#anyway....cannot confirm if this is true i just remember it from somewhere

[mcyt-cats]

tags @spawnofdeath

IIRC he already knew Pearl the person and might have asked her permission? Not saying he named his cat after her but I think he already knew her. Either way he got the cats sometimes in the second half of 2017, so that's the determing point :)

could we get some maui and pearl (grian's cats) if there are any pictures :D

I present: Maui and Pearl being Weird™

[adhdtsukasa]

tsukasa tenma has ADHD!! except it's an actual analysis because 1. look at my url 2. i'm mentally unwell (and i started to love tsukasa mostly because i immediately recognized my ADHD traits in him). which is a thing i should probably leave for ADHD awareness month, HOWEVER!! it was my birthday yesterday and i wanted to spoil myself (i just kinda overlooked how much time writing it from scratch would take me, so i'm a bit late with it). and i reaaally don't wanna wait until november when i finally wrote it down because i'm so HYPED because i was preparing for it like what? two years? somewhere around it. and that's a LONG time.

please keep in mind that i'm no psychologist, psychiatrist nor a neurologist and while i do use some sources (cannot really confirm if they are true, though... because i forgot to write credits down... so i'm really sorry for that), most of this analysis was just based off on my personal experiences with the disorder (and i don't really have the full professional knowledge of what i struggle with i'm just a Boy). i mean, i am analyzing a character from a hatsune miku game. i think i'm already putting way too many effort than i should.

also the examples of tsukasa's behavior here are not all of the things, because i wrote down only the things i remember off from the top of my head. sorry, guys. my hyperactive ass is not sitting thru all the stories again just to get my crumbs, unfortunately.

anyways, with this a little bit unprofessional and messy introduction, let's get it started!

1. THE MAIN PART OF THIS WHOLE THING, AKA HOW THE ADHD SYMPTOMS CORRESPOND TO TSUKASA'S BEHAVIOR

i wanted to write it down in my own words, but i think the screen above has summed it up perfectly; there are some established symptoms of ADHD, but to be an ADHDer you don't have to experience them all. and this is going to explain why i'm gonna show a lot of these symptoms later, yet gonna connect only some of them with tsukasa. it's only these i have evidence for, and yet i think they're good enough to point at tsukasa and already say woah! an ADHDer!!

in short, there are three types of ADHD: hyperactive, inattentive (ADD) and combined. the combined one is the most common iirc, so that's also what i'm going to focus on today. especially since for a rep of the other types, i could say that shizuku's a rather great representation of ADD — but that's not the point of my ted talk today, so i'm not going to go into the detail about it. i'm sure some momojan or shizuku oshi would do better than me in this field, so i'm leaving it to the experts.

these are the symptoms that i managed to gather — the first two screens being about the symptoms viewed in children, the last one being about the symptoms viewed in adults. "in which one of them tsukasa belongs to?" that's a good question, because i actually don't know. calling a high schooler a child doesn't sit quite right with me, yet a freshly turned 17/18-years-old is not exactly an adult, either (although most of the symptoms i'm analyzing come from these that are viewed in adults). and while i do think tsukasa has more of the symptoms viewed in adults, we're gonna analyse them all! because i'm putting my all into this.

FORGETFULNESS

i believe there's not much left to say, as this is the most obvious one and everyone already knows that. even though it's not touched that much anymore for some reason, tsukasa's forgetfulness is his very apparent trait. it varies in severity a lot of times: from him basically forgetting both his childhood and true feelings in the main story to him, for example, forgetting his own phone and lunch (in the same day!!) in hinamatsuri. even saki in the same event, while they were arguing, called him a "big, dumb forgetter" and assumed that he forgot what happened the day he brought her the hinamatsuri dolls to hospital. while forgetting basically half of your life is not exactly normal and can be a sign of something bigger, like dissociative amnesia, his forgetting of just the ordinary things and it happening a lot definitely still fits this trait.

EXCESSIVE TALKING/PHYSICAL MOVEMENT

while this is something that you'd rather connect to emu (and for a good reason), it's not like tsukasa is completely devoid of it either; he talks a lot. he moves a lot. it's not on emu's level of hyperactivity, but it's also not "a lot" that's taken as a social norm, based on how the people around him react. he's putting the 1 in oddball 1 2, after all.

in holy night or some side stories connected to it (it might be meiko's side story? but i'm not exactly sure) it was also said that tsukasa moves in his sleep a lot to this point that his parents have to leave his christmas presents under his door instead of next to his bed.

oh, and he also talks to himself a lot. even in class, which was confirmed in chapter 6 of dazzling (or maybe even earlier, it's just the one moment that i remember). (but i'll get to this moment later on)

he says his long monologues, he strikes his poses at every occasion — and while i don't think that's the first thing you think of when you have "excessive talking/movement" in mind, for me it sure does count as it.

LITTLE OR NO SENSE OF DANGER

this point can seem rather weird, because "isn't tsukasa always riddiculed at rui's weird inventions"? well, yeah, he is, that is not a thing to deny. but he also agrees to try out most of them, if not all, if it's for the sake of the show. he's aware of what can happen, but he also doesn't back away if it means that he'll be one step closer to achieving his dream of stardom.

does it count as "little sense of danger"? well, i'm actually not sure, for me it doesn't, but maybe for someone it does. i'd say that's a rather weak point, but i wanted to include the explanation for the counterpoint of it — that's why i even mentioned it in the first place. i don't have a lot to say about this tbh.

update: oh, actually no, wait, i just remembered. remember how tsukasa in phoenix decided to not eat anything for three days just to be able to resonate with rio, while also having to do straining exercise on top of that? you certainly cannot say that's a safe thing to do, but he still went along with that in order to get the role. it makes me come to a conclusion that tsukasa actually has a sense of danger, but sometimes chooses to willingly ignore it if only it makes him get closer to fulfilling his dream. i think it's coming close enough to the little/no sense of danger to be actually considered an ADHD trait.

DIFFICULTY KEEPING QUIET

while i'm not sure if what i'm going to talk about is a difficulty keeping quiet in a traditional sense of way, it definitely counts as it, somehow: tsukasa is loud. like, really loud. and that's another obvious fact both for us and for characters in-universe, especially when thinking of tsukasa shiho's first thought is that he's kinda noisy, which can be seen in the "a friend's brother" 1koma. (and probably a lot of other cases. free shiho.)

tsukasa doesn't seem to realize that he's way louder than he should be and that him being loud is his first impression in most of the cases, though, or at least i don't remember any moment where it happens (and it's a possibility. then that's on me, i guess.). and yeah, i know what's the reason for it, obviously — he's supposed to be a comic relief character. because wansho's stories are mostly supposed to make you smile, as this is what wansho's aspiration is. however, as much as being intended to make the viewer laugh it wouldn't be, it still is a part of tsukasa's character, and a rather important one on top of that. his constant loudness is something that's definitely not considered normal by the society and could very well fit into this symptom.

and since i promised to elaborate on the mentioned before scene from dazzling chapter 6: when tsukasa talks to himself in class, it always ends up to be loud. and it already happened a few times.

(tl by tsukasa's #3 fan on youtube because i don't have proseka on my phone wah)

if it's not a difficulty keeping quiet, then i don't know what is. bro can scream up to 120dB as measured by robonene for god's sake.

IRRITABILITY/QUICK TEMPER

again, this is something that was more apparent with early game tsukasa, maybe he just got medicated. idk man. but even if it happened three, almost four years ago, it still happened, i don't make the rules. back in the early game, tsukasa was really easily losing his temper and getting annoyed, mad even — i mean, that was the whole point of the main story argument: tsukasa's first response to nene accidentally messing up their show, which was not even her fault, was to shout at her. and while this was obviously very important thing to him and being upset at this is a rather understandable reaction, taking this as far as screaming at a poor girl for not being to face the audience because of her anxiety is not something a person who can control their anger would do.

it could be also easily seen by his reaction to emu and rui's antics back in the early game, which were often stained with irritation.

another example is his hinamatsuri argument with saki, where, despite loving her so much, he still got slightly mad at her for not liking the new dolls he bought her. he started to regret his harsh words and actions soon enough, obviously, but it doesn't change the fact that it was rather easy for him to get him across.

INABILITY TO DEAL WITH STRESS

if i'm not mistaken, tsukasa has once said something along the lines of "is it anxiety? there's no way a star like me would feel anxiety" — but i cannot recall for the love of my life in which story it appeared, so i don't want to take it as a face value when i don't have a solid proof for it.

other than this vague mention of "something that's in the story but i don't remember where", i'll admit, i don't really have anything backing me up for this tbf. i mean, i guess maybe tsukasa doing his best to appear strong as a child to not worry his parents could work? because the stress of saki being in the hospital definitely was also present here, although i just see this more as a coping mechanism for his situation than a reaction to stress, so that's not a solid evidence either.

so, yeah. take this one with a grain of salt, actually.

from the symptoms that weren't listed here, i remember reading something about people with ADHD enjoying to show off more, which is certainly what tsukasa does often — and while it actually applies to me too, it wasn't on an english site so i didn't screenshot it and i cannot really find it anywhere in english... so even though i treat it just like my whole argument for the inability to deal with stress, i thought it's just worth mentioning.

however, there is obviously one more thing...

HYPERFIXATION/SPECIAL INTEREST

obviously, i'm talking about acting here: for tsukasa, acting aligns with all these criterias. it is his deep passion; it is something highly engaging for him; it is sometimes all-consuming for him; he tunes out the world around him when he thinks about how can he possibly improve his acting (see: the dazzling moment i showed earlier. yeah, i like to use it as a backing point a lot, as you can see.); and it is something that is his life-long interest.

is it his special interest or his hyperfixation, though? well, it's hard to tell...? because while according to screen two, spinterest revolves around a topic and hyperfixation revolves around an activity, so it would qualify what tsukasa feels towards acting as a hyperfixation, it's still kinda hard for me to call it so because of its length. yes, screen three clearly says that hyperfixation can last years, but they mostly revolve around shorter periods of time, after all (my longest hyperfixation was just a year long, for example). i think it's up to you to determine whether you'd call tsukasa's love for acting a hyperfixation or a special interest, but it's something from these two most certainly.

i'm also a big fan of the headcanon that tsukasa's other spinterest is kaito ww it's in no way a canon evidence (unfortunately!), but kaito's 1* side story, where tsukasa and emu are watching kaito's show and tsukasa is explaining to her why kaito's wearing a scarf somewhat implies that tsukasa knew a thing or two about kaito before the main story. and i'm all for it. colopale let tsukasa be a kaito fanboy pleaseee.

2. I REALLY LIKE ANALYZING SONGS, IF YOU CAN'T TELL

those who have already read a few of my things probably know what i love to do the most — analyzing songs!! so i wouldn't be myself if i just left tsukasa's commisions without analyzing them under the angle of neurodivergence, especially since the sole reason i became obsessed with the thought of ADHD tsukasa was that one sekahaji line (there's too much noise, so much noise and it keeps getting worse you will always be famous).

of course, remember that only the world hasn't even started yet should be taken as a canon value! producers are often given space to do whatever they want in the lyrics of the songs they are commissioned for, so they're not canonical in any way. i think it's still fun to look at their lyrics and ramble about them for a bit, though. i've already got too carried away anyways.

won't be posting photos of the lyrics since i'd hit the images limit, but you can check them yourself — all the translations i'm taking, as always, from the vocaloid lyrics wiki. (since filament fever has two tls on there, i want to clarify that i've only looked at and considered in my analysis the official english one, because it's, well, official.)

THE WORLD HASN'T EVEN STARTED YET

besides the mentioned earlier there's too much noise, so much noise and it keeps getting worse, which i think of as a representation of overstimulation (since i used to see people asking "oh but why tsukasa has something about there being too much noise in a song made out of his feelings when he's such a loud person himself". because he likes the noise he makes, not the overwhelming, overstimulating noise from the outside!!), sekahaji also has a rather good amount of quotes that could be read as something connected to neurodivergence (based on the fact that it's not supposed to be a song about this topic): the main theme of these are procrastination, which can be seen in let's cross the end of all of this, partying forever and the world hasn't even started yet line itself. the thought of the world not even starting implies that there's still a lot of time left to do something, while "partying forever" can refer to deciding to give up on doing the things you should do and going to drown in something that indulges only you and yourself for the rest of eternity. while procrastination is not counted as an official ADHD symptom, it's a trait that people with the disorder very often have (for reasons obvious).

other lines, which i couldn't entirely fit into a box of a certain symptom, are there's too much conflict, so much conflict and it keeps growing (a parallel line to the noise one, so it means something! right) and let's break the plans for a harmonious future. in my personal interpretation, they both can be viewed as your typical neurodivergent struggle in a neurotypical society — "too much conflict" refering to an internal struggle of not being completely normal, while the "harmonious future" that's going to get broken are just the social norms that are going to be broken because of an off-putting, neurodivergent behavior. something that some neurotypical people dooon't really like.

TONDEMO-WONDERZ

since i've just talked about breaking the social norms, "why?!" and "do it like this!!" aren't like you, huh? line from tondemo-wonderz is going to go first, because it revolves around the same topic. it's the same case: it's about (subconscious, not intentional) fighting what's accepted by the society by just being yourself — because you're neurodivergent, you're different.

from the other lines in tondemo-wonderz, i have only one and it's take an eraser to your memories?!, which is pretty much self explanatory. as always, a mention of forgetting something in tsukasa's commision. who would've thought.

88 SHOOTING STARS

another self explanatory line that i have written down as first: it's okay if you only remember a little part of it sometimes. another mention of tsukasa forgor™, and while it corresponds with what happened in dazzling, it's still a line mentioning forgetfulness — so it's worth mentioning.

aren't we just inevitably going around in circles? and it's okay if you take a rest for a little bit sometimes can be interpreted as another mention of procrastination and while it's not that apparent as it was with sekahaji, because going in circles can refer to something else and taking a rest sometimes is not a bad thing at all, i still wanted to mention them here. for the record.

you ought to slip and fall in panic in the final moment is connected to a symptom that i showed, yet didn't elaborate on it (because i didn't have anything to work with) — making careless mistakes. the same case, yet with another symptom goes with is this not enough yet again? is this not how it's supposed to be? couldn't we go even further than this?, which can be seen as a reflection of unability to listen to instructions. a bit of reaching with this one (like this whole part damn), but as i said earlier: for the record, i'm leaving it here. to show that i had some intense thoughts.

tbf, when i think about it now, maybe the mentioned earlier "why?!" and "do it like this!!" aren't like you [...] could very well fit this symptom too.

MR SHOWTIME

mr showtime you will always be famous, because this is a song that gave me a looot of things to work with. i was so flabbergasted when i read these lyrics for the first time. tsukasa tenma why are you like this. /aff

there are a lot of lines hinting being easily distracted, and these are basically the very first ones, too: you know what? i just can't make up my mind, it's so messed up that i can't put my thoughts together and a merry-go-round (my thought process) goes round and round are all about it. like you cannot deny it this time, if it's not about being unable to stay focused then i really don't know what is [insert the tsukasa don't look away stamp here because i love it and it's my biggest motivation to actually focus whenever i do something]. the more i mess around and waste time, the more i become hungry / and i can't handle it can be seen as about procrastination again, and even not "can be seen", it's literally being frustrated at yourself for wasting time, that's the sole outcome of a procrastination!! being bothered by feeling anxious, meanwhile, is resonating with the inability to deal with stress once again.

also jumping the gun. driving in a zigzag manner can actually connected with the little to no sense of danger. because, as far as i'm aware, driving in a zigzag manner is certainly not a safe activity. don't do it at home.

from the symptoms that i haven't yet mentioned to this point, am i taking a long way? am i making a fruitless effort? can be reflecting difficulty organizing tasks — since the poor planning of your activities can make you take a long way and can make you do a fruitless effort. then, where's the fun in taking shortcuts all the time? can be read along the lines of something coming close to extreme impatience and while a person that's extremely impatient would actually enjoy taking the shortcuts to get closer to their goal or destination, said impatience can be also connected with the desire for something interesting to happen. a task can make you impatient not because it's long, but because it's simply boring — avoiding shortcuts can make it less boring, even if it extends its duration. with this explanation, it makes the unexpectedness (unexpected program) is the best part of the show (my life) perfectly fit into this category, even though i wouldn't call this line a sign of impatience on its own.

i have some issues with i'm pathetic. i can't satisfy myself, because... at first i thought of connecting it with either mood swings or inability to deal with stress, however i'm not sure if that's really it. i'm pretty sure it connects to neurodivergence in some way, but i just can't put my finger on it, so... i'm just leaving it here for the record, once again.

oh, and there's also i got lost in the world (stage) and / the end credits rolled (the curtain fell), which also is pretty much summing up the experience of being neurodivergent in the neurotypical society. in the middle of trying to stay true to yourself and having to mask just to be accepted, it's easy to get lost — and once you do so, there's no going back. the curtain falls.

to end this part of the analysis, i'd show the lyrics from filament fever and sekai wo terasu tetrad here. i won't do this, however, and the reason for it is fairly simple — they don't give me much material to work with and i'm not really surprised, because mr showtime has succesfully sucked all of the neurodivergent coded lyrics into itself. there just won't be another song like mr showtime, i fear.

i can just say that in filament fever there is running away from the flow of time — which got me thinking of either procrastination and unability to stick to time-consuming tasks, with the former being more plausible as a potential interpretation... but that would be it.

3. NAKAYAMA IS A METAPHOR FOR NEURODIVERGENT MASKING AND IT'S THE STUPIDEST THING I'VE EVER SAID BUT YOU HAVE TO HEAR ME OUT ON THIS

listen, i know how it sounds.

i'm not actually a fan of trying to fit every thing a character does into a box of a metaphor, symbol or allegory, i really am not. i think some things should just stay as simple as they are, but this thought has been bothering me ever since i've first seen spoilers of what's happening in a story where you're the star for the very first time. i'm in no way saying it has any canonical meaning, but i just thought it would be fun to include. because maaaybe someone sees my vision.

for those who haven't seen tsukasa4 yet or want to have a recap of what has happened in it: the whole event story revolves around tsukasa trying to grasp his role (as always). wxs got recommended to shunmei-za by shousuke and went there to practice their acting skills, immediately getting thrown onto the preparation for their next performance. tsukasa, however, is not a lead this time — he got the role of a supporting character and has got basically three lines to say on stage total. since tsukasa's used to playing lead roles, he obviously has issues with grasping the role — it's hard to use method acting in regards of a character that says three sentences total and nothing more. with help of bakuno reki, one of the actors in shunmei-za, and the rest of wxs, he manages to create a portrayal of nakayama that would make him "come to life" and "be a protagonist of his own story", something that would make it easier for him to get into role, however...

he gets a little bit too carried away with his acting during the actual performance.

and this is not something that would ruin the whole play, obviously, he's just a supporting character, the less invested audience would probably forgot about his impact on the story after five minutes of his last appearance — but he still made a slip-up. he still resonated with his role, but didn't achieve the utmost perfection. he still did well acting, after all, he managed to receive praise from the director in the end... but it's still a very apparent mistake that was made.

