for Sirius Black, however, came in his astronomy lesson.

He had noticed her before, of course he had. He often stole glances towards her, her y/h/c hair tied up in a ponytail, the colour of her y/h sitting against her skin. They knew of each other, they had often worked together in the earlier years of Hogwarts in projects they were paired together for, but they had since fallen out of each other’s orbits, leaving Sirius to admire her from afar. Watching the crinkle appear between her eyebrows as she concentrated on her star chart, he knew that he couldn’t wait any longer to ask her out. Out of all the girls he spoke to, and she wasn’t even one of them, y/n was the one who could never leave his mind.

He watched her packing away her equipment at the end of the class as he quickly stuffed his things in his own bag, urging Remus to go ahead without him. Feeling an unusual sense of nerves settle in his stomach, he approached her, clearing his throat to announce his presence. She turned towards him, flashing a bright smile as she swung the bag over her shoulder and tightened her ponytail.

“Hey Sirius, it’s been a while. How have you been?” Checking the time on her watch, she started to walk towards the door and descend the stairs from the tower, Sirius following behind her.

“Oh, you know, I’ve been alright, getting along like always.” He laughed, relieved to hear a chuckle from her, bouncing from the walls of the tower and echoing around them.

“Yes, I’ve seen. It’s quite hard not to, actually.” They had reached the bottom of the staircase by now, and Sirius knew that they were about to head off in different directions for their classes. “I’m assuming the great Sirius Black didn’t seek out a conversation with me for nothing?” She asked, clearly seeing straight through him, causing a slight blush to colour his cheeks.

“Love, I would happily talk to you for hours just because. But you’re right, I did want to ask you something.” She stopped at the top of the next staircase, turning to look at him with a curious expression in her bright eyes. “I was hoping you would come to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

She took his hand in hers and looked at him softly as she spoke. “I’m sorry. I’m flattered you asked me, I really am, and I love spending time with you, I just don’t have the time to have the fun that you do, or I’ll never get the grades I need to get the career I want.” She squeezed his hand before letting go, and he felt his heart squeeze with it as she left him and scampered down the stairs, turning back to him at the bottom and giving a little wave, complete with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry mate.” Sirius jumped when James’ hand clapped down on his shoulder, clearly having watched the exchange. “What are you going to do now?”

“I guess I’ll take a leaf out of your book Prongs.” Sirius sighed as the two of them began to walk through the corridor to their next class. “Just, with a little less creepy stalking.”

…

Y/n was sat in the Great Hall, waiting for her friends to arrive and sit with her for lunch, head stuck in one of her favourite books she had picked up in the library a few days earlier, to pass the time while she waited. Hearing someone sit next to her, she bookmarked her page and looked up, surprised to find a certain dark-haired boy sitting in the empty seat by her side.

“What you reading?” He asked, smiling brightly. She held the book out to him silently, placing it into his open hands. “Les Misèrables? J’aime bien ce livre!” She started, staring at him for a couple of seconds before she finally opened her mouth to respond.

“Tu peux parler le français?” His smile grew wider as she spoke to him, enjoying the sounds of the language he rarely got to speak anymore, finding pleasure in it even if there weren’t many parts of his childhood he enjoyed.

“Mais oui, mademoiselle. It’s impossible to be a part of my family and not learn French growing up. How did you learn it?”

“I grew up in France, my family only moved here a couple of years before my eleventh birthday. My parents worked out there for most of my childhood, so I learnt it quite naturally. It’s a beautiful language.”

“Even more beautiful when you speak it.” He laughed loudly as she shot him a dry look, clearly not impressed at his cheap line, although he noted how she averted her eyes and how a smile tugged at her lips. He passed the book back to her, letting his fingers brush over hers ever so lightly. “My offer still stands, if you ever want to take it. Hogsmeade, just say the word.”

“I wish I could, I really do. I’m just not as naturally clever as you and your friends. I have to put so much work in to get the grades that I do, I just don’t think I can fit a relationship into my life at the moment.” Sirius started to respond to her, trying to deny what she had said about him and his friends, but he was interrupted fairly quickly.

“Pads!” It was Remus, standing next to James and Peter, who were all beckoning him over. Sirius sighed, irritated at his friends as they seemed completely oblivious that he was talking to someone else, to y/n.

“It’s okay, they need you.” She encouraged, a hand on his arm as she gently pushed him away. “Have a nice weekend.” And with that, he had been pushed back to the Marauders, and once again he was left looking at her across a room, wishing he could be back by her side.

…

She was sat in the library, filling her Saturday with a self-imposed review of recent lessons, trying to commit it all to memory before exam season began and the stress became overwhelming.

She had lost track of how long she had been sat there, knowing only that lunch had come and gone before she had managed to drag herself away, and now there was an empty pit in her stomach she was ignoring. She was looking over her potions textbook, trying to memorise the method for brewing the elixir to induce euphoria. She had the book closed in front of her, as she muttered under her breath, trying to recall what she had read.

“So then you add the porcupine quills, and after that you… stir four times… clockwise?” She cursed herself as she struggled to bring the words to the front of her mind, beginning to open the book again when a voice interrupted her.

“You stir counter-clockwise.” Sirius was sitting at a table across from hers, alone, his own notes sprawled out in front of him. “You’re louder than you think.”

“You’re studying?” She asked, surprised to see him, and surprised to see him alone, actually doing some work. He nodded, grinning at her shock, messily collecting his belongings and transferring them to her table as he took the seat opposite her.

“I was trying to tell you at lunch the other day. I don’t just naturally take to all my classes, I do have to work for them. I just find the time to have fun, too. Y/n, you can’t spend your life holed up in the library, you’ll miss everything. Taking a little time off isn’t going to make your grades plummet. If anything, it will probably make you concentrate better.” She sat for a moment, taking in his words, and finally nodded.

“I’m willing to give your method a try. So, are you going to let a gal take you to Hogsmeade?” Nothing could beat the breath-taking smile that broke across his face, and she knew that following her heart was the right choice that day.

“I don’t know, I’m kind of busy studying.” He laughed, growing even louder as she threw a roll of parchment at him, hitting him squarely in the forehead. She met his eyes and they were shining at her, and she knew he was worth taking a break for.

[linkspooky]

The Fall of Hawks and Twice.

Hawks choosing to sacrifice Twice is not purely for the greater good. In effect it’s Twice repeating what he always does, choosing to sacrifice himself. Twice essentially  is twice, they’re both two-faced, they both experienced a fall, they both long for an easy life.   Hawks choice to attack his foil, his shadow in Twice, says a lot about his own character. Hawks and Twice are so close it’s essentially an act of self harm. He’s beating up, and threatening to stab a person who looks like himself. Hawks is a character defined by his self destruction. Icarus is a famous story and metaphor for self-destruction, Icarus chooses to fly too close to the sun. Hawks is an icarus who wants to let himself fall, and because of that he deliberately chooses to push people like Twice who are so much like himself over the edge. Hawks and Twice are two characters who fall into conflict not because of their differences, but because of how similiar they are. More on their foiling underneath the cut: 

1. Hawks Destroys Himself. 

When Hawks said “You’re a very kind-hearted person” what he meant was “This is what makes you an easy target.” There’s an expression of remorse with those words as well, but you have to remember the lessons that Hawks’ learned through life. His first major action was saving a bus-load of children from an accdient as a child, and his reward for that “kind-hearted” action was to immediately get taken advantage of by every adult in his life. 

Hawks has been taught over and over again by life that his good nature, the part of him that wants to save other people is something that makes him usable. To the point where saving people is no longer something he consciously chooses to do, it’s a function of who he is. The same way a robot programmed to save someone from a burning building would carry that job out without fail. 

The one image we see of Hawks’ childhood with the public safety bureau he’s blindfolded. This is an important symbol for a character whose name is literally “Taka” Hawk and “Mi” See, visible, idea. Raptors in particular are known for their eyesight. Being able to see everything is important to Hawks, because seeing everything, knowing everything, visibility, and knowledge are both things that give him agency. 

But as a child Hawks’ agency is completely stripped from him. He is literally blindfolded. He treasures it so much now because there was a time in the past where it was completely taken from him. 

As a person Hawks is very self aware. He knows on some level that his dedication to saving others is what allows other people to use him so much. His way of regaining control of that has always been to just let himself be used, and say it was for a good cause. 

Hawks’ tendency is towards self destruction. It’s the same as All Might saving people until all of his internal organs are irrepariably damaged and he is going to barely live past forty. Hawks was never treated as an individual in his life, and therefore he has almost no individual self-worth. He will always view himself as expendable, and always choose the option that damages him the most. However, this is a learned behavior. This is literally what Hawks’ was taught to do by the hero commission. Sacrifice yourself to save people, they’ve put this idea in his head since he was a literal child. The hero commission views him as someone without agency, without someone who has a choice in his own actions. Hawks as a person does not really exist outside of what the hero commission tells him to do. His value and worth as a person is entirely determined by how useful he is to others. 

Hawks knows that he doesn’t really have a choice. That they’re taking advantage of the little boy inside of him that still genuinely does want to save people. However, he deludes himself and pretends that he is going along with this, that he does have a choice in order to reclaim what little agency he has left. Hawks chooses to self destruct. He flies towards the sun deliberately. 

2. Hawks and Dissociation Disorders

So earlier I made the claim that both Twice and Hawks suffer from dissociation, it’s just that Hawks doesn’t really show his symptoms on the surface, and Twice is very obvious about it. 

Now I don’t think there’s a like textbook diagnosis for Twice, but he displays a lot of symptoms for dissociation in his writing. Let’s do a quick review for Dissocation Disorders in general, I’m not talking about DID so much as the general category grouped together. 

  Dissociative disorders (DD) are conditions that involve disruptions or breakdowns of memory, awareness, identity, or perception. People with dissociative disorders use dissociation as a defense mechanism, pathologically and involuntarily.

Under this branch term there are four general types:

Dissocative Amnesia: 

The Sudden inability to recall information of a personal nature due to forgetfulness or other organic conditions (We see Shigaraki do this). 

Dissociative Fugue

Inability to recall personal identity and past with confusion about personal identity or assumption of new identity. (We see Shigaraki and Dabi both do this. Twice too doesn’t know if he’s the original or the real Twice or just a copy)

Depersonalization 

Persistent symptoms involving changing in perception, and being detached from one’s own thoughts and body. May feel things are unreal or have a sense of being in a dreamlike state. 

Dissociative Identity  

Existence of two or more distinct alters, each with its own memories, attitudes, and perceptions. (Twice suffers from some form of this he at least hears two distinct voices in his head that argue with each other, but diagnosis is a very messy thing and he could overlap with a few other categories. IDK if Hori intended to show he has two distinct alters or just that he hears voices). 

Hawks mostly shows signs of depersonalization, but I would argue just like Dabi, Shigaraki and Twice he also has his moments of clear dissociative fuge from his own thoughts, and intentions. Remember Hawks is incredibly high functioning a lot of the signs he shows of his mental illness are very subtle but let’s go over them quickly. 

Its mentioned several times that the expression on Hawks’ face almost never matches what he’s feeling inside. He’s completely inscrutable to other people. 

Even if they want to, literally no one in his social circle can understand him. How much of this is really Hawks being the best spy ever, and how much is Hawks literally not being able to show it or communicate properly. A severely depersonalized Hawks would be so detached from his own emotions he would essentially be unaware what he is feeling as well. 

I can imagine Hawks smiling in a mirror for hours so he knows when to smile at the right time, and knows when to make the right faces to react to things so he doesn’t intentionally set everybody off. If Hawks has to make all of those reactions intentionally as part of an act, if he doesn’t intuit those things naturally there’s a serious disconnect betweehn what he is feeling and how he’s able to display and communicate those feelings. It’s kind of like how autistic people don’t always react “appropriately” or at least what everybody else considers to be appropraite. (There’s a lot of overlap in these mental illness symptoms). 

If Hawks has to continually at all times act like he’s reading off of a script when he’s interacting with other people, even just having normal conversations than that means there’s serious unreality he’s experiencing. 

Hawks also expresses guilt in relatively the same way that Dabi does. The scene itself is even paralelled. Hawks says I’m sorry in his internal narration, but does not show it in his face, or even communicate those feelings. 

Dabi then literally in the next panel when asked if he feels guilt for the people he’s killed, says that he spent so much time thinking about it he went crazy. Dabi and Hawks are foiling here to show that they suffer from the same symptoms. Both of them have to continually dissociate themselves from their own emotions in order to deal with the guilt that piiles up. Dissocation, above everything else is a way to relieve stress by separating you from yourself, your own body, the pain you feel, etc. Hawks just like Dabi thinks about these things to the point where he goes crazy. 

The connetion betwen Dabi and Hawks is just like that of Twice and Hawks, what Dabi expresses, Hawks conceals. Hawks interanlizes all of his damage and destroys himself, Dabi externalizes all of his damage and lashes out at the world around him but the result is the same, internalizing, externalizing, its still exteremly unhealthy behavior. 

Tumblr user @katsubf​ made a post about this here. 

If you compare Shigaraki, Dabi, Hawks and the way they’re drawn Hawks almost always is covering his mouth, whereas Dabi and Shigaraki have their mouth open. 

In the same post katsubf points out one of the few times that Hawks has his mouth open is right before he’s made the decision to kill Jeanist. 

Once again in a narrative of dissociation this is once again used to illustrate the disconnect between Hawks and his own emotions. Despite the fact that Hawks is doing this for what he considers to be good reasons, we also see him smile inappropriately like a villain right before deciding to stab Jeanist. Hawks can’t make his face match his true emotions. He smiles at this time because his long repressed emotions are coming to the surface. 

That’s why Dabi and Shigaraki are maniacally laughing, and Hawks has to cover his mouth. That’s the difference between the repressed and the expressed. Shigaraki and Dabi make the decision to show how damaged they are and wear their scars on the surface. Shigaraki has his wrinkled up and scarred face, Dabi proudly wears his burn scars. When Dabi and Shigaraki feel something, everybody else knows about it. They’re way of dealing with their emotions has always been to express them. Whereas Hawks is such a considerably repressed individual that he’s never once expressed his true emotions in front of others. Shigaraki and Dabi have to express themselves, they find their identity in rebelling against everything that tells them to suppress themselves.

For Dabi and Shigaraki the bad feelings must always be expressed on the surface, even if it becomes someone else’s problem. Hawks response has always been the opposite, he always pushes the bad feelings deep inside himself and lies about them in hopes that if he represses himself perfectly the bad feelings will go away. 

Hawks literally represses himself to such an extreme extent that literally nobody around him understands what his true feelings are, and Hawks is so dissociated from himself he probably does not have that good of an idea either. And this is what Hawks wants. This is what Hawks thinks he has to be in order to help others. Hawks has to distance himself from his own emotions, enver let his feelings get in the way, and do as he’s told. 

However, the thing about repression is it doesn’t work. It doesn’t hold. His true feelings are going to come to the surface eventually, hence why we see Hawks smiling when he’s about to cut apart Jeanist, not because he feels happy about it in the moment but because Hawks is so insanely disconnected from his own emotions that he doesn’t know what he feels. 

In summary, Hawks is mentally ill. He doesn’t cope with those feelings of mental illness in a good way either. There’s something very sinister about the people who Hawks chooses to target. This shouldn’t be a surprise there’s always been a dark edge to his character. 

3. Hawks and Twice

If I were to characterize Hawks in a word I would say he’s avoidant. Hawks can’t let his emotions conflict with what he has to do, he doesn’t really know who he is, he can’t know who he is, so rather than dealing with those emotions he avoids them. 

So, why target Twice? It’s because of all the people that Hawks has interacted with, Twice is the person who got the closest to Hawks’ true self. 

It’s important to remember that concealment isn’t just something that Hawks does for the sake of his hero work, it’s also literally a survival mechanism to him. Hawks has to know everything and see everything, but nobody is allowed to get close to him, or know anything about him because just like the hero commission if they have that information they will use it against him.

Hawks has literally never even been taught to communicate in a healthy and open manner, he’s been taught “negotiation skills.” Hawks just isn’t a person, and Hawks just doesn’t allow himself to be a person either.  Twice is someone who shares several parallels with Hawks. Both of them didn’t really have any agency in their situations. They both lost their agency due to poverty, Hawks lived in a terrible home before the heroes took him in, Twice had no relatives to take him in, lost his job, and became homeless. 