(tl, once again, by the awesome tsukasa's #3 fan)

and that's where the nakayama masking metaphor theory (it's not even a theory but it sounds cooler this way) comes in.

nakayama is supposed to be just a man. from what we know about him, he's in his late twenties and works as an editor — and even though tsukasa makes up a whole backstory for him later on, he's still supposed to be ordinary. nothing special. he's coming nowhere near the other roles that tsukasa has played, he's not on the same level as miles, torpe and rio. and while you could possibly consider torpe and rio as rather ordinary, they still had something interesting to happen to them, the main reason why they were lead roles for their respective plays. in the tsukasa4 play, nakayama has nothing like that. he's literally just a guy, he's normal. and "normal" is a keyword here.

tsukasa did everything he could to fit into nakayama's role. he followed the script, he took the advice from a more talented and professional actor that is bakuno, he didn't do any mistakes during his preparations — and yet he still managed to mess up in the end. why?, besides of the fact that he just let himself become one with nakayama during the performance and it resulted in a supporting character outshining the lead?

if we take as a fact that tsukasa is, in fact, neurodivergent, it would make sense that he's having troubles with playing a normal person — because he's not exactly normal either. and this would very well work out as a metaphor of masking; even when you try your best, even when you mask yourself perfectly, you can still make slip-ups. you can still accidentally drop the act in middle of something that absolutely required it, or, similiar to what tsukasa did, can accidentally overdo it and end up perceived as even more weird than you'd be without masking. something something i got lost in the world and the end credits rolled. rings a bell?

and i'm not saying that tsukasa has a problem with masking, because he doesn't. he tries his best to pass as a normal member of society, but he also makes no effort in actively masking his weirdness (or else he wouldn't be a part of oddball one two). however, if you want to neurodivergent code your character, it would make sense to include a possibility of it in some way, right? especially since wxs stories' already had the theme of dealing with being perceived as weird (eg. rui's whole backstory, obviously). even if it's not affecting tsukasa directly, i think it would be cool to include something that indicates this issue's existence in his story and, in a way, his struggles.

however, as i said earlier, this is a very stupid thought and that's why i left it for the very end. i don't actually think that how tsukasa played nakayama was supposed to be a metaphor for masking, it's just a pure coincidence that it could be interpreted like that when you think about it too much.

aaand with this, we've finally come to an end!! (finally. i'm so exhausted.) i don't have anything more to say about this topic. maybe i'll retweet it with some more evidence in the future if we ever get more ADHDkasa content. for now, it would be all!

is tsukasa actually intentionally written as an ADHDer? Who Knows! there's a possibility that he is, but even if he's not, he's still one in my heart. regardless of the status of his possible neurodivergence, analyzing his behavior in this light was still very fun! and maybe i even converted someone into the ADHDkasa hell.

feel free to add something if you want to, and feel free to correct me if i got some things wrong! i still hope that even though of how messy this whole thing is written, i did tsukasa justice and didn't accidentally say too much nonsense lmao

...i hate ending analyses.

[thehyperfixationspeedrunner]

This is me trying

On ao3 too

Summary: It's been a month since what Cardan has been calling the "reptile accident" when he decides to get up before Jude, not knowing the consequences.

OR these two are traumatised and they may not acknowledge it, but I will.

Trigger warnings (already put in the tags but I'm not sure if I did it right so better safe than sorry): panic attack, cussing

It's weird how easily you fall into routine. It's barely been a month since what Cardan has started calling the "reptile accident" or the one he likes best "revealing his true form" (although that one isn't used in front of Jude, she's not sure why but she prefers it that way). Anyway, it's been a month since Cardan has been transformed into a snake, since Cardan and Jude has started to live together as the King and Queen of Elfhame but they have already established a routine, even if neither of them has noticed it until today.

Jude is always the first to wake up - Jude was raised by a general and Cardan by a prince, so that part is obvious. She dresses first, giving Mr. Lazy time to sleep, and then she wakes up sleeping beauty even though he always complains that while there aren't people busting into the room saying he's late, she's waking him up early. He never says he hates it. Jude suspects is because he can't lie. From then, Jude orders breakfast while Cardan dresses up, and they eat together before having to deal with their royal obligations.

Today, however, was different. Shockingly, Jude was able to have some good 6 hours of sleep and woke up a bit disoriented. See, this is the bad part about sleeping a lot. When you wake up, your senses take a while to turn on. That's definitely the reason why Jude barely sleeps, at least that's what she tells everyone when they ask her. Because of that, she took a bit to notice that she was alone in bed, which triggered something in her brain. She instantly gets out of bed and starts to look in every corner of their room repeating to herself that everything is fine, Cardan just woke up earlier and is dressing up or putting the hundred of layers that he puts every morning because "I know I look impressive naturally but I am the High King, Jude, I have to look perfect". Except he is nowhere to be found.

See, a small but important part of this quickly created routine was when Jude woke up and she would always look to the side and see Cardan relaxed and asleep, would look at his chest rise and fall and make sure that, yes, he's alive and, no, this last month was not a fever dream, he really is here. Without that confirmation, Jude is starting to spiral, and the fact that Cardan is not in the room doesn't help.

She tries to take a deep breath. She's the High Queen goddammit, she can't panic every time a minor routine change happens. But the truth is that she cannot take the deep breath. She cannot even take a small breath. She's pretty sure she's not breathing at all. But she has to because Cardan needs her. Jude goes through her options: one, he did wake up earlier, got knocked off in the room but somewhere hidden where she didn't check; two, he got knocked off somewhere in the castle and his unconscious body is lying there; three, he got abducted while he slept; four... Maybe last month was a fever dream. No, she is not going to think about option four.

While she does a more precise search through their room, she also tries to think of who would do this. He's the King of Elfhame, so it's obvious that he has a lot of enemies, but she is not remembering anyone who's this mad at him right now. However, her hands are trembling and there's still not enough air reaching her lungs, so maybe her memory is not the best at the moment. You were almost deadly stabbed before the incident.

Ok, he is not in the room, so option number two. This one is not the most likely. If someone knocked him off, they wouldn't just leave him in the middle of the corridor, and Faes don't just slip, so he couldn't have knocked himself out. Besides the palace is huge, it would take too long to search. Maybe you were less healed than you thought. Option number three it is. There are three windows in the room. The climb is hard but not impossible, she has done it herself while having a major injury. A major injury that could have been infected. Jude shakes her head and checks the three windows. None of them is broken and they are all locked from the inside, like they were when they went to sleep, which she knows because she always checks that before going to bed. Unless the person was a master spy (which is an option), she doesn't know how someone pulled that of. The other way into the room is through the door, so she quickly opens it, revealing two knights part of her security.

"Was there any disturbance last day?" She would be surprised that her voice somehow didn't fail if she was at all worried with that right now.

"We heard or seen nothing different than usual, your majesty."

"Have you fallen asleep or abandoned your post anytime during your shift?" The knights were visibly offended by that, but she had to clear all her options.

"No, your majesty. Is everyth-" Having her answers, Jude closes the door, leaving the knights to their jobs. If she was in her right mind she would have noticed that she was still in her bed clothes, her hair was mess, the room was worse and her hands still trembled and her breath was still labored. But she was not her in her right mind. Cardan is missing- He was not here at all. Her husband is missing and she is going to find him. Maybe he was taken outside their bedroom and there is going to be some kind of clue outside of it.

She is about to open the door again when a thought crosses her mind. The lover's bedroom. There is a pathway between that room and the High King and Queen's room. That is how whoever took Cardan got in. No one got in. Hallucinations caused by infections are common, at least for mortals. She slides through the pathway towards the other bedroom but is met with a similar scenario. No window was broken and all of them are closed from the inside, same with the door, no signs of breaking. Stop looking for what you won't find. You know you can barely remember anything after cutting Cardan's head off. It was the serpents head. You know that's the same thing. There was a battlefield where you broke down. You could have easily been stabbed. I would remember it. Would you? Sometimes, our mind purposely forgets traumatic memories. You could have passed out. No. You could have dreamt. Stop. Cardan is dead and you have been feeding yourself this fantasy because you can't deal with the guilt. STOP. You killed him and now you're living in a world without him and you'll keep living in it because that's the reality. I SAID STOP.

Jude. The sound of something breaking. She can't do it. She can't go back to those three days. She can't live without Cardan's mockery. She can't live without his laugh. She can't.

JUDE. She's shaking now, or someone is shaking her, she's not lucid enough to understand. God, he's her anchor. She doesn't know what to do without him. She wants to go back to sleep. She wants to go back to their routine. She wants to hear him complain about waking up early again. She wants to feel his fingers playing with her hair again. She wants-

JUDE! Cardan. She opens her eyes (since when were they closed?) and faces the love of her life's face. He looks adorably worried, full make up and hair nicely treated. She can't help but smile. "Cardan" she whispers, trying not to force her voice tired from screaming and crying (curious, she doesn't remember that). She puts her head in the space between his neck and shoulder and he starts rubbing circles on her back. "Stay" she pleads. Because that's what she's doing, pleading to the universe to let her stay in this fever dream, to have more time with Cardan, even if it isn't real, even if he's dead, even if that's her fault and there's just her to blame.

"Always" and that pisses her off. Because that's what Cardan would say, that's how Cardan looks, that's how Cardan acts and this mind prison has no right to be this close to reality.

"Liar" she spits. He looks mostly confused and a bit hurt but she doesn't care, this isn't real so nothing fucking matters.

"Jude, I would never abandon you-"

"But you did!" she's close to screaming now, but she doesn't care, her voice was cracking, but it doesn't matter. She has to get this out. "You abandoned me for three days because of that prophechy bullshit. You left me to rule Elfhame while simultaneously dealing with the schemings that my father and the frozen royalty was fucking doing and the fact that the love of my life was a goddam snake and then I, and I-" she can't get it out, she still can't believe it.

"You saved me."

"I killed you." she is fully sobbing now, but she can't stop. She gets up (she was sitting down?) and keeps going "You're dead and this is just a manifestation from my brain, because somewhere else I'm also dying and I hope I do because I can't live in a world where you're not. I physically will not be able to continue without you!" She sinks into the floor using the bed as support and Cardan sits in front of her. He has a puzzled expression in his face. They stay some time in silence, Jude catching her breath and Cardan trying to put pieces together.

"Why do you think I'm not real?" he finally asks, his voice tiny as if he's afraid of the answer.

"You weren't there." Jude matches his tone. "When I woke up. I always check to make sure you're there because if you are, then that means you're real and I'm not dreaming. At first, I thought you were kidnapped. That's why I'm here, I thought this was how whoever took you got in."

"My wife, scheming even when she's panicking." he's looking at her with that adoration in his eyes that never fails to take her breath away. "Let's keep scheming, shall we?" He looks at her, waiting for an answer so she nods. "You say that you are dreaming, you're in this coma and you can't wake up. Well, let's test this theory. Did you know that you can't read in dreams?" Another nod. Cardan gets up, picks a book from the bedside table and hands it to her. "Well, can you read?" The answer is yes. The book was a mortal romance that she was sure she had seen in Cardan's hands. That meant that this was real, Cardan was here and she hadn't killed him. Immediate relief washed over and with that came more tears that she hadn't noticed when they stopped. God, she was a mess. This is ridiculous, she is being ridiculous. Trying to look less like she just had a mental breakdown over nothing Jude attempts to clean the tears that don't stop. Of course this is reality, of course Cardan just woke up earlier and went to do god knows what. She's the fucking High Queen and she can't stand when her husband is out earlier, can't keep a cool head, can't-

"Stop." Cardan gently takes the hands that are trying to hide the tears that keep coming, why don't they stop? "Don't do that." His tone is gentle but secure and so goddamn grounding, how does he do it?

"Do what?"

"Close yourself. I could see the moment you realised that this was the reality because that was the moment the mask came back on. You're probably thinking that you don't have the right to feel this way because you can't show weaknesses or whatever bullshit your mind thinks of." Sometimes it's scary how well he knows her. "Don't close yourself from me." He is rubbing circles with his thumb on the back of her hand and it feels so right, everything about him feels so right.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." His tone is becoming more frustrated. "This is obviously bothering you, but I had no idea and because of my ignorance you just had a fucking panic attack." Her eyebrows went up. "I may have been reading about mortal psychology, but that's not important, what's important is," he moves his hands to cup her face and cleans the tears - that have finally stopped - with his thumb. "You don't have to pretend with me."

"You're one to talk." She retaliates but doesn't push him away. "You haven't said another word about those three days since I asked what it was like being a snake on the same day you stopped being one." Cardan laughs because he's Cardan and he laughs when he's nervous and he is not the only one who knows the other too well, she can see in his eyes that the thought of having to speak of those three days of hell terrifies him as much as her.

He moves to her side and sighs. "We really are made for each other, aren't we?" He seems to consider something before saying. "Let's make a pact. Whenever we want the other to open up, we say a code word and they have to do it after we reveal something that has been bothering us. No lies, no tricks, just the plain truth. Deal?" He gives her his right hand. It is always dangerous to make a deal with a fae, but this is Cardan, they have passed the backstabbing phase when she came back from exile. She takes his hand and shakes it.

"Deal. But we have to choose the word, something that we won't say normally."

"California." The place they went on their honeymoon instead of being on the two weeks celebrations of the Mortal Queen's victory over the serpent. The place where they were just two teenagers in love and not The Queen and King of Elhame, not the warrior and the prince, not the people with traumatic childhood, not the two broken pieces of what should be two whole people.

"Sounds great."

"I said it, so I start." He takes a deep breath and speaks. "I woke up earlier today because I had a nightmare. I wasn't someone trapped inside the snake like people like to believe, I was the snake. When the snake died, I died, even if for a few seconds." Jude takes a sharp breath, she always took comfort in the fact that she hadn't cut his head, but what was trapping him, that he hadn't felt anything. Cardan notices and takes both her hands and looks at her straight in the eyes. "I don't blame you, nor will I ever. If I say something assumimg the opposite, you have the premission to cut my head because that is not me. But as I was saying, when I saw you taking out the sword, I couldn't help but feel relief, but when you dealt the blow I, I-" another deep breath "I couldn't feel anything. I don't remember anything. I died. And that terrifies me. I was. I wasn't there. I replay that in my mind countless days, but today was so vivid, I couldn't fall back asleep, so I got out. I needed fresh air. I needed to be alone with my thoughts. I should've come back when it was time to wake up, I should've woken you, I didn't know that you needed that, but if I did, I would have done it."

They stay a few moments in silence, taking deep breaths and deep in thoughts.

"Your turn."

She wants to sugar-coat it. She wants to say that it wasn't that bad, she doesn't want to see guilt in his face even if it isn't his fault. But Cardan didn't sugar-coated when he revealed that what she did hurt him even if he knew it was going to hurt her. So instead, she says:

"Those were the worst three days of my life. I honestly thought it was going to be ok when we were negotiating with Madoc. That we won, they were going to surrender and we would be fine. Then I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe when Grimsen said that only death would save you. I went to Baphen, I went to the Old King, but all of them had the same answer. Somehow I had to rule the fucking kingdom while grieving a death that I didn't believe in. On top of all of that the court of teeths was on my throat, making plans to try to turn you and me into their puppets like their daughter. The relief that I had when I saw you alive was bigger than anything I thought I could feel, but the time between that and when I cutted the sna- your head it was my lowest. It was a hole and I was at the deep end with no way out. I cannot live without you." She stops to look at him. Look at his black hair and his eyes that look like black holes. His pale skin and his small mouth. No, she can't imagine a world without him. But that moment was close, so close. "I am so scared that I will go back to that void, I'm so scared that the universe wasn't as kind as I thought, I'm so scared to not wake up next to you."

He puts his arm around her shoulder and she puts her head on his. Jude looks up and sees tears running down Cardan's face, so she hugs him, feeling his other arm surround her. They stay silent for some time while Carden cries in Jude's shoulder and Jude just holds him close, all her tears wasted a few minutes ago.

"I'm sorry." Cardan was the one to break the silence.

"Not your fault."

"Liar."

"I wouldn't lie to you." It's the truth.

"May I remind you that you said you were fine while bawling your eyes out a few minutes ago?" OK, half true.

"When you have a nightmare, find me. I don't care if I just went to sleep, I don't care if I hadn't slept in days, I don't care if I'm not even asleep and you have to drag me out of my work, find me."

"When you feel like this is not real, find me. I don't care if you have to send someone to do it, I don't care if you run around the palace screaming my name, I don't care if I'm in the most important reunion, find me."

They break the hug to look at each other and say at the same time, "Deal".

"Sooo, do you want to have breakfast in bed and completely run away from our responsibilities?"

"We're the King and Queen of Elfhame."

"Exactly, there is no one above to stop us."

"We have an entire kingdom depending on us."

"Well, as the High King, I order you to stay in bed with me."

"As the High Queen, I'm going to refuse that order."

"Come on, you're mortal, you can say that we are sick or something." Jude's going to retaliate, but honestly? She's exhausted and spending the night in bed with her husband doesn't seem the worst idea.

"You are a horrible influence, do you know that?"

"Does that mean I win?"

She sighs. "Yes, you win."

"Yay" He says, getting up and doing a little spin like a child who was able to negotiate bedtime with their parents. She can't help but smile at his shenanigans.

Next, he does an extremely exaggerated bow and continues. "After you, my queen."

At that, she fully laughs, takes his hand and goes down the pathway with him. She hates being vulnerable, but with him, it isn't that bad. How do we take the armour off? A piece at a time. She feels like they just took another one.

-‐----------------‐-----------------‐----------------‐----------------

So, I had this idea since I finished Queen of Nothing and since I didn't see any fic like this I decided to make it myself. The characters may be a bit OOC, I'm not tha familiar with them. I am not a writer and my first language is not English, so apologies for any mistake. 🫶

Btw this was way bigger than I thought, no idea how many words, but damn, I'm having a brain riot.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

About the whole "Fyodor-switch personality" thing: We don't have enough information to confirm whether it was real or fake right now, and besides, both possibilities are really interesting.

If the switch was real and Fyodor was lying to cover it up (...because 'you know characters can lie, right' could mean... this part of it was the lie too...), that could easily be made a reference to Dostoevsky's The Double, as I was kindly made aware of. We've also already had an image of a young woman who looks like Aya from potentially a long time ago, given the outfit and that it is Bram's memory we're presumably seeing there, which may tie in interestingly with "what year is it?" The knife he pulled out also is genuinely a unique design for the series, and looks like it might be an old make. If this original is very old, then something in the takeover of personalities may explain why he hasn't seemed to age. Fyodor being a separate personality created from his ability and kicking out the original could tie in with his ability not attacking him in Dead Apple. This also raises more questions about Fyodor's motives, and I think opens the path for some pretty fascinating theory making. It also places Fyodor as something both human and not... intriguing for the ongoing theme of humanity in the series.

If the switch was a fake and Fyodor was being a completely hilarious little shit (which, we know the Joker is part of his inspiration and he is often contrasted with Dazai, Nikolai, and Mori, for whom this kind of behaviour would be expected - it's characterization, that's not 'done for no reason'), it would quite possibly be the funniest thing he's done in the series so far. But! More importantly, it strengthens Fyodor's connection with the Book (or rather, with altering the narrative). He's told a lie that sounds completely ridiculous but makes sense given the world and situation he's in - and notably, could fool Sigma... and the readers. Fyodor also managed to change the lightness of his eyes without changing the state of his soul - something that no other character seems to be able to do. (I know Dazai can feign the shocked expression, but that's not the clear lightness we saw in Fyodor's eyes in this panel. Nikolai's eyes change lightness but that actually seems to be genuine.) While this doesn't help us discern anything more about Fyodor's motives, it does emphasize his expertise at information manipulation - we cannot trust a single thing this character says, not just in universe, but out of it too. We, the readers, cannot listen to Fyodor and take anything he says as supporting evidence for theories. If this is true - that's fascinating. The other characters will have to solve the mystery of this man completely indirectly, and so will we.

Of course, there is the secret third option: it was a lie mostly, but there is an element of truth to it somewhere, which is actually par for the course for BSD as a whole. It is very rare that a character turns out to be lying completely. The question then becomes "what part is true and how much is it true", which is also very compelling. This, personally, is what I'm ascribing to for now until new info comes up.

Anyways, the last thing I wanted to point out is that if it was genuine, then remember The Double was inspired by Hohol's works, and if it was a lie, then that is very similar to the bait-and-switch performances that Nikolai has done multiple times in the series. Either way, it implies some influence on Fyodor by Nikolai and of course vice versa, which probably means the return of the clown (finally!) and more focus on their dynamic, which is a funny thing to show Nikolai having apparently had influence on Fyodor (even if in more of a meta way) as he is actively trying to kill him right now.

Love wins/loses?

[reincarnatedonthefirst]

I just had an interesting phone call with the girl I met from my networking group.

She met this guy who she'd been on a few dates with. He revealed to her that he had a particular kink. She said she wasn't into it but she'd go along with it. A few days later, he called her to break things off, citing a list of reasons for the break up that didn't make sense to her.