However, unlike Hawks, Twice is someone very honest about himself and his desires. Hawks does not trust a single person, whereas what Twice desires the most is people he can trust and be trusted by. 

Hawks and Twice both experienced a fall through no fault of their own, to the point where they lost agency and control over their own lives. They were both isolated from the rest of the world and only had themselves to count on, they were also both minors at the time. 

However, they were taken in by different people. This is what the police and hero society as a whole say to people who’s fallen. 

This is what Giran says to Twice who had taken a similiar fall. Even though by the time Twice lost his mind it was his fault a little bit, for deciding to rob, and try to live the easy life of crime. 

The response of hero society is “Let them fall” whereas Twice was told that there are people in the world who are like him and suffering the same way, and he can trust them. 

So in these opposite environments Hawks and Twice have internalized very different ideas. Those Hawks and Twice are people who have fallen, they came to the opposite conclusion. Hawks believes I should fall. Twice believes no one like me should fall. 

When Twice encounters someone like him, he tries to reach out and accept them because he was saved by that same acceptance.

If you compare both characters the idea of self destruction runs rampant in them. Twice evens says several times, his greatest enemy is himself, he can’t trust himself anymore, he is symbolically beaten up by mulitple versions of himself. He has let himself fall again and again.

Twice also says as much, the choice to fall is also the choice to run away. Hawks avoids, Twice has already directly confronted who he is. He’s felt his pain while Hawks literally spends every second of his day not feeling his pain. 

So you have Twice who believes the exact opposite of what Hawks does. Hawks wants to disappear and to make all of his personal feelings vanish underneath being a hero, whereas Twice is someone who states outright that the most important thing is understanding who you are. 

What we see in Hawks and Twice’s confrontration is the culmination of an idea set up by Twice ever since chapter 115. Heroes only exist to save virtuous people and no one else. They exist to maintain a status quo that will always intentionally let people like Twice fall because dealing with them would be an inconvenience on everybody else. 

Twice is Hawks’ literal opposite. He’s very aware of what Hawks is in denial about over himself. Hawks believes that he is on the side of heroes, on the side of saving people, but Hawks himself is someone who is not going to be saved by the current hero society, he’ll be used up and thrown out. Hawks is someone known for cheekily expressing his true feelings, but he actually always wears a mask at all times. Whereas Twice is someone who becomes his real self, when he puts a mask on, and Twice having no filter at all means he’s always expressing what he clearly thinks. 

So what does Hawks do when he’s confronted with such a person? When he’s confronted with someone who wants what he wants, but is honest about it rather than lying to himself like Hawks always does. 

Remember Hawks copes poorly. If I were to say his coping mechanism, I would say it’s “Do everything you can to maintain the lie.” Hawks is in spy mode 24/7 to the point where he not only has to convince everybody else around him, he must also take steps to convince himself. 

Look at the way Hawks interacts with Endeavor. Endeavor is almost always threatening him, being angry and irritable, and he always suspects something. Even though Hawks deeply respects Endeavor and does things to help him, he’s treated poorly by the other, and it mirrors the way the hero system treats him as well. Even though Hawks is essentially a good person always sacrificing himself for others, he’s treated with suspicion, derision and forced to do thankless dirty work. 

Twice from the start always treated Hawks the exact opposite. He treated Hawks as a person. He immediately saw who Hawks was as a person, and every time Hawks helped him out he thanked him for it. Twice is an unbelievably honest person in front of Hawks, and not only that unlike Edneavor and the commission he actually cares about what Hawks’ true feelings are and asks him about them. 

We see as Hawks gets closer to Twice, in his mind Endeavor starts to turn away from him. Twice wants Hawks to meet Shigaraki because he knows Shigaraki would accept him and give him a place for belong. When Hawks is around Twice, there is someone who would accept his true self, and try to support him.

And Hawks hates that. 

Hawks entire world view is built around always repressing himself, concealing himself, he can’t have his true face ever show. If you analyze the two people who Hawks has targeted so far there’s a common thread between them.

Jeanist, physically missing a lung and injured. 

Twice, a dropout from society, quite literally insane and violent. 

Hawks considers himself expendable. Damaged Goods. Someone who is eventually going to take a fall. Hawks ackonwledges that he’s going to be thrown out one day, but propels himself forward telling himself he needs to accomplish saving all the people he needs to save before that point. 

It’s because Hawks has internalized the idea that he’s expendable, that he willingly sacrifices people like Jeanist and Hawks who are also expendable in the same way he is. He goes out of his way to target them and kill them to achieve his goals. 

Hawks isn’t doing this for strictly good or evil reasons. There’s a deeply personal element to this for Hawks, and he’s essentially proving his own world view. This is a world where damaged people like Hawks have to get sacrificed for the sake of everybdyo else’s peace and well being. 

Because Twice is so much like Hawks, it’s an act of self destruction. What Hawks really wants is to destroy the part of himself that Twice represents, the part that wants to trust others, to be accepted for who he is. Hawks believes if he permanently kills this part of himself he’ll finally be able to do what he needs to do. 

It’s not really some great act of heroism, it’s incredibly unhealthy. Hawks is stabbing himself over and over because that’s what the hero commission has taught him to do. 

However, there is still hope for Hawks. Twice has said he wants Hawks to meet Shigaraki. 

Hawks has been set up to meet Shigaraki for a long time in the story. I doubt either of them will die before this meeting gets to take place just because it’s been brought up so many times. When Shigaraki finally does meet Hawks maybe there will be hope for him yet, because unlike Twice who was told that there are people like him in the world, and that damaged people can have friends too Hawks has still not been told these things. Hawks needs someone to tell him that he can’t let others trample on his feelings even for the greater good. 

[ask-impure-vessel]

I don't know if this will reach you at the right moment in time Vessel but, peace friend, The Wyrm has already shown he cares for you greatly and you have done him no disservice or wrong. This may simply a matter too important to discuss elsewhere and His Majesty may be too caught up in his own troubles to understand the affect he has on you.

[Note: Frank discussion of anatomy, anxiety/panic attacks, unreality, post-traumatic stress, past abuse, suicide, disordered eating, self-harm, stuff about the Abyss with all that entails and other such unpleasantries. Strap in, folks!]

The vessel felt like their body was somewhere a few steps to the right and back of them. Their father said nothing as he led them down to the workshop.

You don’t understand. You don’t-

There’s a distant panic in Vessel’s voice. They still keep walking, they must. The order was given. Despite what happened in the Abyss, control still belongs to the Pale King.

It was as if nothing had changed at all.

For the first time, they begin to resent that. The workshop is the last place they want to be, for multiple reasons besides the temple that was to become their agonizing grave. This is not a place that holds any good memories for them, not a single one. 

They arrive in that darkened place, the birthplace of moulds, all thousand of them-700 kingsmoulds, 300 wingsmoulds-where Wyrm's research led to the vessels that rested in the infirmary and that walked into the room. The king shrugged off his silken robe, leaving on a shirt that still covered what was considered a decent amount in Hallownest, showing off the truth of his form; it had been a while and Vessel Hallow was shocked by the changes to his father's form.

He was a being of pure white carapace, plates with softer flesh between, especially around the joints; his skin was sunken, his belly not just thin but almost concave instead of convex. He looked a bit muscular, but mostly because he appeared to be starving. He was dull in color, the white often not as bright as it could be, looking almost dirty with a lack of nutrients to look glossy and nice. 

Wyrm could subsist on soul like a vessel, but that didn't mean it was pleasant for him to do so. He was much like other bugs in physicality, fueled by food, water and having to use the toilet to flush out what his body didn't use of those things. His genitals were internal, just like any bug, his shirt covered where that was hidden. 

His secondary set of arms were more visible now, as was the lower half he usually ambled upon: multiple legs and a long tail that terminated in a pointed end. His tail was thin, almost collapsed with the lack of care.

What was more alarming were the splotches of black. His hands were absolutely covered in it, just beyond the wrists but the lines that raced upwards were far more concerning. Void taint was a part of Hallow's body but for a pale being, such a sight promised long, lingering agony. The absolute rigid calm their father practiced suddenly became a lot more impressive.

It left Hallow in minor shock.

Father, are you dying? Have you already assured your death? Was it on purpose that you inflicted starvation and void poisoning upon yourself? I can think of few less painful, lingering deaths.

"Come. Please kneel so that I can more easily examine you and the changes to you." He activated the door seals and waited in a clear space.

<Father, I-> The vessel walked and knelt, words cutting off with anxiety.

Wyrm activated and checked on the seal on Hallow's mask. "Interesting, joining with the Lord of Shades didn't disengage this? I hadn't expected that. It must have been greatly weakened over the course of my rule and being forgotten. I had thought them already dead." He muttered and began to ghost fingers over the notches Hallow had. "Where did the Kingsoul go?"

That had been a question Hallow had been dreading.

A hand touched upon Hallow's chest. "There it is, if changed greatly at your breast. It became your core? Brace."

It was more warning than Hallow usually got; sharp pain radiated through their being, as something touched their heart.

<Father, it. It hurts.> The vessel gasped out. They were not words sufficient, but they were descriptive enough for their use.

"Please bear it a little longer. This is a very beautiful charm that has become your heart even if it is taboo to my being." 

The pain grew to shocking agony, then to a fading sensation, Hallow felt like their body was a distant, cut off thing.

<Father, please. Stop!> The vessel spoke in growing horror, fear and concern.

The Pale King was faced with a decision then-and let go of the charm. Sensation slowly returned and the vessel gasped on the floor, curling in on themself on the floor as mind and body reconnected. It was painful as the disruption the Pale King had inflicted and the vessel would have gagged if they could on the feelings of revulsion they now felt.

They instead wept on the floor, black tears falling onto the ground as they shivered and their mind turned to things they did there, the pale Wyrm unheeding to a child's pain in the terrible silence; the screams that echoed only through the void, the vessel capable only of displaying stiff trembling to their master. 

They recall the efforts to ensure they could learn magic. The painful process of 'installation' over being taught the theory that took place here. The studies that involved dying here and their shade. When the various seals were made on their shell and mask, the burning magic that had kept burning on their mask for days from them. They had done nothing but suffer in this room and this day had proven no different.

"Vessel, I. I'm sorry, that went too far." The king stroked their mask, making a soothing sound, a purr that Hallow hadn't heard before.

Hallow felt the dam burst and sat as they cried, for all the things they'd wanted and had never had. That Wyrm was holding them now, comforting them now, touching with loving intention rather than with cold intent of science or with violence. The feelings were somewhat positive, but many were bitter, some even bordered on hate and disgust that they didn't know what to do with. They had so many things to say, for themself, for the things that had been done to them and the things they'd missed out on. For the way their father had run away the moment their emotions had become known like a damnable coward. That had been a choice Hallow had been denied, they couldn't say no-yet this day, for the first time, they had asked for their father to stop.

And he had listened.

The Pale King let Hallow get out everything they'd needed to, to calm down and recover from… whatever it was that he'd been doing to them. <This one doesn't want to be experimented on again, or studied. This place, it brings back bad memories for it.> Hallow spoke, in a shaking mental voice. <It is painful for this vessel to be here.>

"Oh, Vessel. I had no idea it was that upsetting. Let's go to my study, then so you don't have to be here. You never have to come in here again." The King promised and led the shaking knight from that terrible place.

They settled down in a chair this time, the king likewise going seated. "I will apologize. That was too far, I needed to explain what I was doing and why-to ask for your permission. It's not easy to break old habits. I noticed you dropped first-person pronouns in your stress." He spoke frankly with sadness.

<This one supposes not. It felt like it was… dying.> Hallow shuddered. <Did you pull this vessel away to speak, or was it to satisfy that curiosity?> They asked tiredly.

"A bit of both, admittedly. To ask you how you're feeling, but that's… obvious, right now and is very much my doing." He sighed and leaned forward. "I'll have to be invasive one more time, I'm afraid but perhaps not this day, to let you recover. I need to set you free and I intend to."

<You'll… free this one from its bondage?> Hallow rephrased in mild disbelief. 

"Yes. As my final order in that bondage, for the rest of your life should something happen and I am unable to undo that binding-I order you to act of your own free will and feelings, as you see fit and judge is right. I relinquish control over your will and mind. There will need to be magic done to completely remove the binding, but it will no longer function."

<It will thank you, father once this one is wholly free.> Hallow spoke diplomatically. They couldn't exactly forgive him entirely yet if the harm was still there.

"I understand. You are a higher being now, truly. While you could read the language of the gods and make things function that are for gods, you didn't have a few aspects that would elevate you from a child of higher beings to purely one yourself. However, you do not have worshippers and as much distaste as I have for the god that was, that will need to change for your own health."

<That must be why the Lord of Shades said they were very, very starved. Speaking of, father. Why are you starved?> The vessel spoke pointedly. <This one believes they can ask some pointed questions and get answers in return. You owe it at least that much.>

"I. Eating is a currently disgusting endeavor to me. Certainly, I did like it once and ate but. Since the vessel project started, my. My enjoyment became nil." He replied honestly. "My shame steals the joy out of anything I do."

<You regret the choices you made?> 

"I do not regret having you for a child. I regret that I killed so many and the crimes committed against the siblings who didn't make it. I regret how I've treated you. I don't know if I could make it up to the survivors but I will at the least try for the time I have and make sure your siblings do not go through the struggles you did." The king chose his words carefully. "I believed I had no other recourse. No other choice that wouldn't see my people dead or entirely enslaved to the Old Light-but I do not think I deserve forgiveness for being a kinslayer, for my mistreatment of you. I have been something to you for sixteen years. Would have been that for two years more, so you could have your final moulting and complete your training. I would have nailed that armor to your carapace and left you to her tender mercies. In that, I was wrong. I intended to kill myself once I was sure my people were safe and could carry on in my absence."

<It knows. It realized that when it went down into the Abyss before becoming the Shade Lord.> The vessel spoke, voice thick with pain. <You're dying, aren't you father. That's why you don't mind sacrificing yourself to the Grimm Troupe either. You are dying and you want to die.>

"I've done too much to live or to allow myself the pleasures in living. The situation in Hallownest is my fault. Your pain is my fault. The many, many broken masks in the Abyss are my fault. I am a kinslayer, who committed infanticide of his own children. Even a god doesn't get forgiveness for those kinds of horrible actions. I deserve the suffering you children experienced. I deserve the deaths I visited upon the children I deemed not good enough. Yes. I am suffering void poisoning, it is an agony I bear constantly. My light holds it at bay enough that I can live five more years without drastic actions." He spoke bluntly.

<Did you poison yourself deliberately?>

"Exposure to void with proper protections isn't deadly. A bug can be scarred by void without dying, in fact the exposure can have beneficial effects such as on the ageless mask maker. Void poisoning in mild cases caught early enough is treatable. So I suppose yes. I did that to myself deliberately." He spoke numbly. "It's… actually a relief to admit that. I wasn't expecting that."

<It's not treatable now. You're dying. How long do you have left?> Hallow felt like the ground was opening beneath their feet.

"No, even I will succumb to a case this severe having gone on this long. Five to seven years, depending." Wyrm spoke clinically. "Your mother doesn't know, but she's not very curious and finds my company odious these days. I don't want her to know."

<You aren't the only one. Would you die as a member of the Grimm Troupe?> Hallow pondered.

"No, time is frozen in a sense for a member of the Troupe. As a sacrifice, my original body would likely be immolated, the presence of void cast out as anathema to it as well. It's not got a will of its own so expelling it for the Nightmare Heart would be doable. It's just not for me between having a corpus much closer to mortal form and my diminishment as a god." 

Hallow rubbed a hand over their chest. <Father, please free this vessel today. Now.> It was firm. <This vessel just wants to love you as themself. Not as your property, as your child. Whatever you have done, it does not know if it can forgive, but love. Love is something this vessel has always been able to give.>

The first time Hallow had ever demanded anything for themself and only themself.

Tears came from the king's eyes. "As you wish, Lord of Shades my child."

The bindings lit up as the king touched, claws digging into the mask with a strange sensation that felt like it should hurt but didn't. The light burned, the mark burned. But the claws were quick, chanting even and fast. Soul pooled around the king's hands. 