I asked her which dating app she met him on because that, for me, would be a clue as to what his true intentions really were. When she told me she met him on an app for alternative lifestyle dating, I knew that the real reason he broke up with her was because he saw that she wasn't going to be the ideal kink partner for him.

How interesting it is that I recently started learning all these things about kink and this situation comes up. I learned that fetish is such a big deal for some people that they actively seek others who are compatible with their kink. They cannot have intimacy without engaging in their fetish. Fetish for them is not something they do once in a while when they're "in the mood". They play out their fetish every time they have sex. This is why a lot of kinksters join certain apps and communities with other kinksters because the typical person doesn't engage in fetishes. It wouldn't be prudent to find someone to satisfy your fetish on a vanilla dating app like Bumble.

Anyway, back to my girlfriend. She kept going on and on about how confused she was about why he was calling things off. I told her that his particular kink had more to do with the break up than he led on.

During our conversation, she mentioned that he said he was active in a popular fetish community. I told her, "I wonder what his profile says." Later on, again, I mentioned his kink profile: "I'm really curious about what his profile says. I bet his profile will answer a lot of the questions you have."

Finally, I asked for her permission to look up his fetish profile. She gave me the go-ahead and she was very curious herself. Luckily she remembered his dating app username and, of course, he used a similar username on his fetish profile so I found him easily. Not only that, but he used an actual photo of himself on his profile.

I text-messaged his photo while we were on the phone. "That's him," she said.

Now, we're in business.

I read his fetish profile to her. First off, if you even have a fetish profile, that proves that you're heavy into fetish. And profile description confirmed that he is very much into this particular kink.

The very interesting thing was that when he originally revealed this role-playing scenario to her, he lied about the dynamics of roles. He originally told her that he wanted her in the dominant role but his profile showed that he actually preferred the dominant role.

He was clearly too afraid to tell the full truth about his kink. I told her that, somewhere down the line, had the relationship continued, he would have casually suggested that they reverse roles and he play the dominant role and she play the submissive. This was his actual end game.

Manipulative. Fcking. Liar.

Bullet dodged.

Leave it up to me, bro. I'mma be on some Inspector Gadget sht. You got a mthfckn wife? I'mma find out about it. You not payin' child support? I'mma find out. Please don't fck with me. 😆

Honestly, it wasn't find hard to find his profile but I've done some high level investigative work to expose a ngga before (and by the way, this guy wasn't a ngga. He was white). But like I said, I'm gonna expose a ngga in any case. 😆

It was so satisfying to help my friend figure out why this dude was changing on her. She thanked me for finding him out. She said she felt so much better now about the way things ended between them. She was so grateful to me. After we got off the phone, she sent me another text, thanking me for doing the work of finding his profile. I mean, she could have really done this work on her own. I'm not sure why she didn't. But I'm the type of person that digs for answers when I have questions, especially with the question is bugging me.

But how crazy was it, the way he tried to work out how he was going to maneuver her into role-playing the way he really wanted?!

These men really aren't sht. Pathetic.

[lightcreators]

Truthfully, he wasn't even sure would find that desird reassurance inside that kind of quest. Answers, she was saying. Answers, as everything about past and future wasn't that easy … There was some welcomed refinement inside their current timeline --- couple of events, no matter how impressive they could be, cannot be changed … who was part of an particular story that could be told in various manners … who was part of another layout of an timeline. Oh, celebrations could be exposed in front of such landscape. It was supposed to be an happy timeline. It was supposed to be the most wonderful happy ending possible for the people he never get the chance to met so frontally inside another iteration of himself. What he could tell to dear Elizabeth ? Possibly more problems from the past will show up ? Possibly the future would be not what she imagined, even if she won't be the one involved inside the main issues of the future ? Everything he needed to do was to pay the fool. Everything he needed was to look as unconcerned as possible about some details … It was Sherlock Holmes issues.

It was his little brother fight with fate threads.

Though, at the moment, he wondering what kind of clue she was searching to give him. He accepted to give an hand, right ? At the price to having fun of his little brother's behalf. At the price to gain amusement from Watson. A while earlier, he thought her context was unrelated to something he would be connected with … but apparently, maybe it had been far too hopeful of his part. If his assumption was right, about presence of an American urban legend wandering around inside England streets … Sherlock Holmes did a terrible mistake to refuse the frontal visiting of such men, that will pressuring him one day anyway. It his assumption was right, even without frontal presence of James Moriarty, the gear would be presented. Even if, compared to appareances could give, it wasn't an harmful move. MIB appreciated an particular art of prank. After all, they weren't supposed to be humans. After all, they weren't supposed to be gangsters who higher themselves inside another dimension. Thoughtfully, there was an amusing touch. It was the appreciation of a game in which he could be king and fool.

❝ Didn't I looking young ? Didn't I not making my age ? ❞ He playfully mused over confusion of his last sentence. His true age was something who had been left in midst of time. He lived a very long existence without be charmed with regneratation, and desired keep that way. Her confirmation, still, on his own personal surprise, generated an blink. As himself had to realizing it was already happening. As himself had to be wrapped with the reality she always had been supposed to met them … On his approach, that seemed … unexpected their reaction ? Of course, inside another timeline, same event had been troublesome, hence dear Watson had come to help … but … if it's was the MIB instead, what the message ? It wasn't Moriarty, he was sure of it. Well, way of perceiving circumstances, since in some manner, Philip Butler was somewhere Moriarty but another kind, an strange one … Oh. He thought he had more time ahead of him to just … Cutting off his own thoughts, he had to reconsider the whole situation. It was making sense she helped for his aid. However, he was supposed to be accomplice of the MIB. Supposed to be well-informed about everything they will be doing, even though, would have to keep his mouth shut. Maybe he overlooked about it, but the MI6 was already on the hands of Philip Butler, for had been his boss, where sadly, currently, his mind didn't remember if he called himself Philip or Albert --- probably the second one was a alias.

He wanted to be reassuring. The MIB won't never harm Elizabeth Burke. Philip Butler won't never take the chance to destroy his always-partnership with her regardless the timeline. Decomposure stil betrayed his expression as an long-term realization had been made. He had been forgotten he had been the one handling the MI6 to Philip Butler … Can't even tell where he had been doing such actions. He wanted himself found mental reassurance. An Time Lord had lot of things to keep in mind, maybe it just had been an temporary memory loss … It had to be it. ❝ My words will be strange. ❞ How much he could tell ? How much he could confess to her ? He cannot exposing himself. Cannot betray his own ambitions. ❝ I'm supposing they want your protection … in most undelicate of manners. In most uncanny methods they usually use. ❞ Something was happening, but himself had no idea of what. He didn't even know where the order would came from. After all, as opportunity it was, he never knew in which circumstances the dangerous twins would came around --- one would remain in the obscurity, but the most dangerous of them would be exposed in daylight, would be the one called James Moriarty, would be the one able to bring terror. ❝ I don't think neither they are linked to the museum … unfortunately …❞ It would mean the stealing of one artefact would happening later, where he would have to be around, where he would have to keep his eyes on Watson since he would be involved somehow. ❝ Oh, I'm not surprised. It's how they are after all. How the entire world known about them. ❞ His tone turned somber, as he didn't mastering everything as he was supposed to be. As he didn't appreciated the joke. What kind of deal he did before ?

In an couple of seconds, if time would have be given to him, he would have confessing she was supposed to met Philip Butler … the current leader of MI6, a terrible detail he himself forgotten about. However sound of gunfire and shouting came to his ears, where an frustration happened down his expression, forced to swallowed an roll of eyes. Quite a timing. Almost exposing that truth called the man himself presenting himself --- and having his fun --- that prank fun since of course, that 'incident' would be soon a long time ago memories that will mattered to no one. They were part of the government already. Asking an CIA mole to take all dangers to give them information without themselves interfering was kindness of their part, considering they had another higher agent to get control … They were lucky it was Philip Butler. He had reasons to be an sunshine with them. An poor doctor was going to be mistreated ! ❝ An terrible staging … ❞ He commented, bored. Exasperation didn't even was forced back, as he expected the terrible entrance. Game of fools would be able to start. He hoped remember it this time around. He nodded, as he slowly embracing her, as the struggle only begun. ❝ Precisely. Although I don't appreciate the comedy that one of my agents can make with this kind of entry … ❞ That last sentence was an controlled slip up as he listened closeness of the sound, where his last word of his sentence welcomed him with the man he had been expected to find. Some others couple of Men in Black playing around with their guns as toys, as few people in the room told them everything they knew, watched inside another an horrified manner … Philip Butler, the man he had been expecting, had been often almost grabbed as remembrance of his position was to be remembered, where other Men just quieted such opportunity. An good representation of the MIB in an all inside his black suit, leaving no eyes to perceiving inside black glasses, where there was an amusement under his lips.

❝ Sorry for the mess. My work colleagues will forget this little detail. ❞ He introduced himself as he leave himself a doubt about how he could be known already down there, where Mycroft sensed his eyes on him still, playful over circumstances, as the door closed brutally. It was like sensing an uncomfortable freezing status. ❝ Had been a long time, Mycroft. ❞ He was in deep shit, was actually expression of his face, as always, he brought reassurance arms towards Elizabeth. Which grabbed Phil's attention, who realizing apparently the time had came, and … circumstances would have to be tricked a little. ❝ I had been watching you. Elizabeth Burke, isn't it ? ❞ Responded Philip Butler voice without leave him return the kind of 'welcome' he had been receiving. ❝ Quite appreciated in your job. One of the best. We will talk a bit. ❞

"I want nothing more that to find answers to my problems, To the problems of the past and even the future, Mycroft." Elizabeth began, there were some many questions she had put on her plate. The strange men in black following her, an ever presences of an old man in her mind, the grandfather clock beckoning her to Mycroft Holmes of all people in the world. Just just wanted answers was all. Her life depended on it now, as she personally felt like her privacy was being attacked by strange men following her and the oddness of a few things in the museum she worked being stolen. At first, they all seemed connected but lately she didn't think they were.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, she didn't want John to pay for her business. Yes, it was the gentlemanly thing to do but Mycroft was helping her -- not John. She could care less what became of Sherlock Holmes on that front. Letting his brother decided what to do on it. The grandfather clock ticked a bit more now, as her confession of awkwardness by calling him an old war relic had came back to her. His comment about it struck her as odd. "Younger?" she questioned a bit confused, but shook her head. It just felt right. She dismissed the comment all together before returning her concern to both the ticking and the need for his protection and help. "Please help me, is all I ask. I want to know why these strange men wearing black suits are after me. I highly doubt it had to do with anything at the museum. They speak strangely as I've told you. I'm just a bit afraid is all."

She was afraid of what was going on. There was a calming emotion that came over her. Elizabeth had noticed the ticking had all but stopped as she instinctively stepped closer to Mycroft. Her eyes went to his feet before trailing to meet his gaze. She was about to say something but there was a loud bang followed by more loud banging and shouting in the distance. Angry shouting at that, which caused Elizabeth to grab at Mycroft's arm in fright. Yes, she was a capable woman of basic self defense but this was different. "Gunshots? Mycroft, I'm scared. What's going on?" she whispered to him, "The men in black?!" her look of worry and fright came over her, as the shouting and banging grew louder and closer.

[forlove2020]

Suptober Day 3 - Rainbows

Somehow he is waiting for the Deluge to begin. Herds of animals are being loaded onto the Ark, and despite the stories that will be passed down generation to generation until they are transcribed as holy scripture, there are actually more than two of each species there. 

Castiel counts at least a dozen goats being cajoled up the ramp and into the massive ship, followed by eight camels. Noah is a smart man; he knows that inbreeding is not good for the animals and so he and his family lure as many creatures onto the Ark as possible. Two is actually the bare minimum for every species.

Castiel stands far away, like last time. He is invisible to the eye, sent to observe humans, but not interact with them. Sometimes, far too often for his liking, he is forced to bring down God's wrath upon them. Castiel does not have free will, as Zachariah so often likes to remind him. Therefore, Castiel must follow the commands of the archangels without hesitation or question.

Yet Castiel has questions. He has doubts.

But he does not dare disobey.

The last of the animals are rounded up and Noah's family darts into the Ark, peering up at the ugly grey sky with worry. Only Noah himself remains outside, facing the crowd who has gathered to jeer at him.

"Listen to me!" the old man pleads with his fellow villagers. "If you will just trust me, I can save you! All of you!"  

But his warnings fall on hardened hearts. Noah is too different from the crowd, too odd in their sight. Castiel has the feeling that if he were allowed to speak to the prophet, they might understand one another. They both, Castiel thinks, know what it is like to be an outsider.

The first heavy raindrops begin to fall, soaking Noah's tunic. The water does not touch Castiel, and as he looks, sorrow and regret fills Noah's eyes. The prophet turns, and has his sons and daughters raise the plank. No one else can join them on the Ark now.

The rains get heavier quickly, soaking the dry earth. The villagers grumble as they leave, trudging through squelching mud toward their homes, unaware that they will never make it back. They will have drowned long beforehand.

Noah, his wife, and children weep for the villagers who will die as the Ark begins to float in the swiftly flooding valley. 

Then, Castiel notices some commotion in the distance. A young woman is struggling to wade through the deep rapids. In both of her arms she carries a child, in one arm a little boy, and in the other an even littler girl. The whites of the woman’s eyes are wild as she stumbles through the water, struggling to reach the Ark. The heavy satchel on her back is packed for a long journey - she alone had listened to Noah and believed, but traveling barefoot and carrying two children has slowed her down. She has arrived too late. 

She screams something indiscernible to the far-away figures on the Ark; the water is up to her rib cage now. They do not seem to hear her. She will drown, along with her babies.

Castiel was sent to Earth to watch the human beings and to bear witness to Heaven’s eventual triumph over Hell. He is supposed to watch and report back on whether or not the humans are following the straight and narrow path that leads them ever closer to Armageddon. 

He is not supposed to interfere. 

The mother wails as she hoists her children up on her shoulders to save them, even if only for a few moments from the angry, churning water. Noah and his kin have spotted the struggling woman: they are trying to lower a rope or a basket. Whatever they do will not be fast enough. 

Castiel cannot stand to watch. He shuts his eyes and moves.

 He has no vessel to contain his raw Grace; the touch of him would instantly kill the woman and her children. But just a sweeping push of his massive wings in the water causes the Ark to bob wildly, juddering up and down on the waves with a sickening motion, and the sea rolls the mother and babies on a cresting wave that spits them out, just in time, onto the Ark’s upper deck. 

Castiel is overwhelmingly relieved. He has saved them. He knows it has happened down to the very depths of his being, and so he opens his eyes.

But he is wrong. Where the woman and children had been moments ago, there is now only rushing water and the woman’s satchel, floating like a rotten log in the water. The people on the Ark howl with grief.

No, Cas thinks to himself in shock. No, that isn’t right - I’ve done this before. I saved them. They lived. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen!

Icy doubt seeps into him, a chasm opens somewhere in his heart.

Noah and his Ark float for forty days and forty nights in their wooden prison. The stories that will be passed down get that part correct. Noah communicates daily with God through prayer, and Castiel watches him with something that resembles envy.

On the day the Ark reaches land, Castiel feels one of his brethren approaching. It is Uriel, his grace fluttering just with as much hostility to equal the amount in his expression. 

“You interfered, Castiel. It goes against The Plan. You knew this.”

Castiel looks over at Noah and his family, who are kissing the dry ground with reverence. “I could not save them anyway,” Cas replies, but the words feel somehow bitter and wrong in his mouth. Last time, he did save them, and when Uriel confronted him, he was unrepentant. 

Last time? 

This has happened before.

How many times have I been here? 

What is happening to me?

Uriel cooly meets his brother’s eye. “Castiel. You are to report to Naomi, a specialist, for your insubordination.”

Castiel nods with reluctance. He has never heard of this ‘Naomi,’ but he has disobeyed, and has no doubt he is to be punished.  

Before Uriel can force him to fly back to Heaven, Castiel looks up at the clear blue sky, the first one he’s seen in forty days. Something new and beautiful shines there, between the puffy clouds and the warm sun. It is a dazzling array of colors.

“It’s a rainbow,” Cas remembers, and in that moment, is struck with sudden unmitigated horror. 

He has seen this before - no, not before, after now, after this particular day. After this first rainbow that shines for Noah, Cas will see rainbows thousands upon thousands of times in the following millennia. He lived through eons of loneliness and confusion, watching humanity and helping them when he could. And each time, Naomi re-wrote his brain, editing his angelic programming in efforts to fix something that was only considered broken by his superiors.

“I can’t be here,” Cas says aloud, sick to his stomach. “This is the Diluvian era. I’ve been through this already, thousands of years ago. I need to get out, I need to find, to find - Dean.” 

The memories flood back. How he’d saved Dean, confessing his love in a desperate life-or-death gamble, and how Dean had wept as Cas had admitted that Dean was his one true happiness.

And then, Cas had been swallowed up by the Empty.

“Oh, figured it out again, already? Such a clever widdle angel.”

Cas whips around. The Entity, or Shadow; whatever It’s called, is standing behind him, wearing Meg’s face. It looks extremely displeased despite the bored tone It’s using.

Cas faces Not-Meg wearily. “You are going to keep tormenting me.” He’s not really asking, but rather waiting for confirmation. 

“Yeaaahhh, probably,” It smiles, but there is frustration in Its eyes. “You’re just too much fun to mess with, Clarence. You’ll sleep once I know you’ve actually given up. I just have to break you first. But in the meantime,” It says, clapping Meg’s hands with false cheer, “Let’s send you back to that time you broke down the barrier in Sam’s mind! That one is classic!”

The ancient world around Cas fades to pitch black once more, but he stares at the rainbow in the sky until he can no longer make out the colors, repeating the same phrase to himself over and over each time he is shattered anew:

I love you, Dean. 

I love you.

Dean. 

I love you.

[smaidjor]

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 3)

Hey everyone and welcome to the third and likely final chapter of this saga! When I was writing this, I told my friends it might end up the shortest chapter.

Spoiler alert: it was not, in fact, the shortest chapter.

Anyways, thank you guys for sticking with me through this insane journey of angst writing! The story doesn't end here, but the fic does because I think I'm going to be switching how I write it a little bit. You'll see if I ever get the energy to write the continuation.

(Also, I've stopped putting AO3 links in the actual post because then it doesn't show up in the tag.)

Anyways, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Title: to turn at last to paths that lead home

Chapter Wordcount: 4686

Content warnings: mentions of death, violence, blood, mild injury, religion, self-esteem issues. There is also something that could be considered similar to deadnaming, though the character is not necessarily trans, so read with caution if that could be triggering to you.

Actual fic under the cut:

That night, Scott dreams he’s a child again, playing amongst the peaks with Xornoth by his side. They laugh as they dart out of his reach, and he jumps over a rock to try and catch them.

“Too slow,” Xornoth snickers, and Scott glares at them.

“Someday I’ll be ten times as fast as you, and stronger too!”

They laugh again and tackle him into the grass, forceful enough to push him down but not enough to really hurt. “Alright, little bro.”

“You’re only older by seven minutes!”

“Seven minutes, more like seven times cooler than you!”

Scott reaches up and tickles them, grinning wickedly as they yelp and roll off him.

The scene shifts, and this time it’s a teenaged Xornoth laying on the hill beside him, staring up at the sky.

“Hey, Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“If anything ever happens to me-”

“It won’t,” Scott interrupts, heart in his throat. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“It could-”

“No.”

They sigh. “Alright. But if it ever does, I need you to promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to promise that you’ll take care of Rivendell.”

Scott glares at them. “Rivendell hates me. Don’t ask-”

“Please. Scott, please just promise me this one thing.” Their face is deathly serious. “I don’t- nothing’s going to happen to me, but I need to know that Rivendell will be safe if anything does.”

"But-"

"Please, Scott. I know you would do brilliant at it, and I need the guarantee.

He sighs but ultimately gives in. “I wouldn't, but fine. I promise.”