The chains broke and Hallow felt a weight come off, something they hadn't realized had been there for a very long time. The remnants would be there, like an invisible scar until they moulted, but then-then it would be gone.

It would take time for them to understand what they'd gained and lost at once. <Today I learned that this one's father is not brave. Please. Please live. Even if your crimes are too much for your heart to bear. Stop running away. Please. Face what you have done, face us who you have wronged. It's not too late.>

 "...I can try. I love you, my child." He touched foreheads with Hallow, a familial kiss. "For all you vessels, I will try. I don't know how anymore, but I can still learn."

Hallow is not an adult. They are, however, now free of their father's chains.

[kitkat1003]

Hearth, Home, War, and Politics.  For Kids!

 Chapter 2: Prologue Part 2

It’s time to take back what Salazar stole from them.

That is, if they don’t fall apart on the way there.

AO3 Link

@asilcorner

The room erupts into a frenzy.

“We’re WHAT?” Yakko hears Dot shout. Dr. Scratchansniff is muttering in German, Hello Nurse is shouting, maybe screaming in shock, Wakko has his hands over his ears.

Yakko takes a deep breath.

“HEY!” he stomps his foot on the ground, hard, and his shout makes the room go silent.  He rarely has to get that loud—in fact, he hates doing so, because it freaks out everyone around him.  It had to be done, though.

“You have the resemblance—how did I not see it?” Dr. Scratchansniff puts a hand to his mouth in shock, and then goes pale.  “I operated on the princess—oh no, this is the not good, I...,” he trails off, and Hello Nurse helps him to a chair.

“I don’t see what her status has to do with your quality of care, Doc.  What, you fix up poor people worse than royalty?” Yakko says it more nonchalant than anything else, but his eyes sharpen at the thought.  Would he—?

Dr. Scratchansniff frantically shakes his head, and Yakko shrugs.

“See, no harm no foul,” he turns, to the guard.  

“And, uh, thanks for the heads up, but I don’t know what you expect us to do about that.  Last time I checked, fourteen year-olds can’t overthrow the government,” because he would have loved to kick King Salazar off of his high and mighty throne, but keeping his sibs safe always came first.

“We’re gonna stage a coup, man,” The guard says it in a hushed whisper.  “Most of guards are sick of that guy—and I found the old royal portrait, and now that they know, they want Salazar out of here, man,” Yakko knows why the guard is whispering—if Plotz in the other room hears, if any of Salazar’s supporters hear, they’re done for.

“What do you want us to do about it?” Yakko crosses his arms over his chest.

He sees Wakko kneel down and pick up the dropped coin out of the corner of his eye, and when Wakko goes to grab it Yakko notices his hands are shaking. Yakko knows a lot about his sibs.  Wakko hasn’t been scared enough to be that shaky before.

“We need you to be there, man.  We can do the fighting, but a kingdom needs its rulers, man.”

 Yakko feels a headache coming on.  If he hears man one more time—“Just….stop.” He raises a hand and rubs his temples.  “When is this happening?”

“Within a week” is the reply, and Yakko turns to Dr. Scratchansniff.

“When can Dot be moved out of the hospital?” He needs these pieces to figure out a plan.  God, and here he thought they could have a semblance of normalcy for two seconds.  What a joke.

“Um,” Dr. Scratchansniff seems put off guard by the question, fumbling for an answer.  “I think she should staying overnight, but after that she can go home.”

“Okay,” he takes a deep breath, stands up straight.  The world settles on his shoulders, like it always does, and he deals with its weight like he always does.  For a moment, the whole room can see him in a crown, the crest of the warnestock family emblazoned on his chest.  Maybe it’s less because he was born royalty and more because he’s grown used to caring for his family as if they were his kingdom.  Maybe it’s muscle memory. 

He points to the guard.   “Wherever you need us to go, we’ll leave tomorrow when Dot’s able. Now,” he sighs, trailing off and waving a hand at every adult in the room.  “Can everyone just-just give us some space?”

It takes a few moments for the words to register, but Hello Nurse helps Dr. Scratchansniff up, and leads the guard to the door.

“Let us know if you need anything, sweetheart,” she says, and then they all leave.

Yakko collapses into a chair.

What a mess.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dot is reeling through the entire conversation, as Yakko deals with all the adults that are vying for their attention.  She feels a bit guilty, but she’s once again too tired and weak to do anything herself, and if Yakko’s good at anything, it’s leading a conversation in a desired direction.

But there’s something wriggling in the back of her mind, asYakko talks.  Because she thinks back on the expression Yakko had on his face, when he heard they were royalty.  It wasn’t surprise.  Shock, at the admission, but not surprise.  And he took the news quickly, moved on quicker, took charge of the situation.  She knows that part of it is probably because he felt the compulsion to, the need to.

But also...it makes her think.  Because Yakko, despite their poor social standing, always had them hold their heads high.  He always had them believe they were better than how they were treated, and maybe that was just him wanting them to not think of themselves as nothing, but it could be something else.  Because they’re the Warners, they command the space, they always take charge, pull the town into musical numbers, and being leaders has always felt right.

She watches him slump into the chair, looking exhausted beyond belief, and a part of her just wants to let him sit.  She isn’t cruel, she doesn’t want to see Yakko stressed.

But she’s also ten, and curious, and confused, and Yakko knows more than he’s letting on.  And that part of her, that needs to know, makes her open her mouth and push.

“You didn’t look surprised,” she says, and Yakko looks up.

“What?” Clearly, he’s off his game, because if he was on it he would have a snappy comeback ready the moment the sentence left her mouth.

“About us being royalty.  You didn’t look surprised.” Wakko looks at her in confusion, but Dot doesn’t feel like backing down.

That’s her issue, she knows.  She never backs down from a fight.  Never knows when to let something go.

“I mean, you’re the mouth of this family, but even you ought to have been speechless, right?” She can see Yakko’s eyes narrow, before he shrugs with a nonchalant grin.

“Nah.  I got a quip for everything.” She puffs up her cheeks in frustration at his deflection.

“Yakko,” she growls out.

“What?”

“You knew!” It’s shouted with a vitriol that makes Wakko take a step back from her bedside, confused and worried.

“Knew what?”

“You knew we were royalty!”

Wakko blinks in surprise, Yakko flinches like he was struck, and Dot trembles in her bed.  Her chest hurts.  She shouldn’t be yelling yet, doesn’t have the breath for it.

“And?” Yakko squares his shoulders, like he’s getting ready for a fight, and Dot hates that he feels the need to defend himself from her, but he knew, he knew and he didn’t tell them.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” It comes out more pained than angry, and Yakko deflates at her tone.

“There was no point,” he sounds so defeated.

“No point?  We-we could’ve-we—” she tries to argue, never one to back down, but then Yakko looks up at her with a fire in his eyes that scares her.

“We could have what?  Staged a coup?  Yeah, that would have gone over well.  Let’s us, a six year old, three year old, and two year old go up to the man who killed our parents and ask him to give us the throne back.  Right?  Because Salazar seems so charitable,” The way he’s saying it, she knows this has been on his mind for a long time.  That for—for 8 years—he knew for 8 years, and he could only swallow the injustice as he kept them safe.

What did that do to him?  How much did that hurt?

“Mom and Dad told me to keep you two safe.” He says it  like a mantra,  like the thought has been repeating for years in his head.

And for a moment, Dot hates her parents.  How could they task Yakko with that, how could they place that responsibility on his shoulders, how could they do this to him, make him think that all that mattered was her and Wakko, and not himself?  What kind of parents are they, to teach Yakko to forget that he’s important, too?

“I took care of you—or at least, tried to.” He runs a hand through his fur, mussing up his cowlick. 

His voice sounds so self deprecating that she wants to strangle him.  His whole body is a bit puffed up, she realizes.  He must have been so stressed out it made his fur fluff, to make him bigger, to make him more intimidating. Because she made him feel like he needed to be.

Her and her big mouth.

“It’s okay,” Wakko speaks up.  “I get it.”

“Sorry,” Dot manages, because there are a million things she wants to say, there is a world of fury she wants to unleash, but those things aren’t for Yakko to hear.  She wants to tear the world the pieces, find whatever deity decided to give them the life they have, to give Yakko the life he’s dealt with.  She wants things to be fair. “It’s just—”

“It’s a lot,” Wakko finishes for her, an expression on his face very familiar.  She can recall it from when she would hide a cough, when she would feign being healthy for a day.  That facade in service of stopping concern from taking root in those around you.  His hands are hidden, she notes, and he has this look in his eyes, like when you place your hand in front of the sun and the streaks of light still burst through the spaces between your fingers.

Like he’s covering up something. Did he learn that from Yakko?

When did her brothers start hiding so much from her?

“But hey, we’re gonna go back to the castle, right?  You think they’ll have a royal chef there?” Wakko changes the subject with ease, tongue lolling out of his mouth with a grin, and he definitely got that from Yakko.

Yakko doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he does, too tired to care.  He huffs out a laugh that’s more wet than humorous, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, arms propping his head up.  He wipes his eyes and leans back, against the wall.  

“Last time I remember being there, you sure gave the royal kitchens a run for their money with how much you ate,” Wakko beams at the comment, and Yakko seems to relax, now that he’s not thinking about the logistics of it all.

Dot can play this game, too.

“You think they’ll give me a new dress?”

Yakko opens his mouth, to regale her with another piece of near forgotten trivia, and Dot listens, letting Yakko forget just for a moment everything he’s been through, all the things he’s done.

Banter is always a distraction.  She files away that information, and decides to be the perfect distraction, whenever Yakko needs her to be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They have dinner, a few hours after the guard leaves.  Yakko tells enough jokes and stories to make Dot cry with laughter, and Wakko’s tail wags so fast it’s practically a blur.  He settles them into bed a few hours after that, opting for the chair because the hospital bed is just a bit too small for three.

He expected Dot to be angry.  She backed down quicker than expected, though.  He hadn’t meant to get so snappy, but he’s exhausted and he doesn’t want to have to explain himself to anyone.  He did what was best for them, always.  Knowing would have just made them despair, mourn the life they didn’t even remember.  Without the comparison, their lives didn’t seem so bad, right?  Why give them that wake up call?

He stretches, yawning, and heads towards the back door.  He needs to collect their things if they’re leaving tomorrow morning, and the quicker he gets it done the sooner he stops worrying about it.

A hand grabbing his own stops him.

He turns, and Wakko is standing there, looking as if he hadn’t slept at all.

“Where are you going?” Wakko looks...there’s something off about his gaze.  Yakko can’t decipher it.  Whatever it is, it isn’t good.  Yakko files that away and aims to figure it out when he has the time.

“Gonna go get all our stuff from the house,” and isn’t that a joke, calling the abandoned orphanage a house.  “Since we’re moving and all that.”

“Can I get it?” Yakko blinks at the question, which is why Wakko seems to stumble over explanations.  “It’s cold—I have my sweater—”

“And no pants.  I got pants and no sweater.  What’s the logic there?” Yakko interrupts.  “Besides, I need you to stay back here and keep an eye on Dot.  Don’t want anything to go wrong while I’m out.”

“I—” There’s a flicker of that something, something that Yakko can recall seeing earlier.  When Wakko came back from his year long work trek, the day before, even.  Fear?  He can see Wakko’s tail curled around his one leg, a sign of anxiety, but he doesn’t understand.  Since when was Wakko nervous about keeping Dot safe?  He always took a shine to that, proud that Yakko would trust him with such a responsibility.  

“Okay,” and just like that, the fear is gone, like someone had taken the crudely drawn etch-a-sketch that is his brother and shaken it to clear the slate.  It’s startling.  When did his brother learn to do that?

Why would he need to?

“I’ll be back quick,” he assures.

Wakko nods, that simple, dumb look on his face that Yakko thinks for a moment is real.  Wakko can be a bit oblivious, and you can see it on his face, but this. This isn’t that.  And it frightens Yakko, more than he can articulate, that he almost thought it was.

He disappears out the door, watching Wakko walk over to Dot’s bedside over his shoulder as the door swings shut.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko doesn’t have the time to be upset when he finds out who their parents are.

Everyone starts shouting, and the sounds fade into the crashing noise of tumbling rocks, the world crumbling around him as the ground shakes.  He covers his ears and almost cowers, and he can hear the rock above him, cracking off of the ceiling, and Sir is shouting something, and—

Yakko’s yell snaps him out of it, and he is a tensely coiled spring of something as Yakko talks.  Honestly, he doesn’t hear most of it.  There’s a dull ringing in his ears that blurs the sounds around him into white noise.  The adults leave, and it goes quiet, and for a moment Wakko feels like he can breathe.

And then Dot gets upset.

Wakko doesn’t blame her.  If he had the time, he might be angry too.  They’re not supposed to have secrets, not between each other, but Wakko’s a hypocrite so he doesn’t have anything to say.

He speaks up when Dot fumbles.  Is this how Yakko feels, when he needs to talk his way out of a situation?  It’s terrifying.  You don’t know if what you said is gonna work until a moment after you let the words go, and that one moment is pure adrenaline.

Maybe it gets easier when you’re better at it.  Wakko wouldn’t know.

Scratchy brings them dinner with small cups of his newest recipe of his elixir on the side, a few hours after all the adults clear out.  It makes Dot hiccup, and Wakko lets out a belch that rattles the walls and startles a laugh out of Yakko.  The food is soup, warm broth with potatoes and meat that forces the chill from their limbs, and Wakko can’t help but be grateful.

Scratchy isn’t so bad, for an adult.  But he’s still one.  So there’s that.

And then, in the night when they’re supposed to be sleeping, Yakko leaves.  He has to get their stuff, and he’s going to leave Wakko alone, with Dot, as if Wakko could keep her safe.  Wakko can’t do anything, certainly not keep his sister safe!  He couldn’t even keep himself safe, he got Sir killed, he can’t keep her safe.

But Yakko goes, anyway, and Wakko sits beside her bed and doesn’t let the idea of rest cross his mind.  His eyes dart towards any of the entrances to the room, vigilant.

He’s a prince, he realizes.  The thought is...it comes to him unbidden, and he tries to imagine it.  Him, a prince.  Tasked with helping keep a kingdom safe, its people safe.

He’s already failed, and he didn’t even know it.

He laughs, quietly to himself, and wipes his tears before Yakko’s back to see.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Dot is discharged.  She’s practically glowing with joy, jumping out of bed before she stumbles a bit.

“I would not do the jumping, ja?  You need to still be careful.” Dr. Scratchansniff’s hand is gentle against her back, but Yakko pulls her away anyway, keeping her close to him.  Dr. Scratchansniff seems surprised at the action, glancing over at Yakko in confusion, but Yakko narrows his eyes and shrugs, nonchalant.

Wakko is quiet as always, chewing on the lollipop stick that once held a lollipop.  Hello Nurse gave it to him, so now of the two adults here, she’s his favorite.

“Be careful, you three,” Hello Nurse waves them goodbye, and Wakko laughs.

“Never are!” Yakko returns with that trademark grin.

They meet the guard at the edge of town.  He has a caravan, and there’s another guard who’s driving it.  He ushers them inside, hidden from the world.

Yakko has his claws out.  Wakko notices it only because one of Yakko’s gloves is missing a finger, so it’s easy to see.  But Yakko has his claws out, something he’s never seen Yakko do.  Toons don’t like to use their more...animalistic features unless it’s funny or if they’re in grave danger.  Wakko guesses that Yakko is adhering to the latter.

He keeps them out as they sit in the caravan, and as they depart.  Wakko doesn’t think he’s ever seen Yakko so tense before.

“What’s the plan?” Dot asks.

“There are some guys—they support Salazar, man,” the guard explains.  “We got numbers, but still.  So we’re gonna fight them, and you’re gonna show up and kick Salazar out when he’s all alone, man.” What a plan.  Very detailed.

“You do realize he killed our parents, right?” Yakko’s voice is quiet, even dark.  “I don’t think we’re going to be exactly prepared to kick him out ourselves.”

“Dot’s still recovering,” Wakko adds.

“He won because he cheated, man.  Had Dip and everything—” Yakko flinches at the mention of it. “But we got it locked down, man.  He won’t be able to do anything.  It’s performative, man.  You have to take back your kingdom.”