Xornoth nods, seemingly satisfied. “You’re leaving tonight, right?”

“I am.”

“Then take this.” They roll over and press something into his hand. “You’ll need it.”

Scott looks down to see Vilya, the silver band gleaming in the sunlight. “Xor, you can’t give me this. This is-”

“I know perfectly well what it is, little bro.” He looks up to find them smiling sadly. “And I know you’ll need it. Now better wake up, your husband’s calling.”

“My wha-”

Scott’s plunged back into awareness to the sound of Jimmy calling his name.

“Scott? Please?” He sounds shaken, but it barely registers in Scott’s sleepy brain.

Scott rolls over and blinks his eyes open to see Jimmy watching him with concern. “Five more minutes, darling.”

“I think something’s wrong,” Jimmy says, urgent. “It feels wrong. Really wrong.”

That wakes Scott up, alright, the fear in his husband’s voice sending a spike of worry through him as he sits up. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“No, no, I trust your gut.” He trusts Jimmy more than anything else, really, which is why he gets up and out of bed. “Let’s go look, and if it’s nothing then I’ll sleep more, okay?”

Jimmy nods, hurrying after him. “I have a really terrible feeling, Scott. Be careful, please.”

“I should be telling that to you,” Scott teases.

“Hey, I’ve gotten more careful!”

Scott can’t help but laugh at how offended his husband sounds, but his mirth dies as quickly as it came. “You’re right, Jimmy. Something isn’t right.” It’s making the hairs on his arm stand up, a prickling unease similar to what he felt before the battle where Jimmy died.

“I know, it feels awful!”

“Mhm.” Scott grabs his favorite axe, glancing back at Jimmy one more time. “Stay behind me, just in case.”

He swings the door open. It takes a moment to spot what’s wrong, but once he does, his heart plummets; Xornoth is standing across the valley next to his enchanting tower, their face and body twisted with corruption but still unmistakably Scott’s sibling.

“That’s the demon!” Jimmy hisses. He sounds terrified, and Scott can’t blame him, much as it feels like a punch to the gut to know that his sibling is the one who’s been harassing his husband.

Scott grits his teeth. Protect Rivendell, that’s what he promised Xornoth all those years ago. “That?”

“Yes!”

“Right. Okay.” He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. “Jimmy, I need you to listen to exactly what I say right now. If I say get down, you get down. If I say run, you run and don’t look back no matter what you hear. Can you do that?”

Jimmy’s response comes a second later. “I trust you. If you say run, I’ll run.” The pure faith in the words is enough to make Scott’s throat close up for a moment, choked with sudden emotion at the level of trust Jimmy’s showing him even after everything that happened.

He shoves that feeling down. “Alright. Give me your engagement ring.”

“Wh-”

“Trust me. Please.” Scott’s nearly begging, voice cracking a bit on the last word. Jimmy must hear how weak he sounds, because he gives in without question, handing over Vilya.

Scott slides it onto his finger, hands trembling just a bit as he does. He remembers being given this ring, being just as terrified by how much Xornoth trusted him then as he is by how much Jimmy trusts him now. Ironic, really, that now he’ll be using this ring against the person who gave it to him to begin with. “Okay, Jimmy. I’m about to go out the front door, and when I do, I need you to go out the side door over there and run for the stables. When you get there, roll in the mud and then run for the village. Speed over stealth, corrupted elves track by smell and sound rather than sight.” He keeps the instructions quick and clear, praying that Jimmy’s not stubborn enough to disobey. He can’t lose Jimmy, he can’t.

Thank god, Jimmy nods.

Scott takes another deep breath, brain awhirl as he tries to figure out how he’s going to keep both Jimmy and Rivendell safe. “From there, I need you to track down an elf called Gilnar and tell them to lock down the kingdom and warn everyone of the danger.” After a moment's thought, he adds “I also need you to tell them that Lord Smajor orders them to protect you.” Gilnar’s trustworthy, they’ll look after Jimmy.

“What about you?” Jimmy asks. “Will you be okay?”

His heart aches at the concern, and it aches more when he opens his mouth to lie. “I will, I promise.” He doesn’t meet Jimmy’s eyes, knowing he’ll break if he does.

Thankfully, Jimmy says nothing about it, instead reaching for one of the spare swords. Good, good, he can protect himself.

“Ready?” Scott asks.

“Ready,” Jimmy confirms, though his voice trembles.

Scott shoves down the part of him that screams that this wasn’t supposed to be his responsibility, that he should just run while he can. He made a promise to his sibling all those years ago, and he’s going to keep it even if it’s now them that he has to defend Rivendell from.

He steps out the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jimmy bolt for the stables, but the greater part of his attention is focused on Xornoth, still floating ominously across the valley.

“You do not belong here,” Scott calls out in Sindarin. It’s a challenge more than anything, practically asking them to come fight him.

He knows he’s messing with forces he doesn’t understand and cannot win against, knows it as surely as he knows his own name. Xornoth has always been faster and stronger, after all, ever since they were children.

And yet-

And yet he has to try regardless. After all, when they were children, Scott always tried to win anyways, even if it never worked. And now, the weight of an empire resting on his shoulders and his husband somewhere in the village behind him, the stakes are higher than just his pride. So he squares his shoulders and doesn’t back down as Xornoth appears in front of him with a ripple of smoke, a cruel smirk on their face.

“Well, well, well, dear brother. Never thought it’d come to this.”

“Neither did I,” Scott retorts.

They grin again. “I belong here just as much as you, you know.”

He raises his axe, gritting his teeth. “You did once, but not anymore.”

Xornoth laughs as they dart out of the way of his blows, tendrils of corruption curling around them and reaching for him. “I belong here more than you ever will.”

He stumbles back, trying to get out of their reach. “That’s not true either.”

“Oh, but it is. I thought you’d be too much of a coward to ever face me, you know. Spineless little Scott, running away from his problems like you ran away from our family.”

“We had no family left! It was just you and me!”

“And you left me to be consumed by my own greed and despair. The sibling you know died years ago and it’s all because you’re a coward.”

Scott flinches, barely bringing his axe up in time to block their next strike. “That’s not- that wasn't my fault! I didn't mean for that to happen."

“Do you really think that? Are you really foolish enough to think that you didn’t hurt me by leaving?” Xornoth’s grin is razor-sharp.

“You told me to leave if it would make me happier,” Scott cries, lapsing back into English without thinking about it.

“You shouldn’t have wanted to leave in the first place. No real elven ruler would want to leave the oldest sanctuary of the elves.”

They have him backing up again and again, barely holding them off. “I tried- I was-”

“Look at you, an elf speaking a human language,” Xornoth hisses. “How did you ever think you were going to be good enough for them? You’re never going to be the real king of Rivendell, Elinar.”

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” Scott pants.

“Elinar,” they taunt again. “Stupid, stupid Elinar. Weak, pathetic little Elinar.”

Scott stumbles backward, landing on his butt in the grass as Xornoth towers over him. His axe falls to the side, snatched by a tendril of corruption as they reach out, digging their claws into his shoulders and pushing him down. Scott’s helpless to do anything when those same tendrils reach for him, the smell of rot permeating the air. They hesitate for a moment, hovering above him, and then Xornoth grins sadistically and the corruption snatches him.

It hurts. It hurts more than any pain he’s ever felt. More than Etho’s arrow in his throat, more than Martyn’s arrow to the chest, more than Ren’s sword through his back. More than even waking up back in Rivendell. The corruption wraps itself around his throat and wrists, pinning him to the ground as his older sibling grins. Scott distantly registers that he’s screaming, writhing as he tries to get out of their hold, but everything’s fuzzy with his brain clouded by pain. He doesn’t want to die, not like this. Anything but this.

There’s a faint, familiar voice in the distance, though Scott can’t focus on what it’s saying through the haze of pain. It sounds comforting, though, and he clings to the noise like a lifeline.

All of the sudden, the pain stops and the corruption draws back slightly as Xornoth turns away.

“What did you say to me?” they hiss, in English this time.

“I said you’re ugly!” The same voice calls, and this time Scott recognizes it as Jimmy. Oh, god, Jimmy. “And you suck! Leave my husband alone!”

Xornoth loosens their hold on Scott’s shoulders, turning towards wherever Jimmy is, and Scott’s gets a rush of determination. He can’t let them hurt Jimmy.

Scott backhands them across the face, kicking his way free of their hold with strength he didn’t know he still had. They give a tiny yelp of surprise, a familiar sound, and he staggers to his feet.

This time, he doesn’t bother with the axe. Instead, he forces his will into Vilya, praying to any and every god that it will work for him. He doesn’t even believe in the elven gods any longer, and yet he’s still praying to Aeor, to Varda, to Manwe, to any deity out there that he’s enough of a true elvenking to make a ring of power bend to his will.

“You are not welcome here!” Scott shouts, and he feels the ancient strength of Vilya behind his words.

Xornoth hisses, staggering backwards. “Fine! Banish me, then, if you’re a true enough king to do it. Run back to your mortal lover, Elinar, and pray to all the gods that he doesn’t ever see how worthless you really are.”

He doesn’t flinch, though it’s a close thing. “Leave! Leave and never return!”

This time, Vilya pulses more strongly, and Xornoth is forced out of Rivendell with a hum of power.

Scott stumbles as that rush of power leaves him, collapsing to the ground. His entire body aches from the fight, but more than that, Xornoth’s last words are still ringing in his mind. Pray to all the gods that he doesn’t ever see how worthless you really are. They’re right. He knows they’re right, and that’s the worst part about it.

“Scott! Scott!” He can hear Jimmy call, and within a minute, Jimmy’s standing in front of him.

Scott looks up at his husband- his beautiful, brave husband who he’s never once deserved- his breathing ragged as he tries to reach out. “Jimmy,” He manages, a hoarse whisper.

Jimmy kneels by him, concern written across his face clear as day. “What’s wrong? Where- what’s hurt? I’ll fix it, I promise, I-” Scott grabs him and yanks him into a hug, hardly daring to believe he’s real.

“Oh,” Jimmy says, quiet, dumbstruck. He hugs Scott oh-so-gently, though his embrace isn’t enough to soothe Scott’s trembling. “It’s alright, Scott, we’re alright.”

“Jimmy,” Scott gasps. He needs his husband, needs him to be okay. “Jimmy, I can’t.”

“I-”

“I want it to be over.” It sounds so childish, but he’s so tired. “I don’t want elves or nations or politics. I just want you.”

“I know, I know,” Jimmy soothes.

‘Why does it have to be me? It wasn’t supposed to be! It wasn’t supposed to be me!” Scott wants to shout it, scream it to the world, because it’s not fair. He wasn’t supposed to be heir to Rivendell. He wasn’t supposed to have a ring of power. He wasn’t supposed to be forced to fight his own sibling. It’s not fair, but it happened anyways. It happened anyways, and that’s what breaks him, voice cracking as he begs for something, though he doesn’t even know what he wants at this point. Peace, maybe. Happiness. “I- please- shouldn’t have- Jimmy. Jimmy .”

He repeats Jimmy’s name over and over, searching for any small scrap of comfort as his sobs tear him to pieces, clutched in his husband’s arms on the grass. Jimmy’s so gentle with him, his embrace so kind as he presses soft kisses to Scott’s head and murmurs in a comforting tone, though Scott’s too far lost in his own head to hear any of what Jimmy says. His world narrows to warm arms around him, the texture of Jimmy’s shirt clutched between his fingers. Jimmy smells like dirt and swamp water- it’s the silliest thing to notice when Scott’s busy sobbing over having to fight his own sibling, but it’s easier to think about than anything else. It’s easier to think about Jimmy than anything else, really, easier to cling to the sound of his voice and his hand on Scott’s back than confront the way Scott’s grief is eating him alive.

Distantly, he can hear footsteps approaching. They’re too light to be anything but elven, not that that’s a surprise when they’re in the home of the elves. He can’t bring himself to lift his head and face them, not when his breath is still coming quick and ragged.

Gilnar’s first to speak, hesitant concen leaking into their words. “Uh, milord?”

Scott can feel Jimmy’s grip tighten protectively, can practically imagine his affronted look as he opens his mouth to snap back. “Give him a goddamn minute! He just fought a demon for all of you, let the man rest! I know you’re all elves and you’re all- all elegant and composed or whatever, but you can’t expect someone to be perfect! We’re all human, you know!” He winces a little, knowing the elves are going to tear Jimmy to shreds for that.

Indeed, one of his advisors speaks up, disdain clear in their tone. “You are human, Codfather. We are not. Lord Smajor knew the responsibilities and difficulties of ruling.”

It’s ever the way of elven royalty- their rulers cannot dare be flawed.

“He’s too young for this,” Someone else mutters. There’s as much pity in their tone as there is disdain, a strange mix of concern and derision.

“I- well I don’t think anyone could have expected a demon! And probably even less people’d be willing to fight one!” Jimmy’s voice rises with every sentence. Scott wants to tell him to spare the outrage- he’s not worth it. “Scott’s one of the bravest, kindest, smartest people I know, so lay off him, will you?”

“You know nothing of the affairs of elves,” his advisor sniffs, and Scott’s blood boils at how rude they’re being to Jimmy.

It’s that outrage that gives him the energy to raise his head, forcing his breathing to steady out. “It’s fine, Jimmy. They are correct, I do have responsibilities.” You shouldn’t be defending me, he doesn’t say. I’m not worth your outrage.

“They can’t expect you to be perfect,” Jimmy argues back.

Scott almost laughs, knowing full well that they can and should. Instead, though, he breaks free of Jimmy’s embrace and gets to his feet with far more effort than that should really take. “Gilnar, get the village out of lockdown and make sure people are aware of the threat of Xornoth. Celebear, search the library for any books on corruption of elves, and Lauriel, translate any you find that are not Sindarin into it. Elder council, I need research done on any rings of power that are strong enough to counteract Vilya to that degree, that will narrow down what Xornoth has.” His voice comes out hoarse, and he’s barely aware of what he’s saying, but he forces himself to carry on. “Now, the Codfather and I need to negotiate wool and fish trades,” Scott adds, the quickest excuse he can think of. He grabs Jimmy’s hand, dragging him away as quickly as he can manage, and ignores the stares that follow him.

They make it up the hill and into Scott’s house before Scott’s legs give out, sending him into a chair with an undignified thump. “Well, fuck me to the End and back.”

“Are they always like that?” Jimmy sounds more concerned than anything.

“Pretty much. Gilnar’s okay, just tough as shit, and so are Celebear and Lauriel, but...I wasn’t- well, I wasn’t meant to inherit Rivendell, and the Council of Elders takes every opportunity to remind me of that fact.” That’s just how it is- he doesn’t bother getting upset over it at this point. He’s always going to be second-best.

“Oh.” Jimmy hesitates, and then asks “Who’s Xornoth?”

Scott would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified of Jimmy’s reaction, but he has nothing left to lose, so he laughs bitterly and answers honestly. “My twin, also known as the demon that’s been terrorizing you.”

“What?”

“My twin. My older sibling.” He gives another little laugh. “The person who was supposed to inherit the throne of the elves.” Who was better than Scott in every way.

“What?” Jimmy sounds shocked and confused, but not angry, not yet, so Scott elaborates.

“Let me start from the beginning. My parents were two elven monarchs, one of the Sindar, and one of the Noldor. With other bloodlines mixed in, but the Sindar and Noldor is the important bit since those two groups haven’t always gotten along. Somewhere around fifty-five years ago, they started trying for kids. What they didn’t expect was that Xornoth and I are identical twins, only the fifth set of elven twins ever recorded.” Old legend says that elven twins are only born in times of great conflict, and Scott can’t exactly say it's wrong.

“Whoa.”

“Mhm. Xornoth was- is- technically the older one, who was always set to inherit the throne of the elves and unite our divided people. They were compared to Elrond, wise and powerful leader of another land named Rivendell far in the past, and I was Elros, his twin. Impulsive, snarky, human.” Scott spits the word a bit like a curse, not because he hates humans, but because he hates himself and all the ways he’s too much like them. He closes his eyes against a fresh set of tears, blinking away the memory of Xornoth’s face when he left Rivendell. “Our parents died when we were both quite young, and we were brought up expecting Xornoth to take the throne as soon as they came of age. I spent my time hanging out with mortals, instead, getting involved in things like mcc and 3rd life.”

“Ohhh,” Jimmy says intelligently. It’s such a Jimmy way to react to something so serious, Scott might laugh if the mood were lighter.

“When I was the elven equivalent of seventeen or so, Xornoth gave me a ring. This ring, specifically.” Scott taps the ring that’s still resting on his middle finger, feeling it hum in return. “Vilya, an elven ring of power. They told me to leave Rivendell and not return.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know at the time, but they were being corrupted by a ring of their own, not to mention their own desire for power.” Scott feels Jimmy take his hand, and looks up to see gentle concern written across his husband’s face. He has to blink again, turning away and forcing his voice to stay steady. “I returned after coming of age while away to find that Xornoth had fled and I was now the heir of Rivendell. Which absolutely no one wanted.”

“Why not? You’re amazing!” Jimmy protests. He sounds so very sincere about it, which makes it all the more heartbreaking how utterly wrong he is.

“Remember when I told you that I’m not a very elven elf? That. I’m too human for their tastes, spend too much of my time with humans.”

“Well, I think you’re wonderful.”

Scott squeezes his hand tight, letting a little of his fondness show. “Thank you, Jimmy. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Something like confusion flashes across Jimmy’s face, and then he opens his mouth again. “Wait. Scott?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Did you give me an elven ring of power for an engagement ring?”

Scott looks away again, his cheeks heating up. “….Maybe.”

“Me! You gave me, little old Jimmy Solidarity, an elven ring of power?” JImmy’s half-laughing, but the sentiment behind the words sounds real. Too real, Scott thinks; it’s as if Jimmy doesn’t know just how incredible he truly is.

“You’re the most precious thing in my life,” Scott tells him, and he means every word. “I gave you everything I could offer.”

It’s kind of adorable how quickly Jimmy flushes, his face going red and his voice rising an octave. “Stop that!”

“Stop what?” Scott asks- perfectly innocently, mind you.

“Saying that stuff and giving me that look, you know what I mean!” He definitely doesn’t. “That soft one that- that makes me all blushy and stuttery!” Jimmy adds, and Scott grins a little. Jimmy’s just too fun to fluster.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he denies, though he’s sure his smile is giving him away as less innocent than he claims.

“I’m trying to scold you for giving me a ring of power that’s super important, stop- stop flirting, for goodness sake!”

“You’re hot when you’re flustered, though.” Scott barely restrains a yawn from slipping into his voice, trying to wipe some of the blood off his face so it’ll stop getting in his eyes.

“Let me get that,” Jimmy offers. Scott’s too tired to protest his fussing, letting Jimmy dab at the cut with a wet rag and bandage it. Jimmy moves on to cleaning out smaller cuts and scrapes, then the bruises, handing Scott some ice to put on the largest ones. It’s sweet, really, how fussed he is over even the smallest injury. Scott doesn’t think he deserves Jimmy taking care of him this gently, but he can’t bring himself to push him away.

Even if it is a bit annoying that Jimmy’s making him do math to check if he has a concussion. “Ninety-two, ninety-one, I swear I’m fine, Jimmy,” Scott huffs, “Ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight, eighty-seven, I literally explained elven rings of power to you, eighty-six, eight-five, can I stop counting now?”

“No.”

“Jimmyyyyyyyy.” Scott must sound like a whiny child, but he’s tired.

“Just a bit more? For me?” Jimmy asks. And oh, that bastard, he’s giving Scott the face that Scott can’t ever say no to. Bastard. Absolute bastard. Scott won’t give in, he won’t.

That determination lasts all of ten seconds before Scott sighs and gives in. “Fine. Eighty-four, eighty-three, eighty-two…”

Jimmy makes him count all the way down to seventy and then multiply together thirteen and twelve, which Scott doesn’t hesitate to whine about

“I can’t believe my own husband made me do math.”

Jimmy’s laughter is worth every second of the math, actually, Scott decides as his husband bops him on the nose. “I’ll make breakfast to make up for it?”