There’s a question on Wakko’s tongue.  He wants to know how exactly his parents died, which is stupid, because the answer will only hurt.  But doesn’t the absence of knowledge hurt too?  He can certainly make a guess.  Everyone knows what Dip is, it was outlawed in all the lands for its torturous properties.

It’s acid for toons.  Strips them down, layer by layer, from color to line to sketch to paper to nothing.

A part of him wants to know for sure.  Wonders if Yakko was there to see.

He glances over at Yakko, and by the expression on his face, likely not.  There’s grim realization, not recognition.  A small mercy, he thinks.  Yakko doesn’t get many of those.

“Well, I think we can handle it,” Dot pipes up.  She’s holding Yakko’s hand, running her fingers over his claws.  Yakko doesn’t so much as twitch a finger, worried of hurting her. 

As if he’d ever.

“I guess we have our vote of confidence there,” Yakko chuckles.  “Wakko?”

Wakko shrugs.

“Why not?” he doesn’t have a lot of strong feelings on the matter.  “What have we got to lose, really?  And it sounds easy.”

Sounds, at least.  Wakko isn’t sure how easy it will really be.

“Guess we’re in, then.” Yakko puts his arm around Wakko’s shoulders and pulls him close.  He still has his claws out.

The rest of the trip is relatively silent.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They arrive at the castle in higher spirits.  Yakko spends the last ten or so minutes of the ride cracking jokes that have Dot giggling up a storm, and even Wakko has to break eventually.  He’s curled in on himself, laughing before they’re shushed as they reach the castle gates.

“Cargo delivery,” The guard driving the caravan says to the gate guard.  Yakko thinks he sees the two share a look, a wink, and then they’re moved on through.  They’re brought around to the back of the castle, into the loading area, and are ushered out into the castle.

“We’re going to the servant’s quarters,” The guard whispers, and Yakko keeps his sibs in front of him.  If they’re gonna be double crossed, they’ll have to go through him, first.

They’re brought into a small room, with a bed and dresser.

“This one is empty.  It’s not being used since Salazar fired a bunch of the servants,” They’re told.

“Fired them?  Why?” Dot asks.

“Were they too flammable?” Wakko pipes up.  Yakko snickers.

“He’s been on a short fuse since the wishing star, man.  One wrong step and you’re toast.”

Yakko snorts at the phrasing.

“You’re making this too easy for us,” he snarks.

The guard blinks, bewildered.  Yakko sighs.

“Soooo, do we just wait here until you guys holler, or...?” Yakko crosses his arms over his chest and looks on expectantly.

“Yeah-uh-I’ll come get you,” the guard fumbles over his words and plans, and Yakko raises a brow.

“Alright.” He shrugs, and leads his sibs to the bed.  “It’s nap time, then.”

After the guard leaves, they settle on the bed.  Dot is out quick, snoring softly as she leans against him, and Yakko supposes the trip must have taken more out of her than she let on.  She is still recovering from surgery, she’ll probably be tired for the rest of the week.  He makes a note not to throw her into many extravagant activities if he can, at least until she’s recovered her strength.

Wakko...well, it sounds like he’s asleep, but he isn’t doing the thing where his legs kick and twitch, and his arms barely move.  Every part of him is tense and still, even as he snores, and Yakko can’t imagine why Wakko would fake sleeping.  Wakko likes sleeping.  Who doesn’t?

He wants to stay up until he feels Wakko actually rest, but he’s more tired than he wants to admit, and his eyes slide shut without him meaning them to, worried thoughts carrying him off to a fitful rest.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Wakko knows he should sleep. He's exhausted. It's a feeling deep down into his bones, this tiredness, because it’s more than just being tired, of staying up too late, of working too hard all in one day.

He hasn’t been sleeping well enough even when he does, and there’s a constant thrum of anxiety that sits in his chest, makes his heart stutter with every unexpected event, and as time goes on unexpected events become the expected.  He’s so exhausted by being awake, but his dreams don’t leave him feeling rested either, so he just can’t win.

At the very least, Yakko has put away his claws, fallen asleep.  He and Dot are safe and resting, and Wakko can be their guard.  Dot’s been sick for so long, and Yakko’s been protecting them since forever, so Wakko can pick up the slack.  He always has, regardless of what he wanted or needed.  He just needs a good meal and smiles on the faces of his siblings, not in that order.  

Wakko watches the stars, and hums a tune under his breath.

“Wishing star, so bright and true, our world has changed since meeting you,” he whispers with just enough melody to be called a song.  “So many things are happening.  Don’t know what it all is so I just sing,” he sits up, gentle enough that he doesn’t jostle Yakko awake.

“Is this all really my dream?  We’re back home but what does that mean?” he fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater, starting up another verse.

“Wishing star, so bright and clear, was it a mistake to come back here?  In a world we’ve never known, told it’s time to take our throne,” he’s a prince, he’s in charge, and yet.

“Wishing star, can I believe?  This is where I deserve to be...” He trails off, light of the moon shining against his face, casting his shadow on his siblings and the bed behind him.

Time moves slow, and he just stares at the countryside, waiting.

There’s a crash from above, and he jumps, tumbling off of the bed.  Yakko shoots up as if he were spring-loaded, and he frantically looks around for Wakko, pawing around the bed for him until Wakko pops back up from the floor.

Dot is up a moment later, rubbing her eyes and clinging to Yakko as if he’s her teddy bear.

There’s a knock on the door, and Yakko motions for Wakko to get behind him.

Wakko doesn’t move.

The ever familiar guard—they really ought to learn his name at some point—pops his head in, looking haggard and sweaty.  Wakko doesn’t miss the smear of blood on his sword.

“C’mon,” There’s no time for ‘man’ apparently, as he motions them to the door, and Yakko’s claws are out again.

Wakko lets out his own, so he can be just as formidable.

They disappear into the night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The flickering of the torches in the hallway add to the eerie atmosphere, and not one of the 3 children trust that they’re being brought to anywhere besides a trap.  Wakko’s mallet is out, and Dot has her mace, strong enough to lift it so it doesn’t scrape against the floor.  All Yakko has are his words and his claws, and he keeps himself in front of his siblings as a shield.  

They pass by a body that doesn’t move, or breathe.  They don’t know whose side the soldier was on.

“We have the throne room surrounded, man,” the guard whispers, and his breaths are harried.  His hands are shaking, and they would be worried for him if they had the energy or time to worry about anything else besides each other.

They can’t waste their time on other people, emotionally or physically, not when everyone else is out to get them.  That doesn’t mean they want everyone to be in pain, to suffer, on the contrary.  They just aren’t going to make an effort to help everyone else when they can barely help themselves.  They still try, and Wakko’s desire to use his money to help the town as much as to help themselves is proof of that, but they have to stay distant, because people leave.  People backstab.  People lie.  

People kill.

“Well, sibs,” Yakko breathes as they head to the throne room back door, “Ready to take back our throne?”

Dot’s grin is feral, her fur sharp enough to cut as it fluffs up, and Wakko’s hat has never looked more intimidating as it lengthens his shadow.

“We were born ready,” Dot says, and they head in.

Salazar is on his throne, seemingly unaware of the assault upon his guards, though he does take note of the sound of the door opening and closing behind him.

“Finally, a servant competent to check on me.  Being a King is not easy work,” his condescending complaint grates their ears.

“Oh Salzy~!” They cheer, and Salazar jumps out of the throne—it’s not his, it’s theirs, doesn’t matter if they don’t feel like it is yet because they’ve staked a claim and they will fight for it—turning on the dime and backing away from their voices.

“Sally?” Yakko hops onto the throne, hand under his chin, his brow raised as if in a silent question.

“Sandra?” Dot pops up on Salazar’s side, and the monarch yelps, stumbling back.

He trips over Wakko’s leg.

“Salisbury?” Wakko adds, and at the thought of it starts to drool.  “...Steak...”

“Salacious?” Yakko tries.

“Salamander?” Dot pipes up, her and Wakko closing in, weapons raised.  Salazar crab walks backwards until his back hits the wall.

“Sacrilegious?” Wakko taps Salazar’s foot with his mallet, as if testing his aim.

“That outfit, maybe,” Dot sneers.  “Whoever your royal tailor is, fire them.”

“Hey, don’t put someone out of a job like that.  Besides, if Saltine’s taste is anything to go by, it’s probably his fault,” Yakko sprawls out on the throne, as if he was born to sit there.

Well, he was.  Funny how that works.

“It’s Salazar you-y-you miscreants!” Finally, Salazar finds his voice, and the three turn away from their conversation with each other to stare at him with gazes that shut him up quick.

“Honestly, Salarts, your name is the least important thing here,” Dot puts her hands on her hips.

“I think being deposed is probably more important, Saltana,” Wakko shrugs.

“Deposed?!” Salazar all but shrieks.  Yakko snickers.

“Surprise!” He throws his hands out and grins.  “Thanks for keeping the seat warm, Seesaw, but we’re taking it back.  It is ours, after all,” Salazar pales at the reminder.

“What, did you think you could get away with it forever?” Dot rolls her eyes.  “Men.”

“Your men are zilch,” Wakko sets his mallet on his shoulder, grinning with his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth.  “We made a few friends.”

“Turns out robbing a country blind doesn’t make you popular,” Yakko shrugs, as if it was a shock to him, too.  “So, sorry not sorry, you’re arrested.  Guards!”

On their cue, guards come out and surround Salazar, two grabbing him by the arms and forcing him to his feet.

“Traitors!  I’ll have you beheaded!” Salazar kicks his feet and struggles.

Yakko looks on, bored, and Dot swings her mace up to hit where the sun don’t shine.  Salazar lets out a whine that makes everyone else in the room wince, and goes still, knees scrunched up to his chest in pain.

“That’s for Yakko,” she tells him, because she knows she should be angrier about her parents, about the ones she never got to know, but she only has the one, now, and Salazar is the reason why Yakko never got to go to school, why Yakko worries about if they will be able to eat that day instead of if he’ll get in trouble for his room not being clean.

Wakko hops up and slams his mallet down on Salazar’s head.  Salazar sees nothing but stars and says nothing that can be deciphered as language.

“Mom and Dad,” he says, simply, and then whispers another name she doesn’t catch.

“What should we do with him, your majesty?” One of the guards asks, eyes trained on Yakko.

It takes Yakko a minute to realize that they’re talking to him, of all people.  He blinks, sits up.  Your majesty, huh.

“To the dungeons, I guess.  Do we have dungeons?” he looks over at Wakko and Dot, as if they would know.  They both shrug.

“We have dungeons, sir,” another guard replies.  Yakko nods, not really decisive, more just as an acknowledgement.

“Cool.  Take him there, then.”

Salazar vanishes out the door, and Wakko and Dot scamper towards their eldest.  They hop onto the armrests of the throne that seems too big for just one of them to sit in.

“We won,” Dot whispers, like saying it louder will break the illusion.

“That was easy,” Wakko nods to her statement, and Yakko laughs, but it sounds more exhausted than happy.

They sit like that, silent for a moment.  The guards stare at them as if they aren’t sure what to think of them.  And the Warners, they’re used to that.  Being unknowns, being oddballs.

And yet they’re also being looked at as if they have power.  Wisdom.  Leadership skills?  There’s so much that is expected of them now.  Where do they even begin?

“What now?” Dot asks, and, like usual, Yakko finds himself being looked to for answers he doesn’t have.  They’re royals now.  Monarchs.  In charge.

“Guess we get fitted for our crowns,” he replies, and they wait for the changes to come.

[comrade-meow]

[‘Assignment to Slave Labour’, Auschwitz, Poland, c.1940. US Holocaust Memorial Museum.]

Menstruation and the Holocaust

Periods are a fact of life, but little talked about. How did women in the concentration camps cope with the private being made public in the most dire and extreme circumstances?

Menstruation is rarely a topic that comes to mind when we think about the Holocaust and has been largely avoided as an area of historical research. This is regrettable, as periods are a central part of women’s experience. Oral testimonies and memoirs show that women felt ashamed discussing menstruation during their time in the concentration camps, but, at the same time, they kept bringing the subject up, overcoming the stigma that is attached to them.

Typically, menstruation has been seen as a medical problem to be overcome rather than as a natural occurrence and a part of life. Medical historians, for example, have explored the forced experiments in sterilisation that were conducted in Auschwitz. Sabine Hildebrandt examined the research of the pathologist Hermann Stieve, who experimented on female political prisoners awaiting execution in Plötzensee. Stieve looked at the effect stress had on the reproductive system. Similarly, Anna Hájková has written about the Jewish Theresienstadt prisoner and physician František Bass’ research on amenorrhoea, the loss of menstruation, which focused on how it was caused by the shock of incarceration. Interestingly, however, almost all this research discussed ovulation (and its lack) rather than menstruation, even though both are part of the same biological function.

Periods impacted on the lives of female Holocaust victims in a variety of ways: for many, menstruation was linked to the shame of bleeding in public and the discomfort of dealing with it. Periods also saved some women from being sexually assaulted. Equally, amenorrhoea could be a source of anxiety: about fertility, the implications for their lives after the camps and about having children in the future.

A much-cited argument in Holocaust scholarship, made by Hannah Arendt, is that the totalitarian regime of the camps broke human solidarity, making them a very isolating place to be. But, contrary to this view, periods could provide moments of bonding and solidarity among prisoners: many older women gave help to teenagers, who experienced their first period alone after their families had been murdered. When we look for it, many survivors talk with great openness about their periods. Having or not having a period could shape daily experience of the camps.

What is a woman?

After deportation to camps and ghettos, due to malnutrition and shock, a significant number of female Holocaust victims of reproductive age stopped menstruating. Many were afraid that they would be left infertile after their bodies were forced to their limits, making the intrinsic link between periods and fertility apparent and increasingly central to their lives. Gerda Weissman, originally from Bielsko in Poland and 15 years old during her incarceration, later reflected that a key reason she wanted to survive was because she wanted to have children. She described it as ‘an obsession’. Similarly, the French publicist, resistance fighter and Auschwitz survivor Charlotte Delbo mentions a discussion that took place among a room full of women:

“It’s upsetting not to go through those unclean period … You begin to feel like an old woman. Timidly, Big Irene asked: ‘And what if they never come back afterwards?’ At her words a ripple of horror swept over us … Catholics crossed over themselves, others recited the Shema; everyone tried to exorcise this curse the German were holding over us: sterility. How could one sleep after that?”

These reactions reflected both religious and cultural diversity, showing that regardless of faith, culture or nationality, it was a worry all could relate to. The historian of Holocaust literature S. Lillian Kremer argued that, in addition to the fear of becoming infertile, the prisoners’ uncertainty over whether their fertility would return if they survived made the loss of menstruation a ‘dual psychological assault’ on female identity.

Upon entry into the camp, prisoners were given shapeless clothing and had their heads shaved. They lost weight, including from their hips and breasts, two areas commonly associated with femininity. Oral testimonies and memoirs show that all of these changes compelled them to question their identities. When reflecting on her time in Auschwitz, Erna Rubinstein, a Polish Jew who was 17 when in the camps, asked in her memoir, The Survivor in Us All: Four Young Sisters in the Holocaust (1986): ‘What is a woman without her glory on her head, without hair? A woman who doesn’t menstruate?’

[Untitled drawing by Nina Jirsíková, 1941. Remembrance and Memorial Ravensbrück/SBG, V780 E1.]

It is only due to the commercialisation of a natural physical occurrence that we now have resources such as pads and tampons that are specifically geared towards easing the ‘inconvenience’ of menstruation. Terms such as ‘sanitary equipment’ show that menstruation is treated as a health and hygiene concern - something to be sanitised. The reality of the camps, however, meant that menstruation was hard to avoid or hide. Its suddenly public nature took many women by surprise and made them feel alienated. An additional obstacle was the lack of rags and the lack of opportunities to wash. Trude Levi, a Jewish-Hungarian nursery teacher, then aged 20, later recalled: ‘We had no water to wash ourselves, we had no underwear. We could go nowhere. Everything was sticking to us, and for me, that was perhaps the most dehumanising thing of everything.’ Many women have talked about how menstruating with no access to supplies made them feel subhuman. It is the specific ‘dirt’ of menstruation more than any other dirt, and the fact that their menstrual blood marked them as female, that made these women feel as though they were the lowest level of humanity.

The humiliation was furthered by the struggle of finding rags. Julia Lentini, a 17-year-old Romani from Biedenkopf in Germany, spent her summer months travelling through the country with her parents and 14 siblings. She was placed on kitchen detail during her time in Auschwitz-Birkenau and later Schlieben. She discusses in her testimony how women had to learn tricks for survival when it came to menstruation in the camps. ‘You took the undergarment slip they gave you, ripped it and made little rags, and guarded those little rags like they were gold … you rinsed them out a little bit, put them under the mattress and dried them, then nobody else could steal the little rags.’ Rags were precious and, being so, they were not immune to theft. Some people compensated by using other materials. Gerda Weissman recalls: ‘It was a hard thing because you had no supplies you know. You had to find little pieces of paper and some things from under the loos.’

Rags could almost be considered to have their own micro-economy. As well as being stolen, they were given away, borrowed and traded. Elizabeth Feldman de Jong’s testimony highlights the value of second-hand rags. Not long after she arrived at Auschwitz, her periods disappeared. Her sister, however, continued to menstruate every month. Experiments involving injections in the womb were common, but if a woman was on her period doctors often avoided operating, finding it too messy. One day, Elizabeth was called to have an operation. There were no clean clothes as opportunities to wash were limited, so Elizabeth put her sister’s underwear on and showed the doctor, telling him that she had her period. He refused to operate. Elizabeth realised she could use her sister’s situation to save herself from experimentation and did so another three times at Auschwitz.

Shame and salvation

Livia Jackson, barely old enough to menstruate, felt repulsion at seeing blood flowing down the legs of another girl during roll call: ‘I would rather die than have blood flowing down my legs.’ Her reaction conveys a common attitude: although the lack of access to supplies to stem their menstrual flow was not their fault, many women still felt ashamed.

Scholar Breanne Fahs argues that women’s bodies are viewed as ‘leaky and troublesome’ and their bodily functions are seen as inconvenient, distasteful and unhygienic. Men, on the other hand, tend to receive praise for their secretions: urine, flatulence and semen can be seen as humorous, even sexy. Yet the very notion that periods are repulsive could save women during the Holocaust from being raped. Doris Bergen’s classic discussion of sexual violence in the Holocaust includes an interesting example of two Polish-Jewish women assaulted by Wehrmacht soldiers:

On 18 February 1940 in Petrikau, two sentries … abducted the Jewess Machmanowic (age eighteen) and the Jewess Santowska (age seventeen) at gunpoint from their parents’ homes. The soldiers took the girls to the Polish cemetery; there they raped one of them. The other was having a period at the time. The men told her to come back in a few days and promised her five zlotys.

Similarly, Lucille Eichengreen, a young German-Jewish prisoner, recalled in her memoir that during her imprisonment in a Neuengamme satellite camp in the winter of 1944-5, she had found a scarf and was thrilled: she planned to use it to cover her shorn head. Worried that she would be punished for owning a prohibited object, Eichengreen hid the scarf between her legs. Later, a German guard took her aside and, while attempting to rape her, groped her between her legs and felt the scarf. The man exclaimed: ‘You dirty useless whore! Phooey! You’re bleeding!’ His error protected Lucille from rape. In discussing these stories, we must discern the irony at hand: it is rape that should be viewed as disgusting and menstruation as natural and acceptable.

Camp families

Some teenagers experienced their first period in the camps alone, separated from their families or orphaned. In such cases, older prisoners provided help and advice. Tania Kauppila, a Ukrainian in Mühldorf concentration camp, was 13 when she started her periods. She did not know what was happening and shed many tears. She was scared that she was going to die and did not know what to do. Older women in the camp taught her and others in the same position about periods. The girls were taught how to handle it and what they needed to do in order to cope with the blood flow. It was a different learning process than they would have had at home: ‘You tried to steal a piece of brown paper, you know, from the bags and do the best you can’, recalled Kauppila. This story reoccurs across numerous oral testimonies. Many orphaned survivors who had just started mentioned the help of older women, who took on both a sisterly and motherly role in helping these young girls, before they experienced potential amenorrhoea; older women usually lost their period within the first two or three months of imprisonment.

Feminist scholars such as Sibyl Milton have pointed out the female ‘camp families’ that formed. It is striking, however, that the sisterhood of menstruation has not been written about. As Lentini highlights, if a girl got her period and did not know who to talk to, an older woman would usually ‘explain it very simply’. Twenty-year-old Hungarian Vera Federman spent time in Auschwitz and the Allendorf. She and a friend were able to get work in the kitchen, a precious job. Eating extra potatoes caused their periods to come back and then both girls stole rags from the female guards. This theft, of course, put them in great danger (not to mention the threat of losing their job), but Federman stressed the solidarity with her friend as they teamed up to help each other. In the often violent world of the camps, older women were willing to help educate unknown young girls, expecting nothing in return.

Gendered social networks of support and help developed in the camps. Arendt wrote that ‘the camps are meant not only to exterminate people and degrade human beings, but also serve the ghastly experiment of eliminating, under scientifically controlled conditions, spontaneity itself as an expression of human behaviour’. The female solidarity brought about by the shared experience of menstruation, however, tells another story.

After the liberation, the majority of those who suffered amenorrhoea during their time in the concentration camps eventually started menstruating again. The return of periods was a joyous occasion for many. London-born Amy Zahl Gottlieb was, at 24, the youngest member of the first Jewish Relief Unit ever posted overseas. While discussing her work with liberated camp members in her interview with the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, Gottlieb described how women began to lead normal lives and started to menstruate again; they were thrilled to be able to start having children. Menstruation became a symbol of their freedom. One survivor spoke of it as ‘my womanhood returning’.

The study of menstruation, a topic that has until now been perceived as irrelevant, or even disgusting, gives us a far more nuanced view of women’s experience of the Holocaust. We can see how notions of menstruation, rape, sterility and sisterhood changed in the camps. It seems that periods, a long-stigmatised topic, became, sometimes in the space of only months, a legitimate topic for women in camps.

Following the recent turns to cultural history, the history of the senses and the history of the body, we also need to recognise menstruation as valid and as defining victims’ experiences during the Holocaust.

(via)

European Network of Migrant Women

[bimboamyrose]

Unfamiliar (Ch. 10)

Unfamiliar - A Metamy Fanfic

First two chapters

Previous (Ch.9)

Chapter 10: Indebted

“You told Knuckles, right?” Amy nervously held her communicator at eye level as she adjusted her scarf in the camera.

“I told you I did,” Tails responded. He was making the final preparations to his plane for takeoff. “Can you just come over already?”

Amy groaned. “I don’t want a repeat of last time!”

“Knuckles isn’t going to kill Metal.”

“Right…” she looked over to Metal, who was shifting his weight between feet impatiently. His jacket was draped over one arm.

“Just fly over. I’m almost ready for takeoff.”

“Are you sure you can fly with one hand?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

It did little to ease her stress. “Okay, we’ll be there in a few.” Tails gave her a thumbs up before disconnecting, leaving Amy to look at her own troubled reflection in the dark screen. She sighed deeply, worried for what was to come. “Are you ready, Metal?” 

Sensing her distress, he stopped his fidgeting to give a nod. They would be flying to Angel Island that morning to meet with Amy’s friends- no, her team. Metal had already met most of them individually, but as a team, they had been his enemies for nearly a decade. It would be tense. First, however, they had to get Tails’ lab so she could board his plane.

Amy returned the nod and the pair got ready to take off outside. “I’ll take that for you.” She reached out for Metal’s jacket. “So it doesn’t wrinkle.” He handed it to her to fold neatly, though she held it so tightly that it creased under her anxious grasp anyway. 

Metal picked her up delicately. Since their encounter with Sonic, he treated her with kid gloves, afraid of causing another injury. Amy had noticed this and was tactfully avoiding bringing it up, even going as far as to cover her bandaged arm whenever they were together. It was sweet that he was being considerate, but his gingerly grip on her made her more nervous than a silly cut on her arm. “Metal, do you think you could hold me tighter?” Color rushed into her cheeks when she realized how forward it sounded. “So I don’t fall, I mean! Oh, not that I think you’ll drop me-” Take your foot out of your mouth, she scolded herself.

The same nervous excitement from a day earlier hit him and he stiffened suddenly. She was right, the fragility with which he was holding her could cause him to lose his grip if he wasn’t careful. Metal’s arms tightened around Amy as she settled into him, her red face buried in his jacket. She looked oddly… endearing that way- what a clumsy feeling.

“I’m ready when you are,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric.

They propelled into the sky at a much slower pace than usual. Amy peeked out from her satiny hiding place when she noticed. They were running late as it was. “Um, you can go a little faster. I’ll be okay,” she assured. Metal obliged, though she was well aware that they still weren’t moving as quickly as they could. Luckily, their destination wasn’t far.

Tails was already hurrying Amy along the moment they landed on the runway. “Come on, you know how Knuckles gets,” he insisted. 

“Okay!” she huffed, climbing into the back seat of the small plane. Amy was still scrambling to get her goggles on as the engine started.

“Ready for takeoff. Try to keep up, Metal,” Tails grinned.

“Tails!” Amy snapped before Metal could so much as make a noise.

He snickered as the plane accelerated forward and lifted off the end of the runway, Metal following closely. He hovered near Amy’s seat as they flew, though she nervously looked straight ahead for most of the flight. As they approached their floating destination, Tails pointed out the landing site- a spacious clearing at the edge of a dense forest. Metal cut ahead of them, doing a flashy set of loops in the air before spiraling to the ground and looking back up at Tails expectantly. 

“Psh. Show-off.” Tails remarked. “Think we can beat that?”

“No!” Amy felt sick enough as it was. Tails seemed to be enjoying himself though, laughing in response.

Once on the ground, Amy unbuckled herself and exited hastily. The tall plane was harder to jump out of than it was to climb into, but she’d done it dozens of times- not that knowing this would have stopped Metal from hurrying over to offer her a hand. 

“See?” Tails said smugly. “Told ya I could fly with just one hand.”

Amy rolled her eyes at Tails as Metal helped her down. “Thanks. Here,” she offered Metal his jacket and smoothed down her hair and scarf while he slipped it on. She moved on to smoothing out the wrinkles in the satin across his shoulders and adjusted the collar, looking Metal up and down. “There. I think you look pretty friendly.” Taking each of his hands in hers, her brow curled anxiously. “Remember what we talked about, ‘kay?”

Metal had spent much of the morning listening to Amy as she got ready, rambling the team dynamics and how their meetings usually went. “We work with some other people, but usually discuss things between ourselves before getting anyone else involved,” she’d told him. “So it’s kind of a big deal that you’re coming. Thanks for agreeing to it.” Then she’d flashed her usual sweet grin, though she let out a sigh at the same time. “So, just sit and listen, and get to know everyone! I really think you can get along well.” Metal wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

Just having someone new at the table might cause tension, but he had a feeling that who that someone was would factor into the strain more than anything. He couldn’t remember any of their encounters or battles- but they could. What’s more, the threat they were discussing was Metal’s very creator; he didn’t know how he would feel or if he’d agree to help if asked. There were too many unanswered questions and he knew he couldn’t follow Amy around forever; at some point he would have to learn about his old life. It was only fair to be informed about how it could affect the people that showed him kindness. How it could affect her. 

Now they were minutes away from this meeting, the importance of which couldn’t be overstated for Amy. She wouldn’t say it directly, but she was anxiously putting her faith in Metal, hoping he wouldn’t have another outburst akin to their encounter with Sonic. After recalling how they’d all met, his actions, though well-meaning, were admittedly threatening. He would have to show more restraint.

“Oh! Here,” Amy fished a little notebook and pen from her coat pocket. “In case you need it. Sorry, the whiteboard was a little cumbersome for the flight.” Metal took them with a nod, tucking them away in his jacket. 

A gust of wind blew Amy’s hair over her face and caused her scarf to whip around uncontrollably. Sonic had rushed in, skidding to a halt just past the trio. “Hey! What took ya so long?” 

“I just fixed this,” Amy groaned, combing down her quills. Tails made his way over to greet Sonic as she readjusted her scarf for the third time.

“Don’t worry, Ames, it’s just us.” Sonic turned his attention to Metal momentarily. “And you, I guess. Hey, isn’t that Amy’s jacket?”

Metal crossed his arms and chimed indignantly. “It’s, uh, his now,” she replied sheepishly.

“Oh-kay. Hey, Tails, why don’t you take Metal and go ahead. I wanna catch up with Amy real quick.”

The two hadn’t spoken since the incident. Neither of them wanted the meeting to be any more uncomfortable than necessary, and apologies were no doubt in order. “Do you mind, Metal?” she turned to him with her gentle request. He shrugged nonchalantly with a hand at his hip, doing a poor job at concealing his annoyance.

Tails beckoned to him. “Come on, it’s not far.” Metal joined the boy, following him on the path ahead. He took a quick look back at  the pair just in time to spot Sonic placing a hand on Amy’s shoulder.

“You alright, Amy?”

She nodded, her cheeks turning rosy. “Mhm. I’m sorry about the other day- I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that...”

“Come on, we both know I’m used to your temper by now,” he teased. “But, you know, sorry if I sounded  like I don’t trust you.”

“Do you, though?”

“Of course! But Metal Sonic- I mean, he just flew off with you- like before. I was worried, Ames.”

It was reassuring to hear him admit his concern. Amy understood that Sonic cared for her- but after all their years of friendship, she wondered if he’d ever feel any other way about her. When she recalled the hand she’d drawn at her reading so many years ago, Amy couldn’t help but ponder over her interpretation of it. Lately, it felt more and more like her crush would never be anything more than that. Still, hearing him admit any kind of affection for her made Amy melt. She met his eyes and smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, Sonic. I know you’re worried, but Metal’s been doing great. It sounds silly, but I think he was trying to protect me.”

“That so?” 

She shrugged. “Well, he didn’t do it for shock value.”

Sonic’s usual grin returned to his face. “Well, either way, I can’t be too worried; I’ve seen you knock him around pretty good since the first time he kidnapped you,” he snickered. 

Amy smiled along, though being reminded made her uncomfortable. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Look, I think what you’re doing is great. Just promise you’ll keep your guard up, alright?”

“Sure,” she agreed. Amy sincerely felt that she was safe with metal, but it wasn’t worth continuing the argument. She was sure that Sonic would see that soon enough.

“Anyway, we’re late. Let’s get going before Knuckles loses it.”

The two set off on a well-worn path through the thicket of trees that grew denser as they went. A rocky clearing led into a burrow, where they found the others waiting for them. A pile of pillows and cushions were laid out against one wall in a circle- their usual seating arrangement on the floor. Knuckles and Tails had taken their usual seats, studying some documents that lay before them. Tails picked up a map to take a closer look. Metal was standing cross-armed near the entrance as the chilly air spilled in from the outside. Though Amy was strung tighter than a mandolin, she still did her best to give him a reassuring look on her way in.

Knuckles looked up as the duo entered. “About time. Amy, c’mere and sit next to me.”

“Oh, um, sure.” She usually sat next between him and Sonic anyway; it was odd he asked her to sit with him specifically. She took a seat on a cushion next to his and he immediately threw an arm around her, pulling her in close. Amy sensed Metal was putting his guard up.

“Amy, care to tell me why you’ve brought a killer enemy robot to my home?”

Despite the chill, Amy was beginning to sweat. She laughed softly in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Stop kidding around, Knuckles. We’re all friends here.”

Knuckles didn’t find it so funny. “Am I the only one who remembers when your ‘friend’ stole the Master Emerald and sent my home plummeting to the ground?”

Sonic sat next to her, grinning. Amy ignored him, looking instead toward Metal and making a patting motion with her hand, signaling to keep calm. “Come on, Knuckles, that was years ago. Besides, Metal doesn’t remember doing that.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

She pushed him away. “Ugh! Would you calm down? You’re yelling in my ear.” 

“I think the situation warrants some yelling, Amy!”