“You better!” Scott tells him. He’s trying to sound affronted, but it just comes out fond, much to his exasperation.

Jimmy laughs again and sets about making pancake batter, which Scott doesn’t hesitate to steal bits of even when Jimmy scolds him for it. It’s peaceful, being able to lean back in his chair and laugh when his husband tries to scold him for flirting. The morning light streams in through his window, casting the side of Jimmy’s face in a golden glow, He looks so alive silhouetted like that, a grin splitting his face and bits of flour in his hair. Scott’s breath catches for a minute just looking at him, the familiar ache in his chest returning, though there’s nothing truly tragic about the scene before him.

He shakes that off when Jimmy offers him the first pancake, shoving thoughts of the future aside. For now, he’ll drink hot chocolate in a sunlit kitchen and pretend his hands don’t tremble just enough to nearly spill it. He’s not going to think about the cuts and bruises scattered across his body, not when Jimmy is looking at him like that, with such utter adoration that Scott can barely believe his luck. How did he get a husband so sweet and warm when he’s as bitterly cold as a Rivendell winter? But whether he deserves it or not, Jimmy’s right there laughing along with him, and Scott can’t find it in himself to be unhappy about it.

This won’t last, he thinks as he watches Jimmy try to fit an entire pancake in his mouth just to see if he can. If Jimmy doesn’t die to his own idiocy or the cruel will of Xornoth, time will take him from Scott as surely as the stars shine above Rivendell. Scott is not Luthien or Idril or Arwen, the elven royals lucky enough to spend the rest of eternity with their mortal husbands; Jimmy will die, likely sooner rather than later, and Scott will be alone with the cold weight of a crown to bear and no sunshine to warm him.

This won’t last, but Scott says nothing of it, sipping his hot chocolate and smiling a little sadly into the mug as Jimmy rambles about different types of fish and their personalities. And if his hands are still cold, and he can’t stop a small shiver? Well, Rivendell has always been a cold empire, hasn’t it?

[lillotte17]

Blossoms on a Bough

Fix-it/filler for the end of episode 36!!!

~

The first thing Wen Kexing notices, once his mind has floated up towards any sense of consciousness, is a bright cool light shining on his face. His brows twitch downwards in irritation, the intensity of it stinging his eyes even while they are still closed. His body feels like lead, and his thoughts are thick and muddy. He just wants to ignore the light and drift back off to sleep.

Wherever he is, he seems to have landed on something relatively soft and warm. It is surprising, since his general ideas about the netherworld involve darkness and cold, but he is certainly not going to complain. Perhaps, given the long list of his transgressions, his soul flew right past the Yellow River and dropped straight into hell, and now he is being fried in a pot just like that chicken that had chased Chengling around the Four Seasons Manor. The thought makes him want to laugh, but there is an odd tightness in his chest, so the best he can manage is an incredibly weak cough.

A faint rustling of cloth sounds by his ear as whatever he is reclining on shifts slightly. There is a vague sense of presence nearby, but he cannot tell more than that. Almost against his will, he cracks his eyes open to see who might be trapped in the stew pot with him, but there is only a dark looming blur surrounded by pale watery light. It makes him think of Zhou Zishu; his face bathed in sunshine, in moonshine, in starlight. He always seemed to glow with something intangible and dream-like. And Wen Kexing -helpless little month- could do nothing else but follow after it.

“Ah Xu,” he exhales in the barest of whispers.

A scent lingers in the air around him, crisp and lightly musky. It reminds him of burying his fingers in long dark tresses. Of the tenderness and care taken combing the tangles out of them afterwards. Of sliding his own hair pin into the carefully twisted knot at the crown of Zhou Zishu’s head. He should have brought him a different one to replace it, he thinks blearily. The key was most likely lost or broken in all of that snow, and now he will have nothing to remember him by.

This place is strange, wherever it is. Soothing and disorientating all at once. Is it some sort of hallucination? Did his soul get lost somewhere between life and death? Is he a true ghost now, doomed to wander the world in hopeless despair, witnessing joys he can no longer take part in? Thoughts spin around in his head in a billion tiny fragments. He cannot quite seem to catch hold of any of them, or arrange them in a pattern that makes sense.

“Am I dead?” he wonders aloud, his voice thin and raspy, not expecting an answer.

“You fucking better not be,” a cross reply rumbles out from somewhere above him.

Wen Kexing blinks. The sun still burns his eyes, but after a few moments of intense squinting, the dark blur leaning over him reconfigures itself into a familiar and beloved face. Zhou Zishu, leaning back against a dusty wall with Wen Kexing pulled more than half way into his lap.

“What…happened?” Wen Kexing wonders, head positively spinning in bafflement. Now that he is waking up a bit more, he is becoming more aware of his body’s aches and pains. It feels like a horse kicked him in the chest and then he fell into a river and drowned. Even wincing hurts.

“Something went wrong with the ritual,” Zishu tells him. His voice is raw and his eyes are bloodshot. He looks as haggard as Wen Kexing feels. “You collapsed. Your heart meridians were severely damaged, and your hair turned white. You must have used too much of your internal force. It has been more than three days since you lost consciousness and…I thought…”

His voice splinters and he trails off, looking away from him for a moment.

“But…it worked?” Wen Kexing presses, trying to feebly grip at Zhou Zishu’s sleeve, “You can hear me talking again now, so that means that it worked, right? The rest is fine, so long as it saved you.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zhou Zishu answers, the first traces of a smile pulling at his lips.

“Yes. You are here.” Wen Kexing echoes, as though he still cannot quite believe it, “And…I am here, too.”

“You are.” Zishu confirms, his arms tightening around him, carefully tugging him up until he is all but leaning into his chest. “It was a near thing, though. My medical knowledge is limited, and even with the Yin Yang book, I was not certain that I could heal you.”

“Rong Xuan’s wife allegedly used the teachings in the book to heal his heart meridians and other serious injuries when he was near death several times over,” Wen Kexing hums thoughtfully, casually tilting his head against Zishu’s shoulder, “But she was an experienced physician. You have had no training, and yet you saved me on the first try. You must possess some kind of natural affinity for it. Ah Xu, you have so many talents, I am having a hard time keeping track of them all.”

“It had nothing to do with affinity,” Zhou Zishu huffs, sounding exasperated and perhaps even the tiniest bit embarrassed, “It was pure dumb luck.”

“Eh?”

“The Four Seasons Sect has a special technique that cripples someone’s heart meridians,” he explains somberly, a humorless smirk on his face, “I used it against Prince Jin to keep him alive, but bedridden. My master taught it to me, and as far as I know, I am the only one left alive who knows how to perform it.”

“That is very interesting, Ah Xu, but I am not certain I understand what it has to do with dumb luck,” Wen Kexing says smilingly.

“My master…he also told me how to counter the technique, so that the person’s heart meridians could be healed again and their qi could flow properly,” Zhou Zishu continues, turning his head slightly to directly meet Wen Kexing’s gaze. “I did not have much hope when I opened the Yin Yang book. You were slipping away, and there was no time for in-depth research. But…when I found the section detailing how someone with damaged meridians might be cured, it was obvious that…the techniques I learned from my master were based on this knowledge.”

“So…that means…my parents…?” Wen Kexing looks a bit lost at the revelation.

Zhou Zishu nods.

“It is likely that Lady Yue Feng’Er and your parents shared this precious knowledge with their friends, and possibly even helped my master develop this skill. I was only able to save you because of this.”

Wen Kexing furrows is brows, his thoughts whirling and his emotions complex. He seemingly stares at the dark blue of Zhou Zishu’s lapels for what feels like ages, looking but not seeing, pensive and moody. Finally, he lets out a very tired-sounding sigh.

“And I only managed to save you because that dumb bastard Rong Xuan stole the manual for the Six Cultivation Techniques,” he says, sounding bitter, “But maybe no one would have needed all this saving in the first place if that old monster had never let his idiot disciple leave the mountain to begin with.”

Zhou Zishu frowns down at him.

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, a bit sulky, “The past is past. Zhao Jing was punished and the rest are dead. There is no point stewing on it now. I have just…been angry about it for so long, sometimes I forget that I don’t have to be anymore. Be patient with me, Ah Xu.”

“Hm?” Zishu blinks, as though suddenly coming back to himself. “Oh, it wasn’t about that.”

“Then what?”

“I was just thinking that…it really could not have been anyone else,” Zhou Zishu tells him slowly, intensity burning in his dark eyes. “I said it was only dumb luck, because I never believed in destiny all that much before. If you want to achieve something in this world, you have to be willing to create it for yourself. But…for things to end up this way… It had to be you, and it had to be me, didn’t it?”

Wen Kexing bursts out laughing, utterly delighted.

“I always knew you had a soft heart beneath that tough exterior,” he grins, slightly breathless, with an almost pleasant ache in his ribs, “But Ah Xu, I never imagined that you were secretly a romantic.”

“Shut up,” Zishu grunts, pinching his arm until he yelps, “Who is romantic?”

“Ai, there is no need to be shy about it now, is there?” Wen Kexing says pleadingly, giggling to himself all the while, “There is no one here except us.”

“That’s right,” Zhou Zishu agrees blithely, a truly terrifying expression stealing across his face, “There is no one on this entire mountain except for you and me.”

“Ah Xu, don’t do anything rash,” Wen Kexing cajoles with a hint of genuine nervousness, “I only teased you a little bit, and I am still in such a delicate state of health. If you throw me out in the snow and beat me, I really won’t be-”

Zhou Zishu kisses him then, and whatever he won’t be promptly flies out of his head like a startled flock of birds.

The kiss is softer than he would have guessed, if he had gotten a moment to anticipate it. Clumsy, but tender. Hasty, but sincere. The mouth pressed so suddenly against his own trembles just slightly right before it pulls away. A thousand years too soon.

It is nowhere near the first time they have kissed each other, but Wen Kexing is almost always the instigator. It suits his own preferences to take the lead in most physical forms of intimacy anyway, so he would never complain about it. However, it does make the times Zhou Zishu reaches for him first feel more…something. Something that makes his heart full, and his eyes itch.

It makes him feel as though he is not only being accepted by this man, but chosen by him, too. As his partner. As his equal. As his friend. Lovers and soulmates and all the rest.

Wen Kexing is not certain that anyone else has ever chosen him before.

Not when there were other, better, options on hand, at any rate.

He swallows thickly, gazing up at Zhou Zishu with wide, startled eyes. Little flecks of cold mountain sunlight catch in the dark sweep of the other man’s hair almost like snowflakes. His grin is wide and fierce. Buoyant and hopeful in a way he has never been in all the time they have known each other. He looks impossibly beautiful, and horribly pleased with himself for managing to derail Wen Kexing’s usual babbling. There might be the slightest touch of pink to his ears, though.

“Ah Xu,” Wen Kexing chokes out.

I love you.

But the words get stuck in his throat.

“What?” Zishu laughs, “Do you ever get tired of calling me?”

“No.” Wen Kexing offers him a weak smile in return, shifting out of his hold a little so they can sit facing one another.

Zhou Zishu heaves an exasperated sigh, but his eyes remain bright, his expression one of incalculable fondness.

“Is that all you were saying during the ritual?” he wonders, half joking, “You just sat there calling my name?”

“Huh?”

“You said earlier that you had tried speaking to me, but my hearing had gone,” Zhou Zishu reminds him, “What did you say?”

“Oh, yes, it was mostly just your name over and over,” Wen Kexing nods, “Plus a few embarrassing personal anecdotes I felt like sharing. Once I knew you had no way to stop me, I really couldn’t help myself.”

“Lao Wen.”

“Yes, Ah Xu?”

“After all we have been through together, what could you possibly still have to tell me that you think I would be unwilling to hear?”

Wen Kexing makes a face, caught outright.

“It…is not so much a matter of thinking you would not hear me out,” he admits carefully, “It is more that there are just things that are difficult to say to someone. The more important they are to you, the harder it gets, so between you and me… But when a man feels his end has come, all sorts of things seem to tumble out unwillingly.”

Zhou Zishu looks positively stricken.

“You could tell that the cultivation technique was backfiring?” he hisses out, gasping Wen Kexing by the shoulders, “And you still kept going?”

“What else could I do?” Wen Kexing asks helplessly, “If I had stopped wouldn’t we both die? Would it be better if I had starved to death with your corpse in my arms? Besides, that old monster promised me that this technique could save you, so no matter what the cost was going to be, of course I-”

“So, you knew there would be a cost already?” Zhou Zishu cuts him off, expression like a brewing storm cloud, “You knew this was likely going to injure you, and you did not even think to warn me first? We could have prepared beforehand! You could have looked through the Yin Yang book and point out things that I could use to help you in an emergency! Dammit, Lao Wen, I thought you were supposed to be smarter than this!”

“Was there really time for things like that?” Wen Kexing argues back, “Your senses were already dying out one by one, if we did not try the technique as soon as possible, you might not have been able to complete it! If I told you how risky it is, would you agree to it? Would you still let me try to save you?”

“I deserve the right to make that choice!” Zhou Zishu shouts hoarsely.

“You do!” Wen Kexing agrees just as hotly, “But I owe it to Chengling to save his family. And I owe it to our master to save his teachings. And I owe it to you most of all. I ruined your chance at happiness. To rebuild the Four Seasons with Chengling and the other new disciples. You threw it all away to try and avenge me… The number of people in this world who have been good to me are few enough to count on one hand. I would do anything for them, and you most of all. How could I live without repaying this debt?”

“And what if I hadn’t been able to save you?!” Zhou Zishu demands thunderously.

“I didn’t expect you to save me!”

For a few moments, the words seem to echo of the cold walls of the armory, bouncing back at them over and over. The silence that follows after them is deafening. Zishu’s eyes are red, and his hands are trembling on Wen Kexing’s biceps, but he looks as though he is about to breathe fire.

“Good,” he says finally, his voice low and deadly, “Very good. You feel like you owe me so much, but all you want to do is torture me.”

“What?” Wen Kexing baulks, “No! Ah Xu, that’s not what I-”

But before he can finish the thought Zhou Zishu has already pulled him into a bone-crushing embrace, his breathing erratic, and his face buried in the side of his neck. Wen Kexing makes a pained grunt, his ribs still tender from previous injury. It only makes Zishu’s grip on him tighten, however, holding onto him with a furious desperation.

“In such a short stretch of time, I have had to see you dead or dying before my eyes over and over again,” he mumbles thickly into the silk of Wen Kexing’s robes, “You spent all this time chasing me down, pestering me to let you stay by my side, begging me not to die, and telling me to find things to feel hopeful about. But now it seems as though you are set on leaving me behind.”

“I never wanted to leave you,” Wen Kexing protests, but his voice seems to have lost all of its strength, “I just wanted to keep you safe. Even if I died, and you had to be sad for a while, you have so much left to live for, and I wanted you to have it. I just wanted you to be…happy.”

“Bastard,” Zhou Zishu laughs wetly, “Wen Kexing, you really are…the absolute worst sort of person.”

Wen Kexing sags in his embrace, his heart plummeting down into the pit of his stomach. His head droops, white hair falling across his eyes. Utterly defeated.

“I know.”

Zhou Zishu finally pulls back from him. There are obvious tear tracks down his cheeks, but he still looks fierce, regardless. He takes Wen Kexing roughly by the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You are also…my happiness.”

Wen Kexing gapes at him, for once in his life completely at a loss for words. Seeing an opening, Zhou Zishu takes the opportunity to kiss him again. Harsher this time. Brief and chaste and biting. It does not seem to help the other man’s sense of bafflement in the slightest. Indeed, Lao Wen looks as though his soul might have just flown straight out of his body.

Zishu smiles at him again, but there is still something sharp and wounded at its edges.

“Eternity would be an empty place without you,” he says quietly, “How could you leave me to bear it alone?”

“I…I’m…sorry,” Wen Kexing sputters, as though he does not know what else to say. He finally reaches back for Zhou Zishu, cautiously taking hold of his wrists. The ache in his chest seems to have spread outward, and he is shaking so badly that he fears he might not be able to sit up straight much longer. “I’m sorry. I just did not… I did not know how else to save you.”

“Mn,” Zhou Zishu nods in understanding, “I suppose I can forgive you for it this time, although some part of me still would like nothing so much as to throw you outside and beat some sense into that thick skull of yours.”

“I will accept any punishment you want to give me,” Wen Kexing tells him earnestly.

“Alright,” Zhou Zishu grins, “Then pay me back with your whole life. Stay alive, and stay with me. Always.”

Wen Kexing blinks in surprise, but the next moment he is laughing. Dizzy with relief and unexpected joy. Marveling at the gifts that fate has blessed him with after so many years of hatred and heartache.

“I can do that.”

~

When Zhou Zishu wakes up later that night Wen Kexing is sitting at the opposite end of their makeshift bed in nothing but his under robe. His back is facing him, and he takes a moment to stare at the snowy cascade of his hair. The living proof of what Lao Wen would sacrifice for him. It looks beautiful on him, as everything else seems to, but Zishu thinks he prefers the rich dark brown that he was born with. This new color comes with a twinge of guilt.

Not that he would ever say so.

“Lao Wen,” he calls softly, “What are you doing?”

Wen Kexing’s shoulders stiffen in surprise.

“Don’t come over,” he replies, “I’m not finished yet.”

“Ai,” Zishu grins, scooting close enough to lightly tug at a few strands of that bone white hair, “But that just makes me want to come over even more.”

“I have a knife,” Lao Wen says coolly, “I will use it if I have to.”

“You left our bed in the middle of the night to play with a knife?” Zishu laughs, not intimidated in the least. “Why?”

“If you stop pestering me for a few minutes maybe you’ll find out,” Wen Kexing snaps. Zhou Zishu is not fooled, though. He had caught the sharp inhale of breath when he had said the words ‘our bed’, and he is all but certain that Lao Wen’s threats are empty.

“But you’ll catch cold,” he coaxes, slipping his arms about his waist and pressing a kiss into his shoulder. He obligingly resists the urge to peek at whatever secret Wen Kexing is fiddling with, though. The other man sighs, but does nothing to discourage him, as expected.

“The next time you accuse me of being insufferable, I want you to remember this conversation,” Wen Kexing says wryly.

“It must be your bad influence,” Zhou Zishu chuckles.

Wen Kexing hums noncommittally, going back to whatever he had been working on before. Zhou Zishu sits patiently behind him, leaning into the warm curve of his back, listening to the steady beating of his heart and the faint scraping sound of a blade chipping away at something. The proximity is comfortable, and the quiet almost meditative, and before long Zishu is already half way back to being asleep.

“Alright,” Lao Wen says finally, carefully pulling himself free of Zhou Zishu’s arms and turning to face him, “You can look now.”

Zishu has to shake himself a little to wake up again, but once he does, he finds that Lao Wen is holding out what appears to be an oddly shaped icicle.

“…What is it?” he asks after a few moments of trying to puzzle it out for himself.

Wen Kexing frowns.

“It’s a hair pin,” he tells him, as though it should be obvious.

“Ah.”

“What do you mean, saying ‘ah’ with such a doubting face?” Wen Kexing huffs in annoyance, “Of course it is a hair pin, what else would it be? You lost the one I gave you before, so now I have to give you a new one to replace it.”

“I lost the one you gave me before?” Zhou Zishu laughs.

“That’s right,” Wen Kexing nods seriously, “But I promise not to be mad about it.”

“Philanthropist Wen is too kind.”

“It’s true,” Lao Wen sighs dramatically, “People are always taking advantage of my generous nature.”

He firmly places the hair pin in Zhou Zishu’s hands. Upon closer inspection, it looks to be roughly shaped like a tree branch. There are two lumpy circles that might be meant to be flowers attempting to bloom from it. The finished product is crude, but the ice is clear and crystalline. Pretty, even despite the skill level of the craftsman.

“It is meant to be plum blossoms,” Wen Kexing admits somewhat sheepishly, “One bloom for each of us. There was meant to be a bud for Chengling, too, but I accidentally broke it off. Hopefully, that is not an inauspicious sign for him.”