Sonic was snickering nearby; payback for all the times she and Tails teased him and Knuckles about their petty bickering. If looks could kill, she would have harpooned him with her eyes. Sonic cleared his throat, quickly gathering himself. “Relax, Knuckles. Amy says Metal’s safe, so he’s safe. Right, Tails?”

“Huh?” Too entranced in the map to notice the argument, Tails looked up upon hearing his name. “Oh, yeah. We took his weapons, anyway,” he shrugged.

Amy turned her deadly glare to Tails, who quickly hid behind his map again. “Who’s ‘we’? You did that.” Trying to avoid antagonizing Metal, Amy hadn't exactly made it known that Tails went beyond repairs when he was working on him. This wasn’t the gentlest way for Metal to find out. 

“I think it was a good call,” Sonic remarked. She scoffed back indignantly.

Metal was looking to Amy, who turned back to him with an apologetic expression. They hadn’t been there for two minutes and the meeting was already a trainwreck. He’d expected the heightened reactions, but learning that whatever weapons he was once equipped with were just taken from him without consent was an unpleasant surprise. Despite not remembering what he’d lost, he felt somewhat betrayed. Perhaps Amy still had her guard up along with the others.

Taking a deep breath, Amy addressed the room. “Guys, let’s settle down, there’s business to discuss. Metal, come sit with us,” she motioned to him. Narrowing his eyes in Metal’s direction, Knuckles grumbled something under his breath.  “Quit it already,” Amy elbowed him. He conceded, letting out an exasperated breath as Metal sat across from them, remaining further out of the circle than the others.

The team all turned to Sonic expectantly while Metal sat watching Amy. Her anxiety grew again as she felt his eyes on her and she was reminded of their first meeting. 

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Sonic began, “Let’s talk shop. Tails?”

He nodded. “So, last time we encountered Eggman, he ran off before the fight was finished.”

“So, we decided to go after him,” Sonic interjected. “I went looking for him the next day, but there were no flashy hideaways or ‘secret’ factory- none of his usual antics.”

“Then I saw this.” Tails tossed a newspaper into the center of the circle and Amy and Knuckles leaned in for a closer look. Magic City Under Way, read the main headline. Concept art of three tall, tower-like buildings was illustrated, followed by a smaller photo of a crew breaking ground at a construction site. A familiar rotund figure stood at the center proudly.

“Eggman?” Knuckles picked up the paper for a better look. “What’s he building?”

“Some kind of theme park by the looks of it,” Tails suggested.

Knuckles scoffed, tossing the paper aside. “That’s his usual schtick- let’s just go after him already.”

“Nothing to go after,” Sonic replied. “He’s usually building these things in secret, right? Using some weird tech to pull off his evil scheme. And now, he’s just out in the open. What’s that about?”

Amy picked up the newspaper, skimming through the article. “Magic City. I heard about this project- is Eggman really behind it? He usually sticks his face on everything, but this looks normal.”

“Yeah, that’s cause there’s nothing out of the ordinary going on there. I spent the better part of a week hanging around that construction site. I even talked with some crew members and snooped around the place, but it was just your average build site. Everyone acted totally normal-”

“Pah, sounds like some mind control junk to me,” Knuckles interrupted.

Tails leaned in. “That’s what we thought, too. But none of the crew seemed brainwashed. And look at this,” he pulled up some photos on a digital tablet, scrolling through. “Budgeting sheets, payroll…”

“Just like any other jobsite,” Sonic confirmed. “Why would you need HR if you’re using mind-control?”

“Sonic even found blueprints for the buildings. The one on the left is basically just a hotel. There’s a few restaurants, a casino on the bottom floor... This one has a nightclub and an indoor amusement park,” he pointed out. “And none of his usual traps, either. Everything looks totally normal. It’s just… an entertainment complex?”

Amy looked puzzled. “So, what, he’s an entrepreneur now?” 

Knuckles leaned back against the wall, looking up in thought. “He’s gotta be hiding something.” 

“Yeah,” Tails agreed. “And by the looks of it, this photo was taken on the day we battled- you know.”

The team turned to look at Metal. He gazed at each of them momentarily, noting their concerned expressions. “Metal,” Amy said, “Do you remember anything from that day? Before Tails and I found you?” He’d scanned what little was left of his memory enough times to know the answer. Metal shook his head right away, being met with disbelief from Knuckles.

“I don’t buy it. Metal Sonic has to be a spy- why else would he be here?”

“Knuckles, there's no way,” Amy looked to Tails for support. “You searched through all his stuff, right? He doesn’t remember anything.”

Tails half-nodded. “Well, yeah- to my knowledge. There was a lot of encrypted data- but it’s inaccessible in theory. He definitely can’t be tracked, though.”

“So how can we be sure then?” Knuckles returned.

“I trust Amy’s judgement,” Sonic said with a matter-of-fact tone. Surprised to hear him admit it to the team, Amy’s face softened into a look of admiration as she faced him. He probably should have felt grateful for the support, but Metal was displeased with Sonic’s playful wink back at her. “Besides, what’s Eggman gonna find out if he is spying? That we have no clue what he’s up to?”

Sonic had a point. There was silence as the team sat in thought, each pondering about possible scenarios or trying to come up with a plan of action. Metal could see this going on for an hour. He didn’t remember anything from that day, but he might if something jogged his memory. So, he tapped his sharp fingers against the ground and Amy’s ears perked up.

“Oh! That’s right,” she sat up straight. “Metal was able to remember the day Sonic and I met him when I told him about it. Maybe we can tell him about...” Her posture immediately became hunched when she realized what it meant. She recalled how broken his body still was inside, a sense of guilt casting down on her.

Tails’ eyes widened with excitement. “No kidding? I gotta take a look at him again!”

“More importantly,” Sonic added, “we gotta tell him about that battle and see if he remembers anything.”

Knuckles chimed in. “How do we know Metal Sonic won’t suddenly remember some objective to, I don’t know, kill us?”

The way they spoke about him like he wasn’t in the room did nothing to make Metal feel welcome. He knew he’d be far from their acceptance, but being viewed as an object to be poked and prodded was far more demeaning. Trust could be earned, but would they ever see him as something other than a machine? Amy kept calling him a friend. So what did it mean that she kept his “modifications” a secret?

“Metal,” Amy interrupted the boys’ musings, “would you be okay with that?” She side-eyed her teammates as she continued. “We wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

He returned with a lazy shrug, looking away from the others. Reliving a defeat at the hands of these people- the people he was meant to associate with, who were suddenly giving him reasons to be distrustful- he wasn’t sure how he’d feel. It wasn’t about losing his weapons; after all, he hadn’t needed them since Amy found him. If asked now, he would disarm himself willingly as long as he was staying with her. But perhaps his debt of gratitude amounted to more than accompanying her on trips and helping her down from high places. Now, it felt like Amy’s kindness could come at the expense of his autonomy. It was hardly a fair choice. Metal wished he was anywhere but that burrow.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Amy assured him. Knuckles looked like he was about to say something but she jabbed her elbow in his side again, rendering his complaint into an intelligible grumble. Metal wasn’t responding. He looked aloof, casting his gaze sideways to avoid eye contact. Amy had seen that look in him before, quickly recognizing his discomfort. She picked herself up and crossed the circle to meet Metal at the other side, kneeling next to him. “Hey,” Amy placed a hand on his shoulder, “remember that you can choose from now on, right?” She leaned in close to whisper. “We’ll talk about the other stuff after the meeting, promise.”

There was something in her kind voice and gentle touch that continued to stir him. Amy’s warmth seeped into Metal’s steely joints and melted his icy façade until he could no longer guard himself against her. She could give him all the choices in the world, but obliging Amy was quickly turning into a compulsion; one that, he suddenly realized, was about more than just his gratitude. Pleasing her seemed to bring him an unexpected and immeasurable satisfaction; It was inexplicable. He would endure any manner of painful memory if she only asked him to- but she wasn’t asking. She wouldn’t. Metal had to decide for himself. He considered all her kindness, yet wasn’t any happier about the “other stuff,” as she put it. It was as painful as it was confusing.

Tails’ worried voice shook Metal from his daze. “Hey, is he okay?” The uncomfortably long silence that had filled the room was impeded only by the whirring crescendo of Metal’s engine. He caught sight of Amy’s concerned stare first, then the vexed faces of the rest of the team. 

“Do you... need a minute?” she asked hesitantly.

Metal quickly shook his head, wanting to get all their peering eyes off of him.

Amy sighed as her hand left his shoulder. “Metal, do you want to hear about the battle the other day? It’s okay if you don’t.” He nodded hesitantly to no one in particular, reasoning that he may as well remember what he could. It wasn’t the answer Amy was hoping to hear. A grimace spread across her face as she immediately began thinking of tactful ways to approach the story. Before the pause had a chance to become awkward, Sonic chimed in.

“Alright, so here’s how we kicked your-”

“Sonic!” Amy sent her piercing glare at him once more. 

“What? That’s what happened,” Sonic grinned. He caught Metal rolling his eyes.

“I can tell it, Amy,” Tails chimed in. Amy responded with a begrudging nod and he continued. “So, late afternoon, we received a distress call about Eggman and Metal causing a fuss close to town. We expected to find more of his badniks hanging around, but it was just you and him there. You’d set off a few missiles at some rocks-”

“Eggman said you were just doing ‘target practice,’ trying to sound innocent” Knuckles scoffed.

“Right. So, we told him to get lost, but he said he wasn’t doing anything wrong and ordered Metal to continue-”

“I intercepted and shot the next missile right back at you,” Sonic cut in with a smirk. “Really set you off.”

Tails nodded. “Then you two started fighting. Eggman said something about you finishing practice on your own and took off, which was weird, ‘cause he usually sticks around. Anyway, Sonic and Metal headed into the valley, so I sort of followed you…”

“Then you broke Tails’ wrist,” Sonic commented, looking directly at Metal. “Right, Ames?” Amy frowned apologetically and answered with a shrug. 

“Yeah...” Tails continued. “But anyway-”

Knuckles interrupted impatiently. “You flew up the hillside and Amy knocked Sonic into you with her hammer. End of battle,” he grunted. “So do you remember anything or what?”

An immense guilt befell Amy the moment her name left his lips. Metal watched as she avoided looking at him, fidgeting with the tassels on her scarf anxiously. Battles aren’t friendly- Metal didn’t fault her for attacking him when they were enemies. The story actually impressed him where she was concerned, but it didn’t give him the epiphany that Amy’s tale had. He remembered nothing.

“Well?” Knuckles insisted.

Metal turned to him and shook his head plainly.

“Tch. What a waste of time…”

“Back to the drawing board,” Sonic remarked.

Tails looked back at the newspaper with a smiling Eggman on the cover. “The battle was probably just to keep us from crashing this party. Eggman knew we’d come after him if he caused a racket, then he ran off when we were distracted so we couldn’t interrupt. I guess he really wasn’t doing anything other than making noise, though.”

Sonic yawned lazily. “You make it sound like we started the fight.”

“We kinda did,” Amy mumbled under her breath.

Sonic stood up, stretching his arms. “Well, nothing we can do about this now. We’ll just have to keep an eye on it.”

“Calling a meeting with no plan,” Knuckles followed, “typical.”

“Hey, I want us all to be on guard. There’s no telling what scheme this could lead to. We’d better be ready.”

“I’m always ready!” Knuckles boomed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been away long enough waiting for all of you to show up.” He marched across to stand over Amy, offering her a hand. She pulled herself up with Metal following her lead. “So you’re keeping an eye on Metal Sonic.” he grinned at her proudly. “Pretty brave, kid.” She clicked her tongue at him, giving him a lighthearted shove. Knuckles turned his attention to Metal’s looming figure with narrowing eyes. “I’d better be wrong about you.”

Metal knew that her teammate’s suspicions were justified and it would be hard to prove him otherwise. He crossed his arms and gave Knuckles a single nod. Knuckles returned with a nod of his own before glancing down at the rose-shaped patch on the front of Metal’s jacket with an amused scoff. He waved himself out before Amy had a chance to become aggrieved over it.

“Long way to fly for such a short meeting,” Tails sighed from across the room. He gathered his things hastily and booked it toward the front. “Let’s head back, I have something I gotta finish.”

“Right behind you, buddy.” Sonic made his way across. “Ames?”

She leaned her body towards Metal. “Actually, could you give us a minute?” 

Sonic’s brow furrowed. “Shouldn’t you guys get going?”

Before Amy could respond, Metal draped an arm over her shoulder. Their eyes met and he cocked his head sideways confidently. Amy got the message. “Well, if you’re sure…” she turned back to her teammates. “Why don’t you guys take the plane? Metal can give me a ride.” 

Tails and Sonic looked at each other in confusion. “I guess,” Tails said. “Do you want a ride?”

Sonic shifted to look back at Metal. How the robot managed to look cocky even with his usual expression, he did not know. At the risk of losing another staring contest, Sonic gave Amy a wave and started toward the exit. “Sounds good. Catch ya later.” Amy returned the wave as he and Tails went off,  Metal straightening himself back up once they were out of sight.

Amy then exhaled so severely that her entire body slumped. She didn’t think she’d ever feel so tense around her friends, and having kept the meeting mostly civil was an incredible relief. Unfortunately, there was another can of worms to deal with. She just managed to suppress a groan before addressing it.

“Thanks for coming, Metal. You did great today; But I thought Knuckles was gonna lunge at you for sure,” she chuckled. In a rather puffed up manner, with a hand at his hip, Metal gave her a sly shrug. Amy couldn’t keep from snorting at how pleased he looked with himself. “Don’t look so smug, he’s beat you up before,” she teased. He turned back to her with a resentful chime. It was incredible to Amy how comfortable they were together- she never would have expected to become such fast friends with a former (and very recent) enemy. But there they were, a few days into their new relationship, cordial and playful as if lifelong friends. All this even as they both knew a serious topic was approaching. She braced herself, her eyes cast down nervously.

“I’m sorry, Metal. I know taking your things was wrong. I blamed Tails, but I never really said anything, and then I kept it from you- but I’ll make sure you get everything back.” She twiddled her fingers together.

The sincere apology made Metal want to forgive her immediately, but the strange hurt he still felt didn’t allow him to. It didn’t make sense- he wasn’t angry anymore, she apologized, he understood their fear was not unfounded; so why couldn’t he feel okay about it? It may have been the realization that being autonomous wouldn’t be the same for him- how could it be? As quickly as she warmed up to him, even Amy didn’t see him as a person right away.  Maybe some never would. It wouldn’t be fair to rely on her advocacy, either- counting on her to mediate every tense situation was hardly freedom. And then there was the worry that his only affection for Amy was out of an innate need for guidance. 

Pulling the notepad from his pocket, Metal scribbled some words down. He ripped the leaf from its binding to hand to her. Amy glanced up at him momentarily before taking it. “You didn’t ask,” it read.

“I know I’m sorry,” she sighed. “Do you think you would’ve said yes?”

Metal pondered for a moment. He would have weighed his options at the time, but the moment had passed and he wasn’t so sure now. One thing was certain, however: if she’d asked him now, he wouldn’t think twice before agreeing. Metal handed her the next note with some hesitation as he admitted this. “You can ask for anything” was written neatly on it.

Amy didn’t know what to say. It was incredibly kind, but only made her feel more guilty that she had betrayed his trust early on. “Then, I guess I’ll ask you to forgive me- if you can.” Her ears drooped as the words grew ever remorseful. “And for hurting you, too. I feel like it's my fault you lost your memory in the first place.”

But that wasn’t something he would have to forgive her for. Instead, he carefully wrote his feelings, tearing the leaf from its binding gently. Metal locked eyes with her as he nervously placed it in her hand. “Thank you for finding me.”

She didn’t have an opportunity to respond. The second Amy looked up, Metal closed the gap between them, pulling her close into a hug. Her face flushed as a small gasp escaped her lips. Before she knew it, she was returning his embrace tenderly. “Dummy- I’m trying to apologize here,” she protested, though her swishing tail seemed to contradict any complaints. There were few things Amy enjoyed more than friendly affection, and considering the incredible embarrassment she felt after their last hug, she relished in his readiness to hold her. “I’m glad we found each other, too.”

As they slid away from one another, Amy combed through the front of her hair, pulling it over to conceal her blushing cheeks. “You know, this isn’t even the first time I find you in the snow…”  Metal tilted his head curiously, so she continued. “Well, first time, it was a couple of years after we met. You’d been laying there a while- actually, I think it was after Knuckles took back the Master Emerald from you. He can really throw a punch,” she chuckled. “But you know, you seemed so sad. We were enemies then, but I helped you get back home because, well, I guess I thought it would change things. Don’t know if it really made a difference, though.”

Defeat. Snow. Amy’s mercy and kindness. It was like déjà vu; Metal could suddenly remember each encounter individually, the earliest of which was just as vivid a memory as the most recent. He dropped the notepad and pen and took her hands excitedly, looking into her widening eyes. An exuberant smile spread across Amy’s face in realization.

“You remember!” Her fingers tightened around his delicately. “I don’t know what happened after that, but, I hope it’s a happy memory for you.”

He recalled how indifferently he acted toward her help then. He knew who Amy was, but whatever memory he possessed of their first encounter had been gutted. All he remembered as she dragged him through the snow was holding her captive and being defeated. No empathetic smile, no tarot reading, no kind words- she was just a footnote in his files by the time she found him; just like had been a few days ago. Though he had scarcely tried to communicate with her, the unfamiliar comfort her care provided compelled him to relent. And despite how unresponsive he had been Amy still lent him her aid. She’s offered him a hand time and time again without holding it over him. Perhaps that was why all the small ways in which he returned the favor brought him such pleasure.

Metal nodded. He didn’t remember anything after she left his side then, but finally understanding the mixed emotions that went through his head that cold day did bring him joy. It was close enough.

“I’m glad…” Amy sheepishly unlatched her fingers from his and clasped her hands in front of her face, concealing her rosy cheeks. “I guess… we should head home? We can take off from where we landed.”

Metal turned toward the exit, impulsively offering Amy his arm. She looked astonished for a moment before latching onto him with a giggle.

“Where did you learn to be a gentleman? I’m surprised you have it in you.” 

Metal’s smug tones and exaggerated head-bobbing gave her more to laugh and tease him about as they made their way out and through the forest. He didn’t mind. Every time they started back to Amy’s house together, it felt more like home.

---

Everything in the burrow echoed and could be heard from the outside if one knew where to listen from; And Knuckles knew just the spot. “About time,” he grumbled, watching as the pair sauntered out of sight from behind a thick tree trunk. He re-entered the space to find Metal’s pen and notepad left behind on the ground. So that’s how he was communicating. Annoyed that they had left their trash behind, Knuckles picked up both items with the intention of throwing them in the bin, but stopped when he noticed a short note written on the first page. He grinned as he read it. Probably knows I was listening, he thought. It didn’t really come as a surprise that Metal left it behind for Knuckles to find, but the words and their sentiment were unexpected.

He ripped the page out of the book to keep. Knuckles would have to hold Metal to his word: “I will prove you wrong.”

..................................................................................................................

hi babes~ how are you all doing this cursed election week?

i’m uhhh not 100% satisfied with this chapter but i’m sick of looking at it so here she is! also obviously i’m obsessed to death with the mania adventures short because where else are we getting our canon metamy crumbs

((yes i could have picked one of several canon names for the amusement park yes i decided to call it magic city because i’m from miami (: fight me abt it))

[tthael]

I apologize if you’ve already written about this before, but one thing I’ve been wondering about your Indelicate version of Eddie is in regard to his occasional tendency toward more (for lack of a better/less serious-sounding term) “aggresive” actions (e.g., throwing the lotion bottle, throwing the water, etc.) directed toward Richie. I know it was hinted at that the urges to aggress may sometimes be/have been the result of repressed or misconstrued attraction, but I’m wondering if some of it is also a result of Eddie’s injury and the related feelings of a lack of control over his own body? Like hypothetically, if Eddie were never injured or if we fast-forward to him completely healed, do you think that moments like that would still happen? Or am I just really reading too much into the fic and making up this aspect of it? Hope that makes sense - I just love your characterization of Eddie and I want to make sure I’m understanding as much as I can!

I actually haven’t written about this before, and I think that it’s a good thing that I take the time to meditate on it now, because I don’t want the idea that throwing things at your romantic partner is, like, a good thing.

So a lot of my thoughts on Eddie’s aggression derive from two specific aspects of his portrayal. The first (chronologically in Eddie’s timeline) is the portrayal of Eddie as high-strung, snappy, and verbally combative in IT Chapter One (2017).  Within the last year and a half I saw a post that pointed out that some of Eddie’s aggression--especially in interacting with Richie--probably derives from the high-stress situations of a) being hunted by an alien clown demon and b) being abused at home. I had a college professor discussing a history and trauma class point out that, “Traumatized people don’t always behave well.” There are the usual caveats that explanations are not excuses; however, I think that the constant knowledge that he has to return to Sonia’s house and the persistent alarms telling him when he has to take medication, so that even when he’s apart from her he can’t get away from her interference, means that Eddie’s under high pressure. And then you get to the point where all of the children in Derry are being hunted by an actual monster, and it’s a wonder that Eddie behaves as well as he does, because I certainly wouldn’t.

I usually like to incorporate some of book!Eddie’s dreamy introspection into his internal narrative in Indelicate, and I think that some of his pressures are relaxing now that he’s a) no longer living in a house with Sonia, b) acting specifically in ways that maximize his own agency (going where he wants with whom he wants, eating what he wants, actively rejecting much of her influence). However, he’s still got a lot on his plate, and some habits die hard. This is why I have moments of Eddie waiting with the perfect snappy comeback on his tongue, and then stopping himself because he knows it’s something he doesn’t mean. He doesn’t actually want Richie to never talk again, he loves it when Richie talks, and he’s struggling towards sincerity. I personally have a lot of difficulty letting go of the put-down jokes in favor of being sincere with the people I love, so I thought I’d give Eddie several moments of consciously choosing to be honest and kind with Richie.

The second influence on Eddie’s relationship to physically “lashing out” is his introductory scene from IT (1986), where he’s leaving home and Myra is chasing after him demanding explanations and wailing about how terrified she is. I know that there are lots of analyses of this scene and thoughts on Myra versus Sonia, and I’m not interested in those right now; however, what caught my eye was that Eddie sees Myra’s distress and his first thought is something along the lines of “you might as well hit her”--not that he wants to hit her and he has nothing to lose, but that his causing her emotional distress is as bad as physically abusing his wife. (I can’t recall at the moment whether Eddie’s section comes before or after Bev’s introduction, but I want to say that it’s before, and I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Bev and Eddie’s very different home lives are contrasted.)

So I thought, that as a boy child without a father, raised and abused by his single mother--and considering his issues with (as I write it) suppressed gay feelings, and the sort of “glass closet” I write him with--Eddie’s concepts of masculinity are probably pretty toxic. I think that in order to maintain control over Eddie, Sonia probably got very emotionally manipulative when he resisted her at all, especially as he got older and taller and physically stronger than her, and that she probably cried out things like “Eddie, you’re hurting me, how can you hurt your mother like this?” and made Eddie feel like the abuser (which is, I’m given to understand, a frequent tactic of abusers: reversing the roles to make the victim feel apologetic and guilty). I’m specifically thinking of the way that Gillian Flynn writes manipulative white women who weaponize white women’s fragility--Adora in Sharp Objects, since that’s actually the only Gillian Flynn book I’ve read so far. I think that Eddie would be very conscious of what he perceives as his capacity to be an aggressor, and it would be one more way that Sonia could keep him docile.

Later, with Myra--and I’m writing Myra more sympathetically in Indelicate than I did in Things That Happen After Eddie Lives, so I’m not interested in getting into the “is Myra abusive?” conversation right now, because I’ve written her both ways--I think that Eddie likely had a sort of learned helplessness about his own agency with Sonia that he then transferred onto his relationship with Myra. In Indelicate, I write him with a lot of reluctance to volunteer any information towards her, or his emotional state, or to make any of his wishes known (frequently she shoots them down as too extravagant, the way that I talked about Eddie’s relationship to money and luxury and Myra refusing a larger bed).

I write Eddie as largely unaware of his attraction to men until his near-death-experience, but only because he did not allow himself to connect the dots between what he thought of as physical symptoms (tunnel vision on hot man in coffee shop = optic nerve impairment, see doctor); but I think that Eddie was profoundly aware of his unhappiness in his marriage and just tried to reason with himself that everyone felt like that, and everyone was miserable and suppressing their own wants and needs, because that’s just what marriage is, and any other approach to his marriage would make him abusive, so Eddie and Myra’s marriage was emotionally volatile and extremely stressful.

Which is to say that Indelicate Eddie is a powder keg when Richie gets to him.

Again, I don’t think that throwing things at your romantic partner is an acceptable mode of interaction and I don’t want any readers to get the idea that that’s the underlying message of Indelicate, because it’s not. The scene with the moisturizer is derived from something that happened to me years ago (I was Richie, the guy I had a crush on was Eddie) involving a wayward Frisbee; the scene where Eddie tries and fails to throw a drink at Richie is derived from an anecdote of the early days of my parents’ marriage (my mother was Eddie), one that my father’s coworkers and boss loved to talk about and his best friend still brings up when they hang out.

However, Eddie’s relationship to physicality is also deeply informed by a tumblr post I saw over a year ago that talked about how Eddie grew up being told that he was fragile and delicate and sickly, and how Richie did not give a shit about any of that and was more than willing to just grapple him. For this fic, I decided to lean into that idea: that Eddie longs to be treated as though he’s solid and healthy and strong, and he finds a lot of relief in Richie <i>not</i> treating him gently. But because Eddie is actually physically injured in Indelicate, Richie is being careful not to break him while also dealing with Eddie’s very real (and largely unvoiced) desire for physical contact. It’s not an accident that at the end of the chapter in which Richie and Eddie have a shouting match that Richie wrestles Eddie to the floor and pins him and blows a raspberry on his belly--which is incredibly juvenile at the same time that it’s a display of Richie’s physical capabilities and Eddie finds that bizarrely attractive.

So, on top of Eddie’s desire for physical contact, his extreme stressors, and his lifetime of maladaptive coping mechanisms--the other thing that I consider when I write his dynamic with Richie is that Richie is not physically intimidated by Eddie at all. This is not because Richie is stronger than Eddie (he is) or larger than Eddie (he is). This is because there was a time in which Richie and Eddie found it perfectly acceptable to grapple each other as a form of interactions, because Richie and Eddie have known each other since they were seven years old. I even like to think that at one point, Eddie was the taller of the two, because Richie hit a really ridiculous growth spurt somewhere around the start of puberty and Eddie was something of a “late-bloomer,” and Eddie silently seethed about it through their entire adolescence.

So when Richie and Eddie lash out at each other--largely Eddie, because I think Richie, with his fear of the werewolf and of losing control and hurting someone--they’re building on sort of a lifetime of informal physicality. Stitchy does something similar in their Richie/Eddie fic where elements of roleplay always appear in their romance, because they were kids who played pretend games together, and when you have a bond like that with someone, it does permanently shape what sort of interaction you do and do not find acceptable. I also included a flashback into childhood where Richie gets angry with Eddie and very deliberately and methodically pushes him down on the ground and Eddie cries, not because Richie physically hurt him (he didn’t), but because it wasn’t in good fun there, that was Richie deciding to throw him around because he knew it would upset him.

So there’s a lot going into Eddie’s physically aggressive responses in Indelicate--the toxic masculinity that dictates the way that men are allowed to express anger and the ways in which they are allowed to touch each other; the profound stress that Eddie has endured for his whole lifetime without getting many better coping mechanisms; the feeling of lack of control of his physical body; a regression to childhood habits; and a deep sense of relief that Richie (being big, strong, and a man) is not vulnerable to him in the way that Sonia convinced him she (and later Myra) were.

I hmm’d and haww’d over a scene in the most recent chapter in which Eddie strikes Richie with an open hand (it’s a little slap on the chest, and I wanted it to come across very like the sort of corrective smack to the back of the head that I can imagine any of the Losers issuing to Richie back in 1989 when he shoots off at the mouth), because that’s not something I’d be comfortable doing to a romantic partner myself. Richie thinks nothing of it and turns it into a dirty joke, but I do need to get more into Eddie’s decision to touch Richie in kind ways in direct refusal of that “you construct intricate rituals that allow you to touch other men” facet of toxic masculinity.

I know it’s a ridiculously long answer, but it’s a serious issue and I wanted to give it the greatest possible consideration instead of writing something flip. Because both the incidents you named (ones I didn’t even realize formed a pattern, to be honest) are drawn from real life, I can’t say that they’re moments that are influenced by Eddie’s physical disability, but I do think they’re more influenced by his emotional state. I also think that as some of his stressors come off his plate and he gets more comfortable having an adult relationship with Richie, he’s going to stop throwing things at him. I even had Eddie stop after throwing the water, not just because it was ridiculous but because he realized how out of line he was in that moment. Recognizing when you’re out of control in an argument is, I find, an important part of self-improvement; and learning to walk away or to reset is a valuable skill.

Thank you so much for reading!

[prouvaireafterdark]

The Kids Aren’t Alright

This one goes out to my lovely followers 😘You guys asked for some Michael Sanders AU Hurt/Comfort, so here’s Walt being a supportive dad to Michael after the events of Honey, If You Stay 💜 

P.S. A lot of the fics in this AU can more or less stand alone, but I think you’ll get more out of this one if you read Caught in the Moment and then Honey, If You Stay. The references will just make a lot more sense

Also on AO3!

***

After watching Michael push his food around with his fork all through dinner, Walt isn’t exactly surprised to hear two soft knocks on his bedroom door later that night.

“Come on in,” Walt calls once he’s shuffled the bills littering his bedspread into a haphazard pile in front of him.

The door creaks open and he looks up to see Michael pausing at the threshold, wearing a worn t-shirt and a soft pair of green flannel pajama bottoms. He’s practically a grown man now, but the sight of him standing there reminds Walt of that first year after he adopted him, before Michael had really let it sink in that this was his home now. He was always so cautious then, unsure of where his boundaries were and afraid that one wrong move would land him back at the group home. It makes Walt frown to see him looking like that again.

“You alright?” Walt asks.

Michael hesitates as his eyes flicker from Walt’s face to the stack of papers in front of him.

“Yeah,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and standing up a little straighter. “You’re busy, I’ll just—”

“Michael,” Walt stops him, shaking his head. He moves the pile of bills to his cluttered nightstand and pats the empty space on the bed beside him with his palm. “Sit down.”

Michael walks into the room and climbs onto Walt’s bed, stealing a pillow to hold while he sits cross-legged facing him.

Walt gives him a moment to get his bearings before he asks, “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“It’s Alex,” Michael admits after a minute, eyes fixed where he’s plucking idly at a loose thread hanging from the seam of the pillowcase.

Walt figured as much. It takes a lot to rattle Michael and there’s no one else besides those Evans twins he’d be so out of sorts over.

“You two have a fight?” Walt guesses.

“No,” Michael answers quickly, lifting his eyes to look at him. Walt can see the gears turning in his head as he pauses to think about it another second before he adds, “Well, maybe.”

“You want to talk about it?” he asks when Michael doesn’t elaborate.

Michael eyes him skeptically and, well, Walt supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. Since he entered his teens, they haven’t really talked as much as they used to when Michael was little, after he outgrew his quiet phase and would practically burst at the opportunity to tell Walt all about the new things he learned at school that day, never mind what everyone else was doing. Lately, Walt’s been falling back on what’s become his trademark brand of family bonding, which usually involves a lot more motor oil and “dad music” crackling through his old radio than emotional heart-to-hearts. But Michael’s hurting right now, that much Walt can see plain as day, and he isn’t just gonna sit here and let Michael suffer while he pretends nothing’s wrong. He’ll turn a blind eye to a lot of things, but not that.

Walt sighs and levels Michael with a look. “C’mon, kid. I’m trying here.”

Michael seems to think about it for a moment before he shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m fine,” he assures him with a tight smile. Walt doesn’t believe him for a second, but before he can call him on his bullshit, Michael adds, “I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Well, alright then,” Walt says, waving him on. “Go ahead.”

Michael nods and takes a deep breath like he’s psyching himself up for something. Walt waits patiently while Michael finds the words he’s looking for.