“I see,” Zhou Zishu says, because he does see, and just like the morning he had woken up to find the Four Seasons Manor cleaned and Wen Kexing diligently repairing his master’s old painting, he feels very much like he wants nothing more than to pull the other man into his arms again.

“Ah Xu, will you accept it?” Wen Kexing asks, slightly trepidatious at his lack of reaction.

“Of course,” Zishu smiles easily, “But it’s made of ice, after all. If I wear it, it will likely melt or break in a day or so.”

“If it breaks, I will just make you a new one,” Wen Kexing says, his eyes soft. He plucks the hair pin from Zhou Zishu’s fingers, reaching up and carefully sliding it into the loose knot at the base of his ponytail. “I can make you a new one every day, if I have to. With any luck, they will eventually look less ugly.”

He takes Zhou Zishu’s hands in his own.

“There are still things I am not good at saying,” he tells him, “Things that I want to share with you. Things that you deserve to hear. Right now, my skills are not enough, but just like with the hair pin, if I keep working at it every day, eventually I can give you something worth having.”

Zhou Zishu tugs him down into his embrace. He thinks about kissing him. About pushing him down and pulling his robe open and showing him, again, how very much he is wanted. But Lao Wen is still recovering from injuries, and it would be a shame to snap his new hair pin tussling around in the sheets. So, he makes do with holding him close, for now. Tangling his fingers in hair the color of starlight.

“Say them, or don’t say them,” he says quietly against the shell of Wen Kexing’s ear, “Whatever they are, they have no bearing on your worth to me.”

“Doesn’t that seem like my current value is lower than mud?” Wen Kexing laughs nervously.

“It means you are treasured,” Zishu corrects him firmly, “There is no price that I would sell you for.”

“I suppose that means I can stop living in fear that you would truly try and sell me to a brothel.”

“You really are a brat.”

“Ah Xu?”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

[violet-t-9]

My take on why Caleb doesn’t trust Essek

I’ve seen a lot of discussion about “why doesn’t Caleb trust Essek” and here is just my two cents (spoilers, written after the new episode 131 talks machina). This will be very, very long, so beware. 

Before I start, this post is not meant to be against Essek and he is actually one of my top favourite characters. I wanted to get my thoughts out because I saw many people take Essek’s side and I want to consider Caleb’s perspective.

Also, the quotes are not EXACTLY accurate, but please bear with me. NOTHING I say reflects anything other than my own, biased interpretation of the events, so take it with a grain of salt. 

While it has been a long time in real life for us, in game time the peace talk was not that long ago. Liam has mentioned both as Caleb and in talks that Caleb had been very paranoid about Essek for a long time, thinking he was working them for his own agenda and could be Dynasty’s traitor. However, it is also confirmed that Caleb started to actually trust Essek because “the other shoe never dropped” and consider him a true friend - right before (“like two days later”) being the first one to discover (through Frumpkin) that he had been right about Essek since day one.

Imagine what that would do to Caleb, to finally letting himself trust just to get betrayed right away and to have his paranoia proven correct all along. Of course he still doesn’t trust Essek now, of course he is hurt. After the peace talks, Essek didn’t even seem to regret what he had done (he straight up said “I can’t say I regret what I have done”, also said seeing Adeen in chains was “freeing”). The first time he showed a genuine change was in episode 124, even then, Caleb failed to read his intentions with a nat 1 insight check, so he could not actually confirm that Essek was telling the truth (he was just given the “hard to read”) so basically he had no way of knowing if Essek was lying.

When Caleb thinks back on their past interactions, he would have to think about how everything Essek had said could be a lie, and that would taint any good memories they had. Even if we, as viewers, know that Essek was probably sincere most of the time, Caleb doesn’t know that. 

Essek had been lying to the party since they first met, he got close to M9 precisely because he wanted to use them to cover his beacon heist, to make sure that they “did not get too close to the truth”. He steered the party in the directions he wanted them to go in, like actively directing them to focus on Obann. And Essek was GOOD at what he did. M9 told him a lot of secrets - that they suspected a mole and that there are two beacons in the empire, etc. Essek succeeded in his objective and got a lot of information he wouldn’t have gotten otherwise because of his deception. Yes, he started to care for them somewhere along the line. At some point, he found himself actually wanting to be friends with M9, but that is a separate issue. He kept them in the dark, lied to their faces, betrayed their trust before they even met regardless. Now obviously he was in a very difficult position and probably felt like he could not tell them the truth (how would he tell them, anyways?), but it doesn’t change the fact that he used them for his goals and succeeded. 

Now Caleb and Essek had a mutually manipulative political-game-like dance going on when they first met, but that was more or less on equal footing and they probably both knew what each other was doing (they were both pretty obvious). Caleb also used his training to “keep [Essek] on the rails”, but that imo kind of pales in comparison to Essek using M9 to cover up his entire heist. Essek did help them a lot, but he did those things for favours, at least at first. He never cashed them (except the one vial Caleb gave him) but he didn’t have to - the favours worked, M9 decided not to expose him because he went out of his way to help them. Even after discovering the truth (that he was the catalyst of a war between two nations, one of which is 3 party members’ homeland), the M9 did not try to fight him or report him to literally ANYONE which would have gotten him killed. Caleb even gave Essek the hope that there IS a path to redemption when Essek didn’t believe in it. So yeah if I were Essek I would too be very grateful to M9. If I were Caleb I would probably never trust Essek ever again. 

Essek is shown to be completely uninterested in the Eyes of Nine but it was a valid concern. He did commit high treason for knowledge, it’s really not that much of a stretch that he’d be tempted by the city (exhibit A: Caleb himself, exhibit B: poor, poor Yussa). Good for him that he is not tempted, but Caleb’s suspicion was not uncalled for.

The thing is, M9 do trust Essek still. They told him literally everything about the TT and the city. Caleb even showed Essek the eye. It just makes me uncomfortable every time people say that M9 are “bad friends” for leaving Essek alone, or that Caleb is “mean” to Essek for not trusting him (by the way, the line about “that won’t help with the inside” was meant by Liam as “commiseration, not condemnation” if you didn’t know) but look, M9 doesn’t revolve around Essek? They have a lot of things to deal with and Essek was not on their top priority. They don’t have a responsibility to “fix” Essek’s morality issues (tbf, they still kinda did kick start that process). And hey, it’s great that Essek has obviously been doing pretty well for himself in terms of personal growth without the M9, and he could have reached out to them if he really wanted to. Remembering to use slots to message and check in with people is never M9′s strong suite.

Caleb also really didn’t endanger Essek more than Essek himself did. Caleb did used dunamancy in the empire (not resonant echo that he specifically learned from Essek, but something he reverse engineered by himself), but Trent would never have figured it out if Essek didn’t voluntarily work with Trent and the Assembly in the first place. Also, Caleb did apologize for endangering Essek (like he was supposed to, Essek deserved that apology).

So yeah, imo Caleb is right to not fully trusting Essek right now, for reasons I have mentioned above. However, Caleb clearly still cares about Essek, from the “just breathe” moment, the worry he felt, how he emphasized on the amulet. A lack of trust does not mean he just doesn’t care. Caleb was also very adamant about trusting Essek (“one person we can trust is better than three we cannot”) over his old friends (and obviously Trent). So again, I don’t really see him saying “we trust you more than my old teacher” as an issue - it’s just a statement, which is true, they do trust him more than Trent even if Trent may come with more power and numbers.

Yeah, Essek is very remorseful now, but they’ve seen this side of Essek for exactly two episodes (124 and 131), so I am not really surprised that they don’t just immediately go back to full trust mode with Essek. It will take some time, some bonding, but I’m sure the trust can be re-established. 

Just want to make it clear, I’m NOT saying Caleb is perfect. Caleb is a very flawed character (e.g. a hypocrite in terms of the eye tattoos) and I can see why some would see his interactions with Essek as problematic (but really, it’s from both sides). However, I do believe that some people twist Caleb’s words to Essek a lot and interpret them to be more vicious, manipulative and colder than he intends them to be/than they actually are because they dislike Caleb, or like Essek a lot, or for many other reasons. This post is about Caleb’s perspective so I’m not going to list all of his own flaws. I just think that in many posts I’ve seen people take Essek’s side and blame Caleb or the M9 and seem to forget that Essek did betray the M9 and “did a lot of shitty things” like Matt said. So this is just an alternative perspective for those people to consider.

Feel free to disagree, like I said these are only my opinions. That said, I’m really looking forward to the next episodes. I feel like they can establish how Essek may fit in the M9 now and maybe start some great trust-building. I cannot wait to see Essek’s interactions with M9 and I think the next few episodes will be very important for the character dynamics. 

[ushidoux]

A Life Well Lived - Bokuto x Reader (Pt. 1)

Summary: An immortal meets a human she’s meant to care for temporarily. ‘Care for’ and ‘temporarily’ are not well defined. (1.7k words)

Warnings: these will change by chapter, but for this one, I guess alcohol

A/N: Hey yall, it’s your girl starting yet another mini-chapter fic, please bear with me. This popped into my head and I got excited, let me know what you think or if I should continue.

When you gaze upon your human the first time, you’re genuinely surprised. 

He is terribly young, to the point that it shocks you, although you’re not sure you’ve ever really experienced ‘shock.’

You cannot estimate exactly how old he is (from your studies, humans age extremely variably) but from the looks of it, he’s somewhere in his early to mid 20s. He looks healthy and happy too, you note, as you sit perched on a large tree, enhanced vision allowing you to pierce through the very ceiling of the large restaurant in which he’s seated and laughing boisterously while he enjoys a dinner with friends that seem to love him dearly.

You scratch your head before turning to your hovering aide called a Companion, a bouncing bright light not unlike any of the stars that hang above in the night sky. Your Companion is a semi-sentient link to the celestial realm from which you were born and is similar to what humans would call pets, albeit more intelligent and able to quickly provide you information; yours, however, tends to be on the quiet side unless you ask it questions. 

Your first question is to confirm that you are indeed looking at the right human. It would be embarrassing if your instructor found out you had been tagging along behind the wrong subject the entire time, leaving your true human defenseless, but you couldn’t say it was the first time it had happened in the history of GA training. Guardian Angel trainees weren’t always selected for promotion strictly based off of their attentiveness, even if it was a crucial requirement for the job. 

<< Companion, am I surveilling the right human? >> You ask, tentatively. Your lips don’t form words, but rather think thoughts that the Companion understands. The light seems to glow a brighter gold then retreats to its normal luminance before replying to your question.

<< Bokuto Koutaro is the one you have been bonded to. Your eyes rest on the correct subject. >>

You frown. It’s not a good thing to have a young subject as a trainee. Trainees work on stints of two to three years maximum, which means that this young man, so full of life and cheer, will not be long for this world if you truly are meant to be his keeper. The fact is a bit upsetting, but you remember that this is the nature of the role you were created to fill. Two years, ten years, twenty years of life was not very much time in the grand scheme of things, anyway. Mortals live relatively short lives regardless.

The moon above you is full, and you continue to watch him carefully in the light, still settled weightlessly on the same tree branch and humming quietly to yourself as the night progresses. He’s drunk, you realize once he finally leaves the building, and a young man whose name he mumbles intermittently - Akaashi, is it? - is all but carrying him into a cab and leading him home. You giggle as Koutaro burps loudly into Akaashi’s face while he attempts to push him into the vehicle. 

Humans are so funny.

When the car starts to leave, you stretch out your wings and glide through the dim sky, your Companion besides you, to follow your human to his home. 

It turns out to be a short trip towards a modestly sized apartment building, and Koutaro stumbles out and makes his way safely to the elevator and all the way up until his front door. He struggles to find his key card in his wallet, which he drops more than once, but eventually he makes his way in. You notice a couple of loose bills he drops on the ground and decide to pick them up for him and drop them on his kitchen counter. 

Koutaro does not take off his shoes at the door, but he kicks them off right before he collapses onto his couch instead of his bed, and they go flying in your direction, you phasing in and out of your physical form just in time so that they don’t hit you square in the chest. You think that you probably shouldn’t stay in this form, but you’re bored of floating and sit instead on his kitchen counter.

He falls asleep almost instantly, laid on his belly and snoring loudly, one arm dangling off of the couch.

You’re surprised he can slip out of consciousness that quickly, but he really is quite inebriated. Usually at this time, you can give yourself a little break and allow your Companion to monitor for any sudden changes while you find something else to do to pass the time other than stare at him, but instead you watch him sleep a little longer.

The young man is fascinating. Granted, you haven’t had experience with tons of humans before this, but he’s notable. First of all, he’s larger in frame than the average human, and his hair is an unusual color and shape. His eyes, when open, are gold like your Companion, and his smile is warm. 

His snore is really quite loud though, but suddenly it stops and for a moment you are nervous he’s stopped breathing. You go over to check and roll him onto his back, not bothering to shroud yourself in invisibility immediately thereafter because there’s absolutely no way he’ll wake up with how soundly he’s asleep.

Until he does.

Bokuto’s golden eyes shoot open in the dark, and suddenly he’s staring right at you, and those same eyes become wide like saucers.

He gasps and you gasp, and immediately out of panic, you disappear.

You jump up in the air, letting your wings flap once to create distance between you, even though his frantically searching eyes can no longer see you now that you’ve shrouded yourself from view, and you watch him sober up immediately as he tries to come to terms with what he just saw.

He flips on all the lights, looking frantically for the spirit appearing like a young woman who just hovered mere inches from his face, and his heart is pounding - you can hear it from here - while you continue to float, unsure if you should leave him alone for now and escape back to your realm.

You’ve royally fucked up. Maybe he’ll forget because he’s drunk, you hope, biting your lip.

Instead, he calls a friend.

“There’s a ghost in my room!” He yells. Your ears are tuned to the other end of the phone where you can hear a groggy, exasperated voice remind him that it’s 3am and hang up the phone promptly. It’s the same friend from earlier; it seems like his fright today is not out of the realm of his usual antics.

Bokuto looks absolutely panicked now and sits back on the couch, legs pulled into his chest. You wonder if he’ll actually die from fright, so pale he now seems as he looks around, unable to sleep.

Maybe you take a little bit of pity on him, because you turn off your Companion who helps you but also monitors your every move, and decide disaffectedly to break the rules again. It’s only meant to be for a moment, just to assuage his fears, and you drop yourself back to the ground and reveal yourself.

“Don’t be afraid,” you say in a small, gentle voice, as you stand before him. “... I’m not a ghost.”

You’re not exactly sure what more to say after that. The young man’s eyes are wide, incredibly wide again, and his mouth takes the form of an O as he takes you in.

Your wings are not very large but they’re not small either and they’re untucked, and you realize he’s staring at those rather than your face.

“... Angel?!” He exclaims.

You nod, perhaps too solemnly, and he looks like he’s about to faint.

“I’m dying, aren’t I? I’m fucking dying! I drank too much and I’m fucking dead! I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead!” He is now wailing, no longer looking at you, but burying his face in the couch cushions dramatically. 

You approach slowly, not sure what to do with a crying human, and he gets up suddenly and looks at you pitifully.

“Heaven or hell?”

“What?” You repeat, and he doesn’t seem phased by the fact that you, a stranger with wings and a halo are speaking to him, but rather that his life is coming to an end.

“Am I going to hell? I think I shoplifted once when I was a kid… Some grapes! I stole some grapes and I’m going to hell for that, aren’t I?!”

His lower lip is quivering and he’s waiting for an answer, but before you can speak, he is wailing again.

“Give me another chance!!! I didn’t know better and I was hungry!”

You’re stunned, and then a little flustered. For goodness’ sake...

“Y-you’re not dying!” You finally exclaim.

He’s back in sorts for just a moment, and blinks, looking at you with surprise.

“I’m not?”

Not yet, anyway, you think. You clear your throat.

“I-I’m your guardian angel.”

As soon as that comes out of your mouth, you wince, because you already know that you’re breaking too many rules at once, even if your Companion is turned off and can’t report you. You’re not exactly sure why you’re telling him the truth like this in the first place, but the sight of the crying human gets to you, especially since you feel bad for what is yet to come for him.

Before you know it, he’s reached out for you surprisingly fast, and to your shock, he now holds your face in his hands. His hands are large, gentle and warmer than anything you’ve ever felt in your life. You can hear his heartbeat through his palms. It pounds.

You don’t have a heart, but if you did, you think it would have stopped. There’s a split second of wonder that you detect from his golden eyes as he drinks your face in, confirming that you are indeed real and he is not dreaming. Even in the dark, you can see redness form on his cheeks anew, still from the alcohol that he consumed too freely hours earlier. Probably.

It occurs to you that something again is very wrong, this feeling of doom that seems to arise from inside you, even though you are immortal and this is a human destined to die.

He’s too bold. There’s too much intensity in his eyes.

You fade into nothingness and disappear for the night.

[letsdiscoverkitty]

Treatment/Recovery Update - May 2021

Okay, I will try to ramble less in this one (so sorry!) ^ well that didn't happen!

In terms of when I did leave hospital, as I mentioned a tiny bit in the last post, my EDP was completely AWOL. A month before I was due to be discharged she came to a meeting with myself and my consultant, during which we set up 4 appointments that would be over zoom before I was discharged to help with relapse prevention and the transition home, as well as setting out, in principle, the therapeutic support that I would be getting once home...it all sounded great, so great. But as usual when it comes to my team, it was too good to be true (should have called it). I attempted to contact her when our appointments never happened but I kept being met by a brick wall; no one knew what was happening, all I got told was that she was "off"... Time passed and I was discharged with only a phone call booked in from someone from the general team to check I was safe a few days later (it was literally 5 minutes, long if that) and an appointment to do physical monitoring the next wee....a far cry from the original discharge plan *sigh* Coming home was a bit of a whirlwind. We were approaching Christmas but we were still under a lot of restrictions with COVID, so it was a very strange/messy/weird few weeks.

Time continued to pass and there was still no confirmation around therapy or support, even the ED team didn't know what was happening with L, I just continued to go to two weekly physical monitoring. In the end, with nowhere else to turn, I contacted my consultant from hospital. To say that she was mad that nothing had been in place/I had no support would be an understatement and I thank my lucky stars that she was able to get involved. It took a couple of weeks but I finally had my first session with a therapist in February. In total it took about 8-9weeks from discharge to see someone, which, well, was hard.

Upon reflection, I think one of the biggest things I struggled with with coming home was that I had literally no leave to practice beforehand. This meant that I unfortunately slipped back into old habits very quickly as, well I know it is no excuse but coming back to the same environment your brain easily slips into automatic mode and you find yourself doing what you "used" to do without realising it.

I was in, I would say, quite a vulnerable state when I left hospital (the last few months there were pretty rocky to say the least) and the day before I was discharged (as I mentioned in a previous post somewhere) I was handed 3 different, very conflicting, meal plans and the nutritionist who had previously been very horrible to me and who had been away for a number of weeks, told me that she did not think I could continue to recover at home and that the best possible case would be if I only lost a bit of weight over the next 6 months....I think you can probably guess how badly this was taken and how messy my mind was. So with 3 meal plans in hand, none of which I had practiced, with little to no support from the ED team, I was, essentially, crisis managing, simply trying to get through each day.

I know, I know. Classic kitty - stuck record. failure. mess. making a million and one excuses. trying to make out like she is fine to the rest of the world when in fact inside she was falling apart. sigh.