“Would it… would it be okay if Alex spent the night sometimes?” Michael asks, and Walt can’t help but huff a laugh at that question.

“You telling me he doesn’t already?” he asks, his eyebrows raised incredulously. He knows he’s seen Michael wake up with bruises on his neck he didn’t go to sleep with and he thanks God every day they don’t share a bedroom wall.

“I—what?” Michael asks, his eyes wide with shock, cheeks flushing a guilty pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denies, and Walt has to fight not to roll his eye. His boy really is a terrible liar.

“You’re not as slick as you think you are, kid,” Walt says simply.

Michael looks at a loss for words for once, which would be amusing if Walt didn’t also clock the way he swallows tensely and curls himself around the pillow a little more. It’s then that Walt remembers what Michael had done when he’d walked in on him with Alex that first time.

“Are you mad?” he’d asked, eyes guarded and cautious.

The question had taken Walt by surprise. He’s never been a prejudiced man, nor has he ever to his own recollection said anything that would make Michael think that he was. All he’s ever wanted for Michael is for him to be safe and to find the love and happiness his mother crossed galaxies to provide for him. That he’s found those things with a young man rather than a young woman never even registered as something for Walt to be concerned about—Michael being bisexual doesn’t change how much Walt loves him or what he would do to protect him, and, to be honest, when your son is a telekinetic alien refugee, who he’s sleeping with is the goddamn least of your worries. At the end of the day, Walt is just happy Michael can experience life as a normal teenaged boy and isn’t being experimented on in some top secret military bunker.

But as he’d sat idly in front of the TV that night after bringing Alex home, thinking over the conversations he’d had with them, Walt realized something important.

To Michael, sexuality does matter. It matters to Alex too, and Walt would bet the stack of emergency cash he’s got hidden under his mattress that it also matters to Alex’s father. It’s an important part of Michael, one that will inevitably and unfairly shape how some people see him, how they treat him, and it makes Walt feel like he’s swallowed a lead weight to think that Michael ever lived in fear of him finding out about it, that he thought, even for a second, that it would make him any less worthy of love in Walt’s eyes.

And looking at Michael now, watching him shrink in on himself a little at having been caught sneaking his boyfriend in for a sleepover instead of awkwardly laughing it off like he has every other time Walt’s caught him doing stupid teenage shit, makes Walt wonder if maybe he wasn’t as clear as he thought he was that night. If maybe there’s still a part of Michael that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You know I ain’t mad at you, right?” Walt says, determined to make sure Michael understands here and now that he isn’t and never will be. “You’re eighteen next month. Way I see it, what you do in your bedroom is your business, long as you’re safe and quiet about it.”

“Oh my god, stop,” Michael whines suddenly, sounding utterly mortified as he shoves his face into the pillow.

His reaction brings Walt up short. “What do you mean ‘stop’? You brought it up, didn’t you?” he defends himself.

“That’s not—“ Michael starts, voice muffled, before he looks up at him again, his face flushed even more, and says, “I meant to sleep, Dad, Jesus Christ. I just need to know if I can tell him it’s okay for him to crash here sometimes.”

Walt stares at him a moment, unable to shake the feeling that he’s missing something important here. Michael looks back at him with wide, desperate eyes and he knows he’s right.

“What’s this really about, Michael?” Walt asks.

Michael’s gaze shifts to his hands as he idly picks at his cuticles.

“I told you already,” Michael insists.

“No, you didn’t,” he says patiently. “Why does Alex need a place to crash?”

Michael lets out a weary sigh, and when he looks up again Walt can see he’s holding back tears.

”Things are, um,” he starts, pausing to swallow down the emotion building in his throat, “really hard for him at home right now,” Michael confesses at last. “Or maybe they always have been, I don’t know. There’s a lot he hasn’t told me and I don’t want to push him too hard.”

Walt recalls the fear in Alex’s eyes when he came home that day and caught Michael kissing him on the living room floor, how tense he was on the ride back to his house afterward when it was just the two of them in his truck. He makes an educated guess. “His father?”

“Yeah,” Michael confirms softly.

One look at the haunted expression on Michael’s face and suddenly all those little things Walt has noticed about Alex over the last few months start to make a horrible kind of sense.

“Why didn’t you just lead with that?” Walt asks.

“Alex didn’t want me to tell you unless I had to,” Michael sighs.

Walt nods in understanding. Michael’s a lot of things, but a snitch ain’t one of them.

“I’m worried about him, Dad,” Michael continues a moment later. “I just—I want him to have somewhere he can go when things get bad with his dad and I was hoping it could be here, with us. Not, like, permanently or anything, just—you know. If he needs it. When he needs it.”

Walt doesn’t need long to think about it. He knows a thing or two about running away from a broken home, and offering shelter to the sweet, polite kid who’s never treated his son with anything other than love and respect isn’t exactly a hard sell. This arrangement won’t fix everything for Alex, not by a long shot, but it’s a start.

“Well, you’ll hear no argument about it from me,” Walt tells him.

Michael perks up at that, hope shining in his eyes. “Is that a yes? He can stay the night sometimes?”

“Of course he can, Michael,” Walt answers easily. “He’s welcome to stay as long as he needs.”

Walt can see the line of Michael’s shoulders relax as the burden he’s been carrying around with him all day all but disappears.

“Thank you,” he sighs, his eyes closing in relief, as if the stress of the situation was the only thing keeping him awake.

Walt watches him a second before he makes up his mind.

“Come here,” he says, beckoning him closer when an outstretched arm.

Michael opens his eyes and does as he’s told, ditching the pillow in favor of letting Walt pull him into his arms. He squeezes Michael tight and drops a single kiss to the crown of his head. Wild curls tickle his nose when he does, but Walt doesn’t mind. It’s the longest hug they’ve shared in ages, and even though he initiated it for Michael’s benefit, Walt finds his son’s not the only one who needed it.

“Hey, how long have you known about this?” Walt asks curiously when Michael pulls away.

“I didn’t know for sure until last night,” Michael admits. “He, um, came over to see me after you went to bed and we talked.”

“Hm,” Walt hums thoughtfully. “Shame he didn’t tell you a few days sooner.”

“Why?” Michael asks.

“His old man came by the shop looking to get his oil changed the other day,” Walt explains. “I would’ve overcharged him more if I’d known he’s been giving Alex grief like that.”

Michael’s face looks frozen in shock for a moment before he laughs, a sharp, delighted sound that warms Walt’s heart to hear.

“Wait—“ Michael says suddenly, the full implications of Walt’s confession hitting him belatedly. “More? As in you already overcharge him?”

“Oh yeah,” Walt confirms shamelessly, leaning back against his headboard. “I’ve been upcharging that son of a bitch for years.”

“Why?” Michael asks, scandalized excitement brightening his eyes.

“He’s a prick,” Walt shrugs. “I need a reason other than that?”

Michael laughs again, shaking his head.

“Absolutely not,” he says emphatically. “God, I can’t wait to tell Alex. He’s gonna love this.”

Walt sighs, beginning to regret his decision to tell Michael that already.

“Well, make sure it stays between you two,” he warns the boy. “It’d be bad for business if it got out, even if the town oughta give me a medal for it and thank me for my service.”

“Please,” Michael laughs. “Like Alex is gonna tell anyone anything that would stop his dad from getting screwed.”

“Fair enough,” Walt concedes. He peeks over at the alarm clock on his nightstand and has to do a double take at the time. “Jesus, you oughta get to bed, kid. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Ugh, fine,” Michael says, though his indignation is severely undercut by the exhausted yawn he lets out immediately after. He climbs out of Walt’s bed and stretches before heading for the door.

“See you in the morning,” Walt calls after him.

“Mhmm,” Michael hums sleepily.

Walt glances at the pile of bills on his nightstand, but his heart pulls his gaze back in Michael’s direction. There’s something else that needs saying before he goes off to bed.

“Hey, one more thing before you go,” he says before Michael can get too far.

Michael stops in the doorway, leaning back against the jamb when he turns around to show he’s listening.

“I love you,” Walt says earnestly. “I know I don’t tell you near as often as you should hear it, but I do.”

The smile that graces Michael’s face in response is small and heartfelt, a private thing that Walt commits to memory.

“I love you too, Dad,” he says, and he lingers at the threshold a moment longer before he pushes off the doorframe and finally says, “Goodnight.”

[unluckyadept]

Character Journal Entry: Felix

{July 16th, 2021T}

[Felix did not return to his letter drafts right away when his shift ended the next day. Instead, he sat alone, holding onto his iconic mask.

He wanted to express his thoughts, but one thing had become clear over time: he truly had to provide the context, or else it just wouldn’t make sense. His streak of Mars in particular.

He was no longer all that concerned about being fiery. He had plenty of enemies who were out to kill him, people who wanted to inflict great suffering in every imaginable way; he truly didn’t have the patience anymore to grovel. He would never be in complete agreement with his close friends—but that was just the way of the world. 

He looked up with unseeing eyes, his mind caught in the weight of the past and the gravity of the present.

It was like he had mentioned in one of his previous drafts: this was the true end. He could feel it. He could feel it in his very soul; Lalivero was safe in the eye of the storm, but the only way through these troubles was through the squalls that besieged them. There was no turning back.

Either they would break free from the violent tempest, unhindered as they made for shore in a clear sunrise…

…or they would be dashed upon the rocks and drown.]

+=+=+=+

"{Keep your spirits up, lad. Too much for you to do to be dwelling in darkness.}"

+=+=+=+

[He closed his eyes and surrendered a silent sigh.]

({What was it that Sir Glenn said? Something about not… not resenting the lamentation at wishing to reclaim what was lost.})

[He rubbed a hand against his face, still dwelling in a deep mental cloud.

One of the things that had always bothered him in the past was his lasting sense of pain, and the weight that suffering had chained to his heart. He had worried that the way it haunted him would drive others away; they would surely find deep discomfort if he were more vocal about what was on his mind during these times. After all… he hadn’t known anyone else who would broach such topics to him, let alone on a frequent basis.

But he still hurt. Oh, he still hurt. These wounds ran deep… and when they ached, the scars were filled with blinding fire.

Such matters had been weighing more heavily in his heart for over a year and a half now. For the pain was no longer of the decades past, but of the living present.

And the reminder of this was enough to make it harder to breathe again, from stress alone—

It was a silent cry of a suffering soul as his heart protested the crushing, suffocating clutches of sorrowful despair.

His grip on the mask tightened, and he curled the hand pressed against his face into a clenched fist.

His adoptive grandfather would not want him to be held back like this, let alone falter in his faith in his convictions.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{There is good in everything that happens. Sometimes you have to spend a little bit more time looking for it, and sometimes it doesn’t reveal itself immediately. But there’s always good in everything that happens.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He could feel tears building at the memory of the man’s reassuring confidence.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It may not reveal itself immediately, and even in the most dire circumstances, if you just wait, if you just remain open to things, the good in it will reveal itself.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He tried to shake it off, but the tears remained poised as he remembered snatches of what the great Ranger had taught him.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{If disaster is coming our way, we don’t just sit there and endure it. We come up with ways to avoid it, to beat it back, to overcome it, but we don’t just sit there and accept it.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He gritted his teeth against the sense of loss, still (futilely, and he knew it) fighting back tears.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{But I don’t believe our darkest days are ahead of us. I never have. [You] have been asking, ‘You’ve always told us you’d tell us when it’s time to panic. Is it time?’ It’s never time to panic, [Earth-son].}”

+=+=+=+=+

[He let the mask fall into his lap so he could press both hands against his face, instinctively holding his breath as a result of the crushing void of loss.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It’s never, ever gonna be time to give up on our [people]. It will never be time to give up on the [dedication to build dreams].}”

+=+=+=+=+

[It was all he could do to seek comfort in the words again in this dark time.]

+=+=+=+=+

“{It will never be time to give up on yourself.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[For all the thrill of victory at having lasted this long in open war against the Tolbi regime—and particularly the importance of having disrupted the flow of supplies from their capital city to the troops in Northern Gondowan—

It was still all so overwhelming.]

[After the pretense was discarded last autumn, their enemy seizing the opportunity to use cowardly tactics in an attempt to overwhelm them at lightning speed—

After he was taken prisoner and not one of them would even consider speaking to him as a fellow human being…

…eventually, in the “end”, he had fallen into despair.

They had done everything they possibly could to prevent it… and it had been cruelly subverted by hateful Pride. He had sought to treat even his tormentors with respect—and he had, as best he could!—and to appeal to basic human decency, for the chance to learn what mattered to them… and they wouldn’t even deign to speak any more beyond their brutal contempt of blinding Pride.

If all his power had not been enough—if they had brought their full strength against the enemy and only barely survived—there, in those moments as he lay dying, and in those days after he was brought back… he couldn’t help but wonder, at first.

He had asked himself: with all that in mind, could he really trust that they would be able to overcome such deep-rooted tyranny?]

+=+=+=+=+

“{Trust me.}”

+=+=+=+=+

[It had taken a very long time for him to begin to recover.

And just as he was starting to do so…

…he received the news that he would hear such words of encouragement… no more.

Not again within this world would he be able to turn to the man who had been like a second father to him—the one person who had never doubted his ability to thrive and succeed, despite his background, despite his temperament… despite everything that would have otherwise long since overwhelmed his will to keep struggling and clawing his way through the darkness.

There had been long periods of time where the only things that kept him from succumbing to insane levels of agony—the only reasons he had stayed his hand, even as he looked into the abyss with a desire to embrace it—the only reasons he had even bothered to continue were: the obligations of duty to toil until relieved from his role in this life… and that man’s unshaken certainty that he was capable enough to overcome the noose of shadows and walk in the sunlight of hard-earned dreams.

And now…]

({I just want to hear your voice again, one more time! Even… even though I know what you would say.})

[He understood, now, why Mikhail had never asked him to use the Tomegathericon to allow him to speak to his late wife. He had once thought that strange, in the back of his mind—it had stood out, at least. Clearly, the man suffered deeply from her loss, and yearned for her presence. Why should he then willfully avoid any means of contacting her? And why had she not visited, the way other spirits had?

Now he knew. He understood.

As much as this hurt, he knew that his Proxan grandfather had been ferried across the river into the sea of Light—and he did not now have the heart to even ask to recall him back into these days of sorrow.

He’d been close enough to such an experience himself to properly appreciate it—after such an exhausting journey, it was a relief to be free of such burdens of responsibility.

Such burdens were for the living to carry.

For him to carry.

For him to Live.]

({We stand upon a spearhead of fire. The first to fall shall be engulfed in crushing irons, such as to prevent them from rising up again for generations. We are so close to breaking the stranglehold they have on the region once and for all…! If only we can outlast their corrosive and hateful Hubris.})

[He pulled his hands away from his face, curling one closed and placing his other hand over it, his eyes closed in weariness and focus.]

({So it is that the task falls to us, as your generation takes the road to dawn. You have raised us upright in virtue to take on this load, and lead the charge against the darkness that we might yet have self-controlled destinies for ourselves and our children.})

[The tears had dried, now, and he opened his eyes, staring off into nothing.

They had been victorious, but word had reached him of the forces rallying for another massive charge. He needed to entrust some of the others to take command of the area, to keep up the pressure on their enemy so that they would not be able to slip through again unnoticed.

They had won another battle, but the war was far from over. At this rate, it would be over a year before anything definitive happened—unless things escalated AGAIN, wildly out of control.

Felix sighed, taking hold of his mask once more.]

({If they have their way, then I know what shall happen. We’ve seen this song and dance before—we know how the story ends.})

[Such things had happened to the people of Garoh, after all.]

[He remembered Maha telling him about such matters.

And he had been warned by others, too—

They would punish him for refusing to submit, if they found him. And they would make much more of an effort to ensure he would not escape their ultimate answer to his “offensive” existence.]

({This is why I have to succeed, Grandfather. Oh, Iris, I beg of you to petition our grievances! The immortal soul is too fierce to be contained in a mortal body, and yet this is the only Life we have ever known. We must defend the right to achieve our destiny, no matter how atrociously the darkness assaults us; we can never obtain paradise in such a divided world, but we are called to pursue our inner fire that we may be at peace with what we have earned.})

[…He was too tired to think much more.

Perhaps it would be best if he just went home for the night—out in the Wilderness—to get some proper sleep.]