In terms of my weight recovery I was not discharged at a healthy BMI/weight, which my consultant was sad about, however I was in a much better place than when I was admitted (I think I had gained about half the weight I would have needed to from when I was admitted to get to a healthy weight). I will admit that part of me does wonders whether staying would have been beneficial, because on a very basic level yes it could have helped in some ways. However if I stretch my mind back to when I was still on the ward ,it actually still floods me with anxiety and fear because of how UNHELPFUL the environment had sadly become. It is hard to explain to someone who has not experienced an EDU, but the patient groups can and do make a massive of differences. I was vvv lucky that when I was initially admitted, and for the first good couple of months, it was a v supportive and recovery focused environment. However, by about late Sept/early October ,things turned completely upside down (which was not helped by the fresh COVID lockdowns either) and even staff were saying how terrible it had gotten and how they could not believe the things that they were being asked to manage on the progression ward. There were times when I felt incredible unsafe on the ward and feared for others patients, which is not "okay". I genuinely believe that staying any longer would have likely made my mental health decline further; I had already found the massive shift was negatively affecting me and I think staying would have been unwise. I had also gained quite a lot of weight and was, I hate to admit, struggling with both coming to terms with that along with dealing with everything that you are continually facing when going through treatment/recovery alongside working on trauma stuff. I know none of that is any worthy excuse, but that was how it was...At this time I was struggling a lot with my meal plan and had quite a few lapses whilst on the transition phase of the unit however despite screaming out for help/support from staff, because of the acute situation on the ward, I was just left. They knew I was struggling, I was told time and time again that they had not forgotten me, but did I get help? no. It was actually made worse by the then nutritionist who sat me down like a naughty school girl and basically told me that I was a failure and that I would never achieve anything in life blah blah blah (please see a past post if you want to know more) which made me even more scared to reach out for 'help'/'support'. So no, I don't think staying would have helped much, which is a real shame.

Therapy wise I had a bit of a rough ride in there (god I'm really selling this aren't I?!). When admitted I was not in a place for 'traditional' therapy what so ever; looking back I honestly have no idea how I was even 'functioning' (was I functioning? probably not) and even the group therapies were a struggle but my consultant stuck with me and with time I was able to process a little more. One thing that helped me beyond words was 1:1 Art Therapy. This was not something I had accessed before, only ever doing group sessions in the past which was mostly about getting away from the ward and doing a bit of art. I cannot reiterate enough how different and HELPFUL the 1:1 sessions were. The art therapy, who I knew from the last year and is an absolutely GEM, helped me to begin to process and work through the trauma that I had experienced with dad. It took a lot of time and persistence but I was able to use those sessions in so many ways and I will forever be grateful to P for supporting me (I was so lucky to be able to have 1:1 sessions for the majority of my 8 admission).

The more traditional therapy initially took the form of 30min sessions with my consultant once to twice a week (as much as I hated them, she was bloody good). I also had a review and a few sessions with the lead therapist via zoom (she was heavily pregnant so was working from home) not long after being admitted, but she soon went on maternity leave. This left me to be picked up by her student, who was actually incredible. We did a long extended piece of work on my perfectionism which, again, was SO helpful but she sadly left (for bigger and better things) and I was left hanging for a while as there were no other openings. A new lead therapist started and after a while he did a few sessions with me before leaving suddenly (I think even staff only had a weeks notice, which was ridiculous), so I was back to twiddling thumbs for a few weeks. I then met with a therapist who worked 2 mornings a week that I saw a bit during my last admission but we didn't do many sessions and it just fell away. This was mostly my fault as by this point I was questioning my admission and whether I would self discharge as there were some not good things going on on the ward, so I wasn't really in the headspace to explore things deeply and had been picked up and put down so many times that I just couldn't do anymore. Throughout that time though I continued to see my consultant weekly, mainly focusing on mindfulness and other therapy styles thrown in there too at times.

I will forever be thankful/grateful for the admission I had, especially to be under a different consultant (for COVID reasons they had to split things differently as they would usually do it by area but that wasn't possible at the time I was admitted) as her approach made a huge difference. I still remember one of the first things she said to me was that she couldn't believe/was that I had been placed on the SEED pathway and that she believed that I could be more than that, which honestly, gave me a little bit of hope (something that had been ripped apart and shredded by my usual consultant multiple times).

But back to now.... I have now been seeing a new therapist weekly (when possible) since February and, in a backwards way, I am so glad that L disappeared off the grid because the "support" I was going to be getting under the original plan was just sessions with her to do some self guided self help stuff, whereas with this therapist we have actually been doing some HELPFUL work. In terms of L, I think the last I was told she never returned to work and has now left the team (we have a sneaky feeling that she either had a complete break down or that it was due to too may complaints (mum called this a long time ago as she was not qualified for the role at all and was utterly useless), which, yeah, was strange to not get an ending as I had worked with her for a few years. Anyway, I've been doing SCHEMA therapy with this new lady (I'd not heard of it before) and at first I was a bit reluctant but it's been incredibly insightful. I continue to learn more about myself and the reasons why I may have gone down certain roads each session. HOWEVER. and this is a big however. There has been a bit of a snag in the rope.

In short, yes I have been engaging really well with the therapy side, my weight and physical health has only continued to deteriorate since i was discharged. We are talking classic kitty of slowly slipped backwards, nothing dramatic, nothing to make alarm bells go off or warrant a review, but it's not been good. Anorexia is screaming at me for saying all of this, it shouts "but you weigh so much more than when you were admitted, you are a complete fraud blah blah blah" which is all the same old boring drivel it always spews out. But basically Im in dangerous waters now in terms of losing therapy/not being able to engage with therapy properly if things dont improve. Ive been in classic stuck mode, getting so absorbed by the numbers and the bubble that AN offers, that I have been numb to it all. The HCA I was seeing was really trying to help me to make changes but she left a while ago (she was going back to train as a nurse) and since then I have had the odd appointment here and there (I think it fell to every 3 weeks for a while as there were no available appointments) with people trying to cover the clinic until someone else is hired for the role, which is far from ideal as they literally just do the necessary obs and send you on your way.

Okay that sounds like yet another excuse, which is probably is, but it's not been an easy ride since I left hospital to say the least.

BUT this past week things have begun to shift a little. I was honest with my therapist about the whole food/meal plan side of things and we actually spoke about how we can't focus on therapy things until I am in a more stable place, which is both really hard to hear but also exactly what I need to hear. I am actually being more open to change, which is a shift from where I was just a week ago. It is bloody painful, even just thinking about it all hurts/is exhausting and I am still very much in the darkness /struggling with it but there is now a little part of me that is screaming out and trying to be heard. There is a little part of me that WANTS to get out of this endless messy limbo that this relapse has been and wants to start stepping back into "recovery". There is part of me that wants a chance. And I've got to start listening to that side a little more.

I promise, the next update will be a little more positive Stay tuned.

[echodrops]

I’m obviously late to the tumble party... but I stumbled across your Notagami Essays posts and they are absolutely Fabulous! Love your writing and the amount of detail you go into :)

So I figured you may be a good person to ask - if you just had to guess (bc as far as I know it’s never been officially confirmed?) but if you had to take a guess or give a rough estimate, how old do you think Yato was when he first met Sakura? We know he’s estimated to be at least a thousand years old, we know he’s - from the start of the series to present - estimated to be somewhere between 18 and his early 20s (physically)... but I can’t find a single thing/discussion/post/stickynote/whatever where it talks about how old he might have been when he first met Sakura - let alone the emotional/psychological effects of Sakura coming into his life and introducing healthy mindset/morals/maternal-influence etc. etc. (obviously no mom and Father’s neglect played a big role in him not knowing how inappropriate it was for him to ‘accidentally touch’ and yell “boobs!” but you can also just say he was so young he didn’t know how inappropriate that was?) My point is: how old do you think Yato was (physically anyway) at the time of their meeting? and Do you know of any discussions or care to share your opinion on how being the no more than the age of blank affected his mental/emotional understanding of Sakura teaching him a new narrative?

Sorry this is a random out of the blue ask 😅😓 if I rambled on and you don’t feel like answering, I get it, just figured it was worth asking :)

I fell down a serious rabbit hole trying to see if I could figure out the answer to this question about Yato’s age but unfortunately I’m mostly coming up empty-handed.

The answer to this question actually depends on two different pieces of information which--as far as I can remember--we’ve never actually been given for certain.

1) We would need to know when Yato was actually born.

The manga has kind of hinted at a total (not physical) age for Yato in the flashbacks which showed him as a young child during the Heian era (putting him somewhere in the vicinity of a little over 1000 years old) and Father not making masks before ~1100 years ago, but the problem is we still don’t know how many years might have passed between this scene (the youngest we’ve ever seen Yato):

And the next flashback scene, where Yato meets Nora:

If gods age normally when they are children, these two scenes might be only a handful of years apart. But if gods don’t age normally, then these two scenes could be decades or centuries apart, which leads to the other missing piece of information (under the read more to save people’s dashes):

2) We would need to know the aging process for gods who are just born/reincarnate.

Up to this point in the manga, we’ve only seen two gods reincarnate--Ebisu (who reincarnated too recently to really help answer this question) and Takemikazuchi. The implication of Takemikazuchi’s backstory is that his shinki forced him to reincarnate and then hid his reincarnation from all of Heaven. The only way they could have kept other gods from noticing that Takemikazuchi had reincarnated would have been by not allowing him to go out at all until he had grown enough to match his previous reincarnation in appearance. This seems to suggest that gods probably do age normally when they are children--hiding Takemikazuchi away for ~20 years seems a lot more likely than being able to hide him away for centuries, after all... (I also feel like I have very vague recollection of some scene in the manga where someone comments on Takemikazuchi not having been around for a “few years,” but it’s been so long since I reread I can’t recall if this is a real moment from the manga or just me misremembering.) 

Overall, however, based on what we’ve seen in the manga, my guess would be that when they’re young, after just being born or being reincarnated, gods age pretty normally. This would suggest that, for the first few years at least, the physical and mental ages of reincarnated/newly born gods actually overlap; baby Ebisu acts like a little kid because he is, in fact, both mentally and physically a little kid.

That would mean that, for all intents and purposes, Yato’s physical and mental ages lined up when he was young and meeting Sakura, and he acted like a little kid because he really was just a little kid, god or not.

(Detour for a second though: 

This line always struck me as interesting in that it might, just might, give us a more specific timeframe for Yato’s “birth”: although the constellations, of course, are visible in the sky every single year, this particular combination of concepts (kanoto-tori, yin metal rooster) is known much more commonly as one of the sixty years on the cyclical Chinese calendar, also used in Japan. Counting back on the calendar, 961 A.D. was a yin metal rooster year and would align just about right for what we know about the timeframe in which Yato later met Sakura (~970ish). Just referencing constellations doesn’t mean Adachitoka was pointing to a specific year, but it might have been another hint as to the timeframe of the flashbacks.

Okay, detour over.)

Anyway, without 100% confirmation on either of those pieces of information--when Yato was born and whether gods age at the same rate as humans after reincarnating--I don’t think it’s really possible to pin down Yato’s “real” age (physically or mentally) at the time he met Sakura. We mostly just have to estimate. 

Personally, based on his size and behavior at the time, I’d put him somewhere between seven and maybe up to ten, but the way Adachitoka draws characters kind of makes it impossible to judge their ages by appearance; Yato is about the same size as Nora when he meets Sakura, implying that he and Nora were around the same physical “age” at that time; meanwhile, Nora is later portrayed as being roughly the same age as Yukine, suggesting she was maybe 12-13ish years old when she died. So, despite being drawn tiny, it’s possible Yato was meant to be anywhere from a little kiddo (6-7) to all the way up to Nora’s age by the time he met Sakura.

But all that said, I think what you were really asking about was more the mental state Yato would have been in when he met Sakura and how his young age would have impacted his ability to change his world views, right? The answer to that is... complicated and could be approached a lot of ways. Coming from a background of working with and educating social work students, there are several common psychological theories of child development that might apply here, for example. 

I’d recommend checking out Erik Erikson’s psychosocial stages of development, though. 

(Pulled from here.)

I don’t have time to explain the entire theory with the complexity it might deserve, but the basic idea is that, as children develop, they experience a series of crises or challenges that they must overcome. Successfully overcoming each challenge results in successful psychological and social development; failing to overcome a challenge in childhood will result in long-term negative impacts later in the child’s life. (There are plenty critiques of this theory too, so don’t take this as gospel or anything--just a theory worth thinking about!)  

Given Father’s lack of interest in teaching Yato basic concepts of humanity, I would put Yato at approximately the “Initiative vs. Guilt” stage when he met Sakura. At this level of Erikson’s theory, children struggle with asserting themselves and developing a healthy sense of how their personal desires might conflict with the expectations and rules set out by others. In this stage, giving a child positive feedback for their actions teaches the child that those actions are “right,” while giving negative feedback teaching the child that their actions are wrong. In order to overcome this particular challenge, children need to begin taking initiative and aligning their actions with social standards; the child acts, and the parental figure reacts--through this process, children learn “I can do X thing but I cannot do Y thing.” 

When you hear things like “Children are cruel,” most often what people are referring to is that it takes time for children to learn empathy and to experience guilt when they cause harm to others; children do not natively understand the repercussions of their actions. It’s only through a process of testing the boundaries, of receiving praise or punishment, that children define what is “right” versus “wrong,” and begin to feel bad when they do something deemed wrong.

And this is pretty much word-for-word what we see Sakura teaching Yato.

If they have healthy role models and caretakers during this phase, children develop successfully. Successful children in this phase get their first taste of personal responsibility; unsuccessful children are (supposedly) plagued for years afterward by a sense of guilt and shame when their actions produce disapproval from everyone around them.

Yato... doesn’t exactly make it through this development stage unscathed, because he receives conflicting definitions of right and wrong from his Father an Sakura:

Which ultimately results in, years later, the Yato we know and love who still does his Father’s bidding to kill humans even though it fills him with a horrific sense of guilt:

Through his time with Sakura, I think it could also be argued that Yato moves into the next stage of Erikson’s theory as well, getting into the “Industry versus Inferiority” crises. 

Meeting Sakura brings out Yato’s true, deep down desire as a god: to help people. (I think it’s important to note that this isn’t something Sakura teaches him--it’s a quality Yato already possessed; it was explicitly Yato’s desire to please people that led to him murdering in his father’s name.)

Once he learns what makes people happy, Yato immediately pursues that with intense focus:

The primary goal of this phase of psychosocial development is to experience a sense of confidence in one’s actions. When children practice their skills, pursue areas where they are praised, and gain new skills and aptitudes through mentoring from healthy role models, they gain confidence in their ability to excel, to fit in with peers their age, and to create meaningful things. By encouraging Yato to pursue positive behaviors--playing peacefully with other children, appreciating natural beauty, and creating useful things like boots for the needy--Sakura moved Yato toward successfully completing this phase and developing a sense of confidence in his actions and his ability to achieve positive things in the world. 

Of course, Father cannot have that (because confident children with a sense of self-worth are much more difficult to abuse), so he puts an immediate end to Sakura’s influence over Yato in the most insidious way possible: although he clearly manipulated the situation to achieve Sakura’s death, out loud, he blames Yato, implying that Sakura’s death was all Yato’s fault, the results of Yato taking unwanted action “industry” and yet failing--creating a sense of “inferiority” instead.

This, of course, haunts Yato all the way to the present, as he--again and again and again--blames himself for things outside his control or failing to live up to expectations that no one in his situation (still being manipulated) could possibly hope to get “right.” 

Finally, you could say that Sakura’s presence is Yato’s life is ultimately what sows the seeds of the manga’s main plot up to this point, with Yato’s quest to create an entirely new identity for himself as a god of fortune instead of a god of calamity. Personally, I would say that Yato is currently still in this phase of development, still working out how to define himself and who he will ultimately become once he is finally free to decide on his own path in life. It was Sakura’s gentle influence--his desire to become the kind of god who could make her smile--that eventually sparked his conflict and finally led Yato to the brink of catastrophe. If he wishes to become the god Sakura told him he could be, he can no longer suffer his father to live.

So, long story longer, I think it can be argued that Yato meeting Sakura at such a young age is EXACTLY what made it possible for him to change, and exactly what has led to his crisis in identifying himself and redefining his sense of right and wrong. 

Uhhhh... I hope that answers your question!

[ovidialee]

After the War Author Interview: @solasnarealtai

The second of our Four Horseman @solasnarealtai​ lets us into her writer brain to school us on why Snarcissa makes uncanny sense--in canon, no less, and why she wouldn’t survive life in the Wizarding World. And I can confirm that she adorably talks EXACTLY like this in real life:

1) Which came first for you - original work or fanfiction?

Definitely original, but I can’t say that any of the early stuff was any good. I was just a kid that liked to make up stories, whether I was really writing them down or thinking them in my head...but my mom says that I’ve been writing for about as long as she can remember. I discovered fanfic when I was in high school - I think it was my freshman year. One of my really good friends shared most of my classes and we sat near each other in all of them. I noticed her writing a lot one day and asked what she was working on. She asked if I’d heard of a particular manga (I cannot recall the name of it) and even though I hadn’t, she proceeded to explain to me that she was writing fanfiction of it. She was using her own characters, however, and essentially just had me make one up and let me start writing with her. You can say I was hooked after that! 

2) I never pictured Snarcissa or really thought about it. You definitely opened my eyes to why it works so well. I’d love for you to share the drive behind these two characters -- and specifically why in a bookstore? 

Why wouldn’t I?! Joking aside... There's just something about them that makes sense to me. I started shipping them after Half-Blood Prince came out and I read the Spinner’s End scene. Everything about that chapter was pushing me to this belief that there had been something between these two in the past, even if there wasn’t currently. Narcissa clearly knew the way to Snape’s house, for one, and I think we can all agree that he is not a man who would give just anyone access to his home. She also grabs at his robes, is so close to him that her tears are literally falling on his chest...and he lets her.

Snape and Narcissa are both very intelligent people and I don’t think I’m alone in finding smart people attractive; we’re just drawn together, almost like magnets.

The Unbreakable Vow has some wedding vow vibes to it, and I’ve seen arguments all over the internet citing it as evidence either for or against this ship. It is true, I think, that Snape is willing to do what he must for his role of spy, but...some lesser men wouldn’t have agreed to make that vow. This ties a bit into my headcanon of him as Draco’s godfather as well. He is doing what he can to help people he cares about. 

It is very unrealistic that he - especially as a grown man - would go the rest of his life pining over a supposed failed romantic relationship from his childhood and then just abstain from any relationship. I have many feelings about the Potters, which I’ll mostly abstain from right now, but the way that I write my Snape in regards to Lily is that he loved her as his friend, and that love may have come across a bit stronger than it would from other people, but he didn’t exactly have many role models in his life to know the nuances of those emotions at the time. So, my Snape regrets a lot of things, but he’s going to keep living….and part of that includes his life between the sheets. 

I know the other Horsemen have taken inspiration from your wonderfully crafted Death Eater Chronicles, no matter which characters they’re writing -- and it’s brilliant! But if I write Snape, I write my Snape, and that man loves books. I’m a bookseller myself, which is part of why I’ve got all these scenes going through my head, but...we’ve seen what his house looks like. Books are everywhere along the walls. It’s literally a bibliophile’s dream to have that! I don’t know that all of them - or even many of them - fantasize specifically about having some hot sex surrounded by books but...I’m just saying  (again)  that I find smart people very attractive. And my Snape finds it very satisfactory. 

3) And we find your Snape supremely satisfying. You are, after all, the queen of the Snape Bookstore Smut AU. If you had to write the AU of your life, what would it be? And what tropes would you use?

I honestly don’t even know how to answer this question. I will say though, if somebody adapted it to a film, I’d probably insist that it have a soundtrack similar to Beauty and the Beast (fun fact, that’s one of my favorites) and....I could see my love of writing being there still, but I could also picture it completely gone. For the sake of humoring myself, we’ll say I keep it. I go to a fancy school and get a great book deal, but then...oops….I’m having trouble writing and need to get some inspiration, so I go off on a little trip to seclude myself, but a couple days in, I have a meet-cute with an adorably quirky person -- probably a guy but I’m open to ladies too. I’d probably need help with something or we’re both reaching for the last copy of some book. And then I need the only one bed trope to come into play somewhere. That is one of my favorites, because I’m ridiculously simple sometimes… I’ll agree that it is so overdone, but it’s a trope for a reason! And I’m a sucker for it!

If we’re saying AU as in, I get to go into the Potter universe instead of anything like our own, I’m definitely going to Hogwarts and not Ilvermorny. I have spent most of my life picturing myself in Scotland, and going shopping in Diagon Alley. I’m not changing that because we finally get some answers on magic in America. Plus, accents. 

Anyway. Hmm… As much as I want to be Slytherin, my Puff roots run deep, so I’d still stick with getting my taste of Slytherin elsewhere. *wink wink* I feel like such a basic person for saying this, but I’d have wanted to be there while Snape was a professor, because he’s got the sort of knowledge about his subject I admire in a teacher and I love learning from people who really know their shit. This obviously means I’d have to be around for the second Wizarding War, but I’ll be really honest and I doubt I’d have made it out alive. So...maybe no tropes for me there.

It has emotions, it has yearning, it has...books and Snape and smut. READ Even the Night Bleeds

Stay tuned for our third Horseman’s fic…

[darks-ink]

Darkness - Ectoberweek 2020

Yes I wrote this one because I just really wanted to write Vlad and Danny meeting in Antonym-verse, shh. Don’t say anything.

[first part]

Rating: Gen Warnings: - Genre: Supernatural Words: 2,147 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Sequel

[AO3] [FFN]

---

“Well,” Danny said, humming thoughtfully.

“Well,” the other person agreed, his bright red eyes absurdly visible in the dark room they were in.

Since the man didn’t seem inclined to talk, Danny didn’t bother to, either. Instead he started peering around, blinking his own vivid green eyes. Even though his retained night vision usually did him little good, he was glad to have it, now. He highly doubted ordinary humans would’ve been able to see in the pitch black they were in.

Unfortunately, the room did not include any hints as to where he was, nor why he was here.

“You’re Danny, aren’t you?” the man suddenly asked, his red eyes narrowed. “The Fenton’s adopted son?”

Danny hummed. He wasn’t sure if he was legally adopted, the human world had so much complicated paperwork, but they certainly seemed intent on counting him as their son. “Yeah,” he finally agreed, figuring he should vocalize. “But I don’t think I know you. Do I?”

The man visibly considered that, weighing options against each other. Finally he offered a hand to Danny. “Vlad.”

“Well, you already know my name, obviously.” Danny shot him a grin as he took the hand and shook it. “But I’m Danny.”

“And you’re half-ghost,” Vlad said, a strange emphasis on the ‘half-ghost’. “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Danny pointed out with a shrug. “I think that the more pressing questions are “where are we?” and “how did we get here?”, don’t you?”

Vlad hummed at that, expression somewhere between pleased and aggravated. Someone was digging for information, huh? “Yes, I suppose you’re right. You don’t know either, then?”

“Nope,” he agreed easily, taking his eyes off of Vlad to look around again. The room was empty and featureless, absolutely non-distinct in how bland it was. “But! I don’t think we’re in the Ghost Zone.”

“How can you tell?”

“Not nearly enough ectoplasm in the atmosphere.” Danny leaned over to knock on the wall. “And these are solid. Humans can go through walls in the Ghost Zone.”

“You seem to know a lot about the Ghost Zone.” Vlad’s eyes narrowed once more.

“Yeah, well.” Danny paused, reconsidered. Vlad didn’t seem like a ghost, not like him. Vlad seemed like a human. If Danny could become part human as a ghost, why couldn’t a human become part ghost? “I guess I spent a good bit of time there.”

“And your parents?” Vlad pressed, cold disinterest in his voice.

Danny snorted, dismissive. “You mean my biological parents? Dunno. Can’t remember them. That’s why the Fentons took me in, y’know? Now can we please focus on getting out of wherever this is before we continue the interrogation?”

“Yes, of course,” Vlad said, graciously. Like this was anything to be gracious about. Danny bet that if he’d been in full control of his powers he could’ve beaten the other half-ghost easy. But, alas. He was still fighting to control his core, never mind use his powers properly. He would have to settle for civilized human behavior.

“Good.” Danny turned away from Vlad, walking along the wall, one hand trailing over it. The whole thing felt solid in a uniquely human way. Definitely no ghosts involved here.

The door, when Danny reached it, was no less solid. He grabbed onto the rounded doorknob and jangled it, but there was no give. Definitely locked. “Yeah, we’re not getting out this way.”

Vlad, who still hadn’t moved, the ass, hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose we will have to use our powers to leave, then. I see no cameras of any sort, do you?”

“No,” Danny admitted, releasing the door and looking around just to be sure. “I suppose you’re right. Some intangibility and invisibility should get us out.”

“Yes, indeed.” Vlad crossed his arms, waiting for a moment before arching his brow at Danny. “Well, go on then.”

“Me?” He scoffed. “It was your idea. You go first.”

The man stared at him for a moment longer, his red eyes boring straight into Danny’s, before he sighed. “Fine, then. But only because I suspect I cannot hope to out-stubborn a teenager, let alone one raised by Jack Fenton.”

Danny quirked an eyebrow at that unexpected hostility. Sure, he’d only known Jack for a month or two, but still. He seemed like a good man.

Vlad’s transformation was similar to Danny’s own. A spark of light from the chest, from the core, forming into rings which passed over the body, and shifted it from one state to the other. Admittedly Vlad’s were bizarrely black, while still giving off light, but it didn’t really matter. Not now, at least.

No, Danny was far more interested in Vlad’s ghost form. He looked rather like a typical ghost, up to and including a thematic appearance. And what an appearance. Vlad had gone full vampire on his looks, with pale blue skin, empty red eyes, pointed ears and sharp fangs. His hair, black in ghost form, was swept up into gravity-defying points, and his clothing did not match the suit he’d been wearing at all.

Hell, the guy even wore a cape. What kinda person did that?

But… Vlad had gone and shifted to his ghost form, so Danny supposed he’d better follow suit. Mentally crossing his fingers that his powers would hold—his core was still settling back into proper stability after his accident—he called his core to the forefront of his existence. Light flashed as he, too, transformed into a ghost.

Vlad quirked an eyebrow at him, judgment heavy in the air. “A jumpsuit, boy, really? You are certainly a Fenton, aren’t you?”

“It’s Phantom, actually,” Danny correctly idly. “The jumpsuit is just a coincidence.” He lifted up from the floor, trying to judge how well his core was doing that day. “Now come on, I don’t have all day.”

“And you think I do?” Vlad scoffed, but started floating as well. “I will go first. I expect I will be more likely to recognize where we are than you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t have to be so haughty about it. “Sure, knock yourself out.” Danny swept out an arm in a wide arc to underline the statement, throwing in a sarcastic bow as well.

The gesture clearly wasn’t lost on Vlad, but he apparently made the choice to ignore it, flying towards one of the walls and flickering invisible before he hit it. With a roll of his eyes, Danny followed, focusing his senses on the feel of Vlad’s core so he could track the man while invisible.

Outside it was… also dark, admittedly, but not as hopelessly pitch-black as inside. A glance upwards confirmed that it was a regular dark—stars barely visible due to a nearby city, and the new moon that was supposed to come that night.

Vlad was still nearby, although invisible, so Danny let himself drift over. “Well,” he said when he was close enough, keeping his voice low since they were still invisible. “I don’t think we missed much time. The moon phase is correct.”

“Hm. And what do you know of where we are?” Vlad asked, a tone of curiosity layered under the smarminess of his voice. “Or have you spent all your time looking up?”

“I thought you were going to focus on our location?” Danny shook his head, realized Vlad couldn’t see, then decided to look around anyway.

And, huh.

“Well, at least we’re not far from home,” he said, feebly.

They were on the outskirts of Amity Park.

“You aren’t, no.” Vlad huffed, a sound of displeasure. “Unlike you, however, I live in Wisconsin.”

Cool. That meant very little to Danny. He was pretty sure that it was a state in the country he was living in, but where, or how far away it was? Absolutely meaningless.

“Okay, well… If you know the Fentons you can probably stay over?” He let his invisibility drop, since the strain on his core was rather unnecessary. The people of Amity Park didn’t look up enough to care about ghosts in the sky. “And if you didn’t… Well, they probably would let you stay over anyway. They’d love to talk more about your half-ghost-ness.”

“Joy,” Vlad muttered, and he could not possibly have put more distaste in the word. “And you do not care to stay invisible, then?”

“I can’t keep it up forever, dude.” Danny shrugged, letting his legs blend away into a tail as he drifted in the direction towards home. “Besides, I know Amity Park. It’s a safe place to fly without invisibility, trust me.”

Vlad scoffed, but dropped his invisibility as well. “Very well, then. Lead on.”

Danny nodded back, then shifted into proper flight, making sure to keep his speed fairly low. As annoying as it was to have to hold back, he knew he couldn’t make full use of his powers, not while his core was still recovering from the transition. One day, hopefully, he’d get back to his prior strength.

Still, that did make him wonder. It definitely seemed like Vlad was a human who’d become half-ghost. How did that work, compared to Danny himself? How strong was Vlad? Did he need to wait for his core to mature the usual way? That almost seemed easier to Danny than what he was going through. A slow progressive growth, rather than having all these powers and not having the power to use them.

And Vlad had conveniently skipped around explaining how he knew the Fentons, too. Honestly, he was kind of giving Danny the creeps. Something about his behavior was just… off. Weird.

Or maybe that was just how slimy he was, how haughty, how superior. Yugh.

Vlad didn’t try talking to him while they were flying to FentonWorks, although he did raise a questioning eyebrow at the neon sign when they landed behind it.

“The glow of the sign will hide our light,” Danny explained with a shrug. He’d been told by Jazz that the sign was an oddity among humans, but he didn’t think it was that weird. “We can enter the house through the door up here.”

“Why not phase inside?” Vlad asked, crossing his arms. “That way no one will see us.”

“True. But it’s also rude to go inside without announcing yourself.” Danny grinned at Vlad, displaying his own sharp teeth, before releasing his core to shift back to human form. The flashing light was barely visible beyond the glow of the sign. “Coming, Vlad?”

The other half-ghost sighed, making a motion like rolling his eyes—despite the fact that they were empty in his ghost form—but transformed back into human form as well. “I would’ve thought that using ghost powers meant we were no longer following human sensibilities, but it’s your house.”

Human sensibilities? What, has no one ever told this guy the rules of lairs in the Ghost Zone? Yikes. “You do realize that it’s a thing in the Ghost Zone too, right? Not randomly wandering into people’s lairs?”

“And how would you know?” Vlad sneered back, his eyes dark for the first time since Danny had met him. “You’re what, fourteen? And clearly new to being half-ghost, too.”

“Yeah!” Danny snapped, feeling his core kick up a notch. He was so tired of this asshole. “Yeah, I’m new to being half-ghost! Because I was a full ghost before this!”

He leaned in closer to Vlad, seeing the reflection of his glowing eyes in Vlad’s. “Just because you think you’re a big deal doesn’t mean you are. You don’t know shit, Vlad.”

Satisfied that he’d gotten his point across, Danny whirled around, pulling open the door and climbing down the stairs. After a moment, he heard Vlad follow.

“You are… a ghost turned half-human?” Vlad asked, quietly. “Not the reverse?”

“Not like you, no,” Danny confirmed, opening the door to the upper floor hallway. “But the Fentons will still want to talk to you.”

“No.” Vlad stopped before crossing the door. Danny, too, stopped, turning around to face Vlad again. “No, I don’t think that that’s going to happen.”

“What?”

“I thought I had found someone like me. For that, I was willing to put up with Jack Fenton, at least for the moment. But now?” Vlad scoffed, a derisive sound. “For a poor ghostly imitation? No, certainly not. Goodbye, Phantom.”

With that, Vlad whirled around, vanishing from sight. Danny could still track his core—apparently Vlad had shifted forms almost immediately—but he was, in fact, leaving.

“Well. That just happened,” Danny muttered to himself as Vlad left the premises entirely. “Wonder what the chances are that the Fentons know more than one guy named Vlad.”

He shrugged to himself, continuing down to the living room, where his family waited. Guess he had some more mysteries to solve now.

Like that room. What the fuck was up with that?

[akaluan]

Accidental Marriage for Kisuke and Erich (please let Erich be a werewolf, or a weresomething) or soulmates for Kaito and Tatsuki.

(Erich as were-lynx // added rand-genned second trope: Bodyguard Falls In Love With Client)

(In this AU, Quincy aren’t the only werebeasts, it’s a common and normalized thing throughout the population, as is magic which replaces spiritual powers.)

“So I have good news and I have bad news, which do you want first?”

Erich rumbles a protest and rolls over, shoving his muzzle beneath one of his pillows and laying his ears flat against his head; it is far too early for how awake Urahara sounds, which means the man probably hasn’t gone to sleep yet.

Which means he’s going to have to run interference all day, because a sleep-deprived Urahara is a terror to everyone around him, and he really doesn’t need any more people out for Urahara’s blood.

(Not that Urahara seemed to care at all, the bastard.)

(Urahara had spent the first month and a half of the contract trying to lose him in every conceivable way possible.)

(Still, he’s lasted longer than any other bodyguard the Shihoin had hired for the man, so… he supposes he should be proud.)

A hand settles on his head, fingers sinking into his fur and scratching just so at the base of one ear; it’s an indulgence he hasn’t allowed himself in a long time and he takes a deep breath, a purr rumbling in his chest as he savors Urahara’s scent—

(Wait.)

(Urahara’s scent?)

Erich snaps from his half-asleep daze and twists around, seizing Urahara’s arm in his mouth and clamping down, teeth millimeters from breaking the man’s skin.

Urahara freezes, eyes wide and lips parted, and murmurs, “Uh… good kitty? Nice ki— ow! Sorry! Sorry!”

Erich heaves a sigh and lets go of the man’s arm in favor of scanning the room he’s in; it’s Urahara’s room, though why the hell he was sleeping in the man’s bed he… has no idea. He doesn’t think they did anything the previous night—

(Surely he’d remember, wouldn’t he?)

—so him being here on his day off is… strange.

(Damnit, whatever happened, he hopes he didn’t give any indication of his growing crush on the man!)

“Maa, so now that you’re awake, good news or bad news first?” Urahara asks as he straightens up and rubs absently at the red marks on his arm that Erich’s teeth left behind.

Erich gives him an exasperated look at the question, then closes his eyes and concentrates, pulling his body out of his true lynx form and into a more humanoid form so he can actually answer. “Knowing what you consider ‘good’ and ‘bad’, I’m not sure I want to hear either,” he says as soon as the change settles.

Urahara chuckles awkwardly and rubs at the back of his head, then says, “Ah, well… good news, you make an adorable lynx?” When Erich just scowls at him, ears flattening against his head and lips curling back to display his canines, Urahara raises his hands in defense and babbles, “I mean, that wasn’t what I meant to say! Er, a-anyway! Good news! The symposium has agreed that you can come along!”

“And what, exactly, is the ‘bad news’ that goes along with this,” Erich asks warily, not trusting Urahara’s news in the slightest; the symposium the man is talking about is famous for being invitation-only, and ‘bodyguard’ has never been one of their invitation criteria. If the Shihoin had to bribe someone to get him in, they’re almost certainly going to hold that over his head until he can pay them back somehow.

(Though he wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest by it; he’s the first bodyguard in years who’s lasted more than six months with Urahara.)

(It’s no surprise that they’d want… insurance… against him suddenly quitting.)

“W-eeellll…” Urahara hesitates a moment, then flashes Erich a bright mask of a smile and says, “Remember those forms we had to sign a while back that I said not to worry about at all because it was just for a pretense and the Shihoin would take care of everything to make sure nothing untoward happened?”

The breath catches in Erich’s throat as his eyes go wide, knowing exactly what forms Urahara is talking about; the forms had been vague as to their purpose but the terms had been reasonable enough, just another contract amongst all the other contracts he’d needed to fill out during his time as Urahara’s bodyguard. He’d thought nothing of it at the time, especially when nothing had seemed to change about, well, anything.

(He should have known better.)

(It’s the Shihoin, after all!)

“What. Happened,” Erich forces out as soon as he untangles his thoughts enough to speak.

Urahara bites his lip and looks away, shoulders hunching in just like every time something uncomfortable comes up. It makes Urahara look smaller, more vulnerable, even though Erich knows it’s a lie.

(He still wants to reach out.)

(Still wants to pull the man into his arms and hold him close and reassure him that everything will be alright—)

Erich desperately shoves his emotions aside and clasps his hands together to keep himself from acting on his desires; Urahara is his charge and he cannot afford to let his emotions interfere. One day this contract will be up and then he’ll have to find a new contract, a new employer, and if that puts him at odds with Urahara and the Shihoin then he’ll have no choice in the matter.

(Emotions, he learned long ago, are more trouble than they’re worth.)

“Urahara, explain,” Erich prompts when the man remains silent, wondering exactly what’s happened to make the normally talkative man clam up.

“You’re uh… you’re listed as my husband now, so the symposium will allow you to come with me,” Urahara mumbles, still not meeting Erich’s gaze.

Erich freezes, claws digging into his skin as his hands tighten around each other, but the pain doesn’t miraculously wake him up from what has to be a nightmare. “Pardon?” he asks faintly, hoping desperately that he heard wrong.

Urahara swallows and repeats, “The Shihoin set up an arrangement a while back to make us look engaged in order to lessen scrutiny on you for uh… being around so much, but someone uh… someone… actually filed it. We’re married now. It’s fine, though! I’m… I asked Yoruichi to look into it so I’m sure it’ll be fixed soon! But until then, on paper we’re married, so you can get into places you otherwise couldn’t.”

(‘It’s fine, though’?)

(His own growing fondness of the man aside, Urahara barely tolerates him most days, and now it’s ‘fine’ that they’re listed as married?)

(There’s a catch here and he’s not looking forward to discovering it.)

“I’m surprised you’re going along with this,” Erich says as he leans forward a bit, scenting the air in an attempt to get a clearer understanding of Urahara’s state; all he smells is nervousness-caution-anxiety though, and that he could piece together just from the man’s body language. “You’ve been trying for months to get rid of me, and now you’re fine with me tagging along?”

“Maa, well… you’re… not as bad as some of the other bodyguards the Shihoin have foisted on me,” Urahara says with a grimace and a small shrug. “At least you listen to me instead of just trying to order me around.” He pauses and eyes Erich in consideration, one hand half-raising as if to reach out before he clearly thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. “Though you being a werelynx probably explains how you managed to keep up with me all the times I tried to dodge you.”

Erich hums, unwilling to confirm Urahara’s guess even if it is somewhat accurate; he has been utilizing on his lynx side when the moon isn’t full, but that’s not the only thing letting him keep up with the man. He’s always had a good sense of who a person is and how they will react, and that, more than anything else, has let him figure Urahara’s habits out with a minimum of issue.

But if Urahara wants to think it’s because he can enhance his senses while the moon is down, the man is welcome to his assumptions.

(It won’t help Urahara anyway.)

(He already knows the man’s habits.)

Urahara watches him for a moment, then cautiously asks, “Rerugen-san…?”

“There’s nothing we can do about it for now,” Erich says with a touch of resignation, eyes closing as one paw-like hand rises to rub at the side of his muzzle. “Get me registered for that symposium as well, and give me the paper you’re submitting. I might as well do my best to pretend knowledge of your field so I’m not entirely out of place.” He casts a despairing look down at his furred arms, ears flattening in annoyance as he adds, “Not like I’m going anywhere until moonset anyway.”

(Usually he’s tucked away somewhere private well before moonrise.)

(He’s spent his life keeping his were-form secret for exactly the sort of edge it let him have over Urahara.)

(He’s not about to discard that just because one person found out.)

“Ah… alright then,” Urahara agrees, tone bemused and gaze calculating. “I’ll get you a copy to read. If you have any questions let me know.”

Erich gives Urahara a sharp nod, internally hoping against hope that he won’t need to ask the man anything. As much as he’s come to like Urahara, he’s not unobservant; Urahara doesn’t do explanations, not willingly at least, and when he does explain things, he does a poor job of it. Not on purpose, Erich suspects, just… Urahara is a genius and rarely pauses to consider that no one else around him is.

(He’ll be better off looking things up online, he suspects.)

(Well… so long as Urahara doesn’t notice.)

(Otherwise the man will pout at him.)

(…why does he like Urahara again…?)

(Ugh, emotions are such a nuisance…